NaPM April 16th 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 16, 2019

Topic: a poem to/for your future or past self.

Form: any

Line Requirement: any
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
Maxims for My Younger Self

You may not believe most of these, but they
were said by men who went before
and found their way:

First and last, “No time is wasted
that you spend with your parents.” (1)

Then, by a fictional badman, “I’m nice
to be nice to; I’m not nice
not to be nice to.” (2)
Stress the first part!

You’ve already read, “Be more than you seem.” (3)
To which I’d add, and keep quiet about it.

“Do what you think is right, but be prepared
to justify it.” (4)
To which I’d further add, to someone other
than yourself.

And, in view of kids you’ll never have,
this one’s from me: “There are worse things
than getting a little hair in your mouth.” (5)

Now pick yourself up and run, kid.  I’ll be
here waiting for you, just us.

(1) Ben Stein (2) Raymond Chandler (3) Helmuth von Moltke the Elder (4) ORT 1972 - you know who you are (5) @dukealien.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
To the Poet Who I Will Someday Be

We've already spent too much time alone,
pen leading our hand,
lost in another metaphor,
when we should be lying next to her,
whispering words best said
in the middle of the night,
where one's hands lead
to sounds only two bodies can make.

What will we be writing about
forty years from now?
Will love be just another wrinkle
in our over-thought brain,
roses a muscle memory
on anniversaries we try to forget,
blankets meant for cold bodies,
tucked in long ago
by an underpaid nurse?

Will we even write poems in the same way?
Little books hidden in our briefcase,
verbs and nouns intertwined like lovers,
the page their messy bed,
where afternoons pass unnoticed,
satisfaction intimate, yet lonely.
Time is the best editor.
Dear John,
 You still don't know
If you're crazy
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Whatever I say to you now won't matter;
some things I regret, as is natural,
but I won't change them, and neither will you.
I can't remember the entirety behind each choice,
from the minor to the memorable, each judgment full of love
long forgotten -- what I make for you now will be selfish.

Whatever I say to you now won't matter;
some things I will regret, as is natural,
but how can I know the entirety behind your every choice?
Even the prophets saw in patches, in pictures,
and surely you will have grown in wisdom, in love,
or you wouldn't be worthy of what I have to say.

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