Who is she? Yes and No.
n.e.s. #78 of 480
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Monthly Archives: April 2020
the meanderthal (NaPoWriMo 2020 day 19)
Today’s National Poetry Writing Month 2020 prompt was to write a poem related to objects found during a walk.
the meanderthal
a real-time archeologist
plays ambulatory tic-tac-toe
through the weakly-violated Cartesian grid of greater Phoenix Arizona
and collects
a Lug-Nut, a single Bristle from a Street-Sweeper,
a Tiparillo-Holder with Octagonal Cross-Section,
a Plastic Bottle-Cap with Grip-Ribbing, and–
O MY GOD!–a 1933 MERCURY DIME.
elation is displaced by S O R R O W
when the archeologist intuits
that the dime was left
deliberately by a
woman facing Death
who had no further use for it.
n.w.s. #77 of 480
An ill-used creation protests.
petaled moonbeams
Res ipsa loquitur…I hope.
Lite Nice Ness (NaPoWriMo, day 18)
Today our prompt is to write a poem celebrating the little nice things that get us through a day, a year, a life.
Lite Nice Ness
Let’s look at the things that give a day a bit o’ gain
It’s as small as landing safely when you’re on a plane
T‘would be mush less saucy had we not War Chest or Shires
E‘er the wee! sweet! lovelinesses spiking our desires
One of the little nicenesses that get me through a day is Bad Puns. I love making them up, and I love when other people make them up and I read them. The third line of this poem is straight out of Badpunsville. “mush less saucy” is doubly punnish. Mush could also be Much, but Mush is edible. Saucy could be either attitude or condimental. And then “War Chest or Shires” is a wretchedification of Worcestershire, which is a sauce pronounced variously as “wurrshurr” or “woostisure” or “watery brown stuff.” I won’t apologize that “War Chest or Shires” matches no known pronunciation. It is closer to the actual spelling as anything I’ve heard.
Lastly, the whole poem is a setup for a Bad Pun. Notice that the first word of every line is a contraction. “Why, Gary??” I hear you asking. SO glad you asked, Friend! (Or “Friends,” if there is still more than one of you still reading.) (Or “Is there an echo in here?” if in fact no one is left reading.) The reason every first word is festooned with an apostrophe is answerable in two words. Here they come. Don’t hate me.
“Contractual obligations.” [Bdumph/Shhhuhh] (Rimshot.)
Ah, Apostrophes!! Don’t you just love the Little Things that Get You Through Life?
n.e.s. #76 of 480
Still washing your hands with a full 20-second scrub, Friends? Still distancing and masking up?
Please do!
Over Atop
This morning I was watching a video featuring the late John Prine. He was at a festival that had “Not Strictly Bluegrass” in its title. Inference says it was 2017 because Prine dedicated the song “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” to “The New Führer, Adolf Benito Trumpetini.” And bless Honest John Prine’s protest-prone heart. He certainly had Trump pegged.
Prine has gotten a lot of deserved and long-overdue attention since he contracted, and eventually succumbed to, COVID-19. His many fans may enjoy a listen to another Heaven-related song, “When I Get To Heaven,” which begins with these spoken words:
“When I get to Heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand.
I’ll thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’ll find me a guitar, and start a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band.
And check into a swell hotel. Ain’t the Afterlife grand?”
John, this one’s for you. Wish you were here.
Over Atop
OMGDG someone call the DEA
Onward! For amazement jazzes up both alp & lea
Verily some Jameson laced your café au laît
Very Fine to Mint–remember LSMFT
Endchronic maelstromic War serves the libretto
Ectoplasmic echoes gather souls from manse to ghetto
Romper Room is OVER friends–balloon’s about to pop
Rise the fell APOCALYPSE the fullness of the stop
n.e.s. #75 of 480
You have had a lifetime to grow an inner voice that tells you what really IS what, and what the best thing to do is in those crucial, make-or-break moments. It is when we ignore that voice that we make our biggest mistakes.
n.e.s. #74 of 480
A) Don’t paint yourself into a corner B) and don’t paint yourself AS a corner.
NaPoWriMo 2020, day 17: “Mimeo Graph”
Today’s National Poetry Writing prompt called for a poem that featured technology that is no longer in vogue. When I saw the prompt the memory of the scent thrown off by the mimeograph at Glendale High School–of the ink and spirit developer, that second cousin of Magic Markers, liltingly aromatic–hit me in the nose, so I did a little bygone-era walkabout via Internet search, and watched a training film on mimeograph techniques courtesy of the University of California at San Diego, which in 1958 was called San Diego University.
(More Memory Laning came when the film reminded me of the sound the film projector made when in grade school and high school they showed us stuff like that. I remember in 8th Grade, Mr. Gasser showed us a film on digestion, featuring fluoroscopy after a food or drink item had been put in the mouth, and seeing the journey down the gullet to Stomachville. Hilarity ensued when Mr. Gasser ran the film backwards, and you saw stuff gradually coming up a kid’s esophagus, then consolidating in the mouth, and then you see the kid chew and chew, stick his fork in his mouth, and pull out an unchewed piece of cherry pie. Our darkened room exploded with laughter. So hey, Rudy Gasser, wherever you are–thanks for all the fun stuff like that!)
Mimeo Graph
Make a stencil/get an ink pad/paper: cotton rag
Mockup/test/& crankcrankcrank/you got it in the bag
Images come flying out, 12 dozen for a dollar
It’s a boogie-woogie noise the envy of Fats Waller
Memoranda/flyers/Hell: The History of Cholera
Maybe even comic books–Osiris Vs. (Taller) Ra
Eventually, Xerox gave the mimeos the slip
Obsolescence makes them one with petro/hieroglyph
One with Clay, Image and Text 