NaPM April 10 2013

[milo]

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 10: Write a poem inspired by your hometown/state/country
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

Questions?

Don't give up guys, I see some stalwarts dropping, you can do this!!

[UnicornRainbowCake]

Beneath my feet, I feel the warmth of my home.
Though frost grasps the ground
like the Red Kite suffocating it's prey,
this scene never changes -
no mountains, nor hills as landmarks
you are in The Fenlands.

When through the apple trees,
the light drifts and dance
as lazy as the summer days they debut on,
When the only thing to change is the river,
the placid blanket only disrupted
by the sudden attack of fishermen's hooks
you are in The Fenlands.

[billy]

Manchester; of the football, the United
and the city. A shitty city at best,
that beat us two one, at home.
To have their blueness forced upon me
didn't last too long;
twelve points adrift with seven games to go.
they could only retain their status in the game
by signing God and his twelve apostles.
That would be a real miracle.
God's a red devil and so are his disciples.

[NakedBear]

A Canadian Province (do you know it?)

Yellow, dry, stalking oaken dirt,
you bend to catch bewildered hopper
and cushion his arrival
from country three feet further back.
No sweat.
Your billion brothers
would do the same for his,
while trees and birds and streams
don't think at all of harmony;
there's no need for them who do their thing
for lack of other things to do.
But we are god,
and have decreed
that with our diesel hands and churning mouths
we'll make the land anew,
when once we've swept both stalk and tree aside
to draw the sweeter crude.

[billy]

i was think alaska but that's usa isn't it. fraid i'm not that well up on canada. i'll stab at alberta

[NakedBear]

i was think alaska but that's usa isn't it. fraid i'm not that well up on canada. i'll stab at alberta

yup. scrape off the beauty and scoop the oily muck. make a buck. jeeze, the shit man does.

also enjoyed your poem your poem abot balls and heart attacks.

forgive this post. I am using my phone.

[billy]

no idea where but it rocks, i thought Detroit but i doubt that;s clan country

[UnicornRainbowCake]

Manchester; of the football, the United
and the city. A shitty city at best,
that beat us two one, at home.
To have their blueness forced upon me
didn't last too long;
twelve points adrift with seven games to go.
they could only retain their status in the game
by signing God and his twelve apostles.
That would be a real miracle.
God's a red devil and so are his disciples.

Manchester!

I always try to avoid it like the plague, spend most of my time in Leeds instead

Last time I went I had a low blood sugar in the middle of a pub when the derby match was on...

[billy]

heathen

[neena2504]

India- The Rainbow Land

The dawn is vermilion, started with the conch.
Farmers with their bulls and tinkling of bells
in green fields of paddy in waters ankle-deep.
Chatting over pitchers, noirettes at the wells.

When urns of frail clouds are broken by the winds,
the rainbow descends and paints the people bright.
Ah! the jungle-dance of the peacock begins,
heterogeneous hues converge to form white.

Dreams in eager eyes, blithe kites in the sky,
flying unhindered, yet the fate is chained
to dearth and poverty, the reel in unfit hands
who taint freedom's garb and justice is detained.

Still the dusk observes cheery men walking home
in dark the fensters glow not only with the lamp.
Vicissitude alone can never lower the masts
of courage that has not known ever to be damp.

A jewel it had been and a jewel it would be,
jewels may be robbed but the artisan survived.
with a chisel in his hands he will again arise
and sculpt the masterpiece, the rainbow revived.

[justcloudy]

edit:
wow I'm embarrassed of my terrible, terrible attempt earlier. replaced it with this better but still mediocre try. just couldn't bear to leave it up. :p
_____
sorry for dropping the ball yesterday. this one I just banged out quick before work, not at all polished, but it was fun to write.
_____

American Midwest

No urban cities for hundreds of miles—only vast, flat, big-skyed expanse.
In this heartland of America, urban centers cede control
to predictable suburbs: trees, churches, schools with bright playgrounds.
Sprawl surrounds tiny downtowns of red brick and quaint coffeeshops,
or, one state over, buildings of pink granite, and small art boutiques,
in another, beige bricks and curiosity shops with dusty shelves of magic books…
terrifying loud cities for weathered ranchers.
Rural neighbors pile into dented, mud splattered pickups,
drive past repetitive fields for hours, sing off-key to the country station,
for an outing to the largest one-story mall in America.
With a wide, 70s font, it proudly boasts its underwhelming title
over tweenie goths, waddling families and cowboys roaming its stores.
Until they all return home for a 5:30 dinner, American Idol, and bed.

[milo]

They tore down the bar I used to go to in Cincinnati

Pinned to Cincinnati's asphalt tongue
where pedestrians stipple the concrete
and the old men gather to drink the young
amber whiskey that makes their lives complete.

We speculate in wonder at city
planners' pointillist technique. A chain link
shawl and traffic tape paint the tragedy
of abandonment. So if by chance you think

of escaping downtown's diesel-choked air
or maybe just the shuttlecock traffic
scurrying underneath the neon glare,
take seventy-four West to view her brick

broken shoulders amidst a stack of bones,
not a cairn, just a pile of other stones.


milo

[cidermaid]

Feel v dissattisfied with this offering but not got anything else... everyone else seems to be able to churn out brilliant poems at a moments notice. I feel like i'm working really hard to produce rubbish. (Blood out of a stone and all that ). Does anyone else ever go through periods of being unable to write to save thier lives? In my third week of this, hoping if i just keep at it, it will pass.

Devon Redlands.

Bleeding, slowly leaching sun fed goodness, this gritty
land of soft sandstone is enclosed within a granite
heart. By nature a desert dweller, submerged and crushed,
refined in earthy fires, that thirst for red and golden dust;
in threads, that shattered and flowed in breccio outbursts.
These now laid out in deep fertile beds with alluvial heads.

Deeper yet are coves of limestone, subterranean rivers
that flow from Alpine fields, bypassing Flanders and Maginot;
natural lines, mineralised for clarity. They rise, welling up
shiny, hard and foreign, compared to the Moor-stone overflow
soaked through black loam, sullen and brackish, prone to pooling
in localised collects. Soft and flaccid like a third day corpse.

Layered and pleached into the headlands and hedges are the ghosts
of marching men, who steeped in rebellion, took five wounds
to be hung on granite crosses, drawn into the pages of history before
they were finally quartered in grave situations. The martyred remains
of pride, bell-less, smell-less, denied the beer and cake of Popeish reign;
limey pebbles who smouldered in sullen dismay, to await the next affray.

[billy]

i wrote two yesterday and it took up a lot of time.
neither of them as expansive as the one above. thanks to these threads, i'm just happy to write a few poems now and then . keep it up, you're doing okay (all mine were the bare minimum) this is one of those threads where it's really about the taking part. getting into a regimen of writing.

[Leanne]

Salted sands of shining hue,
Warm beneath the bronzing glow,
Mirrored in the heavenly blue,
Where dreams are born and left to grow –
Among the gleaming ebb and flow
Of smiles and splendid stories told
By those whose job it is to know:
The glitter city spreads its gold.

Add plastic glamour to the brew,
Sit back and watch the polished show,
While parti-coloured troubles stew
Inside the gilded portmanteau
That tourists carry when they go
Back to their sordid lives and old
Existence while, amid the woe,
The glitter city spreads its gold.

Beyond the aura bright, a few
Avoid the lure of ethics low,
And from their mouths the Scriptures spew,
While at the mass of sin they throw
Their warnings, like the cawing crow;
Such Right to moral breasts they hold,
Yet in the seething undertow,
The glitter city spreads its gold.

In black and white, the to and fro
Ensures the Coast is never cold –
So while the shallow breezes blow,
The glitter city spreads its gold.

[brandontoh]

Home

If it's home, why can't I increase the temperature?
How many homes can one have?
Doesn't matter, I know dreams won't wait there.
Time to venture, and to chase after that which runs away.
Leave the comfort of the ever-flowing river.

I must build my own home, with my own two hands,
not settle for what's already there.
Either way, I'll never be alone.
Warmth will always be there
if I have a home in heart.