NaPM April 17 2013

[milo]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.

Topic 17: Write a poem inspired by a line from a famous poem.
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

Questions?

[Todd]

Hannibal Lecter Eats Maya Angelou

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams--Maya Angelou

Dear Maya...

A cage is not a grave;
otherwise, why lock it.
The leather cuffs might chafe,
the rubber ball may compress
your tongue to mute silence,
but in your blood, dark in dull twilight,
is the cry of the raptor
in its moment of flight.
You sing beneath my lips,
and I savor you phenomenally.

[NakedBear]

Revised (April 20, 2013):

From beneath our steel clad wheels popped rocks as air borne lead,
which sped through road caressing thickets, as with my mean sight I had rent
their finely woven robes which caught great lights from out the sky to hoard
down deep within their folds, lazily embowering two cold trunks,
rooted steady on the coach’s couch. With every revolution then along our path,
I discerned more deeply slim, reposing forms no finer made by sun fast looping,
than by lulling moon.

And Death now pleats his dark, fine drapes within my sight and dulls
awaiting for our station. His cheeks are pale for lack and borne
much higher than are mine. His robe is neatly shorn, concealing a beating pride
-- he spares no civil eye to maid released from service on this night;
instead he dreams, behind hard brow, of rosy cheeks and breasts still hot and swelling
with those rare breaths that he most covets.

The other is adorned with robes of white, fine cotton, woven with a thousand threads
or more per inch. How dashing he does look as now he bores my weary vision
with lack of vital motion. Yet men and ladies, and pomp itself, all do flatter
his stiff form and hope to get in good with him. But have they sat as I, to gaze
upon this vain and unlearned fool that lacks engender wit for lack of need of it?

At last the mound comes near enough that I can see it’s open, and full of promise
of sweet parting for us three within this carriage. Then perhaps I’ll get to rest
from fools who vaunt their place within this realm, majestic yet mundane and boring.

Original:

From beneath our steel clad wheels
popped rocks as air borne lead,
which sped through road caressing thickets,
while I rent open with my sight
a hundred finely woven folds,
embowering these hard trunks unseen,
though deeply rooted down within our coach’s couch.

With every revolution now along our path,
I discern still more deeply these dull, reposing forms
made no finer in the sun fast looping
than in that lulling moon.

“One short ride to know them well,”
I thought with inward grimace.
“How much more about themselves
could they tell that I had missed?”

Dear Death forever plays the man affected,
while Immortality has no need to be polite.
Yet Death now fidgets within my sight,
and dulls awaiting for our station.
His cheeks are high borne,
his robe is neatly shorn,
and conceals his beating pride -- it’s clear he thinks
old maids like me to be a bore, and dreams
behind black eyes of rosy cheeks
of breaths still hot,
yet drawing to their close.

And the other is adorned
with robes of white, fine cotton, woven
with a thousand threads or more per inch.
How dashing does he look
as now he bores my weary vision.
Pomp and ladies, with men, too,
all do flatter his pure form
and hope to get in good.
Have they sat as I, to gaze
upon this vain and unlearned fool?
What vitality could engender wit
within this breast that has no need of it?

At last the mound comes near, and I see
its dark opening holding promise out to me.
Perhaps soon we three will part within the dark,
so that I may finally rest from the tools
of this here majesty so mundane that by it I am tired.


I beg your pardon. This thing kind of grew more than I expected it too.

[Leanne]

... and I savor you phenomenally.

Oh Todd, how can any homage be better than that?

[neena2504]

Woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...

The grass velvet-soft,
feather against my skin,
a caress to my wounds,
but I choose the pain.

A promise burns, provides
flames in my lungs,
the flames get me going,
blazing in the rain.

Umpteen miles ahead,
gasping for my breath,
not the closure yet,
I will rise again.

a feeble attempt...

[billy]

I never saw her walk, in beauty or distress
though I never really knew her, I wanted too I guess.
inside my fantasies, I'd often make her smile
but reality was different, things were more hostile.
on valentines; some flowers, roses, almost black
the touch of love I placed in them was sharply given back
I sent her cards at Xmas, rang her when I could
of all the selfless things I did, not one of them was good


sorry couldn't get the last two lines

[cidermaid]

Yet another sad offering. Wanted to convey the idea of learning to ride through alternating lines of (fixed) meter...instead sort of achieved my aim by just having meter all over the place !

Riding lessons

If only I could ride, I would gallop from Ghent into Aix.
The news will be good. I to claim my fame and with Rolland my steed,
he striding in pride, with me astride ... and my prize:
To look in your eyes and say “Hurrah I’ve learnt how to ride!".

But I gig and jog and flip and flop and my stirrups are not one with me.
And haltingly, with trembling knee I sit on my steed and I pleed,
oh how I should flee, back to the car, back to the bar and then shove
this ridiculous dream, (of ridding from Ghent o’er to Aix), in a place that is void
of light and of space, to be buried like the steeds that were felled in that race.

A sigh, of some relief would be drawn from between my teeth,
which are clenched like my buttocks and are lodged in the saddle
and need to be free of the jiggle and the itch that is causing a chafe
– somewhere between my groin and my knee.

If this battle is won and I've done, a semi halt and a rising trot – without fall …
… ing off -- I will indeed go to Aix…in a car, or a train, or some other, softer,
alternate reality.



Forgot to add the inspiration line and I've fiddled around with some changes..without managing to improve it one jot..hey ho!
How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix by Robert Browning
“I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;”

[milo]

I stand, like Ruth, amidst this alien corn
that shudders to the gentle touch of wind
and sings to me the loss of being born.

I sneak my stranger's hand to stroke a horn
and shuck it bare just like a passing friend
I stand like Ruth. Amidst this alien corn

I'm stripped and shorn, my bluebell dress is torn
and tossed to join the wind, a lover's bend
that sings to me the loss of being born.

So unlike fields of gorse and whin the thorn
that damps my legs with blood, as I pretend
I stand like Ruth, amidst this alien corn.

My mind now grazes with the unicorn,
not lying in this bend unskinned and thinned,
that sings to me the loss of being born.

Somewhere there is a field of rape unworn
I go there in my mind, I rise unpinned
and stand like Ruth amidst this alien corn
and sing along, the loss of being born.

[cidermaid]

Milo that is beautiful.

[milo]

Milo that is beautiful.

why thank you!

---

I never saw her walk, in beauty or distress
though I never really knew her, I wanted too I guess.
inside my fantasies, I'd often make her smile
but reality was different, things were more hostile.
on valentines; some flowers, roses, almost black
the touch of love I placed in them was sharply given back
I sent her cards at Xmas, rang her when I could
of all the selfless things I did, not one of them was good


sorry couldn't get the last two lines

"to"

nicely done though

[justcloudy]

saw Neena's post and this line popped to mind:

I have promises to keep
And miles before I go to sleep

thus:


My heart is broken but I do not weep
it’s split into three and scattered around.
A slice resides in the tropics, it sleeps
steeped in nostalgia, close to ancestry.
Another is preserved in frozen ground
watching young faces grow for me.
The rest resides my soul’s hollow mound
contracts, expands with what love it meets
stays limited, deflated, but it shouldn't be.
I've sworn to return my own self to me
my blood calls from across the seas
but my puzzle remains incomplete.

[billy]

Milo that is beautiful.

why thank you!

---

I never saw her walk, in beauty or distress
though I never really knew her, I wanted to I guess.
inside my fantasies, I'd often make her smile
but reality was different, things were more hostile.
on valentines; some flowers, roses, almost black
the touch of love I placed in them was sharply given back
I sent her cards at Xmas, rang her when I could
of all the selfless things I did, not one of them was good


sorry couldn't get the last two lines

"to"

nicely done though

thanks for the eyes and the comment AJ