NaPM 30 April 2022
#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.

Topic: This is for those whom we have lost. Recall someone who is still loved by your subject even after that someone's death.

Form: Any

Line Requirement: At least 10 -- the earliest run of NaPM here seems to have defaulted to this number.
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#2
Shared blood

Blood rushing from head to toe;
warmth emanating around her.
Her covers, rising and falling,
to each shallow breath.

A shadow looming over
cradle below.
Overhead light
curling over its back.

A ghostly hand
drifts loftily over,
pressing flat against
her stomach--

warmth comforting.

A ghostly ear
swings down
landing softly
on her chest--

heartbeat terrifying.

The shadow recoils but continues standing there,
watching the baby through the railing of her cradle.

Their bodies pulsing in synchronization
all night long.
"My mongoose is coming."
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#3
Linda : '47 - '88

Our sister had a choice of seven brothers
    (I was the one she'd always choose)

to help with oatmeal cookies
    (I got to lick the spoon);

to go window shopping, which I hated,
    (but loved the ice cream cones).

We’d spend hours on the telephone
    (when she was home alone).

She never did have children
    (she couldn’t have her own).

When the cancer finally took her
    (I had no words to say).

I still look up to her for answers
    (and it's in her name I pray).
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#4
Posthumous 

A part of me hated 
her mother
for not doing more. 

The other part of me
hated her mother 
for not doing more.

And yet,
I marveled at the sway
of clicks and likes
that trended soon after;

everyone regretting 
how Rachel
had lost her battle
with opioids
and didn't we all do
everything we could do?

All those thoughts and prayers
cast into a dead sea,

my friend, Rachel
cast into a dead sea.
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#5
One of my wife's friend past away the other day and this morning was the funeral, I read her this, she choked up, good work

(04-30-2022, 06:13 AM)Tiger the Lion Wrote:  Posthumous 

A part of me hated 
her mother
for not doing more. 

The other part of me
hated her mother 
for not doing more.

And yet,
I marveled at the sway
of clicks and likes
that trended soon after;

everyone regretting 
how Rachel
had lost her battle
with opioids
and didn't we all do
everything we could do?

All those thoughts and prayers
cast into a dead sea,

my friend Rachel
cast into a dead sea.

What do you remember for?
Leanne's legendary lore,
Billys boundless bumbling bore?
Rays enrapturing cats roar?
Ella's effortlessness or
Just Mercedes making more?
I remember those that were
to keep them here and now.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#6
Memorial Love


The love of widow or of widower
for him or her that predeceases them
is similar to honoring those lost
in service to our land’s necessity.

We ask much of our troops, respecting them
more after they have given up their lives
defending all our wide community
than when they lived among or far from us.

Such honor is a purer kind of love
than any which includes futurity
for they can never offer any more
than what they’ve given, and their giving’s done.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#7
Can we ever weep enough
for you? When we drive to work,
when we eat our lunch, when we fail to sleep
in the middle of the night,
is it mere indulgence that we shed
another thimbleful or so of tears
for you? We hear your voice,
read your texts, see you smile, then wait
for you to send us something else,
something new, even something we'd despise
or something we'd forget, but your response
is always less than silence. You will say,
"Weep, weep", and we'll follow
but to what end, you won't reveal.
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#8
Still waiting on you, Tim. I know this is a very tough one for you. If you need to take a pass, I get it.
Peace be with you, brother.
Mark
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#9
Poetry is poor consolation
for what has been lost to the waves
of empires like seas: the forfeited graves
of Gallipoli or Troy, in an alien nation,

generations removed from the spoiled loins
lying beneath
roots stirring in dank soil,
buds unsheathing quietly to the moon.
Reply
#10
(05-02-2022, 06:59 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote:  Still waiting on you, Tim. I know this is a very tough one for you. If you need to take a pass, I get it.
Peace be with you, brother.
Mark

Thanks Mark.  I was considering posting a poem I found in my son's belongings in place of one of my own in response to this prompt, but just couldn't bear to even re-type it at the time. It's a daily struggle, even after 2 years, to think past the grief.

Tim

(05-11-2022, 07:32 PM)busker Wrote:  Poetry is poor consolation
for what has been lost to the waves
of empires like seas, the forfeited graves
of Gallipoli or Troy, in an alien nation

generations removed from spoiled
loins lying beneath
roots stirring in the damp soil,
and buds unsheathing quietly to the moon.

Really excellent Busker.
“All persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.”  Kurt Vonnegut
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