NaPM April 21st 2019

[Quixilated]

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. 

NaPM Date here 2019

Topic: a meta poem using patterns.

Form: any 

Line Requirement: any

[Richard]

When Asked How To Write A Poem

Sometimes you'll write about how puddles
evaporate after rainy days,
sometimes you'll write about how the roses
you bought your wife molded over,
and sometimes you'll have nothing to write about,
but you must anyway
because blank pages, white as snow,
need trails, telling people which way to go.

[dukealien]

Metacycles


Poetry aware of its own nature posits
nature unaware of its own poetry:
if forms understood that they are forms,
form-ness would erase their understanding,
leaving them no final place to stand.
Since it is, however, existentially
possible to both understand a poem and
reflect upon its nature as a form
or form of forms simultaneously,
it follows poetry, at its highest
and deepest level must surround itself
in veiling mutual incomprehension that
its hypothetical reader’s self resolves
by reading with some form of conquering
and surrendering effort which
disassembles and assembles even as it
resembles and dissembles itself.

[CRNDLSM]

Everytime I sit to start this poem
The phone rings or there's knocking at the door
I try to pick back up from where I left,
But too much happens to keep it together

The phone rings or there's knocking at the door
At the same time my mom and sister need me
But too much happens to keep it together
So they all leave me, unsatisfied, incomplete

At the same time my mom and sister need me
My dog had diarrhea all over the living room
So they all leave me, unsatisfied, incomplete,
Cleaning up the never ending disastor.

My dog had diarrhea all over the living room
Of course I slipped in it trying to stop him
Cleaning up the never ending disastor
The neighbor at my door can hear me

Of course I slipped in it trying to stop him
Probably six whole hours to clean it all up
The neighbor at my door can hear me
I swear to God this happens everyday

Probably six whole hours to clean it all up
I try to pick back up from where I left
I swear to God this happens everyday
Everytime I sit to start this poem

[RiverNotch]

Sweet one, the wildcat's mouth must be opened;
twice-on-the-throne, palefaced mystery
and azure winged queen, arise from your seat. Three is an embarrassment
and four times did Cupid shoot his darts and miss,
his temperance choking him, chaining him to the pentagram
pedestal of the numbered beast. My sweet,
break the seals and blow the trumpets; my flood of stars, release
the infinitude of copper justice in your heart
and speak and kiss, unite the spaces within the ennead grid,
enrapture all the decade. Do all of that again,

sweet one, and we might at last receive the two-and-one.


((not even sure this is particularly meta. ugh, i've been feeling more like prose recently))