NaPM April 6th 2019
#1
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 April 6 2019

Topic: Any

Form:  Couplets, four or more, non-rhyming or rhyming.

Line Requirement: 8 lines or more.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
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#2
At seven years to each of mine
Your life has flashed before my eyes.
Crazy only two years between
Climbing walls and all day sleeping
So much friend to pack in a pup
Now you're old, I've barely grown up
I'll cope tomorrow my own way
With a new pup, of the same name.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#3
     Collected Works

My cold dead poems would be left to rust,
but there’s no such thing as electron dust.

Tucked in repose in a digital folder– 
however pristine, they still become older.

Better to have them published and bound
upon my demise, more easily found.

More easily found I note to myself– 
unopened, unread, on the lower shelf.
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#4
Couplets

Neither of them noticed when their conversations
became frozen puddles, stepped on occasionally,

only to crack, release water, and soak through boots,
but close enough to home for socks, still dryer warm.

Neither of them noticed the window left open,
so they could clutch even harder at fraying quilts;

cold mornings chatting in bed, naked, blankets
shared, replaced by a silence, coated in frost.
Time is the best editor.
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#5
Very much liked this one, Richard.

(04-07-2019, 01:42 AM)Richard Wrote:  Couplets

Neither of them noticed when their conversations
became frozen puddles, stepped on occasionally,

only to crack, release water, and soak through boots,
but close enough to home for socks, still dryer warm.

Neither of them noticed the window left open,
so they could clutch even harder at fraying quilts;

cold mornings chatting in bed, naked, blankets
shared, replaced by a silence, coated in frost.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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#6
Perfect Couple


Observers claim that vultures mate for life -
bald husband and his lovely-wattled wife
share tasks around their nest while on the hunt
their skills mesh (finding offal, to be blunt).
Her eyes peel sharp for lifelessness below;
he noses out corruption, gliding slow.
Thus in accord they raise their beaky chick
with love, on ordure that would make you sick.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#7
Thanks Todd Smile
Time is the best editor.
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#8
catching up with couplets.

You read, i write in couplet form
i have to make it seem the norm.

It's hard and now i'm thinking how
a double liner's such a cow.

I've done a few, i've done a lot
do they get better; they do knot.

The "K" I used at end of line;
I'm a clever little swine.

So can two lines be called a verse?
And if i tried could I do worse?
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#9
I dreamed last night I flew to Canada
to the mouth of a cave where Kate Beaton went,

walking me along the asphalt stream
and buying her husband or baby or dead sister

dried fruit or grilled pickings from the tentpole stalls
everyone else was too busy to comb,

"I used to work here, you know. Listen to the ducks
quack all around, their voices louder

than how they ought to be, than how my as yet unwritten book
about that pond turned black and those workers turned cancer

will make them sound,
since you live an ocean away."

My head's bowed low, minding the spill
the day's fresh rains had stained to nacre.

"Hey, don't worry, your soles are rubber---
Only the cooks are allowed to spark."
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