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		Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 25
Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a New Reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month, have written 30 poems for the month of November. (or one, or six, or fifteen) Prompts may be revisited at any time. All members are welcome.
Topic : Write a poem inspired by a favorite movie (or Play)
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 
Questions?
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		When In Doubt; a Short Film
               (for Tiger)
A sparse tenement room.
On a rickety kitchen table, a baggie
filled with 16 month old cannabis.
John from Cincinnati sees it for the first time.
There’s no rolling papers.
He reaches for a bible printed on India paper,
tears out a page from the psalms,
hunts for a pair of scissors.
He cuts a careful square out of a Psalm,
gives it a few longitudinal creases,
begins to roll the paper between thumb and index finger
to wear it down, crush the straightness out of it
till it forms a curved surface.
He pulls out a few fragrant buds
(no grinder either) and begins to crush and cut
with extra long thumbnails, the buds into
tiny and tinier fragments of sticky green bits.
He spreads the fragments along the gutter
of the makeshift rolling paper, presses it down
into the groove, and begins a quick, profession roll
of paper and plant matter into a torpedo  shape.
Crinkling each end a bit, like a sword swallower
it goes into his mouth to come out again slicked
with saliva, sealed and ready to dry.
Now, the wait.  Junkies are always waiting.
Camera moves in for a close-up
of the words readable along the top of the reefer:
“Let my prayer be set forth before thee…”
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		For All Seasons
It was a time of tumult
  1966 (and 1529 as well)
the draft was blowing hard
and Bolt’s play, gorgeous
in cinematic images and prose
  illuminated much.
(Still does.)
What actors in supporting roles!
Shaw showing what he could do as the shark
McKern what Rumpole becomes in power
and Hurt what Winston gains and loses
  by joining the Inner Party.
Much like the seasons
  from my sophomoric days
  to doubtful retired comfort
and the prisoners of conscience
  from when a despot king
    who wished to change his woman
      locked up for years
        a great dissenter to iniquity
  until today our despot swampy uniparty
    who wished to change its president
      locks up for years some hundreds
        for shaming its great fraud.
All seasons, but they turn
  and, turning, change– 
    but do they change enough?
	
	
	
 Non-practicing atheist
 Non-practicing atheist
 
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		A Favorite Movie 
                   a found poem*
He always carries a hand grenade—
so, I like him how he is.
And, how is he?
Dangerous—but sincere. 
Sincerely dangerous.
Look, no one dies of a heart attack.
They die of disgust. 
Like Iggy said, "death doesn't kill you.
Boredom and indifference kill you".
Do you have emotional problems?
It's impossible! But I wonder,
does he trust me?
Do you trust him, first?
*Most of the lines (not always entirely verbatim) are from Trust by Hal Hartley, rearranged (somewhat). It was difficult to know how to approach the prompt, as great art tends to speak for itself. So, I let it speak for me, instead. 
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		"Bitch Tits"
a former bodybuilder
and steroid gobbler 
gets cancer of the nuts
he has them chopped
and the resulting hormonal mayhem
bears him a yoke of a moniker
his name is Robert Paulson
he's buried out back of the Paper Street House.