For NaPoWriMo Day Three :surreal poem. jdb image
Tummy, Dear:
Stomach, darling, first of all I’d like to tell you how indispensable you are. Literally, you are irreplaceable in my life. Aside from digesting my food, you separate my waist from my chest and keep my belts from straying. You warn me about absolutely revolting subjects as well as food and are handy for nudging ahead in tight crowds.
That said, I need to bring up one large touchy matter. For all the good you do in this world, do you need to be quite so large? Lately, for instance, I’ve watched you extending your territory–venturing out into one plump donut extending around my back. This makes looking at my rear view in the mirror extremely distressing. “I never look at myself in back,” one friend told me years ago, but darling, that had been evident for years–testified to by the tight snarl of hair in the middle of her head.
But I digress. You’re awfully quiet. I’m a bit worried that I might have offended. But, the topic of magnitude of sound being brought up, I’ll continue. Were you aware that you have taken to communicating with me at inopportune times? A small growl after midnight to remind me of today’s brownies hiding in their microwave storage space safe from ants and marauding family members and friends? That’s fine…and probably the real reason you were given a voice in the first place. But that long low rumble increasing in volume in the middle of the significant pause in the dialogue of the movie playing in a hushed movie theater? Totally unacceptable. Other times your voice is uncalled for? At the dentist’s office and in the throes of a long passionate kiss. In teachers’ conferences and at ladies bridge afternoons. No. No. No. You are not invited in this capacity. Yes, digest the margarita, the popcorn or the rich dessert. Comment upon it? No.
That’s it, dear stomach. I appreciate you. I know you are vital to my health and happiness. You provide me with countless pleasures–those pleasures increasing with the years. But, sweet middle of mine, if you could see your way clear to not increasing at a rate commensurate with my pleasures, I would appreciate it very much. Oh. Talking again, I see. And probably not listening. Oh well. I hear your message loud and clear. A pint of triple chocolate extra fudge gelato in the freezer? Well, honey, this time you are speaking my language. No one is around. And it is totally acceptable!
Love, Judy
The NaPoWriMo prompt Day 2 is to write a platonic love poem in the form of a letter. In other words, a poem not about a romantic partner, but some other kind of love – your love for your sister, or a friend, or even your love for a really good Chicago deep dish pizza. The poem should be written directly to the object of your affections and should describe at least three memories of you engaging with that person/thing.
April Fool
The April breeze comes in a wave,
loosening words I’d like to save.
I’m afraid if I use them today,
I’ll simply throw the words away.
I’ve been keeping them around
for when I’m feeling more profound,
but errant winds have tossed them so
I feel I have to let them go.
Here they are, all madly sprawled
across a page they should have crawled
ornate and planned, all neatly sown.
Instead, they’re scattered where they’ve been blown.
What a Turtle Has and Hasn’t
It’s true that turtles can make do
with fewer bones than mortals do,
for all the bones that they may lack
are compensated by their back
which curves skyward and then back down
to form a solid armored gown.
They spill no blood, pray not for healing
with such protection for their ceiling.
Thus does creation seed the waters
with its tough-shelled sons and daughters,
for though they may lack fins and gills,
they can overcome these ills.
If, perchance, you’re given to wonder
how a turtle breathes when under
water for up to an hour,
it simply executes its power
to hold its breath instead of breathing,
and when it comes to turtles teething,
instead of teeth, they have a beak,
(although it’s ill-advised to peek
inside a turtle’s mouth for proof)
its mouth is toothless, jaw and roof.
Please leave turtles their private places––
whether under shell or in their faces.
Consider sacred what God hath wrought,
instead of thinking of what they’re not!
I am so happy to have an excuse to use this photo of a turtle that I snapped last week!
Thanks for this fortunate prompt!!!! For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 648 the prompt words are: creation seeds waters blood breathe turtle sacred bones curve sky pray heal
Hot Tomatoes!!!
Cut them, slice them,
Chop then, dice them.
No matter that tomato’s fate,
alas, I must admit I hate
to put my teeth in it at all.
I just can’t stand that juicy ball!
But, sauce and squeeze it,
pasta, cheese it?
I’m tomato’s biggest fan.
And ketchup? Man o man o man!
On fries or burgers, it’s the best.
Can’t get enough of its red zest.
Which goes to prove, whate’er the cost,
tomatoes just taste better squashed.
For RDP:Tomatoes
Love’s Messenger
If you write me a love letter
with a fine point pen or better,
I do not care with what I talk.
Give me a Sharpie, lipstick, chalk.
No matter what I may use to scrawl,
it is better than no love at all!
Overheard in the Home for Retired Musicians
Though I’m stymied by your crepitus, your embouchure’s divine.
If you don’t have your own tune, would you harmonize with mine?
Your tonality is breathtaking, your rhythm right on beat.
Your syncopation’s perfect. I fear I can’t compete.
As we play, our joints keep time. My knees snap, crackle, pop.
If our music were to lead to love, you’d have to be on top!
For MVB: Heard
Holy Moly
My friend Michael and I love to issue poetry challenges to each other. We once did one on parts of the body: Knees, etc. So, when I noticed his bandaged big toe and asked if it was broken and he replied that he’d had a mole removed from it, I decided it was time for another challenge. Below is his poem and then my reply:
ODE TO A MOLE (recently removed from my toe)
Old friend, we trod the bumpy road
of ups and downs together, you and me –
I send you home with this sad ode
to join your scabby family.
You were an ugly, lumpy one
but always benign in your own way –
you did no harm to anyone,
now you’re cut off and thrown away.
Although your features did not please,
I give you this, my final thought
for one who sometimes smelt like cheese
“They also serve who only stand and wart!”
Michael Warren
This poem was written in reply to Michael’s. May he forgive me for using his personae in writing it.
Holy Moly
Oh mole that graced my biggest toe,
you had a thankless row to hoe.
I did not know your purpose there–
devoid of title and of hair.
Had I but known why you were given,
had you only come and shriven,
I might have given absolution,
reacted with less resolution
to sever our relationship
–to halt the surgeon’s unkind snip.
We have so little knowledge of
digits that fill our socks or glove.
We do not know of strange attractions
that might have influenced your actions.
Oh mole that lived beneath my knee,
my leg, my ankle and most of me––
that chose to dwell far far below,
clinging to my aging toe.
What fierce attraction brought you there
to form this most unlikely pair?
Came you from Nile or from Ganges
to wed largest of my phalanges?
How did you choose from all that were
to settle there on him or her?
(I am embarrassed here to note,
I only know my toes by rote:
big toe, second toe, middle toe, stinky,
little toe, simply known as pinky.
I do not know their names or gender,
only that they’re long and slender.)
True, I clip their nails with care––
remove the occasional long-grown hair––
but I never address my bod
lest others label me as odd.
So you must know this apology
is no means a doxology.
I do no honor to thy name.
I do not wish to spread your fame.
In short, that act would be absurd.
I simply want to say a word
explaining to you that although
your habitation of my toe
was ended by easy decision,
I felt no scorn and no derision.
I hope this ode might serve to leaven
your anger as you speed towards heaven.
I really would not like to think
that once arrived, you’d raise a stink
to blacklist my immortal soul
by making a mountain out of a mole.
–Judy Dykstra-Brown
Gregarious
That Gregory was gregarious
wasn’t a trait nefarious
but still, as he piled word on word,
his excesses seemed most absurd,
and the fact that he was wired,
meant listeners’ interest soon expired.
Thus, the faint-hearted
Soon departed
For WWP 351 the prompt was Gregarious. The answer needs to be exactly 38 words long.
The picture is used for illustrative purposes only, although it must be noted this friend loves to talk!
No one would walk away when he does so, however.
Rushing to get ready to leave to drive to the coast, but want to post something, so HERE is a replay of a blog from long ago which makes use of the word Mellow.
The MVB prompt is mellow
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
