NaPM April 04 2016

[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 04: *WARNING* This topic was selected by ellajam and it could be challenging.  Ella would like to see poems inspired by the French phrase "entre chien et loup" which is a phrase that loosely translate to "between a wolf and a dog" and is used to describe that time at twilight when it can be difficult to distinguish between a wolf and a dog or a situation when it is difficult to tell when something is benevolent or dangerous.  Write a poem inspired by this.

Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[bedeep]

This might help, or it might not:

http://www.nakedtranslations.com/en/2004...en-et-loup

/insomnia

[milo]

This might help, or it might not:

http://www.nakedtranslations.com/en/2004...en-et-loup

/insomnia

same link I posted.

[just mercedes]

The Darkening


After sunset she walked away.
Her shadow reached back
as she drew nearer the trees,
shoulders turned to moonlight
so its cold fire burned her
blue as eucalypt.

She seemed to rustle, now, with foliage;
a dryad whose roots coiled
within a cage of ribs, of rocks, of stone cliffs
and blanched forest bones, as if
a siege of leaf had won her.

Then she disappeared.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Waiting to Be Reborn

What light might be left in a mid-dusk sky
registers not a niggle in this soil,
found black and wet in early spring repose,
still darkened in the death of winter’s night.

But quick-smooth puddles and water-filled swales-
sharp, like shards of sky fragments or dreamscapes
bright with life reborn, and love repromised.
The streaks of cloud across the western sky

open once again like the ribs of God.

[cidermaid]

Tegan - really great post for today.  Some lovely word choices and v dense with images.  Love the last line.
I am really enjoying reading everyone's poems each day. Yesterday was particularly rich. I find I come back again and again to go through them and it is always so interesting to get the different slant on the prompts.

---

Just before gloaming I go.
My feet always lead me
to the friendly woods.
Strong and supportive
by day. Each friend
an anchor of protection
by night. But there is a zone.

A no go, unknown area,
between the sanctuary
and the track. Here,
I hurry, with hasty
glances back. The dogs
have long gone. The birds,
silent on their perches
as the half light soaks the air.

In-between. As eyesight
Fails, the animal tells
become blurred. Paw pads
are larger. Claw marks
are sharper. Amplified
by erect neck hair,
the hidden predators
are identified by the soft,
“not normal” sounds.

(Raspberry blowing noise - monday = no time to play poetry)

[billy]

woodfolk

At the lip of dusk she stood
ready to be devoured;
a red riding hood of sorts.

The axe she hefted scoured a rut
through stunted fern and Autumn death.
Her once white apron, red and wet.

A body basked within the mist
as evening stretched its maw
legs cut and bloody lay.

The treeline; jagged toothed on distant hills
held wolf-song longer than an echo should,
Where early risen bats could feed on sonic feasts.

She beckoned with the blooded blade;
no need for words, I simply left the porch
that held the light that swung a softness

Succulent the pork that night
it fed us as friends do.

So do not wander in these woods
or you could feed us too.

[bedeep]

This might help, or it might not:

http://www.nakedtranslations.com/en/2004...en-et-loup

/insomnia

same link I posted.

Well, dang. The time stamp shows me how much sleep I got.

Really great poems this morning already. I got one but it's only a placeholder in this company.

---

Just a Minute Now

Between a coyote and a hard place
the little dog wags and waits
then darts out
onto pavement that was empty
just then but now fills
with whizzing death.

Coyote grins, waits
for the light,
then saunters out to
pick up his dinner.

[Keith]

What if daydreams shift

I can move inside your thoughts,
always beside what you never want to know,
boats carry your racing pulse, to pound on my shores
slip on shingle as I paint the peripheral,
listen to the faint as each brush stroke falls.

In that moment all imagination is real
and I slide to the shadow of another failed day.
You are the architect, the designer of change
yet fear feasts on your ability.

It's true, the beasts you ask of midnight
could tear a simple mind
but you would never let them through
and I can whisper all their names,
call them back, contain their rage.

The boat will come to take you home
these shores will drift to dusk
the wild will wilt into the light
as night restores the black and white.

But if your mind would stay behind,
let the tides recede.
Then there could be a separate place
where creation leads to our embrace,
building worlds that can't be dreamed,
inventions of the maker.

[cidermaid]

The dream drift is strong and the imagery is beautiful.  The creepiness is only just discernible on the fringes - delicious.  Lovely Keith this is my favorite of the day so far.

What if daydreams shift

I can move inside your thoughts,
always beside what you never want to know,
boats carry your racing pulse, to pound on my shores
slip on shingle as I paint the peripheral,
listen to the faint as each brush stroke falls.

In that moment all imagination is real
and I slide to the shadow of another failed day.
You are the architect, the designer of change
yet fear feasts on your own ability.

It's true, the beasts you ask of midnight
could tear a simple mind
but you would never let them through
and I can whisper all their names,
call them back, contain their rage.

The boat will come to take you home
these shores will drift to dusk
the wild will wilt into the the light
as night restores the black and white.

But if your mind would stay behind,
let the tides recede.
Then there could be a separate place
where creation leads to our embrace,
building worlds that can't be dreamed,
inventions of the maker.

[heslopian]

Between a Wolf and a Dog

The beach is a place
where many things can happen or be found.

Once in a school field, as a child, I found a fifty pence piece,
which I mistook for a Roman coin.
That is nothing compared to the beach,
where one might find a real Roman coin...
or a body washed up in the surf,
the ocean giving our suicides back
like that ugly, ill-fitting pair of jeans
that a distant cousin bought you for Christmas.

Between a wolf and a dog
I stood on the beach, yesterday,
as it rolled in the bathtub of twilight
like a fat, contented emperor.

This is the place where muggings and murders happen, at night,
when shapes in the darkness flicker
like sentient shadows, then harden into slices of steel
that dig around in your ribs, tiny uninvited guests.

But this is also the place where people walk dogs, by day,
meet friends and family, picnic.
A place where the shadows are locked in the sand,
to be safely subdued and played with.

Like a dog to a wolf, the beach in the day turns to night,
and I mount the steps to the promenade.

[Achebe]

At the turbid hour (aka Ned Kelly's last dinner)

At the turbid hour
of the "entre chien et loup" 
a bushranger peels potatoes
for potato soup.
Unbeknownst to him, a berry
dropped from Proserpine's dower
waits on his stilleto's
julienning power.
The campsite songs ring merry
with tales of rape and pillage
and paens duly sung to
the whore with strongest sillage.
But each minute, the nightshade
gets closer to being chopped up
and served with feral rabbit
the fecund bush hath coughed up.
In the turbid hour ( dangnabbit!
the entre-hoochee-hoop?)
it's a bad idea generally
to make potato soup.

[Tracy Mitchell]

I agree with Cidermaid - what an amazing collection of poems!

[Achebe]

Tegan -  really great post for today.  Some lovely word choices and v dense with images.  Love the last line.
I am really enjoying reading everyone's poems each day.  Yesterday was particularly rich.   I find I come back again and again to go through them and it is always so interesting to get the different slant on the prompts.

---

Just before gloaming I go.
My feet always lead me
to the friendly woods.
Strong and supportive
by day. Each friend
an anchor of protection
by night. But there is a zone.

A no go, unknown area,
between the sanctuary
and the track.  Here,
I hurry, with hasty
glances back. The dogs
have long gone.  The birds,
silent on their perches
as the half light soaks the air.

In-between. As eyesight
Fails, the animal tells
become blurred.  Paw pads
are larger. Claw marks
are sharper.  Amplified
by erect neck hair,
the hidden predators
are identified by the soft,
“not normal” sounds.

(Raspberry blowing noise - monday = no time to play poetry)

I'm confused as to whether the above was you, cider, or Tegan, but it's pretty fantastic.

[Keith]

I agree with Achebe AJ this is an excellent poem but I too thought you were commenting on another piece. never seen gloaming before, very nice. And thank you for your kind comments. Best Keith

---

Billy I'm lovin Woodfolk splendid from start to grizzle finish

[Leanne]

He is working tonight. He works
every night, has done for some time,
a new job, the details escape me. I
am not too good with details, you know.
He tells me so.

I think he likes it. He comes home
tired, but so excited. Most nights,
he smells of soap. His fingernails are
always clean. He cares how he looks
for me. All for me.

If I had to guess? Well, I'd suggest
an abbatoir, perhaps. It's physical,
he says, and sometimes things
don't go as planned. He's tough,
my man.

And just last night, I saw a bit
of something on his shoe. A shine
that looked like blood. A bit of skin.
I didn't ask. I don't. He doesn't tell,
just loves me well.

[cidermaid]

Thanks for the kind comments Achebe and Kieth, I'm always a bit surprised when someone likes one of my poems, really appreciate the encouragement.
So many different approaches to this prompt - Love the subtlety of the stories told so far.
Already had some great prompts, not sure if it is excitement or dread each morning to see what the prompt will be - thanks for being the prompt master Milo.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Cidermaid - I am surprised by your comment - I loved your Just A Woodcut posted yesterday.  I thought that was the closest anyone got to the heart of Danse Macabre.  I had my first draft pretty much done before I saw yours and thought, now that's the way to lay this out - great formatting, excellent treatment of what I thought was a skull-numbing prompt.  But then, I had never heard of Danse Macabre before.  I knew of the 'possessed' dances during the Great Awakening, and of course the Ghost Dances. Your writing is wonderful

[Weeded]

Damn. This one is challenging.

Chris didn't fit in the shoes,
didn't know how to use,
he just knew how to use.
Surrounded by names
like R-Locs, J-Smile, Bud and Big Nero,
they called him buster and scrap
until he learned how to tap noses
and do the gangster dance.
He still remained same as the first day
he came in, but confused now 
'bout who he became and how others view
the man in him either grew or shrunk,
he's lookin shadier than he'd have ever thunk,
he holds onto memories like archived blueprints
but the new ones send him deeper in the black-white newsprint.

[Tiger the Lion]

Coywolf

What a perfect pup you were…
playful, pretty and proud—
no bark.
 
I remember the first time
you bit me
and drew blood.
 
We were playing a little too rough—
both excited
and too young to believe in scars.
 
Is flirting permanent?
 
When the bastard left you
in the calescent car
ten seconds too long,
I stopped forgiving.
I wanted you home.
 
It’s growing dark.
Why do you not howl?