April 29 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 29, 2021



Topic: write a poem about the past year, since NaPoMo 2020

Form: any

Line Requirement: any
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#2
Reflecting on NaPoWriMo

Last year when I was writing for NaPoMo
I was in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia trying to write
my next piece, the smell of lentils, Injera, and
spinach were trying to shut me down and eat.
But I wasn’t about to give up.
I found myself jotting down concrete imagery
metaphor, similes, consonances, and alliterations
to fit my poems, to give them a little edge.
Make them beautiful, but yet reckless in nature.
Then I would abandon them for the next day.
I could taste breakfast, I want some eggs, bacon,
or something to fill my stomach for tomorrow.
Then I would enjoy writing again.
Then I would enjoy being a poet again.
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#3
I quit
and got a raise
and evicted someone
and adopted a pet mastiff,
and lost

my mind,
my grasp on life,
my sense of well being,
and any hope for the future
of Earth.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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#4
My son died of an accidental drug overdose last April.  So to the prompt: write about the year since I say No Thank You.  I offer you something completely different:

Fork or Knife; or, the Ballad of Jennie and Izzy

Fork or knife, 
And six story tenement. 
A fox when he came this morning ended her troubles.
He longed to be picking mustard e-ho! 

The fox saw the girl’s crash, ho ! 
You may go again. 
Upon the pavement, and out of  your head; 
Out of bed? 
She was a shirtwaist maker, leaped too cunning. 
You, their meat, are very late.

The basket arrived, 
He said death lifted his legs 
But lacking a plunge he listened awhile
To Izzy Karenensky. 

The two were asleep over Izzy,
Apparently both loud and shrill, 
He came the last few weeks in town, oh! 

When the husband is gone through town, e-ho ! 

Old often together, but within they ceased to take.  

The baker fled, abandoning Jennie’s skull,
 17 years old. 
The girl had slightly reduced their whole life; 
 "You're for joy that the stars they were shining,” 
Said she and his visits came to yonder stile, 
He in great strife, 
They never a short mile from this Oh, ho! 
Said the roof, evidently contemplating
Her instant death 
Round the haystack. 

Oh, such nice meat from quite infrequent Miss Sholky; 
You'll grease Oh, ho !

Who but the fox has been in this country,
Work has been slack ,
 I loved you well early this morning 
With my beard, 
She rides time, to rave through the town, oh!

Leaving the fox, it's a very fine night, 
For you bring us Izzy Karenensky, 
A painter, 
In all directions. 

The welcome home, daddy,
Two weeks ago, 
Fresh bread, 
And when Dr. Sullivan of Bellvue Hospital knocked down the baker, 
And popped grey goose, 
She ran safe through him to the slip.

 And Miss Sholky shot through the top of the hill, 
Coming to your bone, e-ho 
The down and scattering bread 
He got to the town, e-ho! 

Despondent since  Bialovstok, Russia, 
Her in a trap ; the town, oh,
When the old man got the fox, 
He blew his trumpet,
The impact crushing her. 

Gammer Hippie-hopple hopped out for Izzy,
And he had dwindling love for her, 
Was in love with a note explaining that she is dead. 

And the Sholky out to show them the town, oh! 

Then the fox and his courage persuaded her,
She ran through the town, 
But she had seen the baker was passing, 
Carrying the fox,
From all things bright; 
Fox came back to strike upon her head, a bone, e-ho!

The Miss Rabinowitzes found Jennie up in his red moonlight night; 
The death had been instantaneous. 
"Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision."  Dylan Thomas
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#5
Where've Ya been?  (a list poem)

Work
Home
My girlfriend's apartment

Work
Home
The grocery store

Work
Home
The liquor store

Work
Home
The vet

Work
Home
The mechanic

Work
Home
Work
Home
Work
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#6
Stay at Home!

’20 was a good year
for an introvert.
Not having to make excuses
for not wanting to go places.

Not having to pretend
that you’d like to attend
a social function, or event.
In some respects, lock downs

were heaven sent. Stay at home
orders weren’t really needed-
for some they were easily heeded.
Some folks like it better alone.

Relatives didn’t need to feel hurt
with rules about distance imposed.
‘20 was a good year for an introvert,
by and large, I suppose.
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#7
The naming of the flowers

I only nipped out for milk;
crawled under the barbed wire
of too much to drink
and too many takeaways
Protected from mustard gas
talking through cough proof
Perspex glass.

The fucking garden
can kiss my ass
I've named every flower
and forked each blade of grass
laid new flags and jet washed
the walls, the holiday money
has paid for it all.

I've gone up two dress sizes
but I only wear jeans,
hung curtains over mirrors
to hide such vivid scenes.
I've been working from home
on the kitchen table, but my wife thinks
I'm there so I can muck out the stables
and any other shit job I been avoiding
for years, we've had plenty of tears.

I've been injected with truth serum
that protects the youth from clotting
in groups of more than six, but most of them
don't give a shit, don't think it will break
so why try and fix.

Binge watched everything on Netflix and Prime
never quite sure how I find the time
to drink coffee and chat to the wife,
that's been quite nice - for the first month
now we both carry humps
that we shake at each other before we speak.

Well its the end of another week and one left
on NaPo, its been fun writing poems to go go.
sorry about the spill, I'm running up hill at the mo
and yes all the rhymes are forced and of course
things could be worse. Stay safe Smile

If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
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#8
nice one, majestic.  maybe the best one of yours I've read.
"Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision."  Dylan Thomas
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#9
(04-29-2021, 11:25 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  nice one, majestic.  maybe the best one of yours I've read.

Thanks Tranquil I needed to hear that.
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#10
An annus quite horribilus again,
no doubt the Queen of England would agree:
the Covid-19 virus, deaths, and pain,
it's hardly stuff to fill one up with glee.

My best friend died, I miss him every day;
I broke my leg and spent 12 weeks in bed,
another friend's dog, Daisy, passed away;
her kidneys just packed up, the young vet said.

Still, mustn't moan; it's not the thing to do,
at least, it wasn't once, but people change;
the grass is green, the sky is clear and blue,
Mick's managed to increase his walking range.
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#11
2020-Blind


At first we laughed
and called that year
“the one with eyes” –
twenty-twenty, geddit?

What we got instead
was running full-speed blind
into a catastrophe
and before it was handled
or even understood
punch-drunk smack into the next.

In the abstract each–
  the virus
  the video–
was predictable
as a thing that could occur
even how they were exploited
by those with ill intent–
  false claims of racism
  rioting encouraged
  economic asphyxiation
  vote-count shenanigans–
were sitting plain on deck
in the anarcho-fascist’s bullpen.

But instead of seeing them
we hit them one by one
and all together
  plowing ahead at sixty minutes an hour
  seven days a week
blind with all warnings
suppressed, derided, silenced
by those who willed destruction
for their crass benefit.

The year with eyes did not begin
with rose-colored spectacles
but it ended in eyes
blinded by blood.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
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