It’s the last day of National Poetry Month! You made it! The torture is over!

With this last poem.

The final poem featured from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge comes from the theme Disguise. I admit to playing fast and loose with this theme, but you have to admit that my free verse isn’t wrong.

Mating Ritual

I pluck hairs
from my face
to hide that
I’m a mammal.
Men don’t date
within their species.

We’re almost through National Poetry Month. You guys are such sports.

The theme of this poem from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge was Nerves. A fitting theme at the time because my nerves were, well, frayed.

This poetic form is called a nonce. It’s a poetic form created by a poet for one time use. The rules of this particular nonce is three words a line and nine lines for the poem. Easy peasy.

Frayed

going too fast
on black roads
shiny and wet
glaring like ice
hit the brakes
expect to slide
hope to stop
before I skid
thru the light

Good news! You’re half-way through National Poetry Month and my poetic torture. Our half-way point poem from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge features the theme…Poetic Form. Write a poem in a poetic form. Hey! I’ve been studying for this one for months!

Many of the poems I wrote during November were done using scraps of ideas that I’d jotted down. This is one of them. I just crammed that idea into a tricube.

Careless Syllables

I’ve said things
that dug scars
in soft skin

used too much
teeth on a
tender spot

but for me
it was just
a Tuesday

National Poetry Month torture continues with our second poem of the month, which was written on the 22nd day of the November Poem-a-Day challenge. The theme for that day was Machine, so I wrote about the kind of machine I could really use.

This poem is a stornello, which has fast become a favorite form. I have no idea why I like everything lower case in my stornellos, but we’re just going to flow with it.

Rube Goldberg Revisited

i need a machine to make my life easy
the difficulty level makes me queasy
a fan-like device should make it all breezy

I regret to inform you that it is once again April, and April means National Poetry Month.

This year’s selections all come from the Writer’s Digest November Poem-a-Day challenge. Every day in November, participants were given a theme and best wishes to write a poem. Eleven of the poems I wrote that month were put into a chapbook at the end of the challenge and submitted for funsies. That leaves nineteen poems with nothing better to do.

Let’s get started, shall we?

The first poem of the month features the theme Fire/Ice, and it’s written in my default free verse.

I’m easing you in, kiddos.

Hot Flashes

ice in my veins
fire on my skin
freezing hot
burning cold
maybe it’s love
maybe it’s menopause

You did it! You survived National Poetry Month and my terrible poetry. Let’s close it out with a short one.

Good job, everybody.

***

On Hair Removal

The truth of it is
when you shave fat legs
often you end up
with shredded pork.

We’re in the home stretch of National Poetry Month. You’re almost there, kids. And since you’re already struggling, let’s do a poem that’s sure to make you really uncomfortable.

I admit it. I like to watch you squirm.

***

Hips

There’s something about her hips.
The way they’re spread wide
and far, like the rumor of
good things to come.
The way the curve of them
begs for hands to grip
just at the top, squeeze,
hold on for the ride of your
Life.

We’re half-way through National Poetry Month. Are you feeling the burn? Don’t worry. You’re doing great. And this poem is a fun one. It answers a question writers get all the time.

I don’t think you’ll like my answer, though.

***

Where Do You Get Your Ideas From?

I want to say my mind is a prism,
that it fractures the light of reality
into a rainbow, creates a palette
I paint with to please the masses.

In actuality, my mind is a kitchen sink drain
that I clean out now and then
and save the best bits of gunk
to make a meal no one eats.

National Poetry Month continues, and so does the onslaught of my bad poetry. Let’s have some fun with a poem that would have folks loudly declaring that the shoe doesn’t fit if they read it.

Good thing nobody’s read it.

***

Let’s Eat

Men are vegetarian dogs.
They like to chew on skinny things-
matchsticks, toothpicks,
meatless bones
picked clean by high standards.
A man is finicky about his meal.

Women, though, women like to dine,
feast, indulge in the banquet
laid before them, the tastes,
the textures, the variety, the flavors
washing over their tongues, savoring.
A woman is not a picky eater.

It’s National Poetry Month, my yearly excuse to inflict my terrible poetry on your delicate sensibilities, a weekly barrage of cringe-worthy attempts at art.

I hope you like abuse.

***

This Is a Bad Poem

This is a bad poem.
First and foremost it doesn’t rhyme,
except by accident one time.
Secondly, it doesn’t use enough devices.
It lacks metaphors like a drought lacks rain.
It has all the symbolism of an anvil
dropped from a great height
onto a cartoon character
who never saw it coming
despite the music.
Lastly, it took me only ten minutes to write it
and five minutes to edit it.
Fifteen minutes too many because
this is a bad poem.