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 17: Write a poem inspired by a precious metal or gemstone.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

Medea


Scorned, abandoned, crushed,
my brother’s death discounted;
the Golden Fleece didn't suffice.

He put me aside, wooed Glauce. I cursed
them all, her father too, cursed myself
and my existence, cursed my sons

for Jason’s blood. I planned revenge.
I gave her gifts - a golden coronet and
a dress, from my Sun-God grandfather.

Yes I embellished them. I couldn't
witness the ring of golden fire that
played around Glauce’s head, before

she fell, killing her father as well.
Too busy slaughtering my sons,
rejoicing in the torment Jason must suffer.

I escaped, crazed, in the chariot
my grandfather sent,
drawn by a golden dragon.

Chiseled in Fish

Colors of sunrise
striate across an easy sky
like layers of blessing–
amethyst, garnet, tourmaline,
ribbons of grace that make
and take each day like leaves
baked a full summer on trees
to drop their sun-fried bodies
on the forest floor, layering tight
 from the top, compressing each
spent season closer to the origin.

Alloyed Motives



Electrum!  Gleaming yellow-white
pale alloy silver-golden quite
a tale you have to tell us.
In Lydia, where you occurred
in nature, royal will conferred
its stamp upon you, its preferred
material for coinage.
More sturdy than soft gold alone
more silver added by the throne
than in the native alloy shone
less golden but official.
So Earth’s first coinage standardized
by royal fiat first devised
a cheat all nations since have prized
that’s called inflation.
In time far-traveled traders learned
to value local coins they earned
as if all-silver...
while mercenaries offering
their swords for hire to a king
or city-state demanded
a count of coins before they’d fight
sized as if silver, yellow-white
struck from electrum.

All I hear is barking dogs
echoing inside my brain
drowning anything you say.
Write it down, I sound insane
interpreting this chaos.
Words keep circling through the space
colliding with gibberish
to contort my stupid face.
Light bulbs on, an idea dawns
to break my cage in a rage,
set all these dogs free today
wreaking havoc, a rampage
timing spawns that silence calms,
but your mouth is moving, wait

Say that again, all I heard was gadget lemon,
Oh I just got home from work, you said God drinking again!

You think you're a poet, oh
you know it! So annoying
rhyming and wasting the time,
no wonder your minds going,
rest your head on this pillow
and watch how words are flowing,
a writers a friend of mine
was I telling or showing,
I should have just said ditto.
Certainly not enjoying
being so creative I'm
cracking up and slow boiling
I better spark this rillo,
what'd I miss? Your eyes rolling,

say that again all I heard was gadget lemon 
Oh this is chemistry! You said gadolinium...

Golden Girls
 
The little one
on the couch with the doll
is Gretchen.
 
She speaks
only German
and has no family
here.
 
For her, the clamour
is loudest;
 
she is feeling through the dark
for her own tongue—
 
to find footing—
 
but none is found
so her dementia accelerates.
 
The big one
in the chair, the one who looks like Maude
is Victoria.
 
She screams out loud
every 40 seconds
as if she’s about to be hit by a train.
 
Sometimes I pray
she isn’t reliving
some sordid
childhood trauma
on such a short loop.
 
My mother
is mostly okay.
 
She still dances
when Elvis is played
and swears
she has ribbons
somewhere.
 
She remembers Patrick Swayze
but forgets how he died.
 
Every week she reminds me
of how his mother was a ballerina.

Precious Metal

They bought their first car just after the war
from home to work his run to the office
always drove safely she made him promise
trips out with children those times to explore,
any fighting and he'd give them what for.
Now George just drives Ethel to the hospice
walks are hampered by canes and all this
illness and pain that wont, cant be restored.

Today the back seats have been folded down,
with a quilt George made them a makeshift bed,
they lay side by side with everything said,
trembling lovers hold each other entwined.
He matched her shoes with her finest silk gown
fumes, fill their dance floor for just one more time.

Hatch

The men who were born in a hollow tree
were the Kipchaks and they spilled outwards to
the river mouth and named it Azaq, meaning
lowlands.  When Ottoman forces seized it
they spun the nomenclature, naming their
fortress Azov. Russians attacked without
success. Second time they had a navy,
which curtained the waters till starvation
gifted them their prize. In celebration
a warship was named Azov, but in just
four years it was gutted, torn clean open.
 
Since then the Russian fleet has contained craft
named Pamyat Azova, or Memory of
Azov.  The second commemorative
namesake took Prince Nicholas on a grand
tour of Asia. In honour of this great voyage
Fabergé wrought a golden replica,
sailing on a bed of aquamarine.
 
He made an egg of jasper, laid it with
rubies and diamonds. The piece was
titled Memory of Azov; the model
ship was planted in the hollow centre. 

Imagine the First Dumb Monkey that Loved a Shiny Rock

Welcome to Demand-A-Diamond!
What's the occasion?
Engaged?
How wonderful for everyone!

These diamonds are conflict free,
(meaning you won't regret getting the bigger one).
And don't worry honey,
after you leave him, it'll bring you plenty at the pawn shop,
(even if I'm charging him three times what it's worth.
It's all about you honey and the experience).  

It's worth it!
Yes sir it is!

Now how will be be paying?

geode

secret, self contained caves
their wonder multipled
by their elusiveness
like a long-shot lover

how many will never be found,
unbeheld by admiring eyes?
and if beauty is in those eyes,
how many will remain in darkness
like a painting lost to time,
a painter undiscovered?

Her Gold

A pound and a half of fine gold
laid into her teeth, she's so old
   that young men do weep
   when with her they sleep
when trying to get her fine gold.

(04-18-2017, 08:56 AM)kolemath Wrote:  And don't worry honey,
after you leave him, it'll bring you plenty at the pawn shop,
(even if I'm charging him three times what it's worth.
It's all about you honey and the experience).  

Very Bridezilla.

Scripture


The first
blood diamond,
smuggled out
of a war-torn land
to be bought
by some bourgeois
prince, to be set
in the fine pendant
of his faithful
wife, to be kept
in a glass case
when she dies.

(04-18-2017, 04:05 AM)Tiger the Lion Wrote:  Golden Girls
 
The little one
on the couch with the doll
is Gretchen.
 
She speaks
only German
and has no family
here.
 
For her, the clamour
is loudest;
 
she is feeling through the dark
for her own tongue—
 
to find footing—
 
but none is found
so her dementia accelerates.
 
The big one
in the chair, the one who looks like Maude
is Victoria.
 
She screams out loud
every 40 seconds
as if she’s about to be hit by a train.
 
Sometimes I pray
she isn’t reliving
some sordid
childhood trauma
on such a short loop.
 
My mother
is mostly okay.
 
She still dances
when Elvis is played
and swears
she has ribbons
somewhere.
 
She remembers Patrick Swayze
but forgets how he died.
 
Every week she reminds me
of how his mother was a ballerina.

Hi Tiger the Lion,


I enjoyed this!
thank you for the read <3

           
                                                how different from
                                                my fragile world you are
                                                within your eyes
                                                the speed of light itself
                                                is given pause
                                                your eyes
                                                their brilliance penetrates
                                                the space
                                                dispersed
                                                refracts me from
                                                your lips
                                                still waiting
                                                for a kiss

Midas
 
Wanting is a worm in desperate
search of a more delicious apple.
It feasts only to grow hungrier
with each bite, then steals
the tender meat of the grape
from my mouth makes it roll
inside me like a stone,
chews the scent from roses,
and leaves the dimples of fingertips
across my daughter’s back—
still it burrows.

(04-17-2017, 09:42 PM)Teagan Wrote:  Chiseled in Fish

Colors of sunrise
striate across an easy sky
like layers of blessing–
amethyst, garnet, tourmaline,
ribbons of grace that make
and take each day like leaves
baked a full summer on trees
to drop their sun-fried bodies
on the forest floor, layering tight
 from the top, compressing each
spent season closer to the origin.

beautiful poem.
thank you.
I can see it.

Gems

Mom was a cultured pearl
swirling in maddening opalescence,
while Mary was a flawless Tahitian,
black, pure smooth class, southern,
lustrous layers her own;
Both aware the other began
as the finest grain, they formed
a beautiful friendship, eternal,
finding themselves surrounded
by a gallery of gold & jasper.

(04-18-2017, 07:59 PM)RiverNotch Wrote:  Scripture


The first
blood diamond,
smuggled out
of a war-torn land
to be bought
by some bourgeois
prince, to be set
in the fine pendant
of his faithful
wife, to be kept
in a glass case
when she dies.

Wow! I have read this several times and this traveled everywhere in my mind.