National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

[Colm Roe]

30 ways to die.
#16

It cannot exist, it cannot be
This spectre hanging over me? 

On a crumbling parapet she stands,
five storeys of families, couples and the lonely
layered between her and the pavement.

Outstretched arms
mimic the skyline,
while the Earth curves unseen
in a multitude of horizons.

Strained neck muscles force her face
to face
the infinity above, while
her knees tremble with concern
about the eternity below.

Neurons fire in concert
with a carpet of lost souls
that litter the dark.

Then he's there
with a smile,
and maybe a reason.
He raises his hand
and gives her a little push.

 

[Gyppo]

and maybe a reason.
 

'and maybe a reason.'

As Shakespeare said, "but there's the rub."

[Gyppo]

On the Creative Process 


...until something, anything, a word, a thought,
a sight, a sound, a smell, an event,
a conversation, whatever,
triggers it all to start...

A wonderful description of the creative process and that moment when it pushes itself to the front of your consciousness, demanding your full attention.

That moment when friends and family look at each other, smile, and say "He's away with the fairies again."  When true friends shove a pencil and paper into your hand, and deftly re-choreograph a conversation with each other as if you're not there.

Later, when they spot the puzzled look on your face as you realise the conversation has moved on without you, they smile and welcome you back.

Gyppo 

[Gyppo]

I
Prisoner


She cannot be 
completely unleashed
lest I go mad.

I lock her up 
for safe keeping,
and feed her scraps
but I keep the key
in a pocket
close to my heart.

~Deb
 

Deb, as an actress, a performer, you already know how to let her out for a while on a short leash, but leaving her behind in the dressing room isn't always easy is it?

It may not work for you, but sometimes physically mirroring the mental action of shutting her away, closing the door and turning the key, helps to make the break.  And if you then turn your back on her to hide away the key in your secret pocket, so she won't see you do it, I for one won't laugh at you.

[Gyppo]

    Tomorrow I have a funeral to attend.  The wife of one of my cousins.  She was a lovely lady.  Sometimes a little bit too 'larger than life' for my generally reserved nature, but she realised this and 'dialled it down a bit' for me.  A lot of empathy behind her vigour and bounce.  The perfect wife for my equally larger than life cousin.

    It seems impossible that it is thirty eight years since I made and decorated their wedding cake for them.  She was only a couple of years older than me and, inevitably, it made me think.

=====

NAPO 16 - 2019 


"Today is not that day."

There have been shit moments in my life
which have hardened certain principles,
have set trains of thought running only one way.

But like a hobo I've learned a trick,
how to swap trains,
to jump from a moving vehicle
and roll without breaking.

Sometimes a little bruised and bloody,
but time heals, after a fashion,
and scars hide any residual pain.

But it doesn't always work,
and some destinations keep reappearing
on the timetable of my life.

Some sidings are so seductive
they trap me for a while, 
in peaceful dreams of 'what if',
until the wanderlust returns.

Which is when I grab my bag
and swing aboard the last train out.
One day it will be my last ride,
"But today is not that day."

Gyppo

[NicoleMichaels]

MEET ASIAN GIRLS NOW

I had a love for you big as China,
and I have stopped fighting for you.  

I am not from
Singapore or Siam,
 
some small village in Vietnam
where they sell their daughters

all day long
to buy rice. 

The last time I made rice, I burned it,
and you are not going to find me 

posing by a palm tree,
wearing nothing but a coconut. 

Nobody should be forced to dress in husks,
go down on a drink straw 

for the camera,
as if the light itself

could be traded and poached.
I am a white oak, 

rooted within shouting distance
of hurricanes. 

I don’t get rug burns from doing it
doggie style,

but I carry
the salt of the earth on my tongue, 

my open-mouthed kiss, 

something you wake to
between scrolls. 　

[ajduclos]

I'm in such fine company here. I am amazed. I've been advised to quit apologizing but I don't think my work rises to these standards. I'll keep working on it though. 

I wrote this the day of my onslaught and didn't plan to use it but today my brain is shrouded in fog. -That's a poem for another day.


Prisoner

I quiet the muse,
reign her in

to relinquish 
full authority,
a risky proposition.

I may drown
if I give voice
to that manic rise and fall
of undulating emotions 
held tenuously 
behind the floodgates.

She cannot be 
completely unleashed
lest I go mad.

I lock her up 
for safe keeping,
and feed her scraps
but I keep the key
in a pocket
close to my heart.

~Deb

Touching, tender, beautiful........... the muse can be quite demanding at times.
At the moment, I believe my muse is on strike, or has taken a vacation - I've yet to figure out how to call her up as needed... Perhaps I need to show her more love...  I love your approach in the last stanza..............

[ajduclos]

Which is when I grab my bag
and swing aboard the last train out.
One day it will be my last ride,
"But today is not that day."

Gyppo

Ain't Ready To Die

so sorry for your loss... 

Aj
 

[ajduclos]

MEET ASIAN GIRLS NOW

I had a love for you big as China,
and I have stopped fighting for you.  


but I carry
the salt of the earth on my tongue, 

my open-mouthed kiss, 

something you wake to
between scrolls. 　

Wow - I have no words..................
Aj
 

[Dave]

MEET ASIAN GIRLS NOW - fantastic poem
Colm 16 is seriously good; especially

"On a crumbling parapet she stands,
five storeys of families, couples and the lonely
layered between her and the pavement.

Outstretched arms
mimic the skyline,
while the Earth curves unseen
in a multitude of horizons. "

16
Through a line between
a brow of green
and an azure sky
cattle emerge
One by one their heads appear
like a line of semibreves,
then crochets, finally they jog
down this rural page
as demisemiquavers
straight into and out of a trombone
resting on a shoulder under a white cowboy hat.
Their tails clap and beat flies in rhythm,
earsflap and they reveal their true selves.