Sammi’s Weekender #259 (spotlight)

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Mission

Never liked real or imagined
spotlights
except from the catbird seat.

The Spotlight movie—
religion’s villainous clergy
and journalism’s reporter heroes.


Look both ways to find the sorry ass truth.
Mind the gaps but tell all to make a better world.

The 2015 movie trailer, if you’ve not seen it.

Sammi’s Weekender #258 (impromptu)

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Pointless vers libre

I wrote this poem
impromptu, an
extemporaneous literary
ejaculation written to a prompt,
which, oxymoronically, means
improvised unprompted.

An unemotional, virtuous
pronouncement, to wit, I was
fully unprepared
by the fulness of time
to provide profoundness
of contemplation.

In my vernacular,
I pulled it out
of my ass.


Look both ways even on one-way streets.
Some contrivances must be assembled quickly.
Mind the gaps because the Russians are coming.

Sammi’s Weekender #257 (luminous)

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Ominous luminosity

Nearby outside, a dark
electricity filled night
jarred us with
thunderous raging lightning.

Saint Elmo’s fire
danced and filled our cockpit
with ominous luminosity
from Palpatine,
to our fearless distress.


Look both ways for distress travels any direction.
Mind the gaps as you let the force be with you.

Note: Palpatine (Darth Sidious) was the name of the Emperor in the Star Wars movies.

Sammi’s Weekender #256 (provocative)

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Now or Never

Sometimes, I thoughtlessly
sit down, grab my pen or something,
and dash one off.

Without thought, form, or plan,
I’ve lost control.
No time for provocative,
deep thoughts.

It’s just me in my do it now mode.
There’s no stream or flow of consciousness,
it happens without reservation,
absent of awareness,
I’ve no muse’s prompt.

When I’m done,
I turn the page.


Look both ways and write it fast, get it down,
save the insane. Mind the gaps and traps of the mind.

Sammi’s Weekender #255 (lexicon)

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Poets’ Lexicon.

One must have lexicon to poem.
Language to arrange words right.
Poet’s lingo contains abundant terms
shared with the world of writing
like style, voice, or tone. Words,
as Mary Oliver said, “If words were only words…”

We need to learn vernacular and forms;
The Rules of the Dance, poetry handbooks to
comprehend values of meter: monometer,
pentameter, and octameter.

Toeless feet with iamb, trochee, and dactyl.
How often does one see a spondee running free?
Books by Packard, Turco, Oliver,
and more for poetics.


Look both ways as you dip you pen into the poet’s ink.
Mind the gaps as there is so much to learn about the plethora of poetry terms.

Sammi’s Weekender #254 (yodel)

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Ignorance Ain’t Bliss

When I was a boy,
they told me
which were the good
and bad guys.

School, books, and movies,
taught me Indians were bad guys,
always lost, and
cowboys sang and yodeled.

Now I know
about Little Bighorn
(Indian tribes won)
and the Wounded Knee massacre.

Now I know
cowboys don’t yodel.
Singers singing about them do.


Look both ways for truth in history.
Mind the gaps for prejudicial evidence.

Sammi’s Weekender #252 (purport)

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Adverbial Alliteration

Advisedly, we’re normally explanatorily told not to
write clichéd adverbial conquests, but to eschew such modifications
faithfully as frivolously fast fingers freely flow creatively composing
craftily constructed compositions, purportedly passing on poorly
penned prepositional phrases padded with mystery.

Reality rudely reeks seeking adjunct, conjunct, disjunct, or just plain junk.
To prepare perfectly pedestrian, speciously deceptive poems and prose,
paint in some opposition of affirmation.


Look both ways crossing artful Grammar Ave. Mind the gaps that set the traps.

Sammi’s Weekender #251 (rune)

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Pulled Curly’s Rune

At first, years ago
when I was a green carrot,
Texans were, it seemed,
wonderful; charming, friendly,
funny-talking folk in spurs
and special wide brim hats,
and mess on their boots;
mysterious, clever, dashing,
men, woman, and children;
lovers of prickly flora
and less flattering fauna; frank
but short of blunt, somber souls.

For forty years I lived among ‘em,
counted myself one,
married another,
raised three more,
befriended many, tolerated more;
a citizen with resident rights,

I’ve noticed fewer hold that mythical
individualistic spirit,
lost in a dangerous land,
well-known as
Houston in New York.


Look both ways when we pine for the past.
Enjoy the stories and the myths, but mind the gaps where rattlers sleep.

Why Houston in New York?

City Slickers movie slice. My point.

Sammi’s Weekender #250 (mannequin)

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No, no, no.

She didn’t know,
she couldn’t see my loss,
drained of outward expression,
emotionally spent, I sat — still,
a heartless, brainless mannequin,
my skin ripped by her words.
I was not, as she accused,
an automaton. I loved her.

My brain and heart were not sapped,
but hope seemed impossible.
Suicide seemed the only answer,
an escape from daily pain, the way home,
to bring order to irreversible chaos.

My mind: bleak, grim, sullen:
I walked to window,
I cried, broken, never again to be me.


Look both ways.
Reality isn’t always as it seems.
Mind the gaps, nothing is perfect.
Into every life, some sadness, some love, some hope, some loss.

Sammi’s Weekender #249 (recipe)

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Make it So

Kitchen? check!
Hot oven? check.
fixin’s? double-check.
recipes, bowls?

Got ‘em to go.

bakin’ pans
yeah boss!!
ready to roll!
gots crunchie munchies.

pack a bowl, pizza’s comin’.
“Hey, you gunna bogart
that stash all night?”


Look both ways when you pass the bong.
Mind the gaps and lower the lights.