NaPM April 4th 2019
To set up a new thread for each day of April; First off, make sure no one else has already posted for that date. If not then copy and paste this post into a new thread and fill in the necessary information.

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 poem describing a pattern of any sort.

Form: None

Line Requirement:  Any length
Thanks for the kind words of welcome and encouragement.   Smile

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So Obtuse I Weep Every Day

Leaves cling to branches like
detainees clasp fencing.

A red cylinder of explosives
stands upright in the back garden
beside a sapling, connected with
cloth strips to hold the sapling upright
– to make it grow straight

toward a vacant gray sky.  

Over and over the land
becomes infested.
End to the Beginning

Eyes open unseeing,
face turned forever
toward the sun.
Each word a crumbled leaf
buried beneath snow
frozen in the eversilence.
She brushed the dry twigs
or her hair with a crack
like a starter’s pistol.
She licked the dust
from her plate
and was full,
the weight loss
an unexpected blessing.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson

Here’s a seashell, formed of solid stone–
when held in hand, what wisdom can it teach
of patterns cast ahead, of what prevails
and what submits?

Fossils demonstrate a subtle truth:
that when a form is reproduced, its shape
is of a harder object softer stuff
conforms to fit.

Sand or clay surrounds a master made
of wax which molten steel or bronze expels.
Just so a buried shell’s replaced by stone,
seeped bit by bit.

Steel takes patterns when machined as well,
ground down by diamond or a tougher tool.
Behind the tool, however, stands a plan–
adamant wit.

Strong ideas, ideologies,
impress themselves upon a softer soul.
A tune turns mind to memory; recalled–
yesterday’s hits.

Poetry’s the same: initial lines
set rhyme and rhythm for each follower.
First lines are hardest, for they mold the rest–
like holy writ.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
Daddy, can you tell me a
joke?  What's a monkeys favorite
fruit? A banana? No, a
grr-ape.  Not funny? Then it's
your turn. Fine, you'll never get
this one.  You won't laugh, but smile.
Okay, what is a pirate's
favorite pattern sock...  It's Arrrrrgyle!
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Every Night is Last Night

I was never the type to wake up
thirsty for my next drink.
Empty bottles were always the only ones
to reassure me
that today was when I'd no longer need
peppermint gum to hide my breath
from co-workers, who laugh
at my shaky hands as part
of everyone's early morning clumsiness.

But by lunch, water reminds me
my damned tongue
enjoys the taste of whisky,
my vomit stained throat best cleansed
by a blackout drunk,
ending face-down on a mattress,
the sign of a real professional as Charles used to say,
and tomorrow there will be more water-
another chance to fix my broken brain.
Time is the best editor.
Try and put things into perspective
and you'll end up drawing a line through the distance
that is your past -- why did you presume you're looking
at the future, when I said distance? can you see shapes
in your future, as you could your past? -- then projecting
out of one or two points (your choice) more lines,
the spokes of a wheel or the points of a crown
which, even as they scatter, seem to reach you,
to grab you by the joints and drag you down a path
you never wanted.

You dreamed of? Perhaps, but it was a vision
you judged neither so awful nor so pleasant
as to be worthy of remembrance, at least not as a whole,
some images -- her hair, her eyes -- have their way of sticking.
Of course, you're putting things into perspective
and all those little details are easily swept away
by the current that condemns you, the stars
and the moon that scour your back,
the sun's spearpoint rays that pierce your side:
the storm desire brews by beating its wings.
(04-05-2019, 07:46 AM)CRNDLSM Wrote:  Daddy, can you tell me a
joke?  What's a monkeys favorite
fruit? A banana? No, a
grr-ape.  Not funny? Then it's
your turn. Fine, you'll never get
this one.  You won't laugh, but smile.
Okay, what is a pirate's
favorite pattern sock...  It's Arrrrrgyle!

Nice one. This brought a smile to me face Smile
Time is the best editor.
Two's compliment

He nearly always ran basic commands
night and day programs, no user input.
Today was a simulated car ride.
Difficult to process nature to this level,
then an office and a camera.

Would you like your parents to join us?
he struggled to reboot the voice card.
Why do you think you're here today?
they wanted me to be upgraded.
And do you feel any different.

He turned to look around the room
the mechanical aperture of his eyes
scanning for changes on his parents faces.
Yes I think everything is fine.
Can you tell me what happened to your brother?

My brother was binary, I converted him.
And the cables you placed in his arms?
They were a simple decoder,
would you like to talk to him?

If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out

This is how it happens every time:
the doorbell rings and my heart stops
only for a second but it hurts.
Then the panic pumps the blood
into my ears and stops my brain
while prickles of fight-or-flight
(who am I kidding? It's only flight)
sear like lightning head to toe.
Then from my hideout I whisper-shout
to the children to duck and hide,
But it's already too late as they smile and wave
at whoever is stopping by.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 

the first one comes disguised
as a cold beer on a hot day
assuring you
it's nothing more

it's nothing more
than any man
who calls himself a man
on a day like this

on a day like this
there's a quick trip to the store
for just one more
and two little cans to dispose of by morning

hardly a crisis

you haven't spent the last
six-hundred and forty-three days
duct-taping and twist-tying
your relationships together 
only to have them unravel like this

you're not a fool
Don't fall asleep on rattan chairs
unless your face wants branding.
You'll be impressed with criss-cross lines;
a gingham-check outstanding.
Across one cheek the scar will run
from the forehead to the chin.
You'll be an Easter hot-cross bun;
ridiculed for gruesome grin.

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