Click the image for the prompt page and links to more poems for day 23.
Today, I was supposed to write a poem in the style of Kay Ryan, whose poems tend to be short and snappy – with a lot of rhyme and sound play, yet with a deceptive simplicity about them, like proverbs or aphorisms. I missed with the rhyme, but I ran out of time.
Make It Count
Beeves to the
cowboys were like
coal to the miner,
cargo to the trucker,
or jewels
to the jeweler.
Pilferage
for a price.
Unlike the horse,
pickaxe, truck,
or tweezers;
one’s identity
rests upon the
tools of the trade,
neither the deal
nor the gift
of the dollar
are we.
Look both ways at process and product.
Mind the gaps between important and precious.
Click this image to open today’s prompt page with links to more poems.
Today’s one-thirtieth of NaPo prompts challenged me to write a poem that uses repetition. I may repeat a sound, word, phrase, image, or any combination. I chose a name. (Note: published one day late because someone forgot to click on publish.)
When Nothing Else Can
Maybe Bukowski was right.
We are strange, we of the people.
Is someone’s world better
when we’re not in it?
Bukowski’s is gone.
Bukowski had a point
about hate’s self-sufficiency,
better to not care at all if love
needs so much help. Gratuitous
masturbation of the psyche
is all about Bukowski.
Bukowski was right when he said,
the world is full of boring, identical,
mindless people. They run from the
rain but revel in tubs of bubbles and water.
Where’s the glory here? said Bukowski.
Bukowski didn’t tell me to find what I love
and let it kill me, but I blame it on Bukowski anyway.
There is a loneliness in this world, wrote Bukowski.
Just drink more beer, more and more beer, now
that’s really Bukowski!
I think Bukowski was right when Hank said that
sissies have hard lives. And most important for me,
Bukowski said, nothing can save you except writing,
and equally important, a poem knows when to stop.
I think what Bukowski said is nuts, but also too true,
so it stops, but this is not the end of this Bukowski bit.
Look both ways when sampling the sweet and the sour.
Mind the gaps for clues of generations.
Click on Sammi’s graphic to open her blog and links to more provocative writing.
Now or Never
Sometimes, I thoughtlessly
sit down, grab my pen or something,
and dash one off.
Without thought, form, or plan,
I’ve lost control.
No time for provocative,
deep thoughts.
It’s just me in my do it now mode.
There’s no stream or flow of consciousness,
it happens without reservation,
absent of awareness,
I’ve no muse’s prompt.
When I’m done,
I turn the page.
Look both ways and write it fast, get it down,
save the insane. Mind the gaps and traps of the mind.
Mistress Rochelle, the colorful manager and FF maven of artistic madness, prompts us today, with the aid of a Carole Erdman-Grant photo of an abandoned building with a marvelous paint job.
Genre: Family Fiction
Title: Overheard Gen Art
Word Count: 99
“Mom! Look at that! It’s beautiful. Let’s get dad to buy it.
Julie, that is junk. It’s sad—the worst of gang graffiti. It’s ugly.
Mother, you have no taste. That rocks—it is the fucking bomb. That’s great urban art.
Sweetheart, that is not art. It’s gang turf tagging and watch your language. This was once a nice place to eat. Now look at it: a concrete canvas for bored morons.
It’s metaphorical, Mom. You’re so shallow. If dad doesn’t buy it, I’ll kill myself.
And if he does you won’t have to because I’ll kill you both.”
Look both ways for all that is seen and felt.
Mind gaps and don’t touch the wet paint.
Click on Mels (sic) drive-in from the American Graffiti movie to find more fictioneering.
Click this pic for to open the prompt page and links to other poems.
At the two-thirds complete NaPoWriMo Wednesday, my assignment, should I choose to accept it, was to humanize (anthropomorphize) a food.
Ask any front-line (combat) Army or Marine Corps Viet Nam War veteran about C-rations, especially about this one.
Voldemort Chow
It is not an acquired taste
c-rats (thankfully) are nevermore.
But he who must not be named, you-know-who—of Hogwarts,
the Dark Lord of chow, bitter
Lord Voldemort of field rations
universally despised for bad taste.
In the boonies, in another world:
The Nam! What was in that can?
Bad luck shall befall if you say it— Ham and Lima Beans, say it
like a soldier: ham and motherfuckers
hated by virtually everyone,
thrown back like VC returning fire
by starving children: numba ten, GI!
International agreement at last.
The most disgusting (real) food ever.
(You gunna eat that?)
Look both ways and tell it like it was.
Mind the gaps when everything sucks.
Click the graphic for the prompt page and more poems by other participants.
Today’s challenge is to write a poem that starts with a command.
I wrote my poem as a more respectful, loving plea rather than a command, but the words suit the prompt’s intent well, as far as I’m concerned. My inspiration was the Peter, Paul, and Mary song, Day Is Done.
Our Day Undone
Tell me why you are sad, my son.
Let me hold your hand and listen
as you speak of woe. Call me
to your side as we talk, and we walk.
Stay near me. Tell me your regrets,
intone unknowns we both fear.
Is it wise for us to ask why, sadness
so deep we must cry? Tell me,
my son. I’ll be right here
until my last day is done. Burden my
purpose of commitment. I ask no easement,
but for your silence to clear.
Allow me to share this distress and bother
just as I’ve carried you before. I rejoiced
in your life, now let me suffer with you
the worst of your troubles. Let us be
like some small support
as we lean upon each other
and lift this load
until the healing is done
and sadness has passed.
Look both ways mindful of love’s burden.
Let compassion fill the gaps,
allow time and love to ease the pain until the day is done.
Click this pic for the prompt page and move poems.
Today, I’ve been NaPo-dared, challenged, and prompted to write a poem that provides five answers to the same question – without identifying the question.
Who Wants to Know?
Uno.
You may want to sit down for this
because it depends on how
we approach such a sensitive subject.
Dos.
Well, everyone is different.
So, on the average, statistically speaking,
somewhere in the middle with you.
Tres.
Good question. But if I tell you,
I’ll have to kill you,
and I love you. Now you go.
Cuatro.
Do you mean, like literally?
Compared to what? Like,
right now? Well, metaphorically, shazam!
Cinco.
Locked and loaded,
so let me think it over and I promise,
I’ll get back to you on that. Maybe tomorrow.
Look both ways and consider all options before answering the man’s question.
Mind the silence of the gaps and remember to call your lawyer.
Click the graphic to find the prompt page and more poems.
Today, I was to write a curtal sonnet. That is a variation of a (real) 14-line sonnet. Both are fixed verse forms with rhyming according to a prescribed scheme. I hope you’re not holding your breath.
A curtal sonnet is a curtailed or contracted sonnet. It has 11 lines with two optional rhyming schemes. I see it as a mathematical variation of a six and five (or four and a half) line reduced sonnet form. I consider any sonnet brief, so a curtal sonnet is a reduction of a reduced form. This may be the only one I ever write. Nothing said it had to be good.
By Reason of Conclusion
My search for some gods needs logical proof,
To arrive at most honest conclusions
From science I seek logical answers
To discover reality and truth.
Turn scripture from some reasoned confusion
Thumb through pages, bemusing all chances
None of this explains your absence of love
If my mind can manage not being so
Show me now please, your better solution.
Given you by a deity above
Now you know, I am a pro.
Look both ways because at the end of the day,
a poor poem beats nothing at all.
Mind the gaps.
Click on lexicon for Sammi page and more takes on the prompt.
Poets’ Lexicon.
One must have lexicon to poem.
Language to arrange words right.
Poet’s lingo contains abundant terms
shared with the world of writing
like style, voice, or tone. Words,
as Mary Oliver said, “If words were only words…”
We need to learn vernacular and forms; The Rules of the Dance, poetry handbooks to
comprehend values of meter: monometer,
pentameter, and octameter.
Toeless feet with iamb, trochee, and dactyl.
How often does one see a spondee running free?
Books by Packard, Turco, Oliver,
and more for poetics.
Look both ways as you dip you pen into the poet’s ink.
Mind the gaps as there is so much to learn about the plethora of poetry terms.
Click he graphic for a link to the prompt page and more poems.
My interpretation on the mid-month NaPo prompt was to write a poem about something I dislike or find absurd. I concluded this because the assignment was, while seemingly counterintuitive, to write about something I have absolutely no interest in; but not like indifferent to (apathetic). I was also invited to investigate why I don’t give a damn. Here’s my take.
Superstition
I’m curious about few woo-woo,
but astrology ain’t in my playbill.
Are there 12 or 13 signs?
There’s yer sign.
Who TF cares, Ophiuchus?
People read that shit?
Believe? Live by?
Superstition sings
not by constellations,
not by birthdays.
Connect the dots,
but not that crazy way.
Fun, interesting, or amusing?
Blame the Babylonians. I couldn’t care less
if they left one hanging dingleberry.
You do the math. Is one two?
If I’m interested enough to care
I will ask, not your Zodiac sign,
but what kind of beer do you drink?
Look both ways when you stare into the night sky.
Identify stars, planets, and constellations.
That’s astronomy. That’s science.
Mind the gaps for the wonder of galaxies.
Our Literary Journey 