FOP #1

PLEASE ONLY POST ON THIS THREAD IF YOU ARE PART OF THIS GROUP.

Prompts will be added tomorrow morning, and then edited each morning with a new set!

Remember, there are no rules on consecutive posting; members can post as many poems as they can, but double posts by another member for the same prompt, will not be counted.

ALL POEMS MUST BE NEWLY WRITTEN, AND MUST FOLLOW THE ORDER OF THE PROMPTS.

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PROMPTS:

1. Must mention ONE animal AND ONE NUMBER.

2. Wild Card

3. category : Life

4. Must include the words of a club name on this site. Yes, you can use the same club twice

5. Formed poem (excluding haiku/senryu)

6. Alcohol or Drugs

7. 10-13 lines

8. Must include a metaphor or similie

GO!

1.1 sense

In Cologne, the weinfest rumbles
From afar, alcohol trickles
Into the ear, and gutenabend becomes
Laughter, and the underaged become drunk
Of want, like waiting for that first kiss
All of your life, waiting for the sweet dawn
Of cologne dancing around the nostrils.

1.2 funny

He calls me bunny, like a fluffy ruffly round-tummied bunny
But never tickles behind my ears because there's fickleness
In the air that makes me want to tumble after the rumble
In my belly, the fluffy round belly, like I might be pregnant
With love but truth is he's never really touched me before
Since my teeth stick out like knifes
And I hallucinate about carrots all the time.

1.3 formed poem - acrostic

Plethora of typos, as I scribble on my phone,
Hoping for the internet to have mercy on me
Or else I'll overflow, too many words stacked in a row
'Neath the dustiness of my brain and the trainwreck that
Eloped, right when I crossed the border of my sleep.

1.4 country/state/town

In Germany you will find statues like tokens
Of mischief, a broken head in the middle of the park
Waiting for you to dig in its nose and find no gold at all.

In Germany, or any other foreign country, for that matter,
You will feel like a child, eatinh too much pastries
And putting your elbows in a permant photographer's stance

As if the foreign air invites you to be a statue as well,
Feel like you're faking your I.D. for a split second
As your feet grow roots in the ever-grey pavement.

1.5 30-36 syllables

Hide and seek, behind windows
Smudged with fingerprints, and dreams.

Because you'll feel like a leprechaun,
Invading a new world of chocolate.

1.6 religion

I was told to open my palm like a lotus flower
And remember the chants for my grandfather
And grandmother, who followed each other's steps
Into an after world. Sometimes I smell incense
And think of the malaysian summer whilst bowing
In the dutch airconditioned air of a make-belief temple.

And when I chant, I feel like a nuisance
Between the melodies, for being illiterate
And leaving my prayers lost in translation.

1.7 special occasion

19 is a scary age, I should know,
'Cause walls start to whisper about finance
And the university books haunt you even
In the middle of the holidays, when you're visiting
A museum and feel proud and odd for recognising names.

But you'll survive, I should know,
Despite this day being forced into forgetfullness
Whenever it's near - hoping to disappear
Like the pages of a calendar, story by story.

But I'll recollect your pieces
And put you on top of the shelf in my heart.

1.8 wild card

Walked around town with a pricetag
Still hanging from my crop-top,
Feeling cheap like a magazine's last page
For being nothing but a fashionista's hologram.

But I couldn't care less about prices,
Wasting each dime on books I'd never lay my eyes on,
As if stuffing my shelf would title me a person
With a less cropped vision and richer attitude.

2.1 sense organ

He coughed and blood gushed out of his nose,
And I can imagine a sluggy waterfall struck in his throat.

I tried to cry but couldn't cry, read about tubercolose
And cancer, snuggled questions between the unstable wifi,
feigning to be an expert that could heal both his body and heart.

Truth is, I'd always knew to lose but never to lose
Like this, hoping to switch miracles on like a desklamp
And contemplating to write a letter to fate.

2.2 funny

What sorcery is this?!

Peanutbutter pish posh pasted
To my tongue, like I first learnt to loll
Instead of talk, saying "talk" like I mean "tolk"
And the everlasting tyrranous dutch T-sound
Like TEE-bone or TEE-shirt smacked
To people's ears; a linguistic corpse wrapped
In nations rotting at the skin, never rolling as softly
As theaaaa-time, or theeeesaurus (although the latter
Sounds like a dinosaur raiding through a dictionary)

But I digress. Point is. On a day

I shall upturn this sorcery
And fix the crookedness of my tongue
As if it were teeth - cold-hearted voice recording
And hoping to sound more satisfied.

2.3 formed poem - haiku

Haloes of sound rise
To the treetops, chirping birds
Baptise the morning

2.4 country/state/town

In Amsterdam, there are more kitchens than one could count
On the fingers, but tourists chill at Mac-do's, sticking
To familiarity, as I stare at their donned city maps
From the terrace, rocking the glass-captured white whine
To and fro, as if contemplating to spill it all over them

On accident.

2.5 30-36 syllables

Suddenly wished to be an octopus
With fingers, so I could count these syllables
With ease, and eat potato chips
At the same time.

2.6 religion

I'd wish to fall into Buddha's palm
If only my thoughts weren't clouded
By storms of childish hatred,
If only I could stop raining on parades,
Cheeks reddening like poisonous apples
Tainting even the whitest of snow-like skin
With bruises of accusation.

I'd wish to bury my head into palms
More tender, but this skin is calloused
And this mind full of excuses.

2.7 special occasion

On my birthday, I'll comb my hair,
Leave one earring exposed,
And wear a dress.

I'll be the plastic doll
Atop a too creamy cake,
Hoping to sink into fake sweetness.

2.8 wild card

My head feels like a can of tea now,
Burnt the leaves with too much boiling water,
A little too many times. So for now, I bid adieu,
Eat my cookie without dipping, leave it crunching
Between my teeth, as I try to smile
As charming as I can, pretending
To have mapped a handkerchief on my lap,
As if plotting a safety net for my crumbles.

3.1 Senses

I can't hear the shelling of schools
Nor the cries of traumatised husbands,
Can't smell the concrete dust
Nor the musk of cordite.
Can't see streets painted an off-red
Nor the short, laden stretchers.
I can't reach out my hand to help.
I can't get my head around it.

3.2 Funny

A funny poem, now this is tough,
It's the first round, already I've had enough!
Humourous moments, let me think...
Tumbling show-offs at the ice rink?
Deaf Mary thinking she's a singer
All the while Charlie's biting fingers.
Thanks for the laughs, youtube stars,
Keep filming your mishaps and you'll go far!

3.3 Formed Poem

Haiku

Ginger cat hairs line
A ball-shaped groove in the chair
Where she used to sleep.

3.4 Country/State/Town

You're name resounds in songs and stories,
I've seen you often in my dreams
Of west, sunshine, good times, ocean,
But are green hills always what they seem?

Red Hot Chilli Peppers lycricise you
And pop princesses blow you kisses,
TV shows and movie stars smile
But California, can you keep your promises?

3.5 30=36 syllables

I used to pick foxgloves
On the old mass path hidden behind
The house. Rabbits hopped
Between fallen branches,
Memories swung from aging trees.

3.6 Religion

Mr. Wiggins stooped over his walking stick
Like an old Quasimodo. Every Sunday
In his checkered woollen suit jacket,
Off-yellow shirt and worn brown slacks
Wobbled up from the gatehouse
To mass. He shook hands with Fr. Anthony
On the way to the graveyard and wheezed
About the summer harvest. He waved to the children
On his way to tend the graves. He said a prayer
And went home for the tea and slept
At night like a baby.

3.7 Special Occasion

Waking up (barely), 6 hours and 24 minutes older
That my last stint of consciousness hardly merited
Celebration. Balloons and fancy clothes wrapped in fancy
Wrapping paper were surely unnecessary. Singing songs
And cutting cake were over the top.
But spending another day sharing the curve
Of your smile and tickle of your hand was all the celebration
I needed.

3.8 Wild Card

I bought a cherry red electric guitar,
With a box-sized amplifier, cables, picks.
I must have thought I was Slash from
Guns and Roses when I played my first riff
2 weeks later. That summer
I learned my G's and C's and made notes
On my online tutorials.

I found the case again, years later
In a corner of the attic. The red had lost
It's shine and dust married the rusty strings.
It felt strange in my hand and as I plucked the strings
From memory I knew they would never
sound the same again.

4.1 Senses

1. Sense Organs

It was with sincerest hope that I prayed
for your survival. You lay in the hospital bed
beside me, the stink of alcohol no longer potent
on your breath. The curtains drawn, I could hear
the machines beep your weak heart-rate, hear
the doctor consult with the surgeon, how your mother
sobbed when they told her you would never walk
again.

I wish you hadn't made your mistake. I wish the glass
hadn't found my eyes as your car bumpered
into mine. I wish I could see my family,
wish I could see something other than the brief
moment of realization in your eyes.

4.2 Funny

2. Funny

My heart hit the floor when the door
swung open and the inspector stood there,
Mrs. Trunchbull-like, with nostrils flared,
I the teaching student sat quiet as a mouse,
her eyes fixed on the class teacher, what a stare!

'Can I help you?' young Mr. Davit said cordially,
'Yes!' she screamed! 'Your tracksuit! Your trainers,
and greasy hair, don't you know how to dress accordingly?
This is a professional job, you look like a slob!
You call yourself a student of St. Michael's College?
A sorrier trainee teacher I've never acknowledged!'

The tension in the room, one could cut with a knife,
little Martin in the front row looked like losing his life!
But Mr. Davit stood tall, and took a deep breath,
seemingly unpreturbed by her stare of death!

'Excuse me, Miss but I didn't catch your name,
you marched into my classroom and we're just back from games.
You are supposed to be an advisor, an educational preacher,
but you weren't clever enough to know I'm the class teacher.
The student you came to see, he's dressed up well,
as you would say, 'professional,' mighty swell.
But your rudeness has left just one thing in store,
Emma dear, will you show this lady the door?'

4.3 Formed

My happiness doesn't depend
On coluored paper and clinking metal,
Nor on bank balances and luxurious gifts.
Everything that makes me smile is
You, you, you.

4.4 Country/State/Town

Victorian squares, deer-populated parks,
double-decker buses and banjo music wafting
from street corners helped make me think of you,
Dublin, as a living, breathing entity.

The car horns in morning traffic, the flag-selling
touts on All-Ireland weekend. The beer gardens
and avenues helped make me think of you,
Dublin, as a home away from home.

4.5 30-36 syllables

T-shirts are stepping stones,
and years of dusty half-junk, swimming
under the separated bunk beds
play hide and seek.
My room, my microcosm.

4.6 Religion

'Thou shalt not kill,' must have come with an asterix,
a footnote, a link to T's and C's.
God must have said to Moses, thou shalt not kill unless,
or but. I must be missing something. How else
can people go to churches or mosques or synagogues
and bless themselves and say their prayers
and shake each-others hands and preach peace and love.
How else can I see these pictures of dying children
or starving women or bloody men on television
day after day after day after day after.....

4.7 Special Occasion

Anniversary Kiss

I got out of bed, like every other day,
brushed my teeth, opened a new box of
corn flakes for breakfast. Made a note
on the fridge to get milk with the shopping.
Went to work, dropped the kids to music.
But that night, I lit the fire and we snuggled down
to watch Rocky, and your lips are as soft
as they were when I first kissed them
in a damp old cinema 26 years ago.

4.8 Wildcard

Like sunburnt grass, the once-green stalk
had faded to yellow-brown. It lay amongst the junk
of my bedside locker for an age, and when
I picked it up for the first time in years
it was as solid as it was when fresh from the handiwork
of an elephant rider in a Thailand rainforest.
It still fit my finger perfectly and I put it away
more safely than I had in the past.

5.1 Senses

The aroma of spices wafts from the plate
and with the vanilla candle produces
a fragrant cocktail where they meet in my nostrils.
The slow background oriental music and
three dimensional murials that double as wall sculptures
of bamboo gardens and Great Walls make
me feel like the street noises outside are from
tuk-tuks, or night markets or silk traders.
The szechuan dish tastes like succulent fire
awakening senses I never knew I had.

5.2

Funny

Twinkle, twinkle,
fiddle dee dee,
I can't hold it,
I must go pee!
With only one bathroom
I'm bursting at the seams
I'll have to piddle in my bed
I've happened to pee in my dream!

5.3 Formed Poem

A rush of sadness
overwhelms raging rivers
another life gone.

5.4 Country/State/Town

In a place where the back roads
on the Willamette are lit up by country lights,
and tan skinned beauties dance
on lowered tail gates,
you'll find love.

Love of country, love of a man,
love of the dirt. You'll get consumed
in the country music,
drenched deep with beer
and cowboy hats.

5.5 30-36 syllables

I'm shrinking and wouldn't you know
my heart is swollen.
Don't tell me your heart aches
when they are my dreams.
I'd love to hurt like you do.

5.6 Religion

Colorful traditions consume
the hearts of so many,
painting flowered pathways
over dirty alleys and city streets -
all in the name of forgiveness.

Their religion has taken over
and their eyes have become blinded,
such beautiful people get lost
in the translation, in the history
of the forgotten, and have never learned
how the seek the Truth.