All language became foreign language;
all messages became wasted breath.
Everyone just stopped listening.
Not much later, The Great Silence.
People finally had a chance to think.
The world became a better place.
—————[|||]—————
Modern Medicine
He calls the pill guy and the pill guy
has the pill guy’s aide call him back
and the pill guy’s aide tells him to
call the doctor’s office and
tell the doctor’s answering machine
to call the pill guy back
and to leave a message
on the pill guy’s answering machine
to let him know that the doctor’s sure
it’s okay to give him some pills
or to give him some other pills instead
and the next thing he knows
the pill guy calls him back and
—Lo and Behold—
PILLS !!
No sweat.
Easy Peasy, right?
A couple days later, the mail guy
delivers indecipherable papers
from the insurance guy…
——[||]——
I recognize that it’s April, and I should be posting totally new stuff and all that, but I’ll come clean: This year, I’m cheating a little on the NaPoWriMo tradition. About a month ago, I came across an old journal I’d filled up, and decided that I should work on turning some of the prose entries into verse and/or revising and re-writing some of the verse entries for posting during April. So: This year, some (many? most?) of my NaPoWriMo entries weren’t technically created in April, but only made into (semi)presentable verse for posting. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.
—————[|||]—————
NaPoWriMo 2020 #6/30
Meet The Pressure
Even on Sunday—maybe even especially
on Sunday—maybe even especially
on this particular Sunday—
almost everyone he encounters is busy
meeting the press and facing the nation—
or at least attempting to face the nation,
despite their indecision
about which face to show.
Even the most placid doves among them
screech like hawks into the microphones,
ruffle and preen for the cameras,
hopeful that their feathers and cries alone
will suffice to somewhat mollify,
if not fully reassure the masses.
But it’s a shameful sham. Nobody
has anything to crow about.
Almost everyone in the audience,
fearful but hopeful,
observes the aimless flights of fancy
and remains near their nest, protective,
but poised and unafraid to take flight.
—[|]—
I recognize that it’s April, and I should be posting totally new stuff and all that, but I’ll come clean: This year, I’m cheating a little on the NaPoWriMo tradition. About a month ago, I came across an old journal I’d filled up, and decided that I should work on turning some of the prose entries into verse and/or revising and re-writing some of the verse entries for posting during April. So: This year, some (many? most?) of my NaPoWriMo entries weren’t, technically, created in April, but only converted into (semi)presentable verse for posting. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.
———-[|||]———-
NaPoWriMo 2020 #5/30
———-[|||———-
Also: Poets And Storytellers United
Writers’ Pantry #14
Meet Me At The Tavern
Plum Tree Tavern, a venerable source for all writings Haiku-ish in nature that focus on specific images of the Natural World, features one of my own such pieces this morning.
I offer my thanks to Russell Streur (Innkeeper) for finding me worthy of inclusion.
I often refer to any Haiku I enjoy as ‘Haikulicious’. I hope you’ll attach that honorarium to my contribution.
You should bookmark Plum Tree Tavern, but start with my few lines first…
No Go
(How ’bout this for coincidence, eh? Dozed off around 9PM and awoke just after midnight from a dream about not being able to find my vehicle [truck] where I thought I’d left it. I’ve studied enough psychology to know what that means. )
Carl and Sigmund, sittin’ in a tree…
No Go
You don’t have to be
some sort of genius
to know what it means
when you’ve lost your car
or you miss the bus
in your dreams.
Sooner or later
everyone wakes up
at least once
startled and anxious,
exhausted from searching
all seven levels
of the parking garage
without results
only to turn the corner
and see it sitting there
flat-tired, ransacked
and undriveable.
In the morning
you open your eyes
but the message remains:
it’s the end of the road;
nobody’s going anywhere.
Qu’est-ce qu’une aubade?
What is an Aubade, you ask?
Well, look out your window and watch your lover leaving at dawn. Write about that. Voila! Aubade.
The approach has been around forever, I guess, but it became very popular in Medieval France.
My aubade (cleverly titled “Aubade”) is up today at Ephemeral Elegies, a wonderful journal that features works with strong emotional content.
I’m grateful to Editor-In-Chief Tiffany Renee Harmon for featuring my work.
Lots of good stuff at Ephemeral Elegies, but… start here:
AUBADE
Again Again
Samsara
Wait…
…… Did I mention
………. the repetitive nature
………………… of The Universe?
Did I? Did I?
……… I did?
Okay. Okay, then.
…………………. Okay.
Cool.
——[||]——
I recognize that it’s April, and I should be posting totally new stuff and all that, but I’ll come clean: This year, I’m cheating a little on the NaPoWriMo tradition. About a month ago, I came across an old journal I’d filled up, and decided that I should work on turning some of the prose entries into verse and/or revising and re-writing some of the verse entries for posting during April. So: This year, some (many? most?) of my NaPoWriMo entries weren’t technically created in April, but only made into (semi)presentable verse for posting. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.
