NaPM 3 April 2022

[RiverNotch]

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 confession to a sin.

Form: Any

Line Requirement: At least 8

[Semicircle]

I like burning bridges,
especially when I find one without a foundation,
which comes quite easy
I’ve come to find.

I feel a bit of regret when I see one go down,
but love to watch them burn.

Soon there won’t be any bridges left,
that’s fine,
I didn’t want to cross them anyway.

[Mark A Becker]

Flying Lessons

I.
I gasped when I stared at it,
like a new toy I’d broken.

Prodding it with my slingshot
I pried red feathers open.

II.
Bare-handed I'd clawed the dirt
until I’d dug a small hole,

then covered up the dark spot
with dead leaves and a large stone.

III.
Thin blades push green from under
the stone, stretching for the light.

They flap, and flare, and flutter
as if trying to take flight.

[CRNDLSM]

I confessed
I've just always been the best
I hate to put it to test
Maybe jealous of the rest
Put off practice when depressed
Endless parties in my nest
Eating drinking screwing guests
When my dick is on the quest.

[Quixilated]

I like to see what lies
behind closed doors
and inside drawers,
or what hidden prize
a bathroom cabinet 
secretly has in it.
It’s mostly idle curiosity,
the ‘writer’ welling up in me,
to see with my own eyes
what truths may hide 
behind different personalities. 

At least that’s what I tell myself …

[RiverNotch]

Sins committed in love, excess or deficient, are forgiveable
to an extent in the eyes of man -- in the eyes of God, to none.

What has the eye heard? What has the ear seen?
Can the hand taste? Can the tongue conceive?
Will the heart report
how every muscle's accustomed to contort
straining chain and leather, shattering bone,

there in the dark when one is left alone
and full of unchaste fire, full of longing---

Is it greed to want you all to myself?
Is it pride to delight in your achievements?
Is it envy to want you, and keep wanting you,
even when you speak
proudly and happily of your attachment
to another? Am I moth

drawing by instinct so close to a light
already the tips of my wings ignite

or am I the damned pilot
willfully catching the long arm of a storm
to reach the eye?

[Semicircle]

I like to see what lies
behind closed doors
and inside drawers
or what hidden prize
a bathroom cabinet 
secretly has in it.
It’s mostly idle curiosity,
the ‘writer’ welling up in me,
to see with my own eyes
what truths may hide 
behind different personalities. 

At least that’s what I tell myself …

My ma was a Taylor for years and she hoped someday she might find some money or something interesting in a pocket. All she found was the occasional snot filled tissue. Moral of the Story is
People have nothing going on.

Next time you donate some clothes
Leave some notes in pockets.
Might make a Taylor’s day
Or ruin it
Depending what you put.

It’s fun either way.

[Quixilated]

I like to see what lies
behind closed doors
and inside drawers
or what hidden prize
a bathroom cabinet 
secretly has in it.
It’s mostly idle curiosity,
the ‘writer’ welling up in me,
to see with my own eyes
what truths may hide 
behind different personalities. 

At least that’s what I tell myself …

My ma was a Taylor for years and she hoped someday she might find some money or something interesting in a pocket. All she found was the occasional snot filled tissue. Moral of the Story is
People have nothing going on.

Next time you donate some clothes
Leave some notes in pockets.
Might make a Taylor’s day
Or ruin it
Depending what you put.

It’s fun either way.

Yes, I think you are correct that most people don’t have story-worthy secrets hiding in their pockets (or cupboards).  However, there is something lovely in the little human quirks, habits, and hobbies that vary from one person to another.  I love finding shopping lists left behind in a grocery cart, hand written notes or pressed flowers squirreled away in an old book, origami made out of gum wrappers by idle hands—it’s all evidence of lives being lived.  I’ll have to remember to leave something mysterious or fun in the pockets of the next pair of jeans I donate.  Perhaps the moral of the story is: if you can’t find a mystery, then become the mystery. 

[Semicircle]

I like to see what lies
behind closed doors
and inside drawers
or what hidden prize
a bathroom cabinet 
secretly has in it.
It’s mostly idle curiosity,
the ‘writer’ welling up in me,
to see with my own eyes
what truths may hide 
behind different personalities. 

At least that’s what I tell myself …

My ma was a Taylor for years and she hoped someday she might find some money or something interesting in a pocket. All she found was the occasional snot filled tissue. Moral of the Story is
People have nothing going on.

Next time you donate some clothes
Leave some notes in pockets.
Might make a Taylor’s day
Or ruin it
Depending what you put.

It’s fun either way.

Yes, I think you are correct that most people don’t have story-worthy secrets hiding in their pockets (or cupboards).  However, there is something lovely in the little human quirks, habits, and hobbies that vary from one person to another.  I love finding shopping lists left behind in a grocery cart, hand written notes or pressed flowers squirreled away in an old book, origami made out of gum wrappers by idle hands—it’s all evidence of lives being lived.  I’ll have to remember to leave something mysterious or fun in the pockets of the next pair of jeans I donate.  Perhaps the moral of the story is: if you can’t find a mystery, then become the mystery. 

If you need evidence of life
look no further than mens public restrooms,
it's sprawling there.

There's a tally box in one of the stalls for disabled kids at my highschool
with the age old question "breasts or butts?"
I think breasts is winning, anyways,
Somebody added "personality" on to the tally box
and marked in that one
which someone promptly wrote "Lier" next to.

Relating to that, 
theres a kid at school who likes to draw swastikas on everything--
now what would be icing on the cake
is if he were to encompass the tally box
with his swastikas.

A man can only dream.

[Magpie]

I killed a stag
in my orchard.
I tried to startle
but shot him right
between the eyes.
He's in the freezer,
I'm in the river.
Sorry.

[Keith]

Becoming sloth

Dead weight in the doldrums
Still living with my old mum
Fat fingers and greasy food
If you want a conversation
then I’m going to be rude

Can’t be arsed to argue
Don’t want to be with you.
Bloated belly in the TV light
but try and take the remote
and you’ll see me fight.

[TranquillityBase]

The perfect sin:
the one that causes God 
to pause his Judgement
reflect upon his Creation,
and press the Delete button.
In the instant of his Reflection
all our dreams would come true
just in time for us to be delivered
out of this manufactured Babylon
and into a lasting innocence
as He realizes 
He has ceased to exist.

[dukealien]

Lord, Take This Cup of Pride Away


The sin of Pride is mine, all mine, for I
believe that I possess humility
enough to know what I must then confess.
I sin against both Science and the Law
believing that because I hold in awe
their stated Principals I may address
their failures to apply them though it harm
their image, power, glory, strengthen arms
of ignorance, tradition, lawlessness.
But most of all Pride leads me to dissect
God’s motives as if my heart could reject
His ways with men and matchless holiness.

[CRNDLSM]

The perfect sin:
the one that causes God 
to pause his Judgement
reflect upon his Creation,
and press the Delete button.
In the instant of his Reflection
all our dreams would come true
just in time for us to be delivered
out of this manufactured Babylon
and into a lasting innocence
as He realizes 
He has ceased to exist.

I do not think, therefore I do not am

[busker]

Somebody to love

In other times, I might have been
called a coveted catamite
courted by Alciabiades and his crew,
made to cavort in frocks like Nancy Drew,
but the Israelites and Ishmaelites,
and the cultists of the Nazarene
hate us more than each other, Moslem and Jew
and unwashed Frank. I say this because,
darling, I am a victim
as much as you -
subject to the same tyrannical laws
as Rimbaud, lovely teen libertine lad.
Oscar corpulent grew,
treading to an early grave,
robbed of his light in Reading,
swapping lithe bodies for bedding
made of straw and rats' droppings.

The gist is this, dear Freddie: don't be mad
just because I gave
HIV to you.