NaPM April 29th 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 Date here 2019

Topic: praise something not thought worthy of praise.

Form: ode (lyric or free verse)

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

Evolution has less to do with intelligence
Than the ability to reproduce.
Congratulations on your 10th baby,
The eldest are old enough to handle themselves now.
They dont even have to have intelligence
To make more babies and appear successful
On the scales of evolution.
There's no reason to hate the sunfish
Floating like an idiot plate in the expansive ocean,
Where animals can feed on their idiocy
Without human judgement saying they're useless or not.

Oh and thanks to every single kids movie
For showing them that adults could solve 
Every real problem if they only listened 
To the kids.  Cause my kid does not stop
Talking, ever.  I can't.  Physically. Listen.
Yet, dear lord the second the clown steals
The thing that leads to kidnapping and 
Vandalism could only have been thwarted
By listening to the child.  Way to go cinema.
Way to go.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Useless Things

A fighter pilot told me long ago–
amid discussion of boars’ teats and such–
the three most useless things in all the world:
they’re altitude above you, and runway
behind you, and airspeed you haven’t got.

It’s hard to argue with a man who flew
and fought, and hadn’t died of it.  He knew
that what he’d said was positively true.

But one of those three isn’t like the rest:
yes, when you go too slow you stall and fall,
and when you pass your runway’s ending marks
without ascending, man, you hit the wall.
But as to unused, waiting altitude...

Come on, Ken, what’s more wonderful than space
to mount up into, altitude above
your head, like horses no one’s ridden yet?
Up far enough there’s Heaven or, at best,
unending flight and freedom for the blest.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
Ode to Silence

This is how you know she's truly pissed,
wrapped in blankets meant for two,
backside unapologetically stares pass
your bloodshot eyes, misfiring brain, even the wall.

Tongue, heavy as a hammer, slowly lifts,
bangs against roof of mouth
gone dry from loneliness,
only to fall flat with a slurred, “Sorry.”

Then you decide to turn away from her,
the still air seems to turn amber,
sleep arrives easier than the last time-
at least it'll be quiet for tomorrow's hangover.
Time is the best editor.
The humble cabbage; what a twat,
all grand green and shiny. An alien
food that brags of better things,
no better than a garbage rag.
It tastes like vomit waiting
to rise and erupt in projectile pontification.
A high and mighty piece of bio-engineering;
i should praise you; many others munchers
say, i shall, i shall.
You fascinate me; sticking in the crevices
of teeth, making one look like a film star;
Shrek eats it all the time i hear.
An old penny

Palm sized on a child's hand
now green under the garden fork,
trouser legged, through a threadbare pocket.

A touch stone into bags of sweets
bare knees and scabs that bleed
tones pressed of autumn leaves.

A champion of medals
earned by crushing petals,
three still glisten somewhere.

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

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