Tag Archives: The Sunday Whirl

Netherworld Chorus, for The Sunday Whirl

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Netherworld Chorus

Bone needles weave the cord that draws us to the underworld–
that pit of desolate terrors where sorrow is unfurled,
in pleas for absolution–– futile as they are  crazed ––
expressed in screams of torment by voices that are raised
in spirals toward a populace just currently recruited
to those nether regions to which they, too, are better suited–
that temple where they’ll have, they think, leisure to simply sin
without blame or sanction, but instead, will join the din.
If my words have sparked your interest, you might come along
to furnish us a chorus  for our infernal song.

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 768, the words are: screams desolate they’bone sparks s voices  underworld spiral  current. (Illustration made with assistance from AI.)

“Daily News” for the Sunday Whirl Wordle

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Daily News

Voices from the underworld weave in spirals through my dreams
like a current passing through my bones, prompting silent screams
that echo through the temples of my former faith,
their desolate chambers now the home of this hopeless wraith.
Sparks of past enlightenment now simply shed sparse light
in this pit of loneliness whose shadows fade to night.
What dreams may I yet follow to light my upward path
Dispelling enough darkness to cancel out my wrath?

for the Sunday Whirl Wordle #768, the prompt words are: screams desolate temples bone sparks pit voices follow underworld spiral weave current

“Successful Crossing” For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 767

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Successful Crossing

I crossed the wilds, my staff in hand,
the first to conquerl this wild land.
My hood in place to combat the sun,
I would not stop until I’d done
the task I’d set to cross this space
that had been the burial place
of so many, from first to last,
who had found their lot was cast
as they had tried, only to find
the task to be a hopeless grind:
trails split by crevasses deep and wide,
cliff ledges with no room to slide
back to cliff, from right to left
across the mountain’s mighty cleft.
As said before, so many failed––
died in the act, or merely bailed.
Only I succeeded, by machination
to cross in my imagination.

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 767 the prompt words are: wild cross left staff last split burial grind space land room hood

School Reunion for The Sunday Whirl

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Back row: Patti Dykstra Arnieri, Val Lecke Halla, Ed Jackson
Front row: Mick Penticoff, Judy Dykstra-Brown and Mick’s granddaughter Melissa

School Reunion

Wind strums the grass
around the Dakota town
where we gather under a prairie sky.

Back home again after sixty years
all the world  constricted to this gymnasium––
forgotten friends are again remembered,
denied loves again brought to mind.

Folklore of the past is stirred up to reveal new truths
as facts and rumors buzz around our heads
like bees that store old stories like honey,
then lie fallow to be stirred up again in 5 years.

We leave each other again, then,
for one more time,
wondering with departing sighs
whether pleas to keep in touch
will be remembered.

For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are: home world denied bees pleas forgotten folklore wonder fallow sigh sky strum

I am riding home from my 2-day school reunion in South Dakota as I write this poem wherein I’ve added the restriction of making use of the twelve prompt words above. It was the best reunion ever–the 61st year after my high school graduation, but since the all-school reunions (meaning they are for every class who ever graduated from the school)  for the tiny high school I attended are staged only every 5 years, it was only my 12th reunion, not all of which I’ve been able to attend. It was, however, the best one to date.  (But then my sister says I say that every time.) This time there were lots of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of schoolmates who attended and it was wonderful to see these additions to their lives and continuations of their stories.

More Photos: Reunion Parade combined with 250 year celebration..Horsemen with flags of all 50 states. Photo by Patti Arnieri.

“Whirlwind” For The Sunday Whirl Wordle, 765

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Whirlwind

The voicemails that the wind exhales could terrify a ghost.
Wailed as stories in the storm, they are the Devil’s post.
Scared mortals wander unaware, their journeys to begin,
Caught in the glow of lightning, they struggle and they spin.
Tossed helpless in the tempest, they must wonder why,
like the fragile lotus, flung high  up in the sky,
the breath of air that gave them life is now how they will die.

been din grin kin men pin sin tin then vin win

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 765, the prompt words are: voicemails high exhale wind begin unaware scared glows ghost storm story lotus

Creature Discomforts, For Sunday Whirl Wordle 764

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Yikes! is that a scorpion? Actually, this is a bottle of mescal my student Eduardo gave me last year for my birthday. Inside were three giant scorpions and a coral snake. So far everyone who has visited me has given it a miss, as have I. It is rumored that a sip of it will bolster a man’s virility.

Creature Discomforts

Lest you suffer a hot foot in the darkness of the night
as you journey to the bathroom and feel a sting or bite,
best slip into your shoes first before you journey there
lest a scorpion or spider gives a wound that you can’t bear.

Then in the brightness of the day, out in the prairie grass,
God grant that you’re not bitten in the ankle or the ass
by a coral snake who wounds you and is off, then, in a shot,
leaving you with ashen face, intestines in a knot.

Wishing you were dead,  perhaps, instead of in such pain
that you vow that you will never walk in waist-high grass again
lest it lead to the resurgence of encounters with that snake
who surely you could fight off with a pistol or a rake

Better that you face it in bottle of mescal
than bushwhacking through the grasslands or walking down the hall.
if only you had seen it, but now that subject’s moot.
If you ever walk this way again, you’ll bring a gun–and shoot!

The words for Sunday Whirl this week are: shot foot dark bright prairie grass hot ash dead resurgence fight god

 

Love Poem to Poets

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Love Poem to Poets

Who am I to judge you as you tinker with words…
reveal their bounce and loop de loop
from Heaven to brutal Hell?
May your poetry never end,
but instead stream in strings of metaphors ,
down that track from up to down
from brain to welcoming heart,
driving the truth to every corner of the world.

For the Sunday Whirl, prompt words are: judge tinker bounce loop heaven brutal end stream string track welcome drive

And also, for dVerse Poets, because these prompt words seemed to lead me back to your prompt as well.

“The Toast” for The Sunday Whirl

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The Toast

He never lost his swagger, even toward the end.
As life tried to break him, the most he did was bend.
When death twisted its cruel blade and his life met its turning,
unholy thoughts consumed me and set my mind to churning.

Will the dead rise up again in search of former love,
or do our dear departeds find more holy lips above?
Does past love wave its banners and proclaim itself in spite
of the fact that one love stays below, completely out of sight?

Love’s table where we feasted has found another host,
and though I hover ’round its edges and listen to the toast
of another bride and bridegroom celebrating love that’s new,
instead, my lover who once was, I lift this glass to you.

For the Sunday Whirl 762 the words are: wave turning unholy lips swagger lost dead rise twist blade feast edges

“Gasping for Air” For The Sunday Whirl

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Gasping for Air

No small potatoes are these dreams
that serve to rip apart the seams
of blessed sleep that drifts my mind
down roadways of a gentler kind.
Dread closes off my throat in fright
that I will not survive this night.
Prickles of fear cause neck to seize.
I run outside, seeking a breeze
to fill my lungs pinched off by fear
that my death is growing near,
shifting those stories in my head
to twisted tales of breathless dread.
I shift to hammock and cooler air,
breath coming easier out there,
my glassy eyes opening to
that stillness that comes into view.
Black night replacing former views
that now my memory eschews.

For The Sunday Whirl 761 the word prompts are:
runner potatoes road drifting twisted pinch glassy prickled neck shifted still

“Capitol Hill” for The Sunday Whirl

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Capitol Hill

He tolls the bell, this liar son
saying that the war he’s won.
He casts his spell, pretending that
the tricks he pulls out of his hat
are gospel truth as he finds fault
with saner men who try to halt
his lies and tricks and machinations
with news reports and protestations
that find him guilty of heinous acts
while he hits back with money’s power
as all around him succumb and cower
fearing their own loss of station,
fortune, job, or reputation.
“It’s fine,” they sigh, “and meant to be
so long as it advances me!”

For The Sunday Whirl #760 the prompt words are:
tolls spell inclined mind find sigh hit guilty fine fault liar