NaPM April 21 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 21: Inspired by a trip or a journey.
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

Questions?

(congratulations to those sticking it out this far)

[cidermaid]

Inspired by Song of songs (1:8) ... "Oh no! - Not another one"

( Haibun & Haiku - more likely Senyru but I like the sound of Haiku in my title better it goes with Haibun ).

Travel notes and advice from some friends.
A question was asked – Where does your lover lead…where could you rest?
We have seen a path that, though narrow – just a single sheep worn track, will lead you right.

Bird song greets the dawn.
New every day. Rising sun.
Rock strewn dusty road.

To find the tents of the herders…just follow your nose! You can walk among the tents – greasy black goat hair, mud splattered and rather tatty – they do the job. The open flaps and similarly hearts….and faces, seam to invite you to enter in and become part of the story. Milling all around – underfoot, are the sheep and goats. Mostly black coated, they are silly (and smelly) things, but the thing you notice most, is how they respond to the voice of their leader. Just one word is all it takes. “Come” As a single unit, those who belong, rise up and follow. If one is slack or slow to follow they are called for by name. They don’t move, but rather flow. Glossy, long black hair swaying as they move. They tumble and roll along the track, looking for all the world like a river in a rocky ravine. Apprentice herders take on young goats to start with – two a penny. (Mature, lamb bearing sheep are prized - not so readily available). Young goats are teachable. Feed them and you can lead them. Follow on in the tracks of the sheep and so find the hidden glades and secret quiet places. Shade in the summer and shelter in the winter. From father to son the knowledge of the paths are handed down.

Blackened, dusty hide.
Simple dwelling - wide blue sky.
Hot sun – shady glade.

A: Where does your lover lead? He is his father’s son - he has gone on ahead up the path.

[Todd]

Forrest and the Beanstalk, Part I

Mama always said that cow was so dry
she only gave powdered milk.

It turns out I don’t know beans
about beans. The ones I traded for her
must have been Mexican jumping legumes
the way they bounced from Mama’s hand.
She picked up a carving knife, saying
something about us having to eat our shadows.

It made my stomach rumble,
so much the house began to shake
like a kid trying to get the last coin
from a piggy bank.

Outside the window, the night was green.
Them beans had grown
into a tower, five jenny’s wide,
and too big to hug behind the woodshed.
I thought the stalk might even pierce the moon.

I guess it was one of those Babel Towers
from the Bible, as Mama started clucking,
and peckin’ her head at it like a fat hen.
As she kept waving that knife, it seemed
good to me to see what was up top.

Would you have guessed there’d be a castle
on the other side of the clouds? Me neither.

[cidermaid]

Nice one Todd, looking forward to part two.
LOVED the open lines. (I can hear Forrest in my head).

[milo]

Airborne Assault on Parliament

With whiskey, beans and butterscotch
and my grandfather's pocketwatch
an owl a stoat and I

stole passage on a washing tub
and fat with courage and our grub
we rode it to the sky.

As we approached the old clocktower
the owl was the first to cower
to spread his wings and fly.

When rockets shook our little boat
I trembled but that clever stoat
he kept us floating high.

Still merchants tired of our games
and plunged us to the river Thames
my friend, the stoat, and I.

[NakedBear]

From Boy to Man

As green new buds unfurled beside the trail,
which led to warmed snows flowing over shale,
long falling for the spring’s new tides, we feigned
to see the trees, but loved seclusion gained
from out my mother’s prudish grasp, grown frail.

So long in mind have I renewed this tale,
while raising she who bloomed from leaves grown stale,
in which we bed, in love no one restrained,
as green new buds unfurled.

Atop the fount you danced along loose shale,
and showed the wilds you’d rent clear through my veil,
to know the world of men, and had attained
your passage to their ranks. My heart was pained
by fear when then you slipped to air, and flailed
as green new bud, unfurled.

[Todd]

Mikey, what a great approach to the prompt. Some very nice lines and images here.

[milo]

Mikey, what a great approach to the prompt. Some very nice lines and images here.

yah, he snuck the rondeau in after we all went. Nicely done.