NaPM April 15 2014

[milo]

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 15: write a poem about a journey.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[ChristopherSea]

Safe Harbor

Sipped tall Singapore Slings
on a trip to Shanghai,
during a shakedown cruise
beneath star-strangled nights.

Sea winds became music,
the waves, a woman’s hips.
Adventures foreshadowed
in the mirrored jade swells.

The crew readied their ropes,
as moorings spread their thighs.
Our port-o-call issued
smoke - music - buzzing crowds.

Exotic dancers call
from sultry cabarets;
old steamer bellies rust
in stagnant inky brine.

[Erthona]

The morning air was crisp, the sky was bright,
with the smell of pine in the air as I began my drive
up Wolf Creek pass's 8% grade in late summer.
The further up towards its 10,857foot peak,
the icier the road became,
until I could get no more traction.
I had to face facts,
despite the thousand foot
drop-off on one side,
and shear rock face on the other,
I was going to have to turn around.
I put it in reverse an began to slowly
back towards the side with the drop-off.
Just as I was horizontal in the road,
completely blocking both lanes
an 18 wheeler came barreling down towards me.
I did the only I could do, I stomped on the gas.
Miraculously a small aspen tree that I had not seen
caught me and kept me from going over the edge.
The truck driver, eyes wide
looking like he was demon possessed,
was blasting his loud horn
and laughing his ass off,
as he slipped by me by mere inches.

I limped back down the road,
passing the "Happy Valley Trailer Park"
and finally rolling into the town
of South Fork at the bottom of the pass.
I stopped in at the "Red Rock Inn"
had a couple of shots of Jack Daniels,
grabbed a six pack of Olies,
and checked into a motel room.
I did my best to go to sleep,
hoping not to wake
until my horn blasted nerves
had stopped their jangling;
so the next morning
I would be able to shave
without committing suicide.

[fim]

The Meadow on the Mountain

The trail, twisting and treacherous,
the destination obscured in cloud,
tales of adventurers' misfortune
circulated by curious crowds

comprised of those unwilling to risk
to stand where few ever stood,
perplexed by those who venture forth
compelled by the belief they could.

Teddy penned, "cold and timid souls"
an admonition to take heart
to follow trails your dreams detail
and not stop before you start.

I raise my glass to the stout-hearted,
beguiling quest be damned,
life is too short and common
to let one's lion act like a lamb.

POET'S NOTE: thanks for the invite Chris! For the record, I like yours more than mine. Cheers.

[ChristopherSea]

The Meadow on the Mountain

The trail, twisting and treacherous,
the destination obscured in cloud,
tales of adventurers' misfortune
circulated by curious crowds

comprised of those unwilling to risk
to stand where few ever stood,
perplexed by those who venture forth
compelled by the belief they could.

Teddy penned, "cold and timid souls"
an admonition to take heart
to follow trails your dreams detail
and not stop before you start.

I raise my glass to the stout-hearted,
beguiling quest be damned,
life is too short and common
to let one's lion act like a lamb.

POET'S NOTE: thanks for the invite Chris! For the record, I like yours more than mine. Cheers.

This is fine. The idea is put out one a day (or as many as you have time for) and then rework them later into better pieces.

[Brownlie]

I hopped aboard a bullet train
Beholding etched out marks
On plastic screens between myself
And speeding films apart

The nazi signs were just the notes
Of some besotted youth
Who sought to own a piece of steel
By scratching up a booth

A preacher man sat next to me
And disavowed the state
To help a brother earn a buck
He signed a ballot slate

He spoke about Egyptian plagues
That softened hardened hearts
And set his steadied finger pointed
Towards a supposed tart

I climbed from out a painted cave
And fancied I was home
Amidst the silver towers high
That pierced a greater dome

I wandered through the streets amongst
The wandered blackened feet
And wondered why my unshorn face
Should grow a manly sleet

I felt myself a tender egg
A fused set of crowns
Enameled white and smooth with yolk
And void of yolk in bounds

Inside, my yellow running self
Was set apart by all
The forces that could crack my shell
By a fluid lack of gall

“Ah me,” I thought “a yellow worth
Less sun encased unformed
And void of light to pass through molds
Of potent stuff unborn

I thought that I was surely ripe
And fattened on the vine
Awaiting some fateful plucking fall
From forces such as time.

At my musings end I figured
That death would come
Big or small and I laid my eyes
Upon the preacher’s burn

And saw his flaccid spit- fire rage
and saw his visage born
anew in dazzling robes of white
and shrugged myself forewarned

[cidermaid]

From the present assent to base camp
represents a descent of formidable proportions.
Hours of nervous contemplations,
planning and preparation
occupied my mind as the dawn
pierces my womb of warmth, low on the horizon.

Pain receptors snap and trigger conditioned reactions
at the instruction to break camp.
The signal snakes down the last link in the spine
and jumps across a hip overhang.
Causing minor tremors to ripple
through the tight fibres of straining muscles.

The expected avalanche comes.
Grumbles that first burst through the gap
and thunder down the micro fault lines,
purple traces that are just visible in places
where rivers of previous damage has flooded
an area and recorded the event in static.

Once the chain reaction has started
the only protection is to stop and hang on
to something solid. Stranded on the stairs
I laugh and cry simultaneously.
I will not be achieving my final objective
any time soon. Dam this Devon long house!

[ChristopherSea]

From the present assent to base camp
represents a descent of formidable proportions.
Hours of nervous contemplations,
planning and preparation
occupied my mind as the dawn
pierces my womb of warmth, low on the horizon.

Pain receptors snap and trigger conditioned reactions
at the instruction to break camp.
The signal snakes down the last link in the spine
and jumps across a hip overhang.
Causing minor tremors to ripple
through the tight fibres of straining muscles.

The expected avalanche comes.
Grumbles that first burst through the gap
and thunder down the micro fault lines,
purple traces that are just visible in places
where rivers of previous damage has flooded
an area and recorded the event in static.

Once the chain reaction has started
the only protection is to stop and hang on
to something solid. Stranded on the stairs
I laugh and cry simultaneously.
I will not be achieving my final objective
any time soon. Dam this Devon long house!

This reminded me of the scifi novel/movie, 'Fantastic Journey', one through your own body. It is an interesting take on the theme with a humorous twist. Sorry about the flood. Hopefully, your livestock didn't drown in their half of the house.

[cidermaid]

This reminded me of the scifi novel/movie, 'Fantastic Journey', one through your own body. It is an interesting take on the theme with a humorous twist. Sorry about the flood. Hopefully, your livestock didn't drown in their half of the house.

Hi Chris - thanks for sharing your thoughts...I can see the fantastic journey connection, I did not intend any images for water floods or a humerous twist...I was obviously trying to be too subtle with my images (was aiming for the difficultis of the journey from bed to sofa for someone with cronic sciatica). Based on your read i think a drastic re-write might be called for. But your read was still valid and interesting, I can see where you have picked up your thoughts.

[ChristopherSea]

This reminded me of the scifi novel/movie, 'Fantastic Journey', one through your own body. It is an interesting take on the theme with a humorous twist. Sorry about the flood. Hopefully, your livestock didn't drown in their half of the house.

Hi Chris - thanks for sharing your thoughts...I can see the fantastic journey connection, I did not intend any images for water floods or a humerous twist...I was obviously trying to be too subtle with my images (was aiming for the difficultis of the journey from bed to sofa for someone with cronic sciatica). Based on your read i think a drastic re-write might be called for. But your read was still valid and interesting, I can see where you have picked up your thoughts.

Yes, I got all of that struggle with chronic back ache and the painful 'journey' through the house, but I took the penultimate stanza as a flood in the lower level and her giving up with a sense of humor in the absurdity of the confounded problem (lumbago and house flood). Nonetheless, I did sense a trip through the protagonist's agonized body, especially with the detail that you used in the extended geological metaphor. Also, when I looked up long house, I saw that the lower level was used to house livestock.

[Keith]

One, two, three

And then make sure your eyes are shut,
just behind your fleetest foot,
you follow the only liquid light,
hold it tight until its dry,
within the memory of your eye
a planet is created.
Soon you will see a black spot moon,
each blink released beneath the dunes
that lights your mind in a deeper place
base jumping spiral stellar trace,
to roll round worlds and burn up lines
capture clouds on platelets of rhyme,
sky write a wave curled under an ocean,
set out full sail to a clearer notion,
that the world you knew has gone.

98, 99, 100
Open them up
coming ready or not

[Mopkins]

The soul, some say, it journeys through
many lives, not just one.
I hope it’s true, I like to think
that when my days are done
that even though I’m not perfect
and made many mistakes
my soul shall persevere upon
a path my karma makes.

[ellajam]

Mount Kilimanjaro rises lush
above the dusty roads that channel
business towards Arusha,
a city built to collect foreign currency.
We change money, plan trips and dance,
then spend the next weeks on long
rides through nowhere with their silent
sleepless nights and brilliant
days illuminating running herds,
the daily markets and evening laughter
of stand-off trading, who'll best
who. Then back to Arusha, to dance
all night and buy a way to Zanzibar.

Zanzibar, free to roam back alleys
because all eyes were on the tourists,
it seemed the whole island knew
what each of us had done each day.
Printed fabric and fish in coconut milk,
swimming, swahili and grins.

The wipeout of standing
where the kidnapped
waited, the land
still holds their desperation,
the ocean endless.