National Poetry Month 2016: April 9, 10

[RiverNotch]

Here are the two prompts, each 8 lines or more, with the same freedom-of-form. Again, one post per poem -- note which day yer poem is; and, being a month, try and catch up, any newcomers! but please, in their respective threads.

April 9: Inspired by an occupation (ie, what do you wanna be when you grow up?)

April 10: Write a negative poem -- a piece that defines something by what it is not. Best example, presented by the member just mercedes from the other forum, is a painting by Rene Magritte, "The Treachery of Images", spoilered below. The script translates to "This is not a pipe".

La trahison des images

Credit where it's due; the idea and the prompts come from this site:
Poetry Forum - - Post poetry, get feedback, give critique.

 

[RiverNotch]

April 9:

A VISIT TO SOME FORGOTTEN CHURCH IN MOSCOW

One dusty hand reached out, caressed
my cheek -- the other held
offerings to be bought, gilded frames
of some saints: Vasil fool, Sergei,
and the painter-monk Andrei.

This hooded figure also spoke
in hazy voice -- and Russian. My guess:
If only you could hear,
far-hearted tourist, their complaints
about this house of God turned pile of earth,
iconostasis flushed by rain,
and censer made bouquet,
then how you'd weep! (or pay)
as now I do.

Back then, I wanted to become
a doctor -- returning home, I laughed
at the leprous spot below my eye.
How young was I!

 

[RiverNotch]

April 10:

WEATHERTOWN

I will not leave for Weathertown,
will not Desire -- its spires,
for though I like the weatherman,
I've yet to catch -- his Lies.

The TV and the radio,
they never ride my wave --
and when I search the web for rain,
I always fail to save.

And people -- though I took no vows,
I comb the hermit's fill:
my wilderness, a shuttered home,
my hieromonk, a pill --

for past the weatherman's vane charms,
you chickens are a chore --
aside from belts of blood and breast,
this business is a bore.

Or rather, how I dread romance --
to Love is like a storm!
and cities, hated opposite --
great droughts -- past all alarm.

No, I'll not leave for Weathertown,
and treat the 'Self' -- applied,
for Truth is not a gale without:
I'd rather Live -- a child.

 

[noodle]

Apr 9

A Tribute to Mother

I thought I'd be an eagle,
Flying through the sky,
But my words my mother heard,
And crushed my dreams to fly.

I thought I'd be a tiger,
Wearing stripes of black,
But my words my mother heard,
And swiftly brought me back.

I thought I'd be a pirate,
Sailing on a stormy, waving sea,
But my words my mother heard,
And snatched my ship from me.

I thought I'd be a writer,
To explore a dragon's den,
And my words my mother heard,
She handed me a pen.

 

[PoetLore]

April 10 negative poem

There are no stars to see
There is no moon to guide
No darkened shadows threatening
No place to run and hide
Nothing dark at all it seems
Not one owl loudly hooting
No bats squeaking as the hunt
No hardships in finding footing
No lack at all of light
No it is not yet night