Mind wanders unable to cogitate. Winds play havoc with light weight detritus. Headlines condense happenings, news by topic only. Sometimes old. Eyes skim paper while draining coffee cup. Aprosexia. Sound enticing? Not. Day dawns choppy and jumbled. My sorting hat’s lost.
NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) Day 2. The challenge is to write a poem every day in the month of April.
Today’s optional prompt: write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. I chose the word “aprosexia” which means an inability to concentrate.
Sears Catalogue dreams, turn to shit placed in the outhouse.
Reams stacked high like people’s dreams, waiting to tip.
Cat clawed rolls scarred, piled in heaps.
Bits and pieces thrown in anger, confetti tossed in joy.
Like so much, paper’s all in the using.
De is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe! Today, we’re to use the word “paper” or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I had a bit of fun with this one.
She adored attending church, not to finger her rosary beads or murmur prayers upon her knees, but to wear her finest hats for all to see. Purposely arriving late she strutted down the aisle showing off her plumage, much like the Tall Crowned Crane and the Secretary Bird she visited often at the Diego Zoo.
We’re trying on hats today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. First two photos are from the San Diego Zoo: first is the Tall Crowned Crane and second is a Secretary Bird. That old bird in the third photograph is me some years back. I always say, if you’re going to wear a hat, wear a HAT! Poem is fictional….I’m not Catholic, don’t use a rosary, and certainly don’t strut in church.
The only job she could land landed her in an out-of-the-way town. She’d cajoled and connived her way to a choir of four. Refusing to admit defeat, she would not call them a quartet.
David, eyes cast down interminably, droned a background hum for whatever tune was sung. Delilah, the defiant one. Deliberately off-pitch to shine, spotlight stolen by default. Dissonant in life as well.
Miriam, the honey-blonde. Sensuous red lips licked and dewed before each word, mouthed dulcet tones too late. Behind in every measure, she flashed her thigh for all to see beneath unbuttoned robe.
And Carl, the rapper. Lordy, what a snazzy guy. Snapped his fingers while chanting words. Smelled of weed with eyes glazed, unwilling to shed his percussive beat.
She smiled and waved her baton, directing the motley crew. Sweat dribbled down her chest to that delicate spot between her ample breasts. Music is as music does, always music to her ear.
She’d defied the warnings, music her one true love. So here she stood, tone deaf and proud. Her quartet, after all, was magnificently loud.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe.
Today, Laura asks us to write a “sound poem” choosing one word from five lists she provides. She also points us toward Hart’s Thesaurus of the Senses, a valuable resource for poets. Laura, I ordered a copy yesterday. The words I used (or forms of the word) were drone, dissonant, dulcet, dribble, and chant. I also added a fifth word from the list, honey. Truly had fun with this prompt. Thank you, Laura! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
PS: dedicated with humor to my daughter and son, both of whom direct a chorus and/or choir; and son-in-law, who composes choral music.
Image from A Scrub’s Life, February 1, 2017: “Sometimes We Can Be A Little Tone Deaf”
She sweetly sings Come be with me, lullabyes them deep in sleep to kidnap. Children, her calliope.
She crashes children’s dreams with glee mists their minds, makes one commanding clap and sweetly sings Come be with me.
Spins dulcimer tones in heads so wee, savors treble clefs, craves their fiddle-dee-dee. Children, her calliope.
Plants cotton-candy poisonous tree in tussled heads so sweet, such evil trap. She sweetly sings Come be with me.
Disguised she devil-sings come follow me, codas dream with one giant gingersnap. Children, her calliope.
Parents, heed my tale and listen carefully lest you lose your children as they nap. She sweetly sings Come be with me, children, her calliope!
Bjorn is hosting Meet-the-Bar night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. He asks us to write a nonsense narrative poem. We must clearly tell a story. “The characters and their actions may seem absurd or playful, but what they do makes sense in a nonsense way. It is fine to use invented words, but it should be clear from the concept if they are creatures, things, or even verbs.” Photo from pixabay.co
Dump the pointy-eared pixie! I may be tinsel-tipsy, but what’s with that guy? Elf on a Shelf, the supreme tattler. Old St. Nick sure didn’t hire him. Why cultivate fear in a kid’s heart when Rudolph’s coming to town? Unconditional love, so much better!
A quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish asks us to use the word tinsel, or a form of the word (not a synonym) in a poem of exactly 44 words. Photo by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash Elf on a Shelf is a product predominately sold in the U.S. Parents can set the elf out and move it about the house every night when the children go to bed so it seems like the elf is alive. The children then hunt for the elf the next morning. The real purpose of the elf is to spy on the children and make sure they’re being good so Santa will come on Christmas morning! Parents actually tell the children they must be good or the elf will let Santa know they’re on the naughty list! I’ve never liked this idea – no offense to anyone reading this who uses it during the Christmas season. Just my opinion.
Her mother was a stoner, flowerchild of the sixties. Braless, barefoot, oblivious. She copulated in a purple haze.
Love child born in a stream, drifted from womb to surface floated in sun’s glistened path. Named according to her origins.
Forever asked, why Mica Shist?
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, De would like us to use the word “stone” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. When I saw the word stone, immediately thought of rocks, then different types of rocks as in metamorphic, granite, and mica schist. Mica schist is a metamorphic rock that includes the mineral schist. When on the surface, schist gives a sparkle to the rock. Some say mica is nature’s glitter. So I decided to have a little fun with the prompt! Image from Pixabay.com
corn-on-the-cobify me . . . tomatocize me. Plop raspberries on my fingertips only to pop one by one, into my eager mouth. It’s garden fresh summerliciousness time!
gloriosity sunshineeeeness popsicles, fudgsicles sprinkler dashes tasty juicy tomatoes sweet butter dripping corn on the cob kernels stuck between my teeth. That’s summerliciousness!
That’s our grandson who is now 14 and ready to start high school next year. Most joyous photo I’ve ever seen of someone eating corn on the cob!Happy summer everyone!
Summer’s delight. Ice cream time in smudgekin’s world, that’s a toddler’s chocolate delight. Chocolately face and fingers too, lick by lick by lick by drip by drip by drip. Slow salivating yumminess then nose-in-cone finale. Mama says “look at me!” Click. Then clean-up time.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse where Mish is hosting and asks us to use the word “smudge” or a form ofthe word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo from Inside Source.
lillian the home poet 