NaPM April 06 2016

[milo]

On Everton Brow

On Everton Brow a tower stands
where once Prince Rupert led his bands;
a lock-up first, for drunks and thieves
turned symbol sewn on jersey sleeves—
my father’s monument, his land.
 
Too young and by his wife’s demands
he left his home and washed his hands
of every dream that he’d conceived
on Everton Brow.
 
And every year he’d make his plans—
a fortnight in the motherland—
a vain endeavour to retrieve
a boyish heart that once believed
both Prince and pauper take their stands
on Everton Brow.

very smooth, nice rondeau

[Leanne]

Paul, I agree with milo, your rondeau is perfect (and I'm not a bit biased since it's also my favourite form). I'm also partial to Everton because Tim Cahill

[Tiger the Lion]

Paul, I agree with milo, your rondeau is perfect (and I'm not a bit biased since it's also my favourite form).  I'm also partial to Everton because Tim Cahill

Thanks Milo and Leanne. First time I've actually completed a rondeau. To my ear they always sound derivative of "In Flanders Fields" - possibly the most well known poem here in Canada. And yes, was always a fan of Tim Cahill. 

[vagabond]

the body

the stench in this chamber
must be repressed,
if not it´s much harder
to cut through the flesh,
and open the chest,
the heart is beautiful still
when it rests.
it was you who did this.

tedious work,
to separate layers of gore.
he´s finally freed of his shell,
like his brothers, lies bare:
the recurrent nerve.
now shower,
wash off clouds of formaline
go home
and repeat your anatomy.

my contribution as zombie.
this is not meant to be taken very seriously, but hey morbid fascination can count to euphoria, or not?

---

[Lizzie]

What I Love Now


I love sheets of granite,
beds of river stones,

tortoises – patient as sloths,
ancient as Galapagos –

and behemoth trees, ring after ring expanding,
with roots like 1,000 heads,

and Holstein heifers drawn safe
inside a fenced pasture.

I saw a cloud
that had your rib cage,

your face,
your hands

and tried to talk to it
with nothing left to say

that I didn't already scream
just before orgasm,

until it dissipated
like a flimsy bit of steam.

[vagabond]

lizzie, i like the way you paint orgasm..
here´s the poem i first wanted to post (instead of that joke i wrote above)

chords

my strings weren´t moved
for so long.
the songs i recalled,
out of tune.
now there´s resonance
in this void, separating atoms.
in this thin air
you´re weaving
my missing chords.