NaPM April 12th 2019
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 12th, 2019

Topic: a poem inspired by gas

Form: any

Line Requirement: 8 lines or more
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
a farting poem

"to rip or not to rip?"
I asked the Vicar while sipping
earl grey and camomile.
He gave a smile as i mopped up;
the spillage from talking and drinking
as ubiquitous as God, only wetter.
The holy chap pondered,
dabbed a napkin on his right his brow,
leaned sideways and


"That's better" he said "I prefer to rip"

The dog resting under putrid chair
put paws on head and softly whimpered.
Business Trip

Cigarette smoke would have kept me
in my hotel room, away from the bar.
No fifth beer, no slurred goodbye
for the waitress, who was the only one
I wasn't invisible to- her name tag, Sarah.
Second-hand smoke would have saved me
forty dollars; double bed for one body,
curled in the right shape to spoon the night.
Time is the best editor.
21st century carbon cycle

300 billion in the earth, underground,
some of which soon
to be taken out.
30 million on the streets, in the homes,
some of which soon
to be taken under.
las abejas desaparecen
de todas  modos.

Miracle of motion, gas–
in highfalutin language, gasoline–
breathes horsepowerful delirium,
high-octane intoxication.
Lapping in a tank its vapor hints
at speed and wracking roar and fire,
dreams of velocity, burnt rubber,
effortful unlimited acceleration...
and its silent stepchild, white
idling exhaust on frozen days
monoxide-divides a sleep
from endless dreamlessness.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
Blowing steam
                                 My hot air 
                       Balloon will carry me
                     Wherever it wants to go
                   I have enough heat to not
                  Care where I land, how hard
                  I might hit the ground, land
                   Or sea or outer space, my
                     Plans are wrapping up.
                      N               c               w
                        o             o              i
                          o           m            t
                            n          i             h
                              e        n          m      fare
                                s      g         e      well
                       And I wouldn't let them
                       If they wanted to.  And
                       They'll never know my
                       Story or the things I've    
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
in the furnace of the main sequence stars
fuses to helium, in larger suns
proceeds to oxygen, and hydrogen and oxygen
ended the hadean age, brought forth life
carbon based, that fixed CO2
in the crust, heated and cooled to mild temperatures across the years,
which the furnace of man is almost undoing -
but water electrolysed to hydrogen again,
releasing the fury of pent up stars,
will, like the superhero in childhood movies,
come again to save the day.

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