For our writing pleasure we have been enjoined to post by her purple-for-passion (or is it the other way ‘round?), Madam Wisoff-Fields and the debonair lady, Liz Young. They have joined forces to summon our best literary skills of micro-fiction story telling (and editing down).
Click on Liz’s photo prompt to test the waters at Rochelle’s blog. There, you will find everything you need to rock a mini plot for the hashtag Friday Fictioneers game of writer-ship (#FF).
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?
Today, I was to write a poem that takes as its starting point something overheard that made me laugh, or something someone told me once that struck me as funny. So, one day…
Testimonial Tiptoeing
While walking to Bible Study one sunny Sunday
I thought I heard her say to me, “Sit on your hands
and keep your mouth shut.”
She may have said, “Please.”
I may have laughed,
as they say, out loud.
I don’t recall.
I hadn’t planned for this behavior,
nor had others. I was well-known
for my robust questions effectuating discourse.
But I agreed to remain calm and quiet.
Perhaps a little too proud of my oracular
transformation of boring topics into
heated disputes among those who cared
(maybe a little too much) about all things biblical.
I did my best. I really tried to make her proud.
With both hands literally under my arse,
and my lips drawn to a thin white line,
I was being holy as hell and doing fine,
until the lovely lady facilitating the study asked,
“Bill, why have you been so quiet?
Why have you not blessed us
with your usual wit and wisdom?”
And why is your face so red?
I don’t remember much after that.
The priest said it was demonic.
A friend said smoke bellowed
from my ears. I swear I heard a nun pray,
more impassioned than logical,
“May the saints preserve us from
this cantankerous old toad.”
Look both ways when contemplating all things divine.
Mind the gaps but give respect to get respect.
Sometimes a story is just a story and a joke is just a joke.
Click on the NaPo 2023 button to see the challenge and to read more poems (not all are on prompt).
Today’s Napo assignment was for me to find a short(ish) poem I like and to rewrite each line. I was to replace as many words as possible with words of opposite meaning (antonyms, perhaps). Then, polish and publish. Done! Right? (Sure.)
Since I’m caught up, I’ve made this Monday’s Rune (likewise the next three Mondays), so only one post per day for the remainder of April (except Saturdays, maybe, I hope). I may try to add other touches, like voiceover or videos, but I prefer my blog page relatively clean.
I chose two very short poems from Favorite Inspirational Poems (A Revell Inspirational Classic). My rewrites are italicized following the originals. I took the additional step of using a poetic theme opposite of the original poem. My voiceover is all four poems.
I Never Saw a Moor by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
I never saw a Moor —
I never saw the Sea —
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.
I never spoke with God
Nor visited in Heaven —
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the Checks were given —
you always knew his name by bill
you’ve seen many deserts
you’ve seen the wilderness
never will you know how sand feels
nor how the wood-gnomes dress.
we’ve spoken to dark angels
and had our time in Hell
then still we don’t know shit
clearly, I’ve lost my fucking will.
***
The Steps of Faith by – John Greenleaf Whittier
Nothing before, nothing behind, the steps of Faith.
Fall on the seeming void and find the Rock beneath.
Nothing before, nothing behind,
Fall on the void and find the Rock beneath.
Nothing before, nothing behind.
ambles of atheism by bill
everything behind, everything before, the ambles of atheism.
rise from below in clarity and lose the slip above
everything behind, everything before
climb to the valid and forget the void above
everything behind, everything before.
***
Look both ways to see what the poet says.
Mind the gaps in both the literal and ironic.
It’s Monday.
Click here for the napowrimo dot net and more poems.
As Hanukkah ends
Kwanzaa begins, and it is boxing day in Canada.
Because yesterday over two billion enlightened
of the eight billion humans alive
decide a religious thing and dispute
coffee cups and well wishes,
which must be specifically selfish.
It’s also the climaxing week of
collegiate football bowls
so schools can decide who to fire
or to obscenely overpay with locked down
contracts having nothing to do
with anything educational (or successful)
except that we are better than you—
more near neurotic selfishness. Yay,
we’re number one (so what?).
But it is serious business
for calendars. The end of another
elliptical orbital trip around the
minor star we call Sun,
and another 365 days bite the dust.
In the meantime, libraries close,
school music programs falter
or are cancelled to reduce cost,
and art blows in the wind.
Happy holidays. Congratulations,
it’s a wonderful life, Mister Potter.
Look both ways except this week.
For twenty-twenty-two, it’s over.
Mind the gaps for “what have we done?”
The eight-day Jewish festival, which began at nightfall yesterday, is also known as the festival of lights, or the Feast of Dedication. It commemorates the recovery of Jerusalem and rededication of the Second Temple at the beginning of the Maccabean revolt.
As a child growing up in a relatively “strict” Roman Catholic family, I recall all the “Christmas” cards we received during December. Mom used them to decorate our home. I recall many of the cards wishing us Happy Holidays and Happy Hanukkah. This was from the late 1940’s through the 1960s.
While I attended a Catholic parochial elementary school, I also recall saying “Happy Hanukkah” and playing with dreidels (or similar toys). A dreidel is a four-sided top bearing Hebrew letters. I ate some Jewish foods (year-round) and drank sweet kosher wine, but I did not learn the full meanings and traditions until years later.
When my children were growing up, they (and we) had Jewish family friends. During the holiday season one Jewish friend went to our children’s public schools and explained the Hanukkah festival. During the eight-day festival, my children spent many evenings at their friend’s home learning about Jewish traditions, eating the special foods, and participating in lighting the nine light menorahs (Chanukiah).
While Hanukkah is a minor Jewish religious holiday, for me it is full of happy (and a few sad) memories, and I ponder the possibilities. One more time, Happy Everything, Everyone.
Look both ways to learn the stories our friends and neighbors have to share.
Mind the gaps because no two are exactly alike.
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