NaPm April 26 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 26: Write an "escape" poem, a place, an activity, etc that you do, go whatever to "escape"
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

Questions?

[billy]

i automatically thought of masturbation but that's more of a hobby

i'll have a go, missed a couple of days due to a downed isp.

---

Of course i think about winning the lotto
then drift on to how I'd seduce you.
Cars, travel, fine wines. I'd make you want me;
and it's all gone, your breast is pertinent
The small rise above your padded bra
sucks me in through the openness of your plaid shirt.
It's all gone, and your hair is black kerosene;
Pressed against the melamine wardrobes
Your body doesn't resist, it smiles
as i smell the fire of your fringe.
again it's gone...

[Todd]

A Spider's Purpose

My mother told me
about a spider who could spell,
who wrote in her webs
about the good in pigs.
Spiders saw secrets,
and the world listened to them.

So, I would remove leg braces,
and drag my Big Wheel to the hilltop.
With lifted feet, the pedals would egg beat
in a blur to the drugstore.

Where I would read of a boy
and the spider that changed him.
Venom mixing with seed
to undeniable harvest.

I had come to understand that speed
was not to be confused with escape,
and that a rabbit could not
outrun a caterpillar.

[cidermaid]

A bit long winded, wordy and generally all over the place - because I like hiding. I enjoyed writing this out not sure what i will do with the ideas.

Telescoping.

I fix the setting on my smile and wait.
Counting out the bodies, one by one.
Breakfast is done and the noise pollution
roars away, shooting grit from the hip,
at the standing sleeper among the wreckage.

Stirred in my sleep and washed by a memory,
that is tumbled and turned like a loose stone,
processing down stream. The banks, walls
and windows are swallowed in a hollow, out of sound,
sight and sniff of a soul, now claw at the departing
feet, offering a soothing silence. Designed
to keep those feet in bondage to daily chores.

The sleeper walks to the tune of a deeper melody.
Gliding out of existence into the beyond, sliding
into the green and golden shade of crisp sounds.
Climbing up the glade, to claim sanctuary amid old friends,
who wait, composting traditions. Resting in a cacophony
of sound, drinking in the rich moist smells and sights.

The smile setting, is eased down to view the ground.
Quartering and tracking, Smaller and smaller.
A dog violet is found, seedling strawberries
flowering in wild abandon. Flowering moss heads,
quivering under a hot breeze. A single grain of lichen
nestled deep in a dark valley of oaken flesh.

The valley, touched and finger traced, brushed by a breath
borne non-word of admiration, is greeted.
And drawn into the deep that meets the deep.
An organic creation, spiritually stored in tap
rooted memories, that increase by breeding
sense rich snaps, that wait to burst like budding
leaves at the first hint of a stirring breeze.

When I’ve had my fill of smaller things, I ease
the smile setting slowly out, to take in the wider
angled view. The tree tops swaying in the wind.
The distant Dartmoor hills, hazy purple, solid
demarcations of sky and land. In the foreground,
a grass hated Devon longhouse; made of muck and straw,
white with blackened doors. Enriched and fully awake
I meander back down a well worn track, pausing
to greet and take in a few more small friends.

[NakedBear]

Discerning friction at my finger tips,
I know the pleasure of our touch will go
astray, to wend its way until it slips
from out between our skins, as heat does blow
to atmosphere from tea, while melting snow
grows warm to meet the same degree as it.
From this to this we go and grieve the flow
of life -- and strain our minds so lacking wit.
But minds need not be born as pain, but sit
as freed convict well fed by godly guard.
Asura kings need only see it’s fit
to lay aside their greed. It’s not so hard,
escaping painful agitation here:
just cease to grasp all feelings passing near.