LPiA-22 Nov. 3
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 3

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA 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 the month of November. 

Topic : Pick a poetic form you've never used and write a poem in that form. Identify the form for the reader. 
Lots of help here...  http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/forum-73.html

Form : Your choice
Line requirements: Any

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 


A reminder that everyone is welcome to participate, and that 4 in 30 days is better than zero in 30 days. Game on. 
Rime couee

I confessed my love to you but
Your words were clear
and hit like a punch to the gut,
I spent too much time as a whore
You won't date a revolving door
I shed a tear
Unable to erase my past

Yet I can't embrace a future
with such judgement 
you changed my perspective that you're
maybe not the friend I had thought
but rather a treasure I sought
And would have spent
like all the partners I'd amassed
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Bad Bargain (Tanka)

White windmill blades cut
slowly vivisecting sky–
slaves bought for status
listlessly perform their task
never worth their price or keep.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist

Two cold hands ring the vesper bell tonight.
For whom does winter cast its spell tonight?

Out of the gloom, an owl with gems for eyes
darts through the darkest pit of hell tonight.

Frost glistens from what flowers failed to fruit:
what tears these heads scarcely expel tonight!

Over a worn out bone, two mad dogs cry
a canon with the fading knell tonight.

Their trembling ceased, the match girl's fingertips
are scorched by what she failed to sell tonight.

Once rising high, fall's fragrant scents now lie
lifeless beneath a snowy shell tonight.


Forgot the identification. This is a ghazal; the poem linked right after is the one from which I stole the refrain and rhyme scheme.
Fraud (Nonet)

His success was based upon illness
always encouraging failure.
The public idolized it,
and so did he relish
his incompetence.
The fraud's pretense
of darkness

You, the living, abandoned by the dead,
displaying a quiescent future that follows
in your footsteps while you question the day,
a sphinx of sunlight whose riddle you deny.

Why wait for morning to answer its summons
you, the living, abandoned by the dead?
Seize the darkness with precocious eyes
turn its broken bridges into adventurous smiles 

that span the rivers of your drowning past.
Step into the shoals of downfall and sin
you, the living, abandoned by the dead,
let rock and water be your immortal footprints.

In the glades of the permitted nothing is forgiven
until the rictus of joy is second nature to your path,
let the oracle of birdsong cue your  last steps
you, the living, abandoned by the dead.
Soul Song
From a
comes a

Passed on
my thoughts,
your song
is sung,
not lost.

(monometer Petrachan sonnet)

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