Day’s End
One more stitch in the garment of life.
The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a Monostich Poem–a one-line poem. (I couldn’t resist the pun.)
Day’s End
One more stitch in the garment of life.
The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a Monostich Poem–a one-line poem. (I couldn’t resist the pun.)
Cups of Java or Cups of Tea? Me, I just need my:
Morning Couplets
Every single day for years, my morning’s not replete
until my poem is published—polished and complete.
I meander through my sentences until I think they’re done,
and then I herd them into shape—each metaphor and pun.
My need is pathological to get them all just right.
I love words’ sensuality, their pathos and their bite.
Though some have a reluctance to show up when I call them,
there’s a satisfaction when I finally recall them.
What would I do with mornings if I had no words to play with?
There’d be nothing else for me to find to fill my day with!
Prompts for today are meander, sentence, pathological, replete, reluctance.
Photo by Glenn Buttkus
Concrete Poem
(Exposed Aggregate)
You cut a channel through my flat heart,
straight and sure, as though it had not already been set.
Miracle worker. Perfect craftsman,
sculpting the impossible medium.
For the dVerse Poets Pub prompt. Go HERE to see poems by other poets answering the prompt.
Ascension Dementia
When it comes to penthouse parties, I’m an equivocator
if it is a building that lacks an elevator.
Lately, my flair for climbing stairs seems to be out of whack.
When it comes to floor ascension, I do not have the knack.
My gumption seems to flag a bit as I reach the brink,
for as I run short of breath, I simply cannot think.
Thus, I’m an oxymoron, for when I climb the stair,
my mental acuity simply isn’t there.
At the bottom I am boisterous and have a lot of pep
that vanishes too quickly as I take step after step.
I try to remember what I climbed nine stories for,
but I can’t for the life of me remember anymore.
(According to poetic lexicography, an oxymoron is someone who loses mental acuity due to oxygen loss to the brain.)
Prompts today are flag, gumption, oxymoron, whack and boisterous.
Wordsmith
He manufactures, word by word,
sentences that are absurd.
Each construct is a little joke—
an irony or equivoque.
If you wish, I’ll let you know
when he’s ready to stage a show.
I guarantee, his recitation
is sure to win your approbation.
Making each word serve as two
is something that he’s driven to do.
Each double-entendre an education
in the art of revelation:
one meaning clear to any child,
the other more obscure and wild.
Thus does a punster get his fix
by stirring up a wicked mix:
a word cocktail whose piquancy,
cleverness and frequency
in any form or any guise
promises a rare surprise.
So come with me and in two winks
my friend will tell you what he thinks—
his discourse rare and smart and funny,
acerbic and right on the money!!!
Today’s prompt words are manufacture, construct, revelation and equivoque (an expression capable of having more than one meaning; a pun.) Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/rdp-thursday-manufacture/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/07/fowc-with-fandango-construct/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/your-daily-word-prompt-equivoque-february-7-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/revelation/
The Prompt: Write a post in which the protagonists of two different books or movies meet for the first time. How do they react to each other? Do they get along?
I was a witness as Uriah Heep just happened to stumble upon Sylvester Stallone gazing at his reflection in the front window of a chichi little shop on Rodeo Drive. I admit that I loitered nearby, eavesdropping. I knew this was going to be good!
Rocky Balboa and Uriah Heep Meet on Rodeo Drive
Uriah sidled closer to get an autograph,
but he was intercepted by a member of Sly’s staff.
“Please do not loiter here, sir,” the officious flunky said.
Her expression was most haughty. Her eyes just cut him dead.
Uriah’s voice was cloying as he said, “My esteemed sir,
I’m just an ‘umble man. I didn’t want to cause a stir.
But it would be so gratifying for a worm like me
to get to touch the pants hem of a real live star like thee!”
Sylvester spun upon his heel, surveyed the quivering mess.
“It won’t hurt to please the little man one time, I guess,”
Sly thought as he bestowed a smile meant to relieve the tension,
at the same time, putting out his hand with condescension,
thinking he might kiss it, but instead that low man’s knee
was brought up to make contact with Sylvester’s fabled vee,
causing his pitch forward ’til in the street he lay.
And this is what Uriah said as he walked away:
“I may be sly and unctuous–a real pain in the ass,
but even a lowlife like me still has a little sass.
My humble’s spilling over ’til it doesn’t seem quite real,
and so I thought I’d show Stallone some of what I feel.”
How the great man is brought down to eating humble pie.
For once Uriah can look down to meet him in the eye.
As he writhed in agony, the star made not a peep.
Now Uriah is the Sly one while Stallone’s become a heap.
Note: Okay, I’m sorry. For the poem. For the sick pun. Everyone has an off day now and then.