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Joined: Aug 2016
04-19-2021, 07:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-19-2021, 07:46 AM by CRNDLSM.)
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 19, 2021
Topic: Write a poem that tells a story which is a mystery that doesn't tell the solution
Form: any
Line Requirement: any
Strange, this morning my socks matched.
Come to think of it, they were
folded. No holes in the heel
or toes. I don't recognize
these at all. Is it farfetched
Lyzz bought me new ones, and they're
washed already? Can I tell?
The whole drawer is folded in rows, was it me? Who knows...
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Posts: 848
Threads: 231
Joined: Oct 2012
Secret society...Fingerprint ID in blood
It could have been penned by Enid Blyton,
a bunch of kids finding a secret panel,
peeling back the carpet in the pantry,
a hidden door to the houses underbelly
we even had a dog.
Through a small wooden frame we found our room
carpeted with an off-cuts from the last years lounge
this quickly became our hideaway,
furnished with bits from the rubbish tip,
complete with candles and a tape recorder.
It was from that control center our cases were solved,
neatly wrote up and filed in a box,
including the mystery of the milk bottle tops.
When neighbours complained of damage done early
by visiting vandals or something more scary.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
Posts: 894
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Joined: Jan 2021
The Gospel of Lazarus
Wasted away
I finally passed on,
leaving my diseased body behind.
I was four days into the Bardo
past the deep numinous blue
and I didn’t flee from the white light
of my evil deeds,
I overcame my fondness for Hell.
My name had been called,
the six bodies of enlightenment were shining on me.
My sister shows up
with this song and dance magician
from Nazareth, he drags me out of Bardo
away from the clear light
back into the husk of flesh,
and I said to him,
“Who do I have to pay
To get out going through
these things twice?”
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Survivor
Very well the sea has cleaned
the hundred shapes of soles
from the exploded beaches,
leaving clean the commonplaces.
Pretend not to hear
the spitting rounds of the patrols;
the half-forgotten faces
who slithered, slobbering in the holes.
Dim reminders of tedious years.
Along the cape, a ten watt bulb is best
in sand flea, furnished flop rooms.
Old mistakes don’t look real now.
The lean bone wants real rest-
not half.
Best watch out bone,
the sea hears real damn well.
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Joined: Nov 2015
Inconclusive
Through solid stone two sets of tracks extend:
of an apatosaur whose massive feet
left basin-sized depressions where they wend,
another, smaller, clawed, long-striding, fleet
carnivorous pursuer’s. May we say
one hundred million years beyond their age
that they were made the same Jurassic day?
We can, because that raptor in his rage
stepped in and marred those brontosaurus tracks!
How did it end, apatosaur engaged
resisting carnosaurian attacks
or both brought low by muddy tidal wave
which saved their traces to delight a mind?
We don’t know – nature simply didn’t save
this trackway’s end for anyone to find.
Non-practicing atheist
Posts: 58
Threads: 3
Joined: Mar 2021
He did not wake but rose from bed, as silent as the snow
already piling on the lane; his walk was soft and slow
yet purposeful; beneath the hedge the vixen watched him pass,
not knowing that he slept above the flattened earth and grass.
His morning carer found his footprints, tracked him on the lane
then turning through the churchyard gate, and all without his cane;
a dozen yards of treads remained, and then there were no more –
the journey ended at the grave of his dear Elinor.
