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The first of the final prompts! Once more, by milo:
Quote: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 30: Write a poem as a fatalist - in other words, write a poem inspired by fate, luck (good or bad) pretty much not being in control of your own destiny.
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.
Questions?
This is the last one, lets have a good turnout!!
I'm totally not late, no sir/ma'am/NB fam
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I had to write at least one
of my signature box poems.
I avoided it all month
But now we're here at the end.
Quality's not important
It's all about having fun
But it's burned me out on poems.
I'm done
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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OH NO, NATS!
As a kid I was a big fan of the Washington Senators
but there was never really much intrigue-
as the saying went, “first in war, last in the American league.”
Then in ’71, as if to vex us, we got sold Short, and the team moved to Texas.
For 30+ years I was sure that DC would never get another major league team,
and was resigned to that fact, even gave up on that dream.
But wonder of wonders, in 2005 my dream came alive when DC got a team
in the National League east, then a brand new stadium in 2008. Our Nats
were still rotten but I knew at least, we’d only get better, I’d just have to wait.
and wait, and wait…
I was resigned to the fact that my beloved Nats were doomed to stinking.
Even in ‘19 when we won the Wild Card, I knew that I’d be let down real hard.
But we kept on winning and I was beginning to believe, inning by inning.
In the playoffs I always took the same seat, always worried we’d finally get beat.
In the Series we lost every home game, and I was deflated again- what a shame.
Even when we got to game 7, I knew I’d be denied a place in baseball heaven.
In the top of the 7th, still down by 2, I knew my dream would never come true.
But then “Howie do it” smacked a 3 run homer, and we never looked back.
Into the 9th with my brain in cramps, we emerged out on top- finally World Champs!
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It’s up or down, so many steps
usually not many, could be
any direction.
Sometimes you can see
the wheel turn
at the periphery of your eyes
but you just keep stepping
off and on,
before the wheel turns again.
Fortuna’s laughter
choreographs your movements
until you think
this is the moment to step free.
You reach out for the Divine
and pull back a hand
grasping only scrap of paper
that turns to ashes
before you can read it.
Apparently you lack faith
in anything but the circular,
so embrace the wheel once more,
Hi Ho Silver and away!
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There are 7,000 people
in the Unorganized Kenora District,
and fifteen million hectares of forest.
A moose is the head of state,
a beaver is the minister of finance,
and everything with eyes
is a landscape painter
at heart, walking the shield rock
and smelling the pine
on the way to ten thousand lakes
and countless muskeg swamps
draining Hudson Bays rivers
into the earth.
There will be more invaders soon
and the forest is unarmed
and prostrate.
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Pawn Moves
What value in our search for peace
when war will find us anywhere
we hide from it? How dare we care
for love when life’s a moment’s lease?
We pride ourselves on what we earn
when every tool and circumstance
which brought it to us came by chance
not choice to crawl ahead or turn.
Our bent is either to accept
our fate and live illusion-less
or make up reasons for success
and failure, promises we kept.
Think back! Was any thing you did
then gloried in not grounded on
these accidents, with you a pawn
on paths you traced as fortune bid?
Non-practicing atheist
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i had another dream where there was a book,
this time a kind of bible, that i was
desperate to get. this was when
i slept for twelve hours straight, i had been drained
by having to climb a quarter of a mountain
in search of snakes, frogs, lizards, and the like.
for the same sleep i wet myself something sticky
but over what image, i do not remember,
only i was grateful it happened the night
i was finally home. endings are really
just beginnings in disguise,
i think, like the back of a book is connected to its front
by its spine, and those who die
summitting a mountain will climb down.
