NaPM, April 18, 2020

[Quixilated]

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 inspired by a game.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[Todd]

Confessions of a Slumlord

You made a wrong turn
coming here in your sports car
like you just won ten dollars
in a beauty contest,
and want to celebrate
at some gastropub. You can roll
out of here with your gentrification
back to Park Place. I see you glancing
down beneath that top hat
like I'm the criminal for letting cockroaches
live in my building—you mean
tenants, not bugs. I should go to jail
for building homes. It's my fault
that I don't have a dowsing rod
to fill the pipes with water. That I can't make
lightning light up the neighborhood.
You must think it's Christmas. 
I don't own the utilities.

[dukealien]

Without Nostalgia


Having played the Game of Jarts™
two yellow rings spaced far apart
at which one lobbed large pointed metal
darts with gaily colored fins
(that ancients would have recognized
as armor-piercing distance weapons)
one can sympathize with William
Tell’s first apple-holder in
ol’ Bill’s apprenticeship.

The real fun commenced when a player, drunk, accidentally threw a Jart™ more or less straight up.   The underhand throw conduced to this.

---

Ah, Baltic Avenue, remember it well... $4 rent and dear at the price.  Nice!

Confessions of a Slumlord

You made a wrong turn
coming here in your sports car
like you just won ten dollars
in a beauty contest,
and want to celebrate
at some gastropub. You can roll
out of here with your gentrification
back to Park Place. I see you glancing
down beneath that top hat
like I'm the criminal for letting cockroaches
live in my building—you mean
tenants, not bugs. I should go to jail
for building homes. It's my fault
that I don't have a dowsing rod
to fill the pipes with water. That I can't make
lightning light up the neighborhood.
You must think it's Christmas. 
I don't own the utilities.

[Keith]

Bobbing for apples

My mouth never seemed big enough
I only ever bit my lip.
Head always under water
as you evaded my bite,
kept me chasing a taste.

Just sweet enough to hold me
engaged, always trying despite
bad flesh and bruises,
its hard to know which apple to avoid,
harder still to find a good one.

Each time I gave up,
your shinny red would surface
and offer me one more mouthful
of poison. I would sleep another
ten years, waiting for true loves kiss
and so the game goes on.