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).

Thursday’s Rune: Letter to Grasshopper


Dear Grasshopper,

I’ve noticed that you seem busy doing nothing but lazily hopping about. You look brown. You were green. It’s past mid-October. I assume you’ll be leaving us soon if you’re not already gone. But why now? Your end nears, but y’all been jumping all around for months.

Alas, your hop seems to have lost a foot or two. And your wings look stiff. Summer’s done, and I’d say you may be too. Do you know that? Does it bother you? Any day now you’ll be sidewalk ant food.

Soon there will be none of you. Then, like magic, Spring will bring you back to life in swarms. Like hungry chewing herbivorous flying insects, you’ll eat and reproduce again as you’ve done for 250 million years, a perpetual plague.

And you’re not alone. Your eleven thousand brothers and sisters are your type. Let’s not forget your rude, thankless cousins from the cricket, katydid, and locust families. They are always coming around singing for a free dinner or a little play time.

The ants are busy. But you’ve laid your eggs. Winter comes. You couldn’t care less. You’ll just happily fiddle away your time until the quiet end. But is that really the end?

Sincerely,
Mockingbird McBeak


Look both ways, horizontally and vertically.
Observe life.
Mind gaps and notice change.