FOTD Apr 7, 2020

I have been forgetting the name of this tree for a good 15 years or more. It is hidden away among other trees and plants and it is always a surprise..

For Cee’s FOTD

Captain, Oh Captain

Image by Kyle Ryan on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Captain, Oh Captain

We need a precise president, not one who estimates,
prescribing iffy medicine while there are still debates
concerning its effectiveness. It’s time to mutiny
and elect someone smart who has ability to see
that fabrication will not do when truth is all that works
to save a world that up ’til now is reeling from the quirks
of one who simply opens lips to see what will fall out.
Our head of state is lacking brains—of that there is no doubt!

An engine cannot run when it doesn’t have the fuel,
and since our ship of state is being fueled by a fool
who does not know the difference between reality
out here in the real world and reality TV,
we have to be the ones who care enough for our survival
to oust this man who runs our country like a sham revival.
We need to put the bounce back in a country that is failing,
and elect a brand new captain for the ship that he’s been sailing.

 

Word prompts for today are precise, engine, bounce, mutiny and care.

Please check out the news report below regarding Donald Trump prescribing medicine for Coronavirus that has not been scientifically or medically approved:

https://www.yahoo.com/news/fact-check-trump-pitches-drug-042807813.html

 

Restoring the Garden

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Restoring the Garden

Mankind’s not in a bubble, we are linked to Nature’s plan.
There are no separate provinces for animals and man.
All the riches of the world aren’t here for just our pleasure.
What we do to nature, it returns in equal measure.
This folly has gone far enough. The fools must be curbed.
The balances of nature have been cruelly disturbed.

Take back control from those who unwisely wield their power,
or nature will find other ways to make us cringe and cower.
She has put us in a prison in judgement for our sin,
providing us with jailers who control us from within
while those we have mishandled roam freely all around—
Fly and swim and crawl and run, scamper, leap and bound.

Only we are prisoners and will be ’til we’ve learned
not to take more than our share or more than we have earned.
This absurd behavior of the naughty little boys
who have seized our planet’s riches as their private cache of toys
will bring us all to ruin if we don’t curb their powers,
for they cannot see the truth of things up in their lofty towers.

 

For NaPoWriMo 2020, Day 6: Write a poem inspired by characters in Hieronymous Bosch’s painting “The Garden of Earthly Delights. “

6:30 A.M. Vicarious Pleasures: NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 5

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6:30 A.M. Vicarious Pleasures

My day is a guest who arrives too early,
starting the party without me to the insistent drumbeat
of a distant all-night party not yet over.

Its music sketches a portrait of my distant past:
wild nights, the sharp bite of tequila,
casual passion draped across my back.

Kukla the girl cat’s clever claws push me from my bed. 
Other than her insistent cries for desayuno,
this new day written across my life
comes with invisible directions. 

It smells like fresh-blooming plumeria
and tastes like Nescafé with Coffee-Mate and stevia.

It is too tame, this safe life with so many hand-washings
that they rise to my tongue and foam as I speak to myself in the mirror,
keeping six feet of distance even with myself
as I wait for the arrival and my capture
by this distant threat creeping ever closer.

Sangre de Cristo,” mutters Jesus the water vendor,
taking his own name in both vein and vain as he
reminds me to keep my distance—
La señora, no matter how generous a tipper, now a threat.
I sweep his footsteps from the doorway,
set them on fire and gather their ashes for a poem.

The birds sing their way into my verses,
as does the snake that lies coiled in my kitchen sink.
I taste the language of all of them,
real life as surreal as any dream—
this world a wasp nest,
each of us sealed up in our individual cell.

Without a life, I write one for myself.
You are invited to join it here on my sanitary screen.
Make your rejoinders more clever than Alexa’s or Siri’s,
so I can dispense with the both of them.
Imagine me touching your words I cannot hear,
and make them less sharp than what you might be feeling.


A stream of family music from below
flows up the mountainside to pool in my ears.
I breathe the perfume of that family.
I savor its taste—tamarind, lime and salt,

the homeyness of bland tortillas—
and hope they are kept safe there.

I’m combining six prompts today. The five word prompts today are clever, portrait, distant, capture and arrival. I’m combining them with the NaPoWriMo Day 5 prompt which includes 20 explicit directions. To read other poems written to this prompt, go HERE.

  1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
  2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
  3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
  4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
  5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
  6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
  7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
  8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
  9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
  10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
  11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
  12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
  13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
  14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
  15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
  16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
  17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
  18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
  19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
  20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Alarm Clock

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Open Window

6:58 A.M. and the party down the road is still going full force. Loud music with oom pah pah tubas, drunken voices shouting above the music. What do they celebrate? A wedding? Birthday? They are invulnerable, these partiers.

Is it the booze or their youth that raises them above the threat that those of us older shield ourselves from with masks and gloves and solitude?

Far-off dogs bark their accompaniment to the drum that pounds like a giant heartbeat. One male voice, shouting above the rest, barks barks his optimism as if to say, “It will not find any of us!” He leaves caution to that far-off world of the barking dogs and me, listening from so far above as the music swells louder and a single cock crows his harmony to the morning’s cacophony, over and over, as though to reassert his claim as the harbinger of the day.