2023 NaPM 3 April

[RiverNotch]

Did you know you can arrange the threads by number of replies? Because I didn't, at least until I had to work on these prompts xD. 2017's opening prompt was the most popular prompt for its year. It was another April Fools' prompt, actually, with Todd writing:

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: April Fools Day makes me think of Fool's Gold. Write a poem inspired by confusing or misidentifying something or someone.
Form: any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

[Quixilated]

Just Desserts

My brother always liked to tease
especially at meals, and especially
the sisters who were boarding with us.
He pretended it was “etiquette”
to “steal from the right and pass to the left”
(by that he meant food from his own plate).
He would snatch the best bits and bites from Jane
then pass all his vegetables to Gayle
(who, inexplicably, dutifully ate them). 

One glorious evening he was in rare form,
and thought he saw a golden opportunity.
On Jane’s plate he spied one single almond,
a treasure set aside perhaps to savor later.
Quick as lightening his hand shot out
and popped the stolen nut into his mouth.
His smile dropped, his face went green.
Jane laughed in horrified confusion,
“David! Why did you eat my olive pit?”

(This is a true story.  He absolutely deserved to eat that olive pit.  It was beautiful karma. 

Also, I wanted to make it rhyme but don’t have the time or energy, so pretend it has clever rhymes and maybe some actual meter.)

[Mark A Becker]

Back in the Day

I come from before that day
-about forty years before-
when a dad could get away
with cuffing a kid on the ear

in the middle of the store,
and us six boys could hear
that other dad say, “it’s OK
he probably deserved it.”

A day I’ll never forget. That kid
did look like one of us, and nobody
put up a fuss. He did mess up
those toys; we were good boys.

At least for a few more years…

[TranquillityBase]

Bibliophilia

He mistook books for rooks
and castled his King
only to find out too late
the volumes collected around him, 
moveable walls,
shut out more than they let in.

[Yjack123]

Just Desserts

My brother always liked to tease
especially at meals, and especially
the sisters who were boarding with us.
He pretended it was “etiquette”
to “steal from the right and pass to the left”
(by that he meant food from his own plate).
He would snatch the best bits and bites from Jane
then pass all his vegetables to Gayle
(who, inexplicably, dutifully ate them). 

One glorious evening he was in rare form,
and thought he saw a golden opportunity.
On Jane’s plate he spied one single almond,
a treasure set aside perhaps to savor later.
Quick as lightening his hand shot out
and popped the stolen nut into his mouth.
His smile dropped, his face went green.
Jane laughed in horrified confusion,
“David! Why did you eat my olive pit?”

(This is a true story.  He absolutely deserved to eat that olive pit.  It was beautiful karma. 

Also, I wanted to make it rhyme but don’t have the time or energy, so pretend it has clever rhymes and maybe some actual meter.)

[Semicircle]

They bumped into each other
from opposite sides of the moon
dragging along different views
that luckily, never clashed.

Through friends each
learned of the other's origin
and felt betrayed for having
enjoyed their company.

[Wjames]

I wear my finest overalls
and vintage flannel shirts,
to cocktail bars in Montreal
to woo and gab and flirt.

Some women like a rugged man
so that's what I present,
but in my bones I love Rembrandt
and fuchsia, floral scents.

[Mark A Becker]

overalls / Montreal
rugged man / Rembrandt

Excellent slant rhymes there, Wj

[CRNDLSM]

Johnny Logan Spencer was a
self proclaimed white supremacist
Grew up racist, knew other racists,
and couldn't stand a black president.
As awful as Johnny truly was, and is,
his mother's death tore him open,
a hole only ink could fill.  
The pen that spilled his pain and hatred
sent him thirty three months to prison.
A single poem, The Sniper.

[dukealien]

Lost Nugget


I thought I had a concept for a poem–
a starting line, a few good candidates
for rhymes.  A closing line just out of reach
would come, I knew, with steady application.

I wrote a note - that first line and a few
ideas that I knew would flesh it out
into a work worth polishing, refining,
crowned with a title and a simile.

Fool that I was, I swanned off to the store
and exercise, and video and songs
to find my notes were nonsense, beckoning
with unrecapturable insight, false.

The tragedy is that unlike fools’ gold
real quality was there until I balked
at spending time when inspiration shone...
thus “later” turns to “never,” spark to stone.

[brynmawr1]

I thought I knew
that face
in the mirror.

Then I notice
the lines
and all the wrinkles.

Who is this stranger
that lives;
has stolen my face.

[RiverNotch]

On Reading Eliot's Burbank


Once, I thought I knew the land
of which he drew his map of man,
the hollow moonlit streets of Rhapsody
leading to London's aged king
casting his line into the Thames,
mourning the loss of his Norton.
But synechdoche and metonymy
must always give way to history, and
the bridge he built between his sestieri
can't always be ignored.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.

[TranquillityBase]

I thought I knew
that face
in the mirror.

Then I notice
the lines
and all the wrinkles.

Who is this stranger
that lives;
has stolen my face.

Bears repeating for today's prompt 

[TranquillityBase]

On Reading Eliot's Burbank


Once, I thought I knew the land
of which he drew his map of man,
the hollow moonlit streets of Rhapsody
leading to London's aged king
casting his line into the Thames,
mourning the loss of his Norton.
But synechdoche and metonymy
must always give way to history, and
the bridge he built between his sestieri
can't always be ignored.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.

RiverNotch,

This is a memorable poem.  I did have to look up a few words.  I'm guessing this is referencing Eliot's early anti-semitism.  Anyway, I really enjoyed the read.

TqB

[Tiger the Lion]

False Positive

I'm almost used to it now

that ten-foot Q-tip
up through the nostril,

breaching some holy-nasal-wormhole
to next to reach up and tickle the brain

this time the test strip 
lights up like a Christmas Tree

it means a week off work,

beer

and pizza.

[alonso ramoran]

I trace the melody through doorbells
rung in old homes by the estranged, through toys,
games, and the weather forecast that would wake me up
before walking in the morning fog, sometimes
picking dandelions or common daisies
for the crossing guard or mom. I want to find

the bright mouth which breathes swarming life and leave
the shadow puppets dancing on the roughly plastered wall
because tomorrow soon becomes a passed-down story
with its warm rainbow of light.