NaPM April 18th 2019
#1
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 18, 2019

Topic: Tell a lie. Have the narrator lie to us.

Form: any

Line Requirement: any
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
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#2
I'm Right Handed.

I lost a leg and arm today
while cutting up some lamb;
and using dad's old fire axe
I cut some chops, then wham!

My leg fell off around thigh height
i stood my cliched ground
and lo my dangling arm was next
sliced off without a sound.

I didn't cry or shit my pants
and never bled much blood,
though just around that very time
my head fell in the mud.
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#3
In his defence

Of course I never did it.
Even though I was found with a sword in in my hand,
over the body, poking it like Laertes,
what is reality? Admit it,
no one really knows, not Descartes,
nor Einstein, for whom quantum mechanics
was all too nonsensical, horse after cart.
I never did quite stab at his gullet,
chop off his mullet, skin him like a pullet.
It was all a hallucination, dear Ms Tullet,
what is real? It’s time for you to mull it.
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#4
His Note


I know you’ve never loved me
from the way you always cut
the ground from underneath me
when I most urgently required
your loyal support.  I’ve provided
all your little mercenary heart
could want: clothes, money, shoes,
this mansion of a house,
our daughter that you’ve turned
against me.  I could never get
your attention, just hostility,
false accusations that I had affairs,
absurd denials that you hadn’t.
I know you for what you are,
and now you’ll have just what
you always wanted. (Signed)

– found beside
a sleeping  man who’d
cut his left wrist shallowly
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#5
Seeking Acceptance

I swear to you that this is the last night
I'll drink whisky, sitting in the bath.
The last night I'll go to sleep
angry at the streetlights for making
stars invisible, my rage riding on
a dry tongue, enslaved by bloodshot eyes.

I promise to burn my poems, too personal
for an impersonal world, where iPhones
brighten dark bedrooms, gone silent
with the promise of technology, and I swear
to never again pass out on our couch;
Glenn Gould left on, playing for no one to hear.
Time is the best editor.
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#6
(04-19-2019, 08:49 AM)Richard Wrote:  Seeking Acceptance

<snip>

to never again pass out on our couch;
Glenn Gould left on, playing for no one to hear.

What a perfect evocation of that era - Glenn Gould and "couch" from his themesong.  Like one snapshot from "Classical Gas."
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#7
I tried to make this a thing
7 syllables per line
For seven lines in a square
And one line of any length
Placed anywhere
To exercise structuring
Forms quickly. Workouts build strength
Like puzzles, but it's fine, mine.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#8
My Many Sexual Conquests


If there's one thing I know best,
it's sex. How many women have I banged?
Not many, but not one
left disappointed. I call it conquest
when I call
before I come.
And I never come.
Reply
#9
(05-22-2019, 07:31 PM)RiverNotch Wrote:  My Many Sexual Conquests


If there's one thing I know best,
it's sex. How many women have I banged?
Not many, but not one
left disappointed. I call it conquest
when I call
before I come.
And I never come.
That was great!
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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