2023 NaPM 26 April

[RiverNotch]

It briefly became something of a tradition for the 28 April prompt to be fairy tale related, one which I had unwittingly broken last year. Well, I'm unbreaking it now...at April 26? I had something planned for the last four days of this year's NaPM, but I'll transplant what I had planned for 28 April, which was the 28 April prompt of 2013, a prompt I find rather characterful:

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 27: Two choices today:  1 - you can write a poem from the point of view of someone sick or dying or 2 - it is my birthday today.  In years past, on my birthday, all the poets I knew would write a poem to commemorate (YAY!).  You can choose this example if you choose though I am aware I have not been here long enough for anyone to really know me that well, I have included an example I received from my old friend (and poet) Dale Housman.

Form: any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

I have no idea where milo's example went, it doesn't seem to have been in the post xD

[Mark A Becker]

Patience with Patients

That so called food last night
was terrible, ass hole,

and it was too damn hot
in this room, dog breath.

Turn the TV on!  No!
Not that channel, ya dip shit!

Change this bed pan
before it spills, ya moron!

Now wipe my ass, and don't
be all scratchy, butt head!

Turn off that stupid radio!
No, not that, you idiot!

That’s the oxygen!
Turn it back on!

Turn it ba….

[dukealien]

Golden Hours Prior


The funny thing about
catching a cold in the head
is how terrific you feel
while it’s happening.

Everything seems brighter
you feel vibrantly warm
and alive (which is because
your body’s ramping up defenses
and first-responding to
its viral assailants).

But soon enough it happens:
that first big sneeze
that comes out of nowhere.
Then it’s off to the races
and your nose is running.

[TranquillityBase]

One thing for sure
it's hard know someone
only by their poems
unless they practice ceaseless confession
and even then, it's probably a mask.
Anyway, from one sentient being
to another, I'm glad you are here.

And traditionally, 
when wishing someone happiness on their birth
that mysterious, miraculous, mythological event
which none of us are allowed to remember
I like to add Laurie Anderson's mournful chant:
"You were born. And so you're free.
So happy birthday."

[Mark A Becker]

Don't Let Those Candles Catch Up

Another year
done-
shed
no tears
for fearing
since
you're always
21,
yet with
years more
experience.

[busker]

A lament o'er life

I'm sick,
I'm dying.
Because I took the vaccine.
Each public square is now a diorama
featuring exclusively, ethnic minorities,
all because of Obama
and Clinton, with his love for titties,
who let the blacks in.

This country is going to hell
but I'm going to heaven
with him, who is the leaven-
ing in the bread of life, my Christ,
who in Donald doth dwell,
leaving behind this mire where the gay man flasheth to shock,
and lifteth another woman's smock 
a madam.
Where dinosaurs are said to have lived before Adam.

I'm sick
because morals are lax
and Biden's a dick
who forced me to take the vaxx

[CRNDLSM]

I've been alive longer than any man
Living with man to maintain
The trees and the beasts
Then the man paved every road
The roads divided the land
Defining who I was.
The roads are all that's left
I'm left alone and yet
It's for the best

[RiverNotch]

All lives lived in this world
are sick, one way or another.
You start out a sickly child

always vomiting on your mother's shoulder
or your father's lap, then as you begin
to stand up on your own, to walk, to run,

you learn your parents were actually the source
of your many diseases -- their impatience
when you were an infant, their present ignorance,

their malice as you are forced
in this uncaring world out of your home
to hold down something even they can't call

a living, to treat your time
as a series of debts to pay, to pass down
your own lack of vision

to the succeeding generation -- and then you find
it's not so much a lack as it's beginning
to blur, your arms and legs

are weakening, a mere cold
translates into pneumonia: the end comes
so quickly, instead of a treatment
you think it's one more sickness.

[Wjames]

It is my birthday
and everyone who might remember
is dead, except for the brother
I don't speak to
and the nursing home staff
who keep it in a spreadsheet
and will be sure to bring me a brownie
in addition to the normal meal.

I want to tell my brother
there is nothing to say,
we both can picture
the same colours.