Today I was prompted to write a poem titled “The (blank) of (blank).” The first blank was to be a kind of plant or animal, the second blank an abstract noun.
The poem was to have at least one simile that plays on double meanings or otherwise doesn’t make “sense,” and describe things or beings from very different times or places as co-existing in the same space.
The Dove of Independence,
The Dove of Resistance
Are you Texan, Mexican, Mourning
or just a dove? Like a pigeon, a bird,
or an easy mark?
A Vlad target in late fall, even some of
the white wing clan; are you game
on those special occasions?
Does the cooing help you or me
make peace from your innocuous innocence
or your purity? Do you pacify or fight on?
Maybe a little less like white wing
and more like Blackhawk to win the war.
Can we deal with that winning pair?
Love conquers all, but right now
they need some hard ass, bald eagle, boom-boom.
May art like Palance be their winning war dance.
Or can VZ in the UKry find a winning way,
and stand up with humor to the wounded bear.
There’s no independence without resistance.
Look both ways at peace through conflict.
Mind the gaps but win the damn war.
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Maybe I was a bit heavy with this prompt, but here is the story of Blackhawk and the white winged dove.
Today I was prompted to compose a love poem with three required aspects. It must name at least one flower (the Texas state flower is the bluebonnet, and they love them), contain one parenthetical statement, and have some
unusual line (like this)
breaks.
This Love
This love of ours
like bluebonnets flower
in Spring flashing brilliance
of blue, purple, white, red,
and like it knew,
maroon (if you look close)
in April then waning to green
by May. Yet,
This love of ours
thrives with
life—stronger after hard
wet Winter passes. The
flower gone
the plant lives like
our love. Fruitful.
Reliable. Dependable. This love of ours, like no
other’s (spreading, seen, felt)
cannot be trampled or destroyed (though some have tried).
Look both ways, forgive but do not forget,
let love be seen with eyes of envy.
Mind the gaps,
but don’t let them be more than
a seam on a garment, a patch in a road, or a lone weed in a glorious garden.
Photo by me.
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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).
On the fourth Sunday of April 2023, we’ve been granted the opportunity to write a poem composed of numbered sections. Each section was to be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view.
Additionally, the setting was to be specific, ideally a place where we once spent much time, but no longer do.
I used parts of The Age of Anxiety: A baroque Eclogue by W. H. Auden for methodological examples and guidance. Auden used several techniques in his book-length poem. One was identity tags (“Emble was thinking, Now Rosetta says, Malin says” … or sings, or Auden simply names the character) for who was speaking or thinking. He also explained places or set moods in prose. However, he did not use numbered sections. I must (mine is not to reason why). I have spared us both the book’s advantage of a 49-page introduction.
The Masque of Nave (“’oh, heaven help me’ she prayed, to be decorative and to do right.” R. Firbank, The Flower beneath the Foot)
He recalled to me…
I sat, stood, and kneeled in the back-most pew
of the bright, modern, incensed church nave.
Why was I there? What did I want?
Jack later said…
I don’t believe all this makes sense, celibacy
without a cause, trans faces reality, real versus
what you think this place can do for you.
Elle complained…
Not a wretch am I, and exactly from what
do any of us need savin’? They will come
if you feed them, and the music isn’t too bad.
Adam looked and talked…
I could live like this, with some of you.
Hungry for your touch. I can show you
the way to find heaven on earth, in church.
Then Ted said…
I will let you, if you allow me. We need
secrets to keep. This place smells, but
however it is, let me be part of it.
Maddie told us…
Ted and Adam can play their sick game
without us in hell to help them; they are
blind and will never see time go so slow.
I recalled…
This is not the place for us above it all.
No one will find a way or feel the fall.
What matters most is how we lived.
And Jack repeated…
What you sense is not the house of God,
but the way to be seen as safe or good,
none here will go farther than the end.
And I said to Jack and Judy…
Ted and Adam are alone and now dead;
you’ll both soon go to join them there;
the end patiently waits. But it always comes.
Look both ways into the good and the evil.
Even the snake only wants to be left alone.
Mind the gaps in all relationships.
People worships for reasons unknown,
often even to them.
Just click on the damn button.
Note: I did not use Roman numerals. WP did that on its own when I indented the poem. But they work okay, right?
For this Earth Day, also a Saturday, I was to select an Emily Dickinson poem and change it by removing dashes and line breaks. I was then to add my own breaks as well as to add, remove, or change words. Basically, I was to make a Dickinson poem mine.
As I read various versions of her many poems, I learned that others over the years have taken license to make changes to the point that I cannot determine original forms or words. In the case of one book I have, an entire stanza of a poem was either added by one or deleted by the other.
Because today is Earth Day, I chose a Dickinson poem that relates to nature: “The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants” – (1350); or XXV, page 97, in my copy of The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson (intro and notes by Rachel Wetzsteon). Generally, Dickinson did not title her poems, thus the numbers.
Bill’s Magic Trifle
The Liberty Mushroom is
the elf of plants at evening,
but not at morning, in its truffled magic hut
it stopped upon a spot as if it always hesitated.
Yet, its whole life is shorter
than a snake’s delay
and faster than the strike.
It’s its vegetation’s juggler,
the ever-changing nature is like a bubble
on the ground or floating to the trees.
I feel as if the grass was pleased as I
to have it grow in and among her blades of
scion of Summer’s circumspect.
If Nature had a more supple face
or she could pick a favorite fairy;
if Nature had an apostate fungus
the lowly liberty cap mushroom would be him!
And a favorite ‘shroom among us.
Look both ways because then is not now.
Mind the gaps left by migration and imagination.
Happy Earth Day.
Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
My assignment (okay, prompt) for today was to choose a word from a list of 14, then to use that abstract noun to title a poem with short lines containing one or more invented words. I chose calm.
Calm I recall
from long ago
Dad saying
“If you don’t
stop crying
I’ll give you
something
to cry about.”
That worked
as well as
“calm down.”
He never did.
I had plenty
of reasons
to cry.
I should have
laughed.
Mom said
I was being
demonstrative;
she meant emotional
or dramatic
or histrionic,
or noncalm,
or theatratic.
Now I’m calm,
laid back,
easy going.
Boring.
Now it seems
I should inflate
my former
theatricality.
Look both ways in a world flooded with emotions, actors, and lies.
Mind the gaps trying to find the facts.
Play your role.
Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
What will future archaeologists from human or alien civilizations make of us? Today, I’m challenged to answer with a poem. My poem should explore an object or place from the point of view of the future scientist.
n Si(CH3)2Cl2 + n H2O → [Si(CH3)2O]n + 2n HCl
n Si(CH3)2(CH3COO)2 + n H2O → [Si(CH3)2O]n + 2n CH3COOH
They discovered it around the start of what they called
the Twentieth Century, which related to keeping track
of and measuring what they called time… beginning
with when one of their five thousand or so gods supposedly lived,
as best we can tell, given their early rudimentary measurement devices.
As far as we know, some called it rubber or plastic
but eventually virtually all said silicone because few could pronounce
polydimethylsiloxane in any one of their hundreds of languages.
Before they died off, this stuff was virtually everywhere
sometimes solving, and at times, causing problems.
We cannot examine or test anything they did anywhere
without finding this stuff in use by them, internally and externally.
We find it in all parts of their semi-decomposed bodies, mostly
to make lips, breasts, and other sexual organs look inflated
or larger. Eventually, it was everywhere. We find it in clothing,
on them as sexual lubricants and toys, and in everything they looked at or touched.
We mostly take it for granted now and we suspect
they did, too. They used it for rudimentary rockets but when
they failed to test it completely, it let them down and caused
many deaths. In fact, we can accurately determine when
things happened by how they used silicone before what they called
“artificial intelligence” (which was real) made their existence redundant.
Look both ways.
But study the past and appreciate the present.
Mind the gaps when the AI starts working together at night in your garage.
Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
I call my Monday poems runes, which can be ancient Germanic alphabets or stones with such symbols used in fortune telling (mystery or magic). Synonyms for rune include lyric, poem, song, and verse. (www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary)
For today, my NaPo challenge was to write a poem that contains the name of a specific variety of edible plant that grows in my area. I was to make a specific comparison (or contrast) between some aspect of the plant’s lifespan and my own. I was also to include at least one repeating phrase.
Byline: By Bill Reynolds as prompted by Maureen Thorson at NaPoWriMo dot net.
Dateline: Everywhere in Texas, but mostly from near Austin,
perhaps anywhere in the Americas, April 17, 2023.
Copyright and published: 2013, by Our Literary Journey,
NaPo #17, Monday edition, Rune section.
Cautious Culinary
An eerie red afterglow surrounded us as we drove between the hellish throbbing of wildfire embers from the hearts of burned prickly pear cactus.
I don’t know why.
Ubiquitous, often unseen until it stings, Opuntia of family Cactaceae, also called tuna, sabra, nopal and more,
a bushy edible succulent, often decorative, shrub.
Light green or bluish thorny fleshy pads sprout Spring’s purple-red fruit for jam, jelly, or syrup.
Unharvested fruit become beautiful cactus flowers.
I don’t know why.
They are decorations for xeriscape, desert, Mediterranean, and cactus gardens.
When spiny glochids are removed, pads or fruit are nutritious but best harvested in morning as taste changes during each passing day.
I get it.
I also change as hours of each day pass and like the pear, I taste better in the morning.
The fruit emerges in Spring and soon flowers, more growth and long lived but old age produces less desirable taste.
I get that too.
I can be oh so prickly, no more fruit or flowers, but inside, except for arteries and added parts, I am soft and moist, maybe a little salty for some.
Don’t know why that is either.
I cannot nail down my life span but this year is “expectancy”, nor if the pear outside my door will be there after I’m gone. They live a long time but eventually
everything must die.
I don’t know why, it’s one of those things.
For life to be, there must be death, food chains, health, fire, and sickness
when an eerie red is glowing all around us.
And like me, prickly cactus can be too much.
Look both ways.
The cactus you do not see will stick you good.
Mind the gaps, wear good boots, and watch for snakes.
*Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
On the third Sunday of April in the year twenty-twenty-three, I was given the sixteenth daily option to write poetic. My assignment was to compose a poem prompted by negation (I also like contradiction or paradox). That is a poem describing something in terms of what it is not, or what it is not like—as a fish is not a bird and vice-versa, although some fish can fly and some birds swim well. Generally, in English, things (and people) are defined by what they are rather than what they are not.
Cats are not gods
but if they could talk
they’d argue that point.
Cats cannot fly
but my oh my
how did mine get up so high?
Cats do not like to be petted or scratched
unless they ask you to do so.
They’ll be sure you know when you are done.
Cats cannot sing
but here is the thing
do not tell them that meow isn’t a tune.
Cats don’t care
unless they are there
when you want to write,
make dinner, sleep,
or go away for a while.
Look both ways when considering what a thing is or is not.
Mind the gaps that can make even the simple too complex.
*Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
This is Saturday. This morning, I had a two-hour online meeting with my writer group. I left that meeting early to make an open mic poetry reading. I drove 40 minutes each way and read five poems. Now, I am to write a poem. I should also find time for things like exercise, reading, and whatever else comes into my life. Retirement—right.
Today’s NaPo poem should exaggerate some (supposedly) admirable qualities of a person in a way that exposes my doubts about them. This person may be real or imagined. A person who was held up as an example of how to be, but one about whom I had doubts.
Doug was a tall and handsome fellow,
a man of means,
a legend in his own time
and perhaps
in his own mind.
He was untouchable. Until he wasn’t.
Normally, when someone, either man or woman,
falls from the grace of celebrity status
and the pillar we place them on,
the reason is either drugs, alcohol, or sex
(predatory, paid for, consensual, or otherwise).
But this guy’s demise was precipitated by
pride and a godlike belief
in himself and his mind and spirit.
As it turned out,
His Nibs was replaceable after all.
Look both ways in the mirror of confidence.
Thankfully, no one is irreplaceable.
Mind the gaps because everyone is vulnerable, lies, and eventually dies.
*Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
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