NaPM April 02 2016

[heslopian]

We live in twos
and I am by Myself, centre of the dichotomy.
(The left is Grave, the right is Brave.)
I can feel my head splitting open
if I run my fingers along the scalp.

It's tearing apart like two halves of an orange
in a farmer's strong and mud-stained hands
(- almost a bloody Negro, his wife jokes in bed,
with my head in two halves on the dressing-table).

- Two is the union of spirits,
jokes the barman as he mixes whiskey and scotch.

[Leanne]

I don't remember how the world turned grey
or why we stopped pretending -- just the way
we twisted into text and through our phones
we sank. I sent you sticks, you sent me stones,
and neither of us watched the ricochet.

We drained her world of joyfulness and play
and as she fell beneath our sad melee
we argued about -- what? Libido? Loans?
I don't remember.

She heard it all but, mindful to obey,
she didn't interfere, just slipped away.
Please tell me how a penitent atones
for bringing forth the flesh and leaving bones?
Dear God, no words remain, but still I pray
I don't remember.

[milo]

I don't remember how the world turned grey
or why we stopped pretending -- just the way
we twisted into text and through our phones
we sank. I sent you sticks, you sent me stones,
and neither of us watched the ricochet.

We drained her world of joyfulness and play
and as she fell beneath our sad melee
we argued about -- what?  Libido?  Loans?
I don't remember.

She heard it all but, mindful to obey,
she didn't interfere, just slipped away.
Please tell me how a penitent atones
for bringing forth the flesh and leaving bones?
Dear God, no words remain, but still I pray
I don't remember.

This is everything a rondeau should be, thank you for this, Leanne.

[Leanne]

Thank you for the prompts and persistence.

[milo]

Under the sycamore tree with Bonnie Mae
On a long gone, unforgotten Summer’s  day
And we began to talk as lovers can
About the things I could do as a man
As I would be in two weeks and a day.

I’d like to travel far away, explore
The sandy dunes of some forgotten shore
Or bear a flag for a distant foreign war
Or see the way the norther lights can burn
And go and go, never to return
Under the sycamore tree.

She said she liked her head upon my lap,
The pool of warmth, a lazy summer nap
And staying where she’d never need a map.
She said that she could make me feel that way
And if she could she knew she’d like to stay
Under the sycamore tree.

What could I do, abandon my endeavor
To occupy my life's adventures, never
Find my path but stay with her forever?
The knowledge of her simple face atones -
I killed her there and left her peaceful bones
Under the sycamore tree.

[Leanne]

Shades of Browning there, milo... you're creepy that way.

I like it

[Leanne]

AJ, I just keep reading this over and over. It's lovely.

Two lines make a couplet of words about love.
They should be placed together, entwined in love.
It is silly to ally a syllable,
without a refrain. How would we feel the love?

Ali compared the pairing to a bright stone,
shining in isolation -- a necklace of love.

All I know, is that two separate clauses
are transformed by pauses, into words of love.

[heslopian]

Two lines make a couplet of words about love.
They should be placed together, entwined in love.
It is silly to ally a syllable,
without a refrain. How would we feel the love?

Ali compared the pairing to a bright stone,
shining in isolation -- a necklace of love.

All I know, is that two separate clauses
are transformed by pauses, into words of love.

I agree with Leanne, this is really lovely, and has the soft elegance and eloquence of a Sara Teasdale or Christina Rossetti lyric poem.

[NobodyNothing]

Wow!  Some really wonderful poems in this thread.  Moved. Best string of poems I've seen compiled on this site in awhile.  Great work gang.  Thanks for the efforts from an admirer.

[heslopian]

I adore this one, milo, partly for its beautifully macabre ending, which is so much like those wonderfully twisted poems of yore which bring you soft, tranquil, pleasing, and natural images, only to round them off with brutality. It reminds me of that Siegfried Sassoon poem, whose name I can't for my life recall, about a returned WWI soldier standing at his garden gate and reflecting on England's green and pleasant land, before we find out that he lost a leg in battle and is glad to have done so, given the horrors of where he's been.

Under the sycamore tree with Bonnie Mae
On a long gone, unforgotten Summer’s  day
And we began to talk as lovers can
About the things I could do as a man
As I would be in two weeks and a day.

I’d like to travel far away, explore
The sandy dunes of some forgotten shore
Or bear a flag for a distant foreign war
Or see the way the norther lights can burn
And go and go, never to return
Under the sycamore tree.

She said she liked her head upon my lap,
The pool of warmth, a lazy summer nap
And staying where she’d never need a map.
She said that she could make me feel that way
And if she could she knew she’d like to stay
Under the sycamore tree.

What could I do, abandon my endeavor
To occupy my life's adventures, never
Find my path but stay with her forever?
The knowledge of her simple face atones -
I killed her there and left her peaceful bones
Under the sycamore tree.

---

Please tell me how a penitent atones
for bringing forth the flesh and leaving bones?

These are my favourite lines. Chilling and emotional and perfect. I feel bad about my free verse wank-stains of NaPM entries, now

[Leanne]

Wank-stains at least mean you're satisfied

[QDeathstar]

Stutter

For a second time this month
I have cut my tongue-
chewing glass.

Maybe I have been too careful
to keep scores in parity-
tasting blood.

I've been stuttering over reason
searching for a simple
"I'm sorry."

[milo]

I adore this one, milo, partly for its beautifully macabre ending, which is so much like those wonderfully twisted poems of yore which bring you soft, tranquil, pleasing, and natural images, only to round them off with brutality. It reminds me of that Siegfried Sassoon poem, whose name I can't for my life recall, about a returned WWI soldier standing at his garden gate and reflecting on England's green and pleasant land, before we find out that he lost a leg in battle and is glad to have done so, given the horrors of where he's been.

Under the sycamore tree with Bonnie Mae
On a long gone, unforgotten Summer’s  day
And we began to talk as lovers can
About the things I could do as a man
As I would be in two weeks and a day.

I’d like to travel far away, explore
The sandy dunes of some forgotten shore
Or bear a flag for a distant foreign war
Or see the way the norther lights can burn
And go and go, never to return
Under the sycamore tree.

She said she liked her head upon my lap,
The pool of warmth, a lazy summer nap
And staying where she’d never need a map.
She said that she could make me feel that way
And if she could she knew she’d like to stay
Under the sycamore tree.

What could I do, abandon my endeavor
To occupy my life's adventures, never
Find my path but stay with her forever?
The knowledge of her simple face atones -
I killed her there and left her peaceful bones
Under the sycamore tree.

---

Please tell me how a penitent atones
for bringing forth the flesh and leaving bones?

These are my favourite lines. Chilling and emotional and perfect. I feel bad about my free verse wank-stains of NaPM entries, now

Thanks, Jack, it's not like I just read leanne's and ripped it off or anything . . .

[Leanne]

Two by Two

Two by two we boarded the ark;
a safe-house built of Gopher wood.
I looked for you, but it was dark
 
and time was short; we’d soon embark
for promised, safer neighbourhoods.
Two by two we boarded. The ark
 
was huge but housed no germ, no shark—
we left them where the sinners stood.
I looked for you, but it was dark
 
and there were howls and growls and barks
at clouds above, engorged with blood.
Two by two we boarded the ark
 
and prayed a coloured bow would arc
beyond the borders of the flood.
I looked for you… but it was dark
 
and God had long since set his mark
and then He saw that it was good.
Two by two we boarded the ark
I looked for you, but it was dark.

This is great, Paul. Would love to see it reworked when the month is over, with a wee change to the refrain. Because it's a trochee, board would work better than boarded. The tense shift shouldn't matter.

[just mercedes]

You poets are wondrous! Rich and resonant work.

[Achebe]

Two roads converged

Two roads converged where a fellow stood
and my lorry's brakes – such rotten luck –
failed as only big lorry brakes could
on a blind corner in a moonlit wood
and I drove the  bastard  into the muck;
 
then rapidly parking in neutral gear
I gathered him up, now dismembered.
His face though, looked no worse for wear,
showing no final look of fear:
like his last thoughts were of joy remembered.
 
The moon fell on the eglantine
elegantly, as I scurried around
to dig a hole and throw him in
then slosh about some gasoline –
and then I heard the baleful sound
 
of approaching cars. Tossing in the pool
my match, I rigged a spit of sorts,
barbecuing like a tool.
Drivers swerved, called me a fool,
and threatened me with the law of torts.

I say this now with some despair
somewhere, in the forests sable
I roasted a man in the open air
and the taste was agreeable

[just mercedes]

Two roads converged

Two roads converged where a fellow stood
and my lorry's brakes – such rotten luck –
failed as only big lorry brakes could
on a blind corner in a moonlit wood
and I drove the  bastard  into the muck;
 
then rapidly parking in neutral gear
I gathered him up, now dismembered.
His face though, looked no worse for wear,
showing no final look of fear:
like his last thoughts were of joy remembered.
 
The moon fell on the eglantine
elegantly, as I scurried around
to dig a hole and throw him in
then slosh about some gasoline –
and then I heard the baleful sound
 
of approaching cars. Tossing in the pool
my match, I rigged a spit of sorts,
barbecuing like a tool.
Drivers swerved, called me a fool,
and threatened me with the law of torts.

I say this now with some despair
somewhere, in the forests sable
I roasted a man in the open air
and the taste was agreeable

[Tiger the Lion]

Two by Two

Two by two we boarded the ark;
a safe-house built of Gopher wood.
I looked for you, but it was dark
 
and time was short; we’d soon embark
for promised, safer neighbourhoods.
Two by two we boarded. The ark
 
was huge but housed no germ, no shark—
we left them where the sinners stood.
I looked for you, but it was dark
 
and there were howls and growls and barks
at clouds above, engorged with blood.
Two by two we boarded the ark
 
and prayed a coloured bow would arc
beyond the borders of the flood.
I looked for you… but it was dark
 
and God had long since set his mark
and then He saw that it was good.
Two by two we boarded the ark
I looked for you, but it was dark.

This is great, Paul. Would love to see it reworked when the month is over, with a wee change to the refrain. Because it's a trochee, board would work better than boarded. The tense shift shouldn't matter.

Thanks Leanne. I was aware of the meter glitch but ran out of time to fix it. Ideally I'd like to begin with "In two's we ..."
Anyway, I've been away all weekend and have some catching up to do. 
Thanks,
Paul

[Keith]

Thank you poets this is quite the eclectic collection, and a super read, well done to all...thus far...some poets still need to catch this one.