LPiA-25 Nov. 18

[Tiger the Lion]

Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 18
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 Tourist Attraction 
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more

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

Questions?

[Todd]

Catechism of Switchbacks

We take our children to Disneyland,
so they may learn suffering
always precedes joy,
as labor comes before birth.

We begin our ascent
through the calculations,
fourteen rides,
five hundred ninety turns
of the clock,
toward the day’s heat,
the humid press of crowd,
the coconut chrism of sunscreen
glazing us like offerings
left in the sun
for the ritual of waiting.

The holy geometry of switchbacks,
progress unmade by the turning,
each loop returning us
to the beginning,
a pilgrimage through the labyrinth
where, at the center,
the soul will find
its ecstatic release
ninety minutes of motion
in a day of hours

to live and move
and accelerate through trumpet blast
to behold
the face of God.

[dukealien]

Tourism


Let us not speak of tourists
shooting innocents in Sarajevo
or jihadis hunting Christians
in Nigeria: Death’s allure
attracts without virtue.

Let us speak, instead,
of Canadians trekking south
to obtain procedures which
are free but unobtainable,
US citizens winging to Mexico
for drugs both expensive
and bureaucratically forbidden:
these, at least, seek Life.

[MidaPoems]

2 attractions, 1 infraction

The wheel spins,
Screeching to a halt.

I open my ears.
Bolts rattling.
Yet in front,
the human form.

In discretion they say,
so much, with so little.

She was the attraction,
whilst being anointed a saint.
How could she?
She's scared,

Avoiding human interaction
No tactile infraction,
The attraction is a lie,
with the name of the attraction,
she'll die.

I hop on the Ferris wheel,
to spin around,
messing with my mind.

I took tourist attraction in 2 ways, but how I thought of it, idk

[dukealien]

Catechism of Switchbacks

We take our children to Disneyland,
so they may learn suffering
always precedes joy,
as labor comes before birth.

We begin our ascent
through the calculations,
fourteen rides,
five hundred ninety turns
of the clock,
toward the day’s heat,
the humid press of crowd,
the coconut chrism of sunscreen
glazing us like offerings
left in the sun
for the ritual of waiting.

The holy geometry of switchbacks,
progress unmade by the turning,
each loop returning us
to the beginning,
a pilgrimage through the labyrinth
where, at the center,
the soul will find
its ecstatic release
ninety minutes of motion
in a day of hours

to live and move
and accelerate through trumpet blast
to behold
the face of God.

Lovely metaphor - pilgrim's progress modernized.  And, instead of Apollyon, ticket-takers, line-cutters and costumed greeters.

[Mostly Holy]

"Minerva in Edgar's Field"

I saw Minerva in a field,
a playground framed by quiet streets.
The rains had blurred her helm and shield,
yet still she caught the sun in sheets.

Once a sandstone quarry stood here,
Whence legion hands coaxed blocks of stone
to circle all about their camp
vast walls that stand like fossil bone.

Unnamed hands cut her from the rock;
An owlish guard above their toil,
she watched them chip each stubborn block
to lay Rome's claim to Cheshire's soil.

The workers are gone, their Empire too;
Now she enjoys a domestic view.

One of the city of Chester's lesser known attractions is a curious weathered carving of Minerva with a carved niche next to it, on the wall of what was once a quarry, but is now a little public park. It has the curious accolade of being the only intact pagan shrine of Roman origin in Britain, saved from medieval zealots by misidentification with Mary. Altho not as impressive as the still-standing walls, or the marvellous cathedral, I have always found it a very English example of living with the past: She is just there, overlooking a mundane little field where children play, as tho it is the most ordinary thing in the world.