Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Why? why ? why?

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Like an incessantly curious three year old
I question relentlessly:
why do babies have to grow up?
where is my deceased mother really, now?
why can't I just transport to Sweden to visit a friend?
what the heck is my friend thinking, enabling her druggie son?
how do I know all the things I do?
when will I reach the end of my therapeutic journey?
Why do I have to have all these damn 'isms'?
Why indeed.

(Written and posted for NaPoWriMo, Day 14, "Write a question poem", 04/14/14)

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Gentleman












You glare at us, oh
noble fellow,
your sneer revealing
the not-so compassionate,
maleness apparent
in the splay hipped stance.
Just what are you
attempting to kindly master?
A cat head-butts your thigh
revealing a camaraderie of
presence, if not intimacy of
acquaintance, affable bloke
tenuously staring down
the viewer of circuses.


(Inspired by and posted for Day 14 prompt, NaPoWriMo, "Write a poem using a kenning", 04/13/14)
(Also posted for MagPie Tales - the source of the image - Mag215, 04/13/14.)

Hell on wheels

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Rage is a two or three wheeled 
motor vehicle.
Rage design varies greatly to suit
a range of different purposes.
In the developed world,
rage is mainly a luxury good,
used mostly for recreation,
as a lifestyle accessory,
or a symbol of personal identity,
while in developing countries
rage is overwhelmingly utilitarian.
The role of rage is changing 
from a transport necessity to
a leisure activity, and
rage is changing from 
a family's primary motor vehicle 
to a second or third vehicle.
There are three major types of rage:
street, off-road, and dual purpose.
Rage has a higher rate of fatal accidents
than automobiles or trucks and buses.

(Written for the Day 12 Prompt from NaPoWriMo, "Replacement poem", 04/12/14 - I chose 'motorcycle' and 'rage' - with a very interesting result! Sentences on motorcycles cribbed from this Wikipedia article: "Motorcycles" Enjoy!)

Friday, April 11, 2014

Opaquely transparent

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The motes in the light - one
almost touches the ephemeral
reality yet uncapturable, a metaphor -
fleeting images and events that seem
so tangible, yet when grasped
melt away between fingers
while whispering warmly on 
skin and hair.
The light itself is visible
evanescent emissary of life.
It seems more real, 
though no less evasive.
So much is present undetected.
Some believe, though they have not seen.
Others demand to touch the stigmata.
Which is more?
(Image and inspiration from Magpie Tales, Mag 214, posted 04/11/14)

Anachronism

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I loved romantic love
I loved wine
Neither are part of my journey
these days

Wine turned from being my partner
in crime to being
a crime
against health and family and future
and so
despite all the seemingly good times,
I had to part ways with it
ten sober years ago.

Romantic love has never
really been my friend either,
though even now, I am ever
hopeful that it will get its shit
together and meet my
Disney-ish, courtly love expectations.
On the other hand, my heart
is locked tight against love's
blandishments, because such
enticements always seem to cloak
sweet talk dripping with poisonous dishonesty.

Wine and love belong to my past,
the ago years when I believed in
the cultural lies that this unholy duo
would make my life better, my heart
happy, my brain seams smooth out.
They certainly have not improved with
age, their vinegary sting bitter on my tongue.
It's easier now to crochet and write poetry -
now those are dogmas I can get behind.

Inspired by the prompt at NaPoWriMo, Day Eleven, to write a poem a la Anacreon about "Love and Wine", 04/11/2014

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Available almost immediately

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One slightly used
but very delicately aged female with
sarcastic mouth and quick wit.
Self-supporting, good hygiene.
Number-crunching romantic
who owns her home and car.
Not house broken to take care of men
though totally goofy when it comes to dogs.
Excellent cook, crafter, and gardener.
Does spend much of her time curled
up with a book to read or
a pen and paper to write.
Adamantly unwilling to raise
any additional children or to referee
fights with the ex.
Slow to warm up to a new relationship,
though unfailingly loyal once her
trust is earned.
Inquiries may be sent to...

Written and posted for Day Five NaPoWriMo prompt, "Write an advertisement poem", 04/10/14

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Musical Poetry

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Scenes from an Italian Restaurant
Sister Golden Hair
Ride like the wind
It don't come easy
Mother and child reunion

(Written and posted for NaPoWriMo Day Five prompt, "Use a five song titles from a random playlist to make a poem", 04/09/2014)
(Playlist taken from SiriusXM channel, "The Bridge")