LPiA-24 Nov. 10

[Tiger the Lion]

Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 10
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 riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. (or at least one of those)
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Questions?

[carahmellow]

What Am I?
I’m the melting icicles in spring,
An assistant to the sun,
For which we bring
The blossoms after a harsh winter.

I’m the faucet leaking
The drip, drip, dripping
Producing the noise
For restless sleeping
In the bleak light of the moon.

I’m the blood that’s seeping
From a searing wound.

The extinguisher
Of a ferocious fire
To calm the harrowing burn

The mercury falling
After sickness breaks.
I’m the healing gift from
Evil fates.

I am the syrup
Of your soul.
What am I?

[CRNDLSM]

This is really cool but I read it in gene wilders voice from Wonka when they're in the boat tunnel

What Am I?
I’m the melting icicles in spring,
An assistant to the sun,
For which we bring
The blossoms after a harsh winter.

I’m the faucet leaking
The drip, drip, dripping
Producing the noise
For restless sleeping
In the bleak light of the moon.

I’m the blood that’s seeping
From a searing wound.

The extinguisher
Of a ferocious fire
To calm the harrowing burn

The mercury falling
After sickness breaks.
I’m the healing gift from
Evil fates.

I am the syrup
Of your soul.
What am I?

[CRNDLSM]

1




                         How is it                 possible
                         A small                    leak can
                         do such                   damage
                     After such a short time. 
            To go unnoticed and then
           Not find the source until it
            Collapses the entire ceiling. It was
                    Not the air conditioner or  hard
                         Rains from our roof. But a
                                  Pinhole leak
                                   in a hidden
                                   Water pipe

[dukealien]

Nesting Dolls


The enigma, as with women,
is what does Russia want?
And the answer (as with
women as a group) is, first
to be held in respect;
second, to be valued
for her role and place.
Just so, Russia insists
on both respect and valuation
as both bridge and wall
to and against non-European,
anti-Christian cultures.

So the enigma, first wooden doll
opens like an egg of Faberge
to disclose the mystery.

A mystery, yearningly stated,
is what will Russia do?
Secrecy’s the blood and faith
of Russian governance
and, to evade it, character
of individuals as well.
But Russia also puts
her best foot forward outwardly
in show and spectacle, wishing
to be respectable as well
as strong.  Key of the mystery,
to the inner egg of Faberge
that twist which opens
the inner wooden doll
is yearning for acceptance.
If this is supplied,
Russia will take pride
in behaving well.

Inscrutable mystery unscrewed,
the final doll remains–
a little solid babushka
with painted Mona Lisa smile.

Thus the final riddle posed,
dichotomy, the double-headed eagle–
what will Russia be?
Tyrant or savior of the West,
threat or compatriot,
impulsive or reserved,
beautifully diverse
as St. Basil’s in sunlight
or ugly as Chernobyl?
That’s a riddle only slightly
less complex than Time itself
but respecting, valuing,
accepting without pandering
can’t hurt.

[RiverNotch]

Catsup: Aeneas.
Worcestershire: Romulus.
Tabasco: Cato the Younger.
Mustard: Cicero.
Toum, or if unfamiliar,
Aioli: Julius Caesar.
Mayonnaise: Pompey.
Sriracha: Crassus.

[dukealien]

Catsup: Aeneas.
Worcestershire: Romulus.
Tabasco: Cato the Younger.
Mustard: Cicero.
Toum, or if unfamiliar,
Aioli: Julius Caesar.
Mayonnaise: Pompey.
Sriracha: Crassus.

Crassus, whose dead mouth was poured full of molten gold... as sriracha.  That's cold (or hot, in this case) 

[brynmawr1]

What feigned clever enigma
no more the mystery
than cloaked mysogeny

again claims to be victim
denies
the annulas of history.

To speak freely
or speak when free
is not self evident

but relies on those greater
or the better angles
of those lesser realized.

Just ask
Mahatma Gondi,
Martin Luther King,
Nelson Mandela
or Alexei Navalny

[RiverNotch]

Crassus, whose dead mouth was poured full of molten gold... as sriracha.  That's cold (or hot, in this case) 

i was just thinking he died in the east, and the sauce came from the east xD that's so much better