Final Words

Over in the Imaginary Garden Izy presented us with the following writing prompt:

A few minutes from now, you will lose all means of communication with humanity.  You will not die, but will no longer be able to interact with the world.  What’s the last thing you say?  

Quite a bit, as it turns out!  I've been having trouble finishing up the 30 poems in 30 days, but it turns out with this prompt I came up with a couple of very different responses.  (And yes, I'm counting this as three poems for NaPoWriMo.)

The first thing that pops into my mind is the song from the Carol Burnette Show, “I’m so glad we had this time together, just to have a laugh or sing a song.  Seems we just get started then before you know it, comes the time we have to say so long.” 

Then I wrote the following:

If I couldn’t

communicate

with the world

anymore

how

would that

be any different?

   ~~~~~~~

If I couldn’t communicate

with the world

anymore

would I want to scatter

all my pearls of wisdom,

my humor

my clever, profound ruminations

that the world simply cannot live without?

Look out for the military-industrial complex

tell the people you love that you love them

but keep the people you hate guessing

be kind, be fair, be generous

use your parking brake on hills

remember the stories your parents tell you

time rules your life

be kind to animals

Earth is the only home we have

(so far)

show her some respect

Remember to water the plants

tell your gods to stop fighting

hang up your wet towels             

and the answer is

42

   ~~~~~~~

When I can no longer talk 

to you

perhaps it is time to listen

Food for Thought: Are You Pulling My Leg? or Does this Bug You?

Why my darling,

your legs are

long

elegant

glistening

succulent

said the spider to the fly.

~o~

I’ve

always been

a leg man

said the caterpillar

sadly

to the

butterfly

~o~

The average chocolate bar contains eight insect legs. –Yahoo Answers(and you KNOW it must be true if it was on the internet)

Over in the Imaginary Garden Karin has asked us to write about some aspect of  "last" and/or "legs". I really couldn't think of anything, so I did what I usually do in such situations - I went for absurd, gross, adolescent humor.  Really, that's all I could come up with, so apologies to Karen and the rest of the toads. 

The (Im)perfect Love Poem

Over in the Imaginary Garden we were given the formula to write "The Perfect Love Poem."  It is as follows: x (p + b + c + o), where P = Pattern (meter and rhyme,) B = Brevity, C = Comparison (describe the love or lover with a comparison), O = Obstacle (the difficulties inherent in a love affair), X = Mystery

But I was told there would be no math, so I didn't quite follow the formula. Instead I give you two imperfect love poems: 

My first love  poem is more like y(p+b+c+o), where y = humor.

Love Poem #1

Your love is like the bite of a tick

unnoticed at first, then making me sick

with fever and chills, aches and pains.

I hate that my heart doesn’t have any brains

when it sees this disease

that brings me to my knees.

If there was an injection

to stop this infection

I could save my heart from your rejection.

but I seem to be a philosophic waxer,

and a crazy, wild-eyed anti-vaxxer.

And my second love poem is sort of x(b+o)

Love Poem #2

You are 

the feel of wind

on my face,

the moon’s reflection

in my eyes,

the lens through which

I see the world.

You live

in the hollows of my bones,

in the lining of my skin,

in my dark center,

patient, waiting.

Inspiration, Post Haste

Dear St. Cecilia,

I could really use some help here.

My muse took off

with a two-bit musician and a bottle of hooch,

and here I am just a week and a day

into Poem-a-Day month.

I’m desperate!

Could you sprinkle a little

magic dust from an old thesaurus,

whisper sweet nothings

(or bitter, sarcastic anythings)

in my ear?

Please, do something!

Desperately and Uninspiredly Yours,

-Other Mary

P.S. If I don’t hear back from you soon my next letter will be to Bacchus. 


Abhra over at dVerse Poets Pub has asked us to write a letter.  Oh, and in case you're wondering, St. Cecilia is the patron saint of poets, writers, muscians and artists in general.  And I'll bet you know Bacchus is the Roman god of wine.

Butter Me Up

Way back, when I was only three

and Aunt Loretta sat for me,

Uncle Erwin put me on his knee.

He taught me a crucial skill for life:

how to eat butter off a knife.

When I was little my parents hired Loretta Kleinschmidt to clean house and 'sit' for me on Tuesdays and Thursdays when my mom was at work.  She was strict, exacting, and loved me like a grandchild, and became my "Aunt Loretta."  She didn't drive, so sometimes my mom would get her, but frequently her husband, Erwin (pronounced Ervin) would come to our house to get her when he was finished with his work for the day, as a carpenter.  And that's when I learned about the wonders of butter.  Sadly, but maybe not surprisingly Uncle Erwin died of a heart attack December 26, 1985.  Aunt Loretta is dead now too, but I still remember them both with love. 
And this is for IGRT Sunday Mini-Challenge.  You should go there and check it out!

The Yellow-Rumped Warbler

    Photo by Margaret Bednar

At the window feeder

in softly falling snow,

underneath the cedar,

amid the birds there clustered

sits one with marks of mustard.

How can you spot ‘em?

By his yellow bottom.

Over at the Imaginary Garden Margaret asked us to "play it again" by choosing a previous writing prompt.  I chose the Rhyme Royal form prompt.  Rhyme Royal is rhymed poetry with the following pattern:  a-b-a-b-b-c-c.  I"ve taken some liberties with line length - just part of my light-hearted approach to the lovely picture.

Why I Hope God has a Sense of Humor

     Feast in the House of Simon, El Greco

"God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh." - H. L. Mencken

Matthew 26:6, "Now when Jesus was in Bethany, at the home of Simon the leper," 

Jesus: Hey Simon – what do you call a leper taking a bath? 

Simon: No idea Jesus, what?

Jesus: Stew!

All assembled: *groan*

Check out The Mag creative writing group for more responses to the image by El Greco.

Outsider

I tried my best not to be pouty

or bitter or whiney or shouty

when the cool girls wore minis

that showed off their innies,

while my lame belly button’s an outie.

Here is a loosely configured (and thought out) Limerick for day 6 of NaPoWriMo using the prompt of 'outside' (almost) given by Peggy at IGwRT.  :o)  Disclaimer: this is a piece of creative writing, and any resemblance to real belly buttons is purely coincidental. :o)

Irregular Apocalypse

In the End Times

there was a den

filled with pinball machines

and short-skirted, Plasticine women,

and the multitudes were

playing and tilting and getting extra balls

and breaking all 12 of The Commandments.

And it came to pass in those days,

that there went out a decree

from Elton John

that coming to the land
was another Wal-Mart
and it would mark the beginning 

of an Irregular Apocalypse.

And the people were sore afraid.

And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth

and taking of Xanax,

and also some hallucinogens.

And the people had Visions.

In the Visions the people saw a man

seated on the throne with a Book

with seven seals.

And the seals did balance balls on their noses, and

throw the balls to one another

and to the Plasticine women.

Then out of their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone,

because they had eaten Mexican food for dinner.

Then the people did behold seven horn players

who did wail on their instruments and

play a mighty dirge.

And Elton John did play his piano and sing.

And he sang unto all the peoples of the Earth:

With all these things that I've done

While everyone's lost, the battle is won.

This is for NaPoWriMo Day #4, from the apocalyse  Southland Tales prompt from IGwRT  and the Ian Banks prompt at NaPoWriMo.  And it's with apologies to The Killers and King James, Elton John and anyone else I may have offended along the way.

God's Kitchen

    Image by Jacek Yerka, Between Heaven and Hell

I have always imagined God as a woman;

and though She is timeless, 

She looks to be

(to me) 

in her middle-sixties.

I picture Her with

wavy salt and pepper hair

 and sparkling eyes -

not unlike my undergraduate adviser

Margaret Odegard,

who would throw back her head

and laugh a magnificent laugh if she knew.

(And so would God, because

I’m quite sure She has

 an outstanding sense of humor.)

God does not, however, wear tweed like Dr. O.

In my mind She dresses in sunbeams, starlight,

clouds, hemp and linen. 

And sensible shoes. 

God did NOT create high heels.

And most assuredly God would have a cat in Her kitchen.

And rows and rows of pots and crocks and jars

 filled with darkness and light and creeping things,

and baskets of stars,

and bushels of peaches,

and a huge stoppered bottle

full of annoying people,

and another with mosquitoes

and large bin of dinosaurs and sea monsters

all mixed up together. 

Then She created the Earth and saw that it was good.

But She knew She could do better…

particularly if She went easier on

 the obnoxious people and the mosquitoes;

so She keeps trying.

And in spite of Genesis,

I think God spends

every Sunday afternoon

cooking up new worlds.

So that's where She can be found,

in Her wonderfully cluttered kitchen.

And by the way, you’re always welcome in

for a chat and a cuppa.’

For the Writing prompt offered by The Mag.  Also posted at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Open Link Night.  They are doing a prompt a day for April, National Poetry Month.

Karmageddon

I have the list that karma missed,

penned the last time I got pissed:

dog-kickers, boot-lickers,

whiney little nose-pickers,

men who say they’ll call then don’t,

or promise to be true but won’t,

tattletales, bullies, hypocrites, thugs,

global warming doubters, litter bugs.

I’m attorney, judge and jury,

and you know well, hell hath no fury…

This is for everyone's favorite G-man and his FF55.  Check it out, and leave your own 55 words of wisdom or folly.

*Disclaimer:  This is only a partial list, other infringements and character flaws may be subject to Karma (or me) without prior warning.  Especially if it's a day that I'm having a snit.  Always be sure to read the fine print, cause you just never know!

Image: Karma-recto by Corporatecounsel.net

Archimede's Lover

 Where do I place the

 fulcrum

  to move

heaven         and          earth

 for

 you?

Image: engraving from Mechanics Magazine London, 1824

The REAL Cause of Global Warming:

After yet another bitterly cold winter Edgar decided to turn up the heat a bit.

This is written for The Mag where you can find many more sensible takes on this intriguing image.  *Disclaimer: This is NOT a political position statement.  It's a JOKE!  

Image by Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

Valentine Offerings

     Will

     you be

     my true knight,

     bright though rusted;

     brave as a tiger,

     one I’ve always trusted

     to save me from my nightmares

     with your own prancing, dancing tongue?

     Hold me tight and kiss away my cares.

     Will you be my true knight, bright though rusted?

     Image from marxist.com


There's a nice, romantic-ish poem for Valentine's Day for all you old school romantics out there.  The  form is a Dectina Refrain created by Marion Friedenthal, with each line containing the following number of syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 and the refrain repeats lines 1-4.  Go to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads to see other love poem that don't use the word 'love' in them.  This next one doesn't fit the bill, but it's just for fun.  Those of you with a slightly more twisted and humorous view of the day, this one is for you:

     My Love

     My love is like a red, red truck,
     All he wants to do is...


          drive around


     C'mon, what did ya think I was gonna say? 


       Image by magnoliamerryweather.tumblr.com   

Top 10 and Tangle

Top 10 Juvenile Comments I Feel Compelled to Inflict on You:

     1.  I had the strangest dream…

     2.   It’s raining men, and I slipped and fell in a big puddle

     3.  What happens when you REALLY have nothing to wear

     4.  This would be way more fun if I could still feel my legs

     5.  Who farted?

     6.  Aren't you glad you use Dial?  Don’t you wish everybody did?

     7.  Sw-e-e-e-e-t dreams

     8.  Yes, I AM the center of it all

     9.  Where’s Waldo? 

     10. Careful, don’t mess up my hair!


      Just in case you wanted to hear the song click here: It's Raining Men!

Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.  Which is your favorite?  Do you have one of your own?  :o)

And now for something completely different:

 Tangle

There is more

than sex and death,

black and white

There is

the smooth, firm curve of grey,

with infinite points along 

the cusp

This is where we live -
in the tangle,

amid agony that may

(at any moment)

reveal 
bliss

The image and more responses to it can be found at The Mag.  This is also linked to Poets United.

Beyond Fashionably Late

I do tend to be fashionably late, but I think this may be stretching the fabric of time-fashion, as this is written for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads mini challenge for New Year's weekend.  Oh, here it is anyway.

Prime Poem:  In this poem all the form rules have to do with prime numbers.  There are 2 beats per foot, 5 feet per line (iambic pentameter), 7 lines and 3 rhymes, with the rhyme scheme as follows: a-b-a-c/c-a-b-a and the c/c indicates a rhyme within the line. 

Here is my example, which is inspired by the US presidential primaries, sort of.  And, I'll point out that my stress pattern in the final line is a bit wonky, but let's just pretend that's done on purpose for comic effect. 

The year: 2012, the dye is cast:

Election year insanity ensues.

Commercials come at us so hard and fast,

while candidates are slated for debate.

Their (lack of) reasoning leaves me aghast

Displayed attractively, but without clues

they make me think this year should be the last!

Image from Google images by zimbio.com

Brrrrds

Chillin’ with my peeps

January in Wisconsin

Cool man, really cool

*Photo by me

Jingle Bells?

     Image by Currier and Ives

Personally, 

I feel that I’m filled

with more than my quota

of Christmas Spirit, but 

Jimmy, what were you thinking when

you wrote that second verse of

Jingle Bells?

What the hell is this ‘upsot’?

And Fanny Bright?  Really?  C’mon, really?

You gotta be kiddin’.

Sounds more like

a case of

Christmas spirits

to me!

Historical Note: The author and composer of Jingle Bells was James Lord Pierpoint of Boston, who composed the song in 1857 for children celebrating his Sunday School Thanksgiving. The song was so popular that it was repeated at Christmas, and indeed Jingle Bells has been reprised ever since.

These 55 foolish words were written for Mr. Knowitall Friday Flash 55.  Check it out and maybe contribute your own 55 word long ditty.

Giving Thanks

Image by en.wikipedia.org

I celebrated Thanksgiving in an old fashioned way.  I invited everyone in the neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land.   -Jon Stewart


Perhaps I should just let this quote stand alone, but I feel compelled to add that I am thankful for a number of things, both tangible and intangible.  I do not mean this to be disrespectful, just to remind myself...and anyone else who happens to find themselves here, that the things we have often come to us at the expense of others.  So, let's all share and play nice!

Just for Fun

She always was outstanding in her field!

And now for something completely different: a silly take on the prompt at Magpie Tales.  Go there to see some more worthy efforts :o)