Pigpen Poetry Prompt Pop-up
#1
Hello!  

This is a random poetry prompt pop-up.
Everyone is welcome to participate in this thread at any time. No restrictions apply. 
These prompts will appear according to the whimsy of the muses.   (Which means at random, with no warning whatsoever.)  

How it works:
Write a poem on the suggested topic.  (Form and length are poet's choice.)
The topic is merely a seed, do with it what you will. 
Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread.
The goal is to have FUN!!!   Comments, kudos, and questions are welcome responses.

Topic: Leap Year
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara 
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#2
Is it Real, or is it Julian (Sapphic)


This we owe to Julius Caesar, he who
tired of having variant year-lengths due to
moon and sun contriving to have no common
factor between their

cycles, so he got some Egyptian priests to
write a better calendar for him, with an
extra day each year that’s divisible by
four, which we call a

leap year.  Now philosophers must decide if
earth is simply going too slowly in its
orbit and the calendar pauses so it
can catch up with our

ideal human formula for its travels,
or (and this is heresy) if our tidy
system is not accurate since it seems to
need a fudge factor.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#3
2020


Add a day to the month of purification
to scrub away the skin,
pinking red mingling gold
to white of bone.
A dance I miss: I've found a job
and words and words I cannot say
all's crap out here, I have a room
and bed and internet. I am alive. I watch the sun
arc above rooftops and treetops bare
into the western sea,
starlings and crows and gold eyed mynas
rain their white flood like ash, like viruses,
and I am alone, Mark and his shrouded corpse,
the plebs slaughter Cinna, Lucan's April bath.
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#4
Once every four years,
Black history month
Is still the shortest month
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#5
I was born on a leap year
on a leap year day
and surprising as it seems
I am a quarter of my age.
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?

The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
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#6
The Guns of August

I ain't never met a man
had anything nice to say
about February.

She's cold as fuck
and can't even spell
her own name propurly.

Awhile back they clipped
a few days off her
like they was frostbit toes
and every four years
she comes hobblin' back
lookin' for 'em.

Can't say as I blame her,

but if it were up to me
I'd of chopped her at the knee;

give her sixteen and August forty-three.
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