A brief, snotty poem in Anapest Tetrameter (one of my least favorites).
For what it’s’ worth, in Morse Code, two shorts followed by a long (ie –/ –/ ——) is the letter “U”, which is the second letter in the word I usually spit out when tasked with writing in any anapestic meter.
Oh, the ANapest MEter’s too EASy to WRITE
and it MAKES all my VERses feel POINTless and TRITE.
But it MIGHT just be ME (I’m not FUSSy or STRICT)
And I HATE when the RHYthm’s not HARD to preDICT.
So I GUESS I’ll just STICK with the FREE verse I DO
And I’ll LEAVE all the ANapest VERSes to YOU.
Meet The Bar Thursday
~ Anapest Tetrameter ~
Today’s NaPoWriMo Challenge is to “write a poem that invokes a specific object as a symbol of a particular time, era, or place.”
there on his right wrist
more than half a century
(almost a tattoo)
genuine hippie love bead
—some things never fade away—
~ symbological ~
Whatever you think…
whatever you say you think…
Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
Whatever you think you said…
Whatever you meant to say…
Whatever you meant, you meant.
I know what I know.
I know what you mean.
I know you. I do.
I know you.
I know what you said;
I know you meant it.
I know; I know.
Day # 21/30
~ Say That Again ~
I’m doing the Joy Dance!
“The Fade”, my (brief but very cool) short fiction is published today at the really fine online journal A Story In 100 Words.
I’m very happy and extremely grateful to site meister thegooddoctor, for finding my submission to be worthy. The doc publishes yummy work all the time, and you’d be doing yourself a favor to bookmark it.
Read THE FADE Here
This is NOT my 1st 100-Worder. It’s my 8th (!!)
You Can READ THEM ALL Here.
Although I know I’d heard of the (Korean) Sijo Form before, I knew nothing about it until I scanned the invaluable primer info provided by the NaPoWriMo website. If necessary, you can familiarize yourself HERE (Guide) and HERE (Samples).
I hope I’ve done it justice. Here’s my attempt:
Sometimes he’s left wondering,
…….still sleepless just before dawn,
will his darkness ever end;
…….is morning a saving grace?
He rises. The sun comes up.
…….The daylight has no answers.
~ Sijo ~
My brother’s ghost still bothers me;
my father’s does, as well.
my lovely (living) sister’s insistence
that I’m not uncool, I’m not (no matter
what I do.)
…………………….It’s true. I know it’s true:
My mother’s ghost agrees:
No one’s cooler than me.
Quadrille Monday #126
~ Don’t Bother ~
Sevenling (I used to) *
I used to think. At least, I used to
think I could think. I think I need
a second to think things over…
On second thought, nothing’s ever
over until it’s over, right? Right.
(I’m always overthinking these things.)
Guru tells me: “First thought, best thought.”
*Not familiar with the Sevenling form? You can read all about it HERE.
Fair Warning: Addictive
Day # 19/30
Must the toady die today? Die?
Or die today? Is that the question?
And what for? Just to die?
Why not just go to sleep,
perchance just to dream; to
unshuffle the deck; to become
a model mortal, coy and quiet,
confidently quitting whatever
scornful whips of Time or
sweaty grunts may come our way?
There’s always the rubber room
from which no traveler returns…
(To be in there or not to be…
that’s the question to be asked).
And who would? Would you?
Think it over, but think quick.
Like my friend Billy used to say:
“The clock’s ticking, Dude; if you
wait too long, you’ll chicken out.”
Poets And Storytellers United
Writers’ Pantry #66
He no longer highways to work;
drives, instead, to his favorite table
and his favorite mid-week coffee
at his all-time favorite café.
He’s almost finished seventy years
stuck in the lunar rut, the same
silver moon rising and filling, falling,
unphased, over and over again;
now fully invisible, new again at last
almost nine hundred times.
Day # 17/30
~ Moonies ~
He begins every day
with nothing to say
and no preparation
but without trepidation,
so he fills every page
with his humor or rage
until he reaches a stage
where he’s fully engaged
and he just doesn’t care
if it’s good, bad, or fair.
And he ends up at night
in his bed, sleeping tight:
His song has been sung!
His clamor’s un-clung!
Words rolled off his tongue!
Skeltonics are dung!
(In case you haven’t already figured it out, you can read all about the Skeltonic Form HERE.)