NaPM April 07 2016

[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 07: Jack would like a prompt about lycanthrope so write a poem inspired by metamorphosing into an animal, being an animal or from the point of view of an animal.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[Leanne]

Oh FFS, what is it with you guys and wolves?

[milo]

Oh FFS, what is it with you guys and wolves?

ok, I thought you might want to do from the POV of a fuzzy bunny or something(?) which is why I made that option available.
(plus the other prompt was ella)
((plus plus I really do have a thing for wolves, bite me))

[just mercedes]

The lycanthrope who loved

I listen to the whispers in my veins.
I don’t belong here, this is not my land,
there’s danger here I don’t quite understand
but still my bones will grow, flesh rearrange
each month, with vicious paralyzing pain,
and leave a taste of copper on my tongue.
These mutant shifts began when I was young
as moon shone brightly on mountain and plain.

My hunger rules me. Blood is bitter bread
to steal from others, leaving them to die.
I can’t refuse the changing, don’t know why.
My homeland I recall with morbid dread
where first I saw my father as he fed
and read my fate, star-written in the sky.
How hard you fought. You didn’t want to die
but understand I loved you, as you bled.

[billy]

no red riding hood poems

[Achebe]

The lycanthrope 

I metamorphose into a wolf at inappropriate places like on the 7:15 Berowra to Central train or at CoalTrans Bali, that great annual union of the coal industry's brains. But people pretend not to notice, since it's racist in a way. Howling's different – I heard 你他妈的 at Chatswood yesterday.
 
Last week, I took a P&O cruise whilst being wolf. They asked if I was a refugee, but I said no, I work in coal, the tail's an allergy, and they said you're all right, some guy's best friend was German so he didn't really mind, but damn those refugees stinkin' up the land. So I got a ticket shoved in my hand. Metamorphosing back to human was bad – It happened halfway back to Sydney,  which found me suddenly naked in front of Vanessa and her dad. So I threw them overboard, explaining that women went first (the dad was just one for the road). As she hit the water, she shouted 'you're naked!' and I said 'no, I'm just a werewolf!'.  I thought wrongly then, our love ill fated.

Because later, when I met her under the Harbour Bridge, she was mad but just then a shaft of moonlight hit my glowing maw in the fullness of my madness of being in love, and as our lips touched she felt my backwoods breath upon her tingly lips, like spring thaw on the trees' frostbitten tips, in the dark Canadian woods where she's a rare effulgent sun in the spring that's everywhere growing, and I asked her yes? and she said yes, my Joyce, and I asked her who was Joyce, and then and we kissed.

[RiverNotch]

TWILIGHT

1
The hero's journey
cannot end in triumph. Death
is not the abyss, it is
the return, the final descent
down the mountain. To the living,
only the boon is truly known,
the summit behind the hero
reeking of corpses.

2
The war came when he was a child,
and afterwards, he joined his generation
in telling tales only of this glorious past,
choosing for himself a mundane path. He became
an officer of the law -- a guardian,
perhaps, or the dragon
holding the goddess captive. He found my grandmother
at an investigation in the provinces,
falling in love
first with her cooking,
then with her quiet rural manner.

3
Now the silence haunts him.
He sits by the door of their house
and dials up a channel
on his battery-powered radio,
a gift from his three daughters.
Before my grandmother's sickness, it would be
the news -- now that she lies on the couch,
a bag of vomit nearly spilling out beside her,
he prefers the worship channel.
But even this must end. My mother,
busy accounting for pensions,
complains about the noise.

4
Siegfried returned to the world of men
with the Tarnhelm before his death.
And as the flames of his funeral pyre
rose to the heavens, the world of the gods
burned down -- the hearts of men
were purified. That is the real boon,
the power to transform.
If my grandfather is to offer us
anything more than his life,
he must die like a dog.

[Keith]

Ha well done JM its not going to get any better than that, just excellent and a great title to boot. I'm struggling with this one.

[RiverNotch]

The lycanthrope 

I metamorphose into a wolf at inappropriate places like on the 7:15 Berowra to Central train or at CoalTrans Bali, that great annual union of the coal industry's brains. But people pretend not to notice, since it's racist in a way. Howling's different – I heard 你他妈的 at Chatswood yesterday.
 
Last week, I took a P&O cruise whilst being wolf. They asked if I was a refugee, but I said no, I work in coal, the tail's an allergy, and they said you're all right, some guy's best friend was German so he didn't really mind, but damn those refugees stinkin' up the land. So I got a ticket shoved in my hand. Metamorphosing back to human was bad – It happened halfway back to Sydney,  which found me suddenly naked in front of Vanessa and her dad. So I threw them overboard, explaining that women went first (the dad was just one for the road). As she hit the water, she shouted 'you're naked!' and I said 'no, I'm just a werewolf!'.  I thought wrongly then, our love ill fated.

Because later, when I met her under the Harbour Bridge, she was mad but just then a shaft of moonlight hit my glowing maw in the fullness of my madness of being in love, and as our lips touched she felt my backwoods breath upon her tingly lips, like spring thaw on the trees' frostbitten tips, in the dark Canadian woods where she's a rare effulgent sun in the spring that's everywhere growing, and I asked her yes? and she said yes, my Joyce, and I asked her who was Joyce, and then and we kissed.

That last, er, paragraph gets a little wonky style-wise (sure, Joyce, but it's still kinda wonky), but otherwise, neat! except maybe for the part where I ask where the lines are. xD

[bedeep]

The Change

never with the moon, it comes
according to a hidden will
although I try to track it still

the wolf shows first and teaches
how to bear the break of bone
the fleshly tear

then how to savor
blood and gristle's
thrill in the howling throat

but next my god
the hare takes hold
whose frozen stance is rank desire

and I learn prey loves its fate --
driven together each player
finds its deadly mate

this play is an ancient round
but from my ground
become tedious and stale

I strive for quietude
and dream one day
I'll learn to be a tree

and then I'll grow
so tired of loss I'll just become
a simple moss.

[Keith]

Running with the devil

I asked my mother how I got this curse
at fist she sobbed and didn't want to say,
looked away and said, they came on bikes
like demon riders howling in the night,
so frightend I was caught up by the creek
the creeps cried out they thought that beast is best
ripped vests, drank beer and shouted at the moon.
So soon my litter grew inside, she cried
with pride and told me I was number Six.

All sisters born to run before the night
in human form now ready for the fight
skin is stretched like leather studded black
and I can smell the bikers coming back.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Chicken

To be caught
in the same frame
with the black skillet

or red wheel barrow-

my fears skitter headless
through sunlit dust.

Time rumbles like a train.
I wait ‘til the last twinkle
to jump.

[cidermaid]

This one is Billy's fault.
No inspiration - and then Billy has to go and mention red riding hood - I mean Red, wolf and a hood in the same sentence is asking for it.

A Billy can full of evidence.

Red went joyriding through the woods.  I knew she would.
A flame under her hood; so naturally I popped the bonnet.
Her hair was wound around the shaft; man of Sherwood
I had to choose -- leap in, or write her a sonnet.

Aflame under a hood!  So naturally I popped the bonnet.
She gripped me to her hairy chest; I did the best I could.
I chose to leap in, rather than write a sonnet.
She said she liked to tail drift through the local woods.

I gripped her hairy chest and did the best I could.
I kept my eyes closed and tried hard not to vomit.
She said she’d like to tail drift through my local wood.
In the end, Granny came in her Bluebonnet.

I kept my eyes closed and tried hard not to vomit
Her hair was wound around the shaft.  Man of Sherwood
to the end.  Granny came in her Bluebonnet,
Red went joyriding in my wood.  I knew she would.

[milo]

my mamee told me, be care whatcha do
for the karma remember all things
and after ya die ye'll get whatcha earned
and ye'll see what 'cher good living brings

but dyin' I did and I'm calling it bunk
'cause I was reborn as a flea
and my big brother, john was reborn with a trunk
as a pachyderm, how can that be?

'cause the oliphants get a parade
ya the oliphants get a parade
my big brother john was a bully, old son
and I was reborn as a flea!
but he got it made in this karmic charade
cause the oliphants get a parade

Mike kept a shop in the heart 'o down town
and a generous shop-keep was he
and he went to the church and took care 'o his kin
and his wife and his girls (he had three)

John got to drinkin' and ran mikey down
and then Mike was reborn as a mouse
but a pachyderm charged and ran that mouse down
'cause 'ol John is now big as a house

'cause the oliphants get a parade
ya the oliphants get a parade
my big brother John was a bully, old son
and I was reborn as a flea!
but he got it made in this karmic charade
'cause the oliphants get a parade

Big Ben loved the bars and the bars was his life
and his life was spent rousin' and drinkin'
but big Ben had a temper and a very sharp knife
and would cut a man down without thinkin'

and a life spent on drinkin' and cuttin' men down
well, what does that mean for 'ol Ben?
he's reborn as a tiger and loose on the town
and he's cutting men down once again!

'cause the oliphants get a parade
ya the oliphants get a parade
my big brother John was a bully, old son
and I was reborn as a flea!
but he got it made in this karmic charade
cause the oliphants get a parade

[ellajam]

Peace For The Beast

The moon reveals its sunken cheeks
and throws the echo of your ooolll
whose empty truth's been piercing me
since days of guzzling wine in school.
I hear you like your blood still raged,
as if tonight you dialed me up
to serenade our common sky
with gutting strains of steel guitar.


You always kept me safe, held off
until the bloody aftermath
then stumbled weakly to my door
in search of one who sees you still
as human, though your eyes are glazed
when you collapse safe in my arms,
your psyche torn and body spent
from yet another beastly war.

We lived much longer than we'd planned
repeating patterns set in youth,
we kept each other company
until your blind eye missed that truck.
Now still, beneath a summer moon
I feel your breath and hear your ooolll.

[Todd]

How We Have Changed

I watch you while you sleep,
nestled into the depression
of the bed, that my body left,
a shared warmth I no longer feel.
Has this emptiness always been
a part of me? The moon leaches
the light from my skin like smoke
rising from a fire, and I settle
into the darkness of our small room.
The pale light rests on you,
holds you motionless,
like a photograph, a captured moment.
The slats of the blinds rattle
in the night breeze, and their shadows
cover you in bars. I feel the hair
on my arms bristle at the captivity.

[milo]

How We Have Changed

I watch you while you sleep,
nestled into the depression
of the bed, that my body left,
a shared warmth I no longer feel.
Has this emptiness always been
a part of me? The moon leaches
the light from my skin like smoke
rising from a fire, and I settle
into the darkness of our small room.
The pale light rests on you,
holds you motionless,
like a photograph, a captured moment.
The slats of the blinds rattle
in the night breeze, and their shadows
cover you in bars. I feel the hair
on my arms bristle at the captivity.

Very restrained 
Very nice.
Love the double use of bars.

[Todd]

Thank you, milo

[Leanne]

Paschal Mystery

The key to all the world's best stories lies
in character; the mystery of man
renews when humans anthropomorphise
the beast, whose virtues fit the author's plan.
From small, I grew like only legends can,
and altered from the pagan to the Cross,
with powers only I, of all my clan
possess. Now I rule Easter like a boss.
If sometimes through the year I feel the loss
of bunny girls to cuddle, I get by
with these new hands, and musing as I toss, 
on swings and roundabouts.  To qualify:
It's quite a leap from chewing roots and grass
to shitting chocolate eggs from out your arse.

[milo]

Paschal Mystery

The key to all the world's best stories lies
in character; the mystery of man
renews when humans anthropomorphise
the beast, whose virtues fit the author's plan.
From small, I grew like only legends can,
and altered from the pagan to the Cross,
with powers only I, of all my clan
possess. Now I rule Easter like a boss.
If sometimes through the year I feel the loss
of bunny girls to cuddle, I get by
with these new hands, and musing as I toss, 
on swings and roundabouts.  To qualify:
It's quite a leap from chewing roots and grass
to shitting chocolate eggs from out your arse.

>< 

Bravo! Bravo!