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Threads: 214
Joined: Aug 2016
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 26, 2021
Topic: write a poem with an odd number of lines comparing death with something else
Form: any
Line Requirement: odd
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Posts: 888
Threads: 175
Joined: Jan 2021
I watched my sister die and thought
that was as close to Death as I would ever get.
Then I saw the body of my son.
Death is now a life sentence
a Void that follows me like my fingertips
a gap in the film of the future where
Death’s acids have eaten away
all frames of a son’s tomorrows.
Before, Death was a gentle forgetting.
Now Death is a dangerous remembering
an underworld where other rules apply
where I seek answers from the Void
like an oracle’s supplicant
and hear back only loveless riddles.
Death is the end of all comparisons.
Posts: 878
Threads: 214
Joined: Aug 2016
The mop bucket, refilled each
night, 4 gallons of water
mixed in with 2 cups of bleach,
fresh is best cause it's hotter.
Make sure the room has been swept
first, germs get in hard to reach
places, hard thing to accept.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Posts: 82
Threads: 14
Joined: Apr 2021
Dancing with Death
I always thought of death as good recipe for love.
Love death, embrace it, keep it in your heart.
When you die, always remember that you lived.
A thousand lives, remember to keep your head high.
And around you go, always bleeding inside and out.
Then when you die, you can always go to heaven.
When you remember only death, it appears blindly.
The way you recall life it needs to be forgotten now.
Death is the answer, it keeps you on your toes.
The way you seek it makes me think your smart.
So keep seeking death, it will find you one day.
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Joined: Oct 2012
The care home cometh
Its beige wall are waiting
the stench of boiled veg
brings up words
replaced by bile,
a vomit of each sense.
The gripped tight chest
of snatched at breaths
holds thin boned hands
that clutch at the
oxygen masks
of sucked out cylinders.
Decay becomes translucent
spread thin
as mop-bucket bleach,
laid out alabaster
on grey washed linen.
Prepared by tepid bowls
as the heavy stained curtains
are slowly drawn over our heads.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
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Only Weather
The close gathering
gloom. The slow,
slow pressure drop…
Lowering clouds bleeding out-
mind searing lightning
then sudden thunder-
and always the aching
brilliance of another sky
blue morning…
In the fresh puddles
I can almost see
your reflection.
There was never calm
before the storm
and only stillness after.
I tell myself it's the natural order,
something I will never control,
only weather.
At least, I pray,
please let me cry...
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Liked the Preview
You’d think having
a near-death experience–
you know, with floating above
your cast-off body looking down on it,
flying up through darkness into that
long tunnel of concentric glowing rings,
sort of thing–
would make you more interesting.
I mean, people should want to know.
Fact is, once you’ve seen the preview
(and can’t stop talking about it)
nobody wants to know you
much less discuss it.
Whereas when you’re dead
they can’t shut up about
how good or bad you were
how well they knew you or didn’t
at least for a while.
Been there, yeah.
So, compared, I think
I want the full trip next time–
bound to be something
at tunnel’s end.
Non-practicing atheist
Posts: 58
Threads: 3
Joined: Mar 2021
Once Helen told me,
Death is like a thick black cloak,
descending and smothering
until the world is lost
and nothing remains.
