Humor

NaPoWriMo 2024 Day 27; Walmart, Target, & Pops

Day twenty-seven’s prompt/challenge was to write an “American sonnet,” which has about 14 lines but few other rules.

Walmart, Target, & Pops

Believing don’t make it so.
But away I went to be deceived (again)
by Wally’s lies and glazed-over eyes.
Asked the young, dumb dude,
(who could not have cared less)
paid to stand and deliver,
when asked “what?” — he repeats
nothing no louder. Deceived again,
I wondered why I ever even bother.
I tried Targeé, a nicer Wally in cleaner clothes.
Redder, with far less bullshit blue…but still….

Siri-baby gets confused, but she finds me
a local store; its owner kind, helpful,
knowledgeable, and it costs me less.
Me thinking what?

Look both ways up and down the aisles
as you hunt the elusive product among evasive dodging dunces.
Mind the gaps in boxes and wasted hunts save nothing and stress is not living better.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 26, Billy’s Benevolent Bedlam

Today NaPoWriMo-ists, like me, were to write a poem that “involves” (includes) consonance, alliteration, and assonance. TMI follows (but if you want a review):

Consonance (literary) is the repetition of consonant sounds (coming home, hot foot). It is counterpart to the vowel-sound repetition known as assonance. (Sibilance is a special case of consonance as in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”: And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain.)

Alliteration is the repetition of consonant sounds at the beginning of words. It is a special case of consonance as in “few flocked to the fight” or “around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran“.

Assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds in, or across, words that are close together. Rhyme is a special case of assonance. Examples include, Light My Fire, Crying Time, great flakes, between trees, the kind knight rides by, and (from The Puffin Book of Fantastic First Poems):

If you can boogaloo
boogaloo
I can do
the boogaloo too
for I’m the boogiest
hopaloo kangaroo

Confession: I love this stuff and had way too much fun today.

Billy’s Benevolent Bedlam

Bronco bouncer Billy Bob Butler,
advisedly and explanatorily was told not to
babble in the scrabble or to write
clichéd adverbial conquests, but to eschew
some few buffoon modifications.

Billy bought beer, bratwurst, and beans.
Faithfully and frivolously his fast fingers
freely flowed past; creatively composing
craftily as he constructed compositions,
purportedly passing on poorly penned
prepositional phrases padded with
crispy mystery, in dumb opposition
to some cat’s torty affirmation.

Look both ways and use all the tools in the box.
Play the crux of the tune with a sax, but mind the gaps, and love the turd’s words.
Lyrics matter more to the baritone in a cappella.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 25, Beaucoup de Sade

I made it to Day 25, only to find this prompt prodding me to write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire.” WTF is that? We were given a wiki link and 35 questions, then set loose to sow whatever poetic damage we could. Proust? Really?

Beaucoup de Sade

What do you consider the perfect murder?
Do you want to kill anyone?
Or some group; like atheists,
gymnasts, or Sociologists? If so—
who, which, when, how, and why?
And where do you live?

Do you like to scare the shit out of people?
Do you point and laugh after they
wet themselves or die of a heart attack?
What is your favorite form of torture?
Do you reminisce about the Spanish Inquisition?

Of all the people you know, what proportion
do you hate the most and wish they were dead?
(Former spouses, Mormons, and JWs don’t count.)
And why? It’s always why, right? I wonder too.

Do you hate any professional or amateur
sports teams, clubs, individuals, musicians, or poets?

Do you consider prohibition of libel and slander
an impingement on your freedom of speech?
Did you make crank calls as a child?
How many times a week do you defecate?
Masturbate?

What smells get you sexually excited?
Do you fantasize doing naughty things
with people you know, like your best friend’s
current or previous spouse or partner?

Who are your favorite villains? Are you
ever good on the bad guys and gals?
What are you addicted to?
Do you think pizza is overrated?
Do you hang out at cemeteries
just to find peeps with shared
hopes and dreams?

Did you enjoy this prompt
as much as I did?

Look both ways and only read Proust if your name is Duane (Moore)
and doing your psychiatrist is your lifelong fantasy.
Mind the gaps for punji traps because some wars never end.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 22, The Battle of Sandy and Boots

Happy Earth Day, everyone. “Earthshoes® notwithstanding, today’s prompt had me writing a poem in which two (unlikely) things have a fight. I’m not sure how “unlikely” a boot and sandal fight may be, but there is much to be said and written about when it comes to our taste in footwear.

The Battle of Sandy and Boots

Beauty and the Beast were sound asleep
when the lights went on in the closet—
tongues were heard flapping
as stomping and kicking created a donnybrook.

Boots said loudly, “We are the important ones.
The protectors and comforters. And the classy
preference of designer pedestrians. We are
the preferred wear of all feet. Down with
sandals and their flimsy glitzy flip-flops.”

Sandy boasted, “Girls in beautiful dresses,
wearing ugly combat boots and brogans,
Ughhglay! Y’all are on a fall from glory
and our sexy footwear are gaining favor.”

Boots protested, “Such sleeky strappies
are no good in combat—too flim-flam,
too airy, too weak to protect her tootsies.”

Sandy sandal pointed, “See those Ho Chi Minhs?
Lightweight! lightning fast!! Swift and quiet
in the night, waterproof, cheap as used tires.
And they’ll take any beating
into the next millennium.
We emphasize the beauty of feet better
than any boots or shoes, for those who care.”

Boots was getting louder and claimed,
“We do cowboys, steel-toed workers,
clodhoppers and happy Aggie senior
jodhpur riding class boots. Red wings
and Wellingtons, and even-mo-sexeh
stiletto knee boots.
Biker boots, moon boots, and doc martins.
We’re gunna kick y’all’s heels into the dirt.”

Sandy jumped from the shelf,
tightened her ankle straps, and yelled,
“Ok you wingtip nutcases. Fight’s on.
You started this. Let the best of function
and beauty be the favored reign below the knee.”

Suddenly she was joined by gladiators
and Roman sandals, slides and mules slipped in.
Platforms stood with a group of wovens and
the Mexican Huaraches played mariachi music.
Jelly sandals got stiff and were joined by fishermen
and hiking sandals.
The slave sandals yelled for “freedom and fit.”

The boots just lost it and jumped from the shelf
to the floor with a loud bang ready to stomp all sandals
into the sole of submission. But then, a voice was heard.

“Beast, why is the light in the closet on? Did you
hear something?
Our shoes are a mess all over the floor.
I think we must have slept though another earthquake.
We may need to quake-proof this closet, Honey.
Beasty Baby, get up and help me straighten up this mess.
It’s like the battle of footwear was fought
in our closet tonight.”

Look both ways as much vertically as horizontally.
Mind the new gaps because sensible shoes do not need to look like mid-fifties grannies.
Don’t go barefoot into the walk of life.

To explain: Seniors in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M University wear jodhpurs and knee high, brown, riding boots with spurs.

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 21, Overstated

I don’t think I’ve ever had a real favorite color (or colour). But I needed to answer the question: what is it? So, I used to say it was blue. I like green, too.

And while I don’t like yellow cars (think lemons), pants, shirts, or journalism; Motorcycles, flowers, and mellow yellow songs all do well in Amarillo yellow. Also, I liked Jay’s pumpkin colored, semi-yellow-orange Porsche, which was kind of sweet.

Today’s Prompt-areno (it’s been three weeks, folks) is to write a poem that repeats and/or focuses on a single color. While any color would do, I went ahead with ubiquitous blue. It meets prompt.

Overstated

I thought I was cool, or at least being so,
like I would know the trick,
but I was advised
that I looked more like a fool,
the colors were a little bit sick.

My shirt, pants, and shoes were all shades of blues
but shade makes the difference, thus I donned—
a lighter shirt in a bland shade of green.
That was yesterday.

Now at home, I write a blue poem about my casuals,
while wearing a two-tone blue top
and mixed-up blue bottom that is not to be seen.

Long ago, my eyes were blue, but now some say green,
depending on the day,
my shirt,
and my blue-eyed soul.

We dance to the Blue Danube waltz,
and we swim in blue waters,
we pine for the bright blue sky,
then in August we wonder why.

Blue Ridge Mountains take me back,
a Blue Duck sits on my desk
or maybe it’s some Lonesome Dove’s
dark psychotic character.

Like red and yellow, blue is primary.
Mixing gets us shades of green or purple
or a midnight-something.

Blue nose or blue toes, blue jeans on blue teens,
blue men in a Vegas troupe.

Blue moods and Mondays
are both downers but not the blues of bennies,
and blue shaved ice is coconut flavored on blue tongues.

Navy blue is almost black, and baby blue is much too tac.
So blue is good, and blue is bad, and blue can even say
that we are in a mood or feeling sad.

But I thought it through and through
and I must admit,
if I did have a favorite color,
it would probably be something like
a deeper shade of blue.

Look both ways but try not to see red when looking at blue.
Mind the gaps in mismatched tops and bottoms, but blue is the truest of the cools.

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 2024, Day 10, Black Swan

To celebrate the achievement of ten poems to prompt, I am to write a poem based on a headline, cartoon, or other journalistic tidbit featured at Yesterday’s Print.

I selected one from The Bridgeport Telegram, Connecticut, October 22, 1954: “Pent up prejudices.”

Black Swan

To say
“I’m only human” is descriptive,
yet
it’s neither explanatory nor extenuatory.

But confirmation bias,
is as humanly normal
as old dogs scratching fleas.

I know I like it; I mean,
hooray for my side!
I like being right. But …

What if I’m wrong?
How do I control
for
them telling me lies?
Am I just
hearing what I want to hear?

Look and listen both ways.
Knowing we are imperfect leans toward self-awareness.
Mind the gaps in the political speeches
where back scratching helpfulness willingly hides.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 7, Bro, WYWH

Today I was to write a “poem” titled “Wish You Were Here” (WYWH) that takes its inspiration from the idea of, and the abbreviated format, of a postcard. My poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance, or sightseeing.

Okay. But since some folks have no idea what a post card is or does, and others only know texting with its abbreviations, acronyms, and initialisms, I made a post card poem written by a texting generational.

Hint: Listen to audio as you read the poem.

 

Bro, WYWH

Cos, I got seasick
And the food sux
and I bored 2
IDK WTF WYD

IRL is NBFD but hey
we on FTW, right?
NVM, Ima ROFL
Cos Mail person wonders,

If we are FUBARd RN
or doing a GG. IDK.
CU in 2wks, right
IYKYK.

TC, Duddo

Ps: FWIW – ILY

Look both ways and look up everyone if YC.
Mind the gaps and the language of the text machines.

NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 6, Truth Hoax or Delusion

For my fifth poem of April’s first Saturday (it’s a long story), the NaPoWriMo prompt asks that I write a poem rooted in “weird wisdom.” This means something objectively odd that someone told me and has stuck with me ever since.

Truth, Hoax, or Delusion?

My friend, Elizabeth, is white, was raised Methodist, but has Carolina Low Country roots and claims hoodoo spiritual knowledge. She predicts her days by pulling runes from a bag or tossing tarot cards. She has all the New Age trinkets and talismans. She was Wiccan, claimed to be a New Age witch of some sort, then was Druid. I lost track after that.

But she is a poet from a very interesting tribe. One day Lizzy confided that there is a Big Foot (Sasquatch, Yeti, or Abominable whatever) and that she had personally seen it — all 500 to 1000 pounds on a seven-to-ten-foot frame, anchored to Earth by seventeen-inch furry but bare feet.

Her private testimony was as a passionate eyewitness. It brought a soft smile from me. I decided to ask how her Druid studies were going.

I looked up and became a believer.

Look both ways and be aware while hiking the trails.
Do not eat unknown mushrooms, carry a good camera, and mind the gaps.
For as the old Sherpa said,
“There is a Yeti in the back of everyone’s mind; only the blessed are not haunted by it.”

Taken by me at a coffee shop in Issaquah, Washington.