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 26: Write a poem inspired by a famous story told from the perspective of a minor character.
Form: any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

A message home


I won’t be home for dinner. Ask your mother
to feed the dogs, make sure the gates are locked.
If she needs money, tell her, ask her brother,
I’ll fix him up when I get back. Road’s blocked,

the traffic snarled and sprawled along the highway.
It must be big, whatever caused all this.
There’s smoke clouds in the city, sirens always,
a crowd of cops. A bomb that didn’t miss?

The skyline sits there where it should, but changed
a bit. What is the difference? Missing towers?
It could just be my angle, or the range.
I’ll work it out. I’ll be stuck here for hours.

The planes lined up to land have flown away.
Some bad’s gone down. Just what’s the date today?

Wonderful Things


We see nothing but sand. Sand
by the bucketful, by the broken-back
weight of each days' labour.

Piastres for our pain, water
measured by the warm mouthful,
sun baking us black as bread,

and we work, and pray, and work.
Sand gives way to stone, to steps,
to the dry-mouthed hope of something

more; that fortune has favoured us.
Swept aside like dust, we understand
the Effendi's reply and rejoice, unseen.



.

I Got the Umbrella


They can’t fool me:
what good to a tiger
are shoes, or pants,
or a little jacket?
That dark Tamil boy
laughing naked up a tree—
they might as well
have let him keep them.
But I got the umbrella:
what could be more suitable,
more beautiful for a tiger
who, after all, is a cat
and hates rainy water
than this wonderful umbrella?
That’s why these other tigers
are chasing me around
and around, and around
they want my umbrella
faster, faster, they will never
catch me at this speed
but running is such pleasure
in itself, in sunlight,
merging, melting, sliding
after me, into ghee,
lying in a lapping ring
burning tiger-bright
as that little black boy
starts to climb down.

@just mercedes - Admirable use of the form, recognition dawns just at the turn.  "Some bad's gone down" is particularly good, brutal - puts one in mind of the Murderer's "Let it come down" in the Scottish play.

(04-27-2018, 09:33 AM)dukealien Wrote:  @just mercedes - Admirable use of the form, recognition dawns just at the turn.  "Some bad's gone down" is particularly good, brutal - puts one in mind of the Murderer's "Let it come down" in the Scottish play.

Thanks DA

Mein Gott, 
They raise their guns against me
This Mud, this suppurating Muck,
Is it blood or dirt?
Mein Gott, Mein Fuhrer?
A lost boy.

The First Victim

I didn't know what was happening
until his teeth pierced my neck-
the initial bite clumsy, uneven,
the second less messy, but still sharp
as harpoons lodged in skin,
my struggle causing more tears.

Blood loss, eyes closed like
an obedient wife on her honeymoon,
only to open and look one last time
at the night sky, stars burning bright as lies,
the last word I heard a muffled,
"Sorry."

The Right to be Unhappy

There is no soul only soma.
Life should not form outside
the hatcheries.  The savage
only appears naïve. He is not
like the dwarfed alphas.
His sky is an emptiness
that stretches further than the eye
was designed to see. This bare space
enters him, and he cannot be full. The only kiss
he can offer is from the whip.

Suggestion for a Mod


If only Kendal Mint Cakes
instead of Sweetrolls.
I could pacify bandits,
wraiths, even trolls
with these delights.

Sweet and minty --
less strong when covered
in chocolate, yet somehow more seductive --
that's all there is
to sugar, glucose, and pepermint.

No rhyme, no meter.
Only a shout
from the top of the world:
if only we had more!

Goodnight, goodnight, my Mini-Me,
my giant stuffed in two-foot-eight.
Go soar above the parodies-
goodnight. Goodnight my Mini-Me,
my clone, my son, my progeny,
there's still a couple sleeps to wait.
Goodnight, goodnight, my Mini-Me
my giant stuffed in two-foot-eight.