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+--- Thread: NaPM, April 18, 2020 (/thread-22749.html)
NaPM, April 18, 2020 - Quixilated - 04-18-2020
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: Write a poem inspired by a game.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more
Questions?
RE: NaPM, April 18, 2020 - Todd - 04-19-2020
Confessions of a Slumlord
You made a wrong turn
coming here in your sports car
like you just won ten dollars
in a beauty contest,
and want to celebrate
at some gastropub. You can roll
out of here with your gentrification
back to Park Place. I see you glancing
down beneath that top hat
like I'm the criminal for letting cockroaches
live in my building—you mean
tenants, not bugs. I should go to jail
for building homes. It's my fault
that I don't have a dowsing rod
to fill the pipes with water. That I can't make
lightning light up the neighborhood.
You must think it's Christmas.
I don't own the utilities.
RE: NaPM, April 18, 2020 - dukealien - 04-19-2020
Without Nostalgia
Having played the Game of Jarts™
two yellow rings spaced far apart
at which one lobbed large pointed metal
darts with gaily colored fins
(that ancients would have recognized
as armor-piercing distance weapons)
one can sympathize with William
Tell’s first apple-holder in
ol’ Bill’s apprenticeship.
The underhand throw conduced to this.Ah, Baltic Avenue, remember it well... $4 rent and dear at the price. Nice!
(04-19-2020, 12:41 AM)Todd Wrote: Confessions of a Slumlord
You made a wrong turn
coming here in your sports car
like you just won ten dollars
in a beauty contest,
and want to celebrate
at some gastropub. You can roll
out of here with your gentrification
back to Park Place. I see you glancing
down beneath that top hat
like I'm the criminal for letting cockroaches
live in my building—you mean
tenants, not bugs. I should go to jail
for building homes. It's my fault
that I don't have a dowsing rod
to fill the pipes with water. That I can't make
lightning light up the neighborhood.
You must think it's Christmas.
I don't own the utilities.
RE: NaPM, April 18, 2020 - Keith - 04-20-2020
Bobbing for apples
My mouth never seemed big enough
I only ever bit my lip.
Head always under water
as you evaded my bite,
kept me chasing a taste.
Just sweet enough to hold me
engaged, always trying despite
bad flesh and bruises,
its hard to know which apple to avoid,
harder still to find a good one.
Each time I gave up,
your shinny red would surface
and offer me one more mouthful
of poison. I would sleep another
ten years, waiting for true loves kiss
and so the game goes on.