NaPM April 03 2016

[ellajam]

a moon face of freckles and ginger hair,

is great!

ha, maybe I could aim for 30 great lines in 30 days. xo

[Tracy Mitchell]

  A Dance for Francis, et. al.

Refreshingly, Francis, you are ready.
No bargaining, no whining.  Of course you
bring reform, traipse among the chiseled poor,
throw off the trappings of ungainly wealth.
Ready, when I come to call you to dance.

This cannot be a way of recompense.
I, Dag Hammarskjöld, must negotiate
an earthly peace, a new way for our globe.
Who could dance, anyway, in an airplane?

Yes Jimmy, you understand too, I think.
A quick take of cancer was my hello.
You watch elections to gauge if they’re fair–
you will learn that fair is never my game.

I mean, you know, I don’t really get it-
I didn’t mean to tweet you but guess what,
I could fake a dance like that, I suppose–
easy steps, rattling bones, where you lead.

Bullet-proof to the end, I love your heart.
A rope choker in the Bakken oil fields,
it won’t be the mud, the blood that kill you.
And it won’t be a derrick run amok.
Drop your tool belt and swap out your work boots.
Shake, rattle, and roll, baby- time to dance!

Sweat, folly, three kinds of nobility-
shed all together, you haven’t a choice.
The conga line is long, deep, and level.
I am the dust-bringer, my gift to you-
the forever black beyond tomorrow.

[bedeep]

  A Dance for Francis, et. al.

Refreshingly, Francis, you are ready.
No bargaining, no whining.  Of course you
bring reform, traipse among the chiseled poor,
throw off the trappings of ungainly wealth.
Ready, when I come to call you to dance.

This cannot be a way of recompense.
I, Dag Hammarskjöld, must negotiate
an earthly peace, a new way for our globe.
Who could dance, anyway, in an airplane?

Yes Jimmy, you understand too, I think.
A quick take of cancer was my hello.
You watch elections to gauge if they’re fair–
you will learn that fair is never my game.

I mean, you know, I don’t really get it-
I didn’t mean to tweet you but guess what,
I could fake a dance like that, I suppose–
easy steps, rattling bones, where you lead.

Bullet-proof to the end, I love your heart.
A rope choker in the Bakken oil fields,
it won’t be the mud, the blood that kill you.
And it won’t be a derrick run amok.
Drop your tool belt and swap out your work boots.
Shake, rattle, and roll, baby- time to dance!

Sweat, folly, three kinds of nobility-
shed all together, you haven’t a choice.
The conga line is long, deep, and level.
I am the dust-bringer, my gift to you-
the forever black beyond tomorrow.

Great read. Love this line especially:

The conga line is long, deep, and level.

[Keith]

Field mice in my pocket

Mother was too pale to cough black,
Father became the house,
a face of weathered granite
melded with the stones,
kept crooked with a constant wind
raging off the moors.

When I look to the fields
the scarecrow sees me,
he's been whispering.
When the weathervane turns
his snakes hiss across the crops,
I don’t want to listen anymore
but the ground connects us.

I watch the walls at night
my back to the flames,
creatures come to dance behind me.
He told me not to turn
so I watch a life of shadows
flying with the sun and rain,
straining to see the subtleties.

He's moving closer to the house,
I call the children in from the washing line
they've been out all day
flapping like larks on the breeze.
I hold them to my cheek smell their folded hair.

He's outside the window now,
I haven’t moved for days.
The house growls as the wind changes direction
and he's sitting at my table,
insects sprawling from his outstretched hands.

It only takes a touch.

I’m in the top field
listening for two travelers
as they cross the moors,
one is very weak so I tell him
he wont make the journey.

Then I move a little closer,
I know he can hear me.

[heslopian]

The two-step darkly

Whimper and wallow in your self
pity a life of waste; ready your husk
to tread the floorboards of my house.

Hearten to the evening's call.
No walls of pain beyond
only solace in the arms of your demise.

Draw me near like autumn draws
a winter where no spring follows.
How you lived; how you failed to live.

The abyss cares not for queens or beggars
I only admit entrance to those willing or no
I am only the entrance and exit.

Let us leave like a memory, let us wash us away
you and I, you in your riches and poverty;
you in your youth and age... all of you.

Come or wait; do not wait too long though,
lest i take you like the wind takes a leaf;
without consent.

I haven't read a poem by you in soooo long, this was a breath of fresh air. It's a pretty good poem, too  I love the last two lines, in particular.

---

Thanatos

I lay deep within the crevices
of the unknown.
Many know me yet do not.
None have seen me
but cannot erase my image.

Some believe they have the answer.
Others refuse to give me credit.
Few live as if I do not exist.
Fools.

I have seen many faces.
Traveled vast distances.
All in the pursuit
to get what I deserve. Should this be "of what I deserve", as in "the pursuit of..."?
To get my rightful earnings.

I will pluck every fruit.
Steal each bond.
Destroy all earnings.
And replace nothing.

I am the angel.
I am the beast.
I am the savior.
I am death personified.

For someone who only got into poetry recently, you ain't 'alf bad  This is an interesting approach to the danse macabre theme.

[QDeathstar]

Drips Are Agony
Drips are agony
used for torture and
to track times passage
over old men.

Paint drips down newly
created masterpieces spoiling
a last chance at happiness.

Water drips through the damn;
impending failure will overwhelm
children playing in the valley below.

Blood drips from the edge
of a midlife crisis ending-
wrapped around a sycamore tree.

Time drips away in seconds,
tapping on shoulders harder
and harder; accumulating force--
driving me into the ground.

[milo]

Come labourer, come king and pope
abandon dread and joy and hope
step lightly now and all join hands
for now it's time to join the Danse.

Don't stop to call your mortgage broker
or play that winning hand at poker
cancel your vacation plans
tonight it's time to join the Danse.

And you there with that razor blade
regretting every choice you made
delay that thought and save your hands
for you can come and join the Danse

Play lottery? Make birthday wishes?
Clean the house or do the dishes?
Forget the laundry and the pans
tonight's the night you join the Danse

And every cop and every prole
and every family on the dole
and even that immortal soul
will come with us to foreign lands
and join in that eternal Danse.

[NobodyNothing]

^^^ Delightful poem, Milo.

[milo]

^^^ Delightful poem, Milo.

Thanks!

---

Field mice in my pocket

Mother was too pale to cough black,
Father became the house,
a face of weathered granite
melded with the stones,
kept crooked with a constant wind
raging off the moors.

When I look to the fields
the scarecrow sees me,
he's been whispering.
When the weathervane turns
his snakes hiss across the crops,
I don’t want to listen anymore
but the ground connects us.

I watch the walls at night,
my back to the flames.
Creatures come to dance behind me,
he told me not to turn
so I watch a life of shadows
flying with the sun and rain,
straining to see the subtleties.

He's moving closer to the house,
I call the children in from the washing line
they've been out all day
flapping like larks on the breeze.
I hold them too my cheek smell their folded hair.

He's outside the window now,
I haven’t moved for days.
The house growls as the wind changes direction
and he's sitting at my table,
insects sprawling from his outstretched hands.

It only takes a touch.

I’m in the top field
listening for two travelers
as they cross the moors,
one is very weak so I tell him
he wont make the journey.

Then I move a little closer,
I know he can hear me.

This is thoroughly enjoyable!

[Todd]

Field mice in my pocket

Mother was too pale to cough black,
Father became the house,
a face of weathered granite
melded with the stones,
kept crooked with a constant wind
raging off the moors.

When I look to the fields
the scarecrow sees me,
he's been whispering.
When the weathervane turns
his snakes hiss across the crops,
I don’t want to listen anymore
but the ground connects us.

I watch the walls at night,
my back to the flames.
Creatures come to dance behind me,
he told me not to turn
so I watch a life of shadows
flying with the sun and rain,
straining to see the subtleties.

He's moving closer to the house,
I call the children in from the washing line
they've been out all day
flapping like larks on the breeze.
I hold them too my cheek smell their folded hair.

He's outside the window now,
I haven’t moved for days.
The house growls as the wind changes direction
and he's sitting at my table,
insects sprawling from his outstretched hands.

It only takes a touch.

I’m in the top field
listening for two travelers
as they cross the moors,
one is very weak so I tell him
he wont make the journey.

Then I move a little closer,
I know he can hear me.

Wow Keith! This is fantastic.

There have been other great poems on all days but I'm barely able to comment while I'm trying to write to the prompt. I had to say something about this one though. Start to finish--loved it.

[Todd]

Favorite Stanza milo:

And you there with that razor blade
regretting every choice you made
delay that thought and save your hands
for you can come and join the Danse

I'm not sure why but the poem reminds me of Larkin.

[Keith]

Thank you Milo and Todd much appreciated, I have been resisting to comment as sometimes the threads get so big its easy to miss stuff, all the poems thus far have been bloody brilliant, such a great reads and interesting topics. I think I will just have to comment the poems are so good, maybe if I stay in the quick reply and then name the poet so that the thread stays clean, yes that might work, thanks again.

[Leanne]

Catching up 


Danse-off

Grim came knocking on my door the other night,
but I’d had a drink and was ready for a fight.
When he said “come” I was ready with an answer –
you all know drink makes you such an awesome dancer.
“Outside, bony, we’re gonna have a dance off.”
”Fine with me – you gonna do it with your pants off?”
Seemed a little cold so I got into my trackie,
had a last drag on my final bit of ‘baccy,
found some beats, started shakin’ this fine booty,
Death just watched – he was looking kind of snooty,
I boogied old-school, did the robot, did a spin,
thanks to the vodka, I was due a vicious win --
ended it with jazz hands, just to be a bit ironic,
changed the beat and suddenly old Bones went supersonic.
Man, he was hippin’, he was hoppin’, he was jumpin’,
he’s poppin’ suicides, the beat was really thumpin’,
then he’s hit the ground in a spin and tried a freezer,
that’s when it all came apart for that old geezer --
off came his skull, bounced and smashed against a rock,
and that’s why a skeleton shouldn’t pop and lock.

[Keith]

Oh, it didn't come easy. At one point I slammed my fist on the desk and almost spilt me Coke everywhere

It was worth it Jack, this is just a marvellous read, thanks for the poem and the prompt. Keith

---

Danse-Off LMAO Leanne, excellent moves

“Outside, bony, we’re gonna have a dance off.”
”Fine with me – you gonna do it with your pants off?”
Seemed a little cold so I got into my trackie,
had a last drag on my final bit of ‘baccy

Love it

[Tiger the Lion]

Parade

A bony man on a sickly horse
came cantering my way.
They had no mind to alter course
on this or any day.
 
Behind them a parade of fools
danced slightly out of step—
undead, as if a band of ghouls,
they laughed until they wept.
 
I followed them with potency;
a darling bud of May.
I had no mind to alter course,
but stepped with all the fray.
 
By dusk we reached a common grave
and balked to read the names
inscribed by bony hands that waved
not one of us away.

[Weeded]

Catching up 


Danse-off

Grim came knocking on my door the other night,
but I’d had a drink and was ready for a fight.
When he said “come” I was ready with an answer –
you all know drink makes you such an awesome dancer.
“Outside, bony, we’re gonna have a dance off.”
”Fine with me – you gonna do it with your pants off?”
Seemed a little cold so I got into my trackie,
had a last drag on my final bit of ‘baccy,
found some beats, started shakin’ this fine booty,
Death just watched – he was looking kind of snooty,
I boogied old-school, did the robot, did a spin,
thanks to the vodka, I was due a vicious win --
ended it with jazz hands, just to be a bit ironic,
changed the beat and suddenly old Bones went supersonic.
Man, he was hippin’, he was hoppin’, he was jumpin’,
he’s poppin’ suicides, the beat was really thumpin’,
then he’s hit the ground in a spin and tried a freezer,
that’s when it all came apart for that old geezer --
off came his skull, bounced and smashed against a rock,
and that’s why a skeleton shouldn’t pop and lock.

 I enjoyed this alot. Very Run DMC-esque 

[RiverNotch]

Been a busy two days -- tried writing through a con, ended up with shite to be redone. Here's the redone:

My holy brother passing hushed
through loud skomorokh crowds,
diamond eyes betray your lies,
and snorts betray your scorn!

Though you have wisdom, you have Faith,
your Hope is yet assured:
for you, there is no Love in masques,
just faces torn by glue!

[Todd]

Cool prompt, but found it difficult.

When Your Child Dies
 
You move across an Arthur Murray landscape
letting your body carry you,
in near robotic precision through
the preordained steps of mourning.
He died in spite of your riches, or she because
of your poverty, and all that is left is poverty.
Your words dance ahead, and you will grope
for an image to articulate the unspoken. You will kneel
at the graveside, hold a balloon in your hands
and search for the ephemeral inside.
Does it hold a smirk, or a laugh? It will not hold
your child's soul. It will simply be tied by a string
to your heart and released to the sky
to pull you to your feet, to seed the clouds
of this and every other morning.