NaPM 12 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 about anything, so long as you describe a pleasant odor.

Form: Any

Line Requirement: At least 4

[Semicircle]

Sharp, acrid, and bitter
lasting for days on end,
of coughing and hacking.

It's gone now,
smelling the flowers,
I wish it came back,
but I know it won't--

so I find alternatives.

[CRNDLSM]

Crazy Little Thing Called Mulch,
I Want To Know What Mulch Is,
All You Need Is Mulch, Your Mulch
Keeps Lifting Me Higher, I 
Will Always Mulch You, Mulch Is
A Battlefield, When A Man
Mulches A Woman, Can't Help
Falling In Mulch

[Semicircle]

Crazy Little Thing Called Mulch,
I Want To Know What Mulch Is,
All You Need Is Mulch, Your Mulch
Keeps Lifting Me Higher, I 
Will Always Mulch You, Mulch Is
A Battlefield, When A Man
Mulches A Woman, Can't Help
Falling In Mulch

those pheromones, amiright?

[TranquillityBase]

His last minutes
spent underground in a Viennese living room
killing the things he loved
a dog and a woman amid the acrid smell of almonds.
Then himself to the odor of gunfire,
finally a ditch in the shell pocked garden
acrid flames from SS petrol
sending up a holocaust to whatever angry gods
would find the smoke and ash 
of his Gotterdammerung sweet.

[Mark A Becker]

A welcome home aroma
greets me at the local fair:

funnel cakes, cotton candy,
honeysuckle sweetened air.

[dukealien]

Essence of Reaper


A smell, a sense of new-mown hay
fresh, fragrant with a mossy dampness
which one feels will shortly turn
to rankness but has yet to lose
its air of growing green, of silage–
fodder for a rising dream.

But silos are not merely places
for sweet fancies but for holding
hydrazine and other compounds
known to soldiers as nerve gas
which smell of new-mown hay, it’s said–
just before they knock you dead.

[Semicircle]

Essence of Reaper


A smell, a sense of new-mown hay
fresh, fragrant with a mossy dampness
which one feels will shortly turn
to rankness but has yet to lose
its air of growing green, of silage–
fodder for a rising dream.

But silos are not merely places
for sweet fancies but for holding
hydrazine and other compounds
known to soldiers as nerve gas
which smell of new-mown hay, it’s said–
just before they knock you dead.

This poem is very effective,
it drew me into the nostalgic smell 
of grass clippings.
It Reminded me of green feet
at the end of mowing a lawn,
and turned it into
stink death.

YOU MONSTER!!

good work,
Sc.

[dukealien]

This poem is very effective,
it drew me into the nostalgic smell 
of grass clippings.
It Reminded me of green feet
at the end of mowing a lawn,
and turned it into
stink death.

YOU MONSTER!!

good work,
Sc.

Flatterer.  I must say, though, that after a slightly rocky start all contributors to NAPM22 have been meeting the challenges very well.  Max kudos to @RiverNotch for all the work in keeping them coming!

[RiverNotch]

The smell of incense, oil, and wine
with hints of mold
growing between wood and gold:
sunlight breaking through thick mist.

---

Also, thanks!

[CRNDLSM]

I'm disappointed in my own napms this year but I'm pretty heavy posting on TikTok right now. Definitely appreciate rivers prompts, thank you sir for the dedication. If nothing else I'm using y'all's good poems as inspiration for my scratch. Doesn't matter if it's good right now right?