2026 NaPM 7 April

[RiverNotch]

Write a poem for National Poetry Month based on the topic described....rather, write a poem set in, pertaining to, or inspired by the given region, whether its entirety or just some part of it, as this year's prompts are going to be unified by the theme "Around the World" like last year's prompts were unified by the theme "Esoterica". Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. There are three levels of participation:

Bronze. Participated at least once.

Silver. Participated every day.

Gold. Participated every day, with all entries either being the same form (e.g., every one a sonnet) or being distinct forms (e.g., no two haiku).


Today's region is Alaska, Canada, and Greenland.

[ilovewomenandbeer]

To Tundra

Blinding light—
caught in
starry constructs

treading—
as wind
carries them.

Fogged breath—
stinging air
against my face.

My eyes—
polarized
glinting behind
narrowed bones,

on the
hidden path
to spring.

[Mark A Becker]

projection

back when Mercator
made his maps, Greenland
seemed to be a ruse

now it's grown
even more immense-
especially in the news

[RiverNotch]

Canada


The giants of the north knew what it meant
to let the good times roll. They plucked up pines
either to stack them high upon some mound

with rugs of moss for kindling, singing and dancing
around the conflagration, or to fling
boulders as pucks and balls that dredged up lakes

by skipping across the shield. When winter came,
they slid across the sea and sped down mountains
on sleds they built from logs of oak and walnut,

while for a springtime treat, they wrung out maples
directly over clay pots and boiled the sap
they gathered to make a syrup bright and sweet.

And when the bad times came---when flourished men
who traded fear for copper---still they shed
no bitter tears, they danced and gamed and fed
as if more good times waited past the end.

[CRNDLSM]

and its too late to try. To go
another week just hanging on
to scraps of joy, and then to throw 

away what good that comes along
because its too good, must be wrong,
a soul bogged down by utter cold
A carved out mountain void of gold

Existence will come to offend,
all wasted efforts left unsold
Just wait around until the end

[dukealien]

Whiteness


North of almost everything else this trio–
lands of midnight sun just across from old world’s
broad Eurasian darkness at noon, white knights ride
steadily eastward

passing winter Canada joins Alaska:
summers when bright flowers adorn their quaking
muskeg, biting flies a reminder size is
relative.  Greenland

iced in glacial solitude cored for deep-laid
climate clues, interpreted in white light of
present science, forecasting storms, birthed icebergs
migrating southward.

[busker]

Whiteness


North of almost everything else this trio–
lands of midnight sun just across from old world’s
broad Eurasian darkness at noon, white knights ride
steadily eastward

passing winter Canada joins Alaska:
summers when bright flowers adorn their quaking
muskeg, biting flies a reminder size is
relative.  Greenland

iced in glacial solitude cored for deep-laid
climate clues, interpreted in white light of
present science, forecasting storms, birthed icebergs
migrating southward.

good one

[Magpie]

Canadadaism

I used to have a Canadian pen pal when I was younger...

She sent me imagist poems about bees
and moose in her garden that sang with fright,
she told me the Rockies were made of cheese
and crumbled a bit on a windy night.

She had pineapple sandwiches she had
effervescence with her morning essence,
she was whimsical and sometimes sent mad
hieroglyphics wrapped in malevolence.

She blazboodled her fupple in the spring
and once in autumn when it fell again,
she painted flowers and asked them to sing
then danced a dazzle in the dada rain. 

She called me her trumpet but one day said
her jazz songs were over now she'd met Fred.

[wasellajam]

Canadadaism

I used to have a Canadian pen pal when I was younger...

She sent me imagist poems about bees
and moose in her garden that sang at night,
she told me the Rockies were made of cheese
and crumbled a bit on a windy night.

She had pineapple sandwiches she had
effervescence with her morning essence,
she was whimsical and sometimes sent mad
hieroglyphics wrapped in malevolence.

She blazboodled her fupple in the spring
and once in autumn when it fell again,
she painted flowers and asked them to sing
then danced a dazzle in the dada rain. 

She called me her trumpet but one day said
her jazz songs were over now she'd met Fred.

Well done sonnet, love the feel of this, the language and images.

[wasellajam]

Careful

A girl tripped along through the twlight
a Zappa tune piloting dreamflight
she felt the wind blow
across yellow snow
discovered what’s worse than a dogbite



[Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBpJgL8A...rt_radio=1]