National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

[Gyppo]

NAPO 5 - 2019

Can't be real

A solitary dark violet cloud,
not iridescent at all,
deeper than Raven's wing blue.  

Rimmed with gold from the setting sun,
spreading across my view,
like spilled ink pooling across blue vellum.

If I'd painted it they'd call it imagination,
but even gouache, no matter how rich,
how textured, would be a poor approximation.

If I'd taken a photo they'd ask "What filter?"
or if it was Photo-Shopped,
or manipulated in some way.

So I'll just use words, simple words,
and hope that you can share what I see,
slowly filling my window.

Gyppo

[Colm Roe]

30 ways to die
#5  
Conscience.
We make death easier,
explode brains with steel bolts
quick, but not too quick...
a little life left to bleed out
the meat is better. 

Religion.
Some people are more direct,
slice throats with knives so sharp
it's almost painless (they say)
God feels better. 

Conclusion.
Eat less meat
and choose your God wisely.

[NicoleMichaels]

REUNION

The sun is busy warming you
like a stone from 1981. 

You’ll never get
skin cancer,  

crows feet,
a sun burn. 

All this light just loves you
the way I still love you, 

the way everybody loves you, 
as if you had a magic letterman’s jacket, 

a Camaro than ran on
fuzzy dice, 

disco balls dangling
from every ceiling in your life. 　

[Sharon Leigh]

There are so many wonderful poems here already! I'm sorry everyone, I'm so remiss in commenting, but I have been enjoying to be sure!





There's a sour revelation
like turned milk
when you realize you've written
the same poem

for years
without intent

just like the night
you drove to Farmington
on autopilot in the quiet snow
not even knowing how you
got there

the flakes a starfield
on black
rushing toward you
hypnotic

even this right now
this very poem
is nothing but a clever
leftover casserole
written in your sleep

a cheap regift
a chintzy knockoff
a rushed attempt at paint

but
paint
by numbers

[NicoleMichaels]

INDIAN TACOS 

Better than any woman ever plaited her hair,
these vines braid air
and a smoke stack that has not seen smoke in many years. 

There’s a roof that sags like a hammock,
daring the right person
to nap in its shingled sling,
or read a book while
balanced on bleaching rafters.

This house is a honey badger of a house:
She will not go quietly. 

She wants to take someone with her. 

I always thought the day would come
when wire mannequins everywhere would refuse to wear clothes,
posing naked for the sun in store windows.

The renegades in the group would cut
anyone in their way,
and not cleanly either. 

There’s a score to be evened in the world of fashion and other places. 

It could be happening now, miles from here,
in small towns and in cities. 

The old wire mannequin revolt.  

Because this old house does not settle: She hunkers,
her wings fluffed protectively over too many eggs,
a range hen who thought her hiding place was un-discoverable. 　　　　

[binx]

4/5 Poem

a slice of peach drops
with each pare

another smile
lands somewhere


by George

[Tracy Mitchell]

Eat less meat
and choose your God wisely.

Wise words.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Nicole, you write wonderfully.

Disco balls dangling from every ceiling of your life --

[Tracy Mitchell]

Sharon you blend your narrative with the perfect touch -- a drive to Farmington, a left over casserole, but no - we see your writing differently.

[Tracy Mitchell]

First rate imaging, Nicole. These passages are stellar:

It could be happening now, miles from here,
in small towns and in cities.

The old wire mannequin revolt.

Because this old house does not settle: She hunkers,
her wings fluffed protectively over too many eggs,
a range hen who thought her hiding place was un-discoverable.