dVerse Quadrille #162: Cowbell Fever

I wrote this silly, nonsensical poem for the dVerse Quadrille #162 – “For whom the bell tolls” (a 44-word poem) where any meaning or form of the word bell was to be included. Click here to find more awesomely ringing poetry.


 

More cowbell!
Cowbell fever
removes reaper fear.
Play more cowbell.
Cure your Oyster.

This poem needs more cowbell.
Walken wanders and wonders,
Is there more cowbell out there?

Play the saw or rub your washboard,
a cowbell makes music from hell—
needs more cowbell!


Look both ways when you hear a cowbell because you are not the bull.
Mind the gaps to beat the raps.
Some skits and actors shall live forever.

The cowbell skit from SNL that took a life of its own. Since my previous link did not work outside of the USA, maybe this one will.

 

https://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/more-cowbell/3506001

If that doesn’t work and you still want to see it, try this: https://vimeo.com/425939085

 

 

 

Monday’s Rune: fear


 

Solicitude—

I fear my last day
but not my death

I fear loneliness
but not being alone

I fear pain
but not its causes

I fear love
but I love loving and being loved

I fear the strike
more than the pitch

I fear my own anger
more than I fear that of others

I fear decline of all kinds
but not being old or slow

I fear the worst
but I try to do my best

I fear the sudden stop
but not the long fall

I fear within me
feeling fear itself

But most of all, I fear
anger born out of my own fear.


Look both ways when feeling trapped or controlled by fear. Paranoia runs deep.
Mind the gaps where you might find the reasons why.

 

Monday’s Rune: Columbus Day


Got Yer Number

You sailed the ocean blue.
In fourteen-ninety-two,
and whatnot.

We love you less.
Five hundred years later
and your victims more.

A national Monday holiday
in a land and country
nonexistent for another
three hundred years.

One you never heard of.
One you’d never understand.
One with statues and tributes
to you for getting lost.

Facts are facts.
History
less of a mystery.
And me,
‘avin’ ta work on
Saint Paddy’s
of all troublesome things.


Look both ways and try to appreciate reality and history.
Mind the gaps they drive deep to hide the truth.
Some heroes just suck.

Sammi’s Weekender #280 (amok)

Click this to open Sammi’s page where you’ll find more fun prose and poems run amok.

Small Battles: Big Wars

We
would rather f-bomb
or recite angry litanies
of forbidden witchery
than speak the word: cancer.

It’s when few of one’s
trillions of cells run amok,
it’s a war fought with
knives, rads, and poisons.


Look both ways to see your own beginning and end.
Mind the gaps, fight the battle, die with dignity.

John Updike, best known, perhaps, as a novelist, was a poet. This short poem of his is one of my favorites regarding life and death. He died of lung cancer in 2009.

Monday’s Rune: For Sale or Trade


No Quid Pro Quo

I have nothing at all to sell.
Or to trade.
I walk alone because
we must.

It’s just me
with my own thoughts,
maybe music or a book,
as I deal with some pain.
A good thing,
claim my many doctors.
Not the pain—the dealing with it.

I like the thought of it—alone time,
but it’s not. Not really.

The Universe, also not for sale,
is with me. Always with us.
I call it being alone
because it makes me feel good,
but I know

I am never totally on my own,
without a piece of eternity
talking some quid pro quo.


Look both ways when dealing, feeling, or logrolling.
Mind the gaps between your steps and use the poles lest you fall and break your nose.

 

An oldie and a goodie from Mr. Poe.

Sammi’s Weekender #279 (superimpose)

Click the superimpose graphic to link up with other excellent wordsmith 56 wonders.

Contemplative Satisfaction

My memories are superimposed,
each one over the others,
repeating forgotten things
like reflections in a window
to my past.

The sights, sounds, and sensed emotions
I can no longer feel, hopes and desires
of mine in a younger man’s clothes
when I danced and played
not knowing about the treasures
that are my memories today.


Look both ways and overlay the tastes and aromas of each memory.
Mind the gaps of confusion as you look through lost time for meanings as we live into the answers to past questions.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub Poetics: The good and the evil

This poem was rendered to meet today’s dVerse challenge offered by Paeansunplugged from Delhi. We are to write about the good and evil in mere mortals, the good in evil and/or the evil in good. For me, at no time is that enigma more profound than in times of war and battle.


Conundrum War

One story I’ve never told,

a confession…

if evil were evil enough,
if good were good enough,
I would simply tap a secret reservoir of courage…
but courage, too, has finite quantities,
yet it offers hope and grace to the repetitive coward.

I can’t fix my mistakes.
Once people are dead, I can’t make them undead…
killing and dying are not my special province.

Am I too good for this war?
Too smart, too compassionate, too everything?
I’m above it. It’s a mistake, maybe.


Look both ways at good and evil or take Hamlet’s advice and think it so.
Mind the gaps between and within our perceptions of what is better and what is truth.

 

Click the soldier for more good and evil poems.

Monday’s Rune: Speaking of Rude


Touché

Everything
I say and do,
makes me,
according to some
(hope not you),
sexist, racist, communist,
capitalist, atheist, and/or —
something else bad-ist,
or worse,
and so on.

The epithet “snowflake” implies
a melting softness, unlike icicle, and is both
insulting and a grounded gauntlet challenge.

I’m being verbally shoehorned in
by short-sighted, narrow thinking
like an ugly foot that doesn’t fit.

I could well
go off with my own difficult ways,
and face my personal world
for the rest of my days,
and forget to fit
their stereotypical clichés,
which some seem hardened
to claim that I always am.

That would be
such a great blow
to the cause
of human equality.
Since then,
all will see
and we will all be:
collective assholes,
magnificent they and
malevolent me.


Look both ways if you intend to make anything better.
Mind the gaps, saps, and crap chaps and be who you are—the real you.

And something better and deeper.

Sammi’s Weekender #278 (viable)

Click on this graphic to open up new prose and poetry using some viable form of literature.

 


Have a Cigar

Okay, boys and girls and everyone:
come close—closer—and listen to this.

The odds against us, you, or me,
being viable, of being born, of living on for years,
make it nearly impossible
to have happened at all. Statistically,
the chances that any of us exist is virtually zero.

Therefore, god or no-god,
each person living is by definition
a feckin’ miracle. Existence is miraculous.
We are, each of us, marvelous.
Let’s start acting like it.
Congratulations! Here. Have a cigar.


Look both ways and take in all that is seen.
Mind the gaps because in the game of existence,
their enormity is incomprehensible.

If you are interested, click here to read all about your chances of being.

And, finally, a bit of music: “Have a Cigar” (Pink Floyd) as covered by Elephant Revival.

 

Sammi’s Weekender #277 (renege)

Click on this graphic to open Sammi’s page with links to more 49-word renege writing pieces.

Renegade Renegade

I was born into a world that no longer exists.
I was dealt this hand when my life began,
then and there.

Convinced, cajoled, and directed into treaties and agreements by threats, guilt,
intimidation, and false promises;
when given limited control, I reneged.

I wasn’t the liar. Not then.


As days pass, everything changes in us.
Regret and mind past gaps enough to make things right.
“For everything there is a season and a time….”