Epistolary Poetry

Poem to a person – NaPo 2025 day two

NaPo 2025’s second day challenging prompt invited us to write a poem that directly addresses someone, has a made-up word, includes an odd or unusual simile, makes a statement of “fact,” and that includes something that seems out of place in time.

More Than Love

My dearest philologloth,
Are there worse places?
Is your prison like a happy place?

Your soul is good.
Unlike the dark life fiction
of your self-inflicted addiction.

Like a blade runner
missing for thirty years,
a gauntlet falls upon deaf earth.

Hearts grind to needless halts
when minds forget to remember
when my me died that September.

Come, my son
rise above it all
but not the love.

That tote we carry
full of all the good
and all the bad losses we’ve both had.

Love you, Dad.

Look both ways to discover the dark side of pleasure.
Mind the gaps for forgiveness and step carefully into whatever future you have left.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 18, Mephistopheles’ Resignation

For the eighteenth poem of our 30-poems-in-30-days project, known as NaPoWriMo by those of us who attempt the daily prompts, we have been challenged to write a poem where a speaker expresses a desire to be something or someone else and explains why.

My theme is somewhat of a metaphysical humorous spoof. Silly? Maybe.

Mephistopheles’ Resignation

My Dearest Iblis, Nick,

I have decided to transition.
As being without beginning or foreseeable end is boring.
I shall miss you, my old demonic friend.

I can no longer stand pointlessness without end, treason without reason,
night without day, EXISTENCE —

Existence without purposeful term.
None of it continues to hold the least appeal to me.

Of all possible forms of life both universes hold,
I have decided to be human on Earth because they are most like us.

Although…

I am undecided over the whole sex/gender, man/woman or whatever.
It is confusing to me since we have no such identities.

And what of religion? And politics? Will I know then what I know now?

The whole live birth thingy, colors, orgasms, music, and…
(for the love of Beelzebub) … arguing over what is art and what is not holds familiar pointless diabolical promise.

The love. And the hate — they are so much better at it than even our most despicable offspring of Lucifer.

Since time has no meaning for us, I cannot give you a when, but I hope soon because when the Diablo hears of this, there will be Hell for me to pay. That’s human sarcasm.

Anyway…

I ask that once I pass through some birth canal if you and the others would please keep your distance.

Remember, eternity runs both ways. I demand that y’all stay on your side of the Cosmos.

With ambivalent love, mine not yours,

Azazel Zone

Look both ways for greener pastures.
Life is all it’s cracked up to be because it is transitory.
Mind the gaps and hold on to the facts. Reality is what it is, or maybe what it isn’t.

 

Note: Mephistopheles, Diablo, Iblis, Lucifer, Old Nick, Beelzebub, and Azazel are names for devils or demons.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 13, Ten Sound Epistle Poems

On this day, I was prompted to play with rhymes. Play with still means “to handle, change, or deal with (something) in a careless way,” as it did on day twelve.

I was to begin by creating a list of ten mono-, or bi-syllable words. They were to include five that correspond to each of our five basic senses, three concrete nouns, and two verbs.

Then, I was instructed to come up with rhymes for each of the ten words and to use them all as “seeds” for a poem that uses as much sound play as possible.

My list with rhymes and near rhymes:

Five Senses:

(Smell) breath: death, meth, Seth, health, length, wealth, depth.

(Taste) picante: duende, Dante, comandante, on day, one day, Pandey, in May, entre, Duarte, X gay.

(Hear) music: too sick, you sick, Moosic, therapeutic, cubic, tunic, Rubik, you prick, too thick.

(See) sky: I, aye, buy/by/bye, chai, dye, eye, fly, fry, guy, high, nigh, pie, ply, pry, spy, thigh, tie, why, wry, thy, sty, sigh, sly, shy.

(Touch) stroke: bloke, broke, choke, cloak, coke, croak, folk, joke, oak, poke, smoke, soak, woke, yoke, yolk.

Three Nouns:

Airplane: abstain, again, arcane, attain, bloodstain, champagne, cocaine, domain, fast lane, insane, inane, humane, maintain, mundane, Sinn Fein, Ukraine, urbane.

Boutique: antique, bespeak, critique, midweek, mystique, oblique, technique, unique.

Bench: clench, drench, French, quench, stench, trench, wench, wrench.

Two Verbs:

Talk: balk, block, chalk, chock, gawk, crock, doc, frock, hawk, jock, knock, lock, mock, Mach, pock, rock, shock, squawk, stalk, sock, walk, ad hoc.

Taste: aced, based, baste, braced, cased, chased, faced, graced, haste, laced, paced, paste, placed, raced, traced, waist, waste.

***

Ten Sound Epistle Poems

Dear Seth,

Good lord, man, your breath
could cause serial death,
in depth, are you on meth?

Health Department

***

Dearest Doctor Dante Duarte,

Picante came with my entre
one day in May at a party
for Comandante Pandey.
Do I need an x-ray?

Both Ends Burning

***

Dear Maestro Rubik Moosic,

Your music is so therapeutic,
like art, often cubic and too sick.
Take off that fake tunic,
you too-thick prick.

Deaf to You

***

Dear Bird in the Sky,

I am just a guy—hate to pry,
but why do you fly? And
so damned high. Do ya
wanna die? Sigh!
And why
did you put this pie, nigh
in my tie-dyed eye?

Piper Cherokee

***

Dear Doctor Joe Joke,

You poor bloke, I nearly had a stroke sitting under this old oak trying to stay woke, despite being broke and wanting to have a smoke. Sorry our folk delivered a defective cloak which caused you to croak. May your wife find a new bloke, one less a joke, who’ll buy her a coke for a bit of a poke.

Dark Alley

***

Dear Airplane,

Please refrain from doing it again.
If you don’t abstain from using cocaine
in the urbane domain of Ukraine,
there will be no champagne,
no more in the fast lane,
just a big bloodstain
and that, Airplane, is insane.

King Cartel

***

TO: Darling Monique.

I visited your boutique last midweek and decided you need a critique. Without one antique to bespeak, nothing there is unique. I suggest a new technique, something less oblique with more mystique.

Bertha Betterthanyou

***

Dear My Bench,

Pardon my French, but sitting on you brought up a stench from the nearby trench. It could be that in a clench and due to the recent drench, there has drowned some drunken wench.

Old Man Butts

***

Dear Clancy Ad Hoc,

I hear you want to talk. Perhaps we could walk around the block? Your neighbors may gawk, and some will mock or throw a rock. That’s a crock at which we both balk, but we shouldn’t squawk. We can run like a jock and at them we’ll mock, but it is not a shock.

Flock the Hawk

***

Darling Waste Taste,

You’ve been graced
as on my test you’ve aced
based on how you placed
in the marathon you raced,
and the challenges you faced.
Our hearts you’ve graced,
and your shoes you’ve laced,
as I braced with how you paced.

Finish Line Lace

Look both ways at words and wisdom.
Time rhymes with little force of course.
Mind the gaps that humor provides until it hurts your sides.

NaPoWriMo 2023 (Day 24)

One week to go. Then poetry month and the NaPo challenge conclude.

Today we are to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. Define normal. Define review. I did a little rabbit hole hunting for things that should not be, but are reviewed. One guy reviewed life, and I thought it was great. I wrote a humorous epistolary poem.

Dear God,

I’ve tested this free soul
every day of my long life (thank you).
I understand this review
will be kept confidential.

First, my old soul has not aged well.
Mold and fungus are all over it.
What is it supposed to do again?
It seems to be useless like my appendix,
wisdom teeth, and nipples.
It’s just easier to remove.

How can I write a QA review
if no one knows what it is
supposed to do? One lady said that you
use it to keep score. Another said,
“you’ll find out soon enough.”
I felt threatened but don’t know why.

When I took it out, I noticed
feeling lighter with less guilt.
Is that normal for a soulless man?
I don’t see this part lasting
for the full length of eternity.

I’ve lost the receipt, the warranty,
maintenance records, and instructions.
Satan low balled me then refused to buy it.
The local body shop won’t touch it.

To be honest, this OEM soul
seems mighty worn out considering
it will not move and does absolutely nothing.
And what about soul music
and soul food? Is there more than
one kind, or is it a lot number thing?

Basically, my overall review and feedback
is that if this thing has a purpose,
please advise, and I will test accordingly.
Otherwise, I’m sure your QA department
can provide further information.

Sincerely,

Bill

Look both ways when reading reviews.
At the extremes, they’re often emotional nonsense.
Mind the gaps when someone tries to explain useless parts.

 

Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).

Epistolary Poetry: Some Writer’s Thoughts (NaPoWriMo day 11)

Today’s NaPo’s challenge was to write a two-part poem as an exchange of letters. The first stanza, part, or poem was to be the letter-poem that I wrote to someone. The second part, the letter I received in response. The length, form, and subject matter were to be of my choosing.

I wrote one letter to two men, George Carlin, and Johnny Cash. Each answered separately. Cash used a poem he wrote 18 years ago.

Dear Messrs. Carlin and Cash,

I am sometimes compared to George,
but seldom to Johnny Cash.
I love music and humor, especially
the more cerebral, sarcastic jokes
of George’s accompanied by adult language.
Every day, I listen to Mr. Cash recite the poem,
The Cremation of Sam McGee
as part of my playlist. All three of us spent
time in the Air Force, although the length of time
and conditions of departure differ. I like
to write. I know that both of you considered
yourselves writers. But you were better known
in other professions, which was how I found you.
If this letter gets to you (I’m told you died),
please give me advice about my writing.
You can see it on my blog.

Regards (I miss you both), Bill

***

Dear Bill,

I asked around about you. I learned that, like me, you were raised in the Catholic faith and attended parochial school, but now you’re out of all that. A synonym for parochial is narrow- or closed-minded. Never forget that. You’ll never get over it. You are not like me. So, don’t worry. We have no wifi or computers or cell phones here, but no matter. If you want to write just do it. Fuck what anyone else thinks. Remember, both the man in black and I had our stage personas and our real acts. Recall also that I loved the live performances. I can’t speak for Johnny, but I bet he did too. Holy shit, he did concerts for prisons. Oh, you have a lot goin’ on. Enjoy it all man, for as long as you can.

Best of Luck, Old Man.
George

***

Hey Mister Bill,

Don’t cha just love writing poetry? I did for sure.
Songs too, but it’s all about the same stuff.
I’m gonna give you my answer as a poem
I wrote back in 2003, Called “Forever.”

“You tell me that I must perish
Like the flowers that I cherish
Nothing remaining of my name
Nothing remembered of my fame
But the trees that I planted
Still are young
The songs I sang
Will still be sung”*

Good luck to ya, Sir. And
God bless….Johnny

*Poem “Forever” by Johnny Cash from Forever Words: The Unknown Poems.

Look both ways and try to accept what help you can get.
Mind the gaps and truth behind the masks.