NaPM, April 1, 2020

[Quixilated]

Hello Pigpen poets!   It's that time of year again.  With everything going on in RL it almost slipped through the cracks, but we have been reminded and will do our best to post daily prompts for you.  Anyone and everyone is welcome to participate (newbies are definitely welcome!).  I am probably going to just pull topics at random from past NaPM threads, so if anyone has a fun new idea for a topic you can pm me.  

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:  Write a poem comparing sleep to an animal
Form    :  any
Line requirements:  10 lines or more.

Questions?

[Todd]

Sloth

When I was young, I imagined
sleep was a lion
come to devour me.
And I would lie restless
beneath covers straining
to hear the twig’s snap. 
When I closed my eyes, I would kink
like a hose ready to explode
in every direction. Though sleep I found
did not stalk with padded steps through the brush.
It dangled from above by its feet. 
With arms stretching toward me, it would sway
back and forth, back and forth
relentless as the unmoving hand of the clock
like the soft click of a metronome.

[CRNDLSM]

Every year I come down with a case
of impostor syndrome. While my face
maintains the facade, my fingers waste
endless tails and shells, my hosts so grace-
fully mastered the art of eating.  
I bet they have a knack for sleeping,
too.  For me, it's starving and beating
a lifeless crustacean, to keep cling-
ing to what they make it seem. My bas-
ic needs are pretty much bottom feeding.

[Quixilated]

Spider
(Or: why I don’t like falling asleep)

She is a spider with too many eyes.
I can feel her watching from behind the darkness,
her stare like needles pin-pricking my skin.
With her spindle-legs she swiftly weaves
thousands of tiny webs until they blot out the sky,
until only the tiniest points of light wink through the cracks.
She is a patient huntress.  She waits in perfect silence, 
watching her prey writhe and struggle.
When all is still she creeps noiselessly up from behind
to sink her venom deep into my weary flesh
and feast on fitful dreams until morning light.

[dukealien]

Pursuits

Sleep’s a tiger some must hunt
relentlessly through trackless thickets
jungles of dark wakefulness
with beaters - music, books, and toddies -
all the night with never sight
of slinking rest.
Others find they’re fearful prey
as walking sentry-go or sitting
at a help-desk or on stakeout
sleep will sidle up beside them
purring deeply, calming, then
it eats them up.

[Keith]

Wrapped around

It slithers slowly
with perfect design
whispers to the lonely
moments of time.

A gaze that gouges
realities face
coils that tighten
a bedding embrace.

It sheds the ideas
that memory lost
and feeds all night
till the thrashing stops.

[RiverNotch]

XII
Dewdrops drag down spoolworths
of silk, make stick on metal &
ceramic. Like twigs or leaves:
loose legs, wings. Occasional
tremors to beat the ages’ dust
off, the long-rusted faucet
overhead yet squeaks from age
to age. No one shut the main.
My guess is it’s the weather:
wind, weight, wetness. There’s
nothing else to do but guess.
When will that spider come?

[easywayout]

Dukealien, that’s lovely.

Here is my small offering:

Luckily I’ve always had a way with cats.
My sister’s tom’s been running off,
Slipping the noose,
Since kittenhood, but you,
You’re a homing one. 
You’ve never been streetwise, 
Never had much of a penchant for escape.
Your particular markings
(One grey splash distinct
On the black nap of your right flank)
Make you easy to recognise
When you melt onto my stoop
Out of the shadows,
Before I can blink.
 
One saucer of milk is all it takes;
Most nights, you pad in and lap,
And lick your whiskers clean,
Purring your happiness; 
Leap from the wicker basket,
Dispatch, with a quick claw-swipe,
A flash of fangs, whatever mice or rats
Haunt my attic;
No need for traps, with you around.
 
When the lamp goes out
You curl yourself up near my head,
Vibrant with sound:
Little motorboard, small familiar,
Guardian spirit.