April 2nd, NaPoMo 2021
#1
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.

NaPM April 2, 2021

Topic: A poem about childhood, or childhood memories

Form: Any.

Line Requirement: any

I've always had the itch,
The wild desire to scratch,
I don't mind eczema,
Or the cat allergy,
Cause it's all in my mind.
I crave it on my hands,
Like that time by the fence,
When they held me down and let them be covered in hundreds of angry ants
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#2
A day after
watching Treasure Island
for the the first time
this TV baby
found a rusted toy pirate pistol
half-buried in the bushes
in our front yard.
Cross my heart,
and hope to die.
"Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision."  Dylan Thomas
Reply
#3
One Sunday,
Aidan decided
his stuffed koala
was God.

No one objected,
so a service followed;
I wrapped God in a white vest
and He had a small bell to ring.

There were prayers, hymns,
but also some swearing;
Mum confiscated God,
saying He'd come back
once He'd learned to behave.
Reply
#4
Lessons in life part 12.....Children of the Willows

The Brook looks good
without the detergent
foaming from the factory upstream,
it closed its gates in the eighties
but the fish never came back.
It's now called a linear park
but I can still see its curves.

I can feel the asthmatic cold
of white canvas tents,
raw black spuds hot handed
from the edge of its fires.

clean pathways weave
where we once dug dens,
I walk alone in the presence of friends
and pick out a spot
to sit and smoke myself to ash.
The spiked collars of hard to cross pipes
remind me of punks too drunk to stand.

I place a hand to the rough bark
of a tree that taught me to fly
the sandstone slab looks small
as my steps retrace the take off.

Houses have been built
over most of the old routes,
but I know another way round,
everything is denser, undergrowth
heavier than I imagined,
but then the scent of trampled Jewel Weed
burst across fifty years
and all I can do is smile.

If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
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#5
Flying Lessons

I.
The boy puzzles over it
like a new toy that’s broken.

He prods it with his slingshot
prying stiff feathers open.

II.
Clumsy fingers claw the dirt
scratching out a shallow hole.

He covers up the dark spot
with dead leaves and a large stone.

III.
Green sprouts from under the stone
springing up to morning light.

Thin blades that flare and flutter
as if trying to take flight.
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#6
Shaving seems strange
Removing the lines that separate one from another
There is a scar along my left cheek bone
Like a shallow valley
Where skin parted and never properly rejoined

First there’s 2 and then there’s not
A stick, a ball, a crow
A thief that’s trying to be caught
A wheel that turns below

The mirror doesn’t have a scar
It looks back with clean smooth lines
She bragged to me once
While leaning on a fence
Throwing bread to geese
-a nesting pair-
“I’ve never broken a bone”
And I agreed
I’ve never broken one either
But I’ve had one broken
Reply
#7
Eyes of Times Past


Eyes of childhood, memories
molten serendipity
cooling, lenses molded hard
which will focus and distort
vision ever after...

Past is prologue, all unsorted
formative and unremembered
never can be what it was
but reflect forever in
eyes of experience.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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#8
She grew up in the laundromat
collectin' quarters,

She grew up in the laundromat
collectin' quarters,

Her daddy didn't have to tell her
to polish windows,

Her daddy didn't have to tell her
to polish windows,

Her mama didn't have to tell her
to leave the strangers,

Her mama didn't have to tell her
to leave the strangers,

She's cooler than the cool kids though
she's got no horns,

She's cooler than the cool kids though
she's got no horns,

They made them pick: it's her or them
who'd be their friend,

They made them pick: it's her or them
who'd be their friend,

Storm's comin' and there's no one here
who got potential,

Storm's comin' and there's no one here
who got potential,

Well she know that it's just the Lord's
spin cycle,

Well she know that it's just the Lord's
spin cycle,

He'll wash away the bullies crowdin'
the red table,

He'll wash away the bullies crowdin'
the red table,

She grew up in the laundromat
collectin' quarters,

She'll grow old in the laundromat
collectin' quarters,
Reply
#9
Me Too!


Me too! Me too!

I too, know Pepe le Pew!
I never knew you knew him too!

That stinky little stalker
would stick poems to my locker
in hopes I'd turn to goo!

Or come to my door
and knock at the knocker
while Mother was slipping to sleep
in her rocker
and Father was getting there too.

But you? 
You too?

Who knew 
that you too
knew Pepe le Pew?

It truly is a shocker!
Reply
#10
What My Children Know

They know that my days as a child
were nothing stacked upon nothing,
So, I can't be trusted
when I tell them to go outside,
that desolate place
their Mom and I visited,
and they've heard about--like Antarctica.
There are penguins, and polar bears,
and no Wi-Fi, and anyway, it's raining.
I see Thing 1 and 2 shiver
with soggy newspapers
held above their spiky blue hair.
My children cannot hear them
knocking. They will never listen
for a favorite song to play,
dial a rotary phone, be left
In the car, or wait
for a frozen lump to cook
in the oven, or wait
for anything at all.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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