NaPoWriMo 2025, day 28: Pompadour and Circumstance

April 28, 2025
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The lovely and gifted Marco Antares would have been Valedictorian but the homophobic shop teacher hated him.

Marco was glad to get an unfair C in Metal-Shop III that made him Salutatorian and promoted the sweet and humble T’Janelle du Bois to Valedictorian.

And in the week before graduation Marco went around saluting everyone,

Especially the shop teacher who gnashed his teeth and fumed.

And on graduation day Marco had his hair done up in an enormous pompadour,

and pompadour plus mortarboard made Marco look quite festive,

and when he strolled up to the podium for his salutatory address to students, the square and tasselled cap atop the shellacked follicular stack bounced merrily,

and Marco grinned at the expectant multitude and said

“Fellow studentry, faculty, staff:

“This will be the shortest salutatory speech in history. I will let my Metal-Shop project do my talking for me. Two snaps!”

With that he snapped his fingers twice and two sizable drones arose from behind him, looking like galvanized-steel floating Cybertrucks, their stereo sound system playing “Ride of the Valkyries” menacingly.

The crowd gasped and the shop teacher cringed.

Then the music cut off, and after a Pee-Wee-Hermanesque giggle an electric version of “Pomp and Circumstance” began to play, and a banner between the drones unfurled, saying

S A L U T E….T H E…R A I N B O W ! ! !

with a glitter-festooned rainbow over the words.

And one of the drones floated above the shop teacher’s head with the banner, and dropped it on him.

And as it flew off the other drone extended a servo arm and delicately grasped Marco’s tassel and switched its sides.

Then it delicately grasped the entire cap, flew over the rows of graduates, and flipped the cap skyward.

Then it flew off like the other one.

There was a huge bang and puff of smoke from the podium, and Marco was gone.

T’Janelle, who had been in on the scheme, gave a stirring speech about Diversity, Equality and Inclusion that brought the house down,

and the students began humming “Ride of the Valkyries” as they marched up to receive their degrees.

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 27: weeper

April 27, 2025
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her face is in pieces/her eyes impossible jumping beans in cups/her suffering hand somehow segmentedly joined to her in-pieces face

but loud and clear what is expressed and communicated is that this woman is in an abyss of pain

and that the utter blackness behind the pieces of her face is the abyss Itself

she is captured in a painting that looks like a stained-glass window depicting an inhabitant of one of the circles of hell

and since suffering is infinite and eternal/it is easy to imagine/that there are many more depictions/of many kinned inhabitants

and if the painter picasso/is still capable of expressing in paint/such grotesques/via sanction via a similar deific authority/to that of the earthy lorenzo “il magnifico” de’ medici

picasso is simultaneously in the Heaven of Visionaries/And the Hell of those who cannot unsee

****

Poem written after a viewing of “The Weeping Woman” by Pablo Picasso

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 26: little song

April 26, 2025
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This cat may be named Petrarch.

little song

to make a little song of fourteen lines

you start unstressed, then stress, and then repeat

the pattern, as pentameter confines

your effort, which at 70’s complete.

the whole, you scheme to rhyme, a b a b

and 5 through 8, c d c d, and then

e f e f to reach a decency

a dozen lines obtain. two left. here’s when

g g appear. it’s clear the last lines punch

the ticket of officialdom, and so

another little song for fans to munch

is in the books, and we have afterglow.

but truest of the poets tend to doubt

that that is what a Sonnet’s all about.

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 25: When Neil Got Real

April 25, 2025
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I saw Neil Young in concert/In the early 70s/With his jeans less jeans than patches/And he played a guitar with a triangular body/And some drunk girl kept yelling for “Down By the River”/And he never played “Down By the River”/But he did play “After the Gold Rush”/And I did crappy sketches of him with a felt-tip pen

I saw him again at the State Fair/When he played with the Blue Notes/And they did “Ten Men Working”/And he did “Married Man”

But Neil got real one year/when he had his head examined/And found an aneurysm/And scheduled an operation/With quite a risk involved/And he performed beforehand/As if for the last time/And sounded like an angel/The one who wrestled Jacob

Neil was real all along/Drew envy from Bob Dylan/For singing “Heart of Gold”/And now he is the husband/Of real Daryl Hannah/And that just goes to show you/That Real goes every whichway

And, Neil, if you read this/Thanks for that “Harvest Moon”/And “Rockin’ In the Free World”/And “Thrashers” and “Some Day”/And “Birds” and many others

You gave a kid some thoughtfood/You give a geezer music/And like your “Old Man” I/Might be a lot like you

npwm 2025 day 24: she on cello he on vibes

April 24, 2025
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he on vibes and she on cello

one was spritely both were mellow

lively lady hopeful fellow

.

she played stones’s she’s a rainbow

he felt groovy played in day-glo

59th street bridge song way low

.

both wove stovetop stuffing steaming

riffs and contrapuntal streaming

simon and mick jagger dreaming

.

one crescendo teased another

hit the heights then let them wuther

done and spent they eyed each other

.

love of sorts was made, and how

but the knitting of her brow

promised more…but not just now

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 23: Racket

April 23, 2025
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The big leafy tree is full of birds

And many of them have something to say.

There are at least a hundred bird-voices.

They are all talking at once, filibustering, advancing arguments, proclaiming availability, squabbling over details, celebrating the rising of the Sun, denouncing Interlopers, and ruffling each other’s feathers.

Suddenly it calms down to a few. And unoccluded birdsong becomes finer than noise, sweet and fluidic.

A bird flies off.

Two birds begin a mating dance. One will later commemorate the occasion with a clutch of eggs.

Answering a summons from afar, many fly around

Then away.

satisfaction

April 22, 2025
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long-distance running is now out of the question/at my age and weight and joint-degenerative status/but slicing tomatoes using a hand slicer/affords a similar satisfaction

place a tomato stem-navel side down/cock the elbow of your slicing arm/pile-drive the tomato through the blades into your catching hand/inspect and discard unsuitable slices while conveying the tomato to the tray/arrange the tomato in the tray and quicklikeabunny take another tomato from the cambro/and do that loopy set of motions over and over seventeen more times/till you have a full tray/adding the step of making a half-tomato top layer with the last six tomatoes

then put the slicer and its fluid-catching platform aside/wipe your workstation surface with sanitizing solution/slide the boxed roll of sealing wrap into position/and gift wrap the tray/and convey the tray to the cooler and while you’re there and if you’re low on tomatoes/grab another cambro full of tomatoes from the rack/and take it to the station

do this over and over again until mandated break time/then quickly strip your hands of the six gloves you are wearing/discarding the vinyl gloves but putting the cut-resistant gloves in a ziplock bag/then stripping your forearms of protective plastic sleeves/discarding them/untying your apron as you stride to the exit and hanging it on hanger #11 if available/then stripping your head of the bouffant hairnet/and tossing it in the trash receptacle just by the exit door

do all these things over and over in the course of a shift/over the course of a week/over the course of a pay period/over the course of a month/then a year

and it is oddly like running a marathon

a good marathon runner has an efficient stride/a foot strike neither pronated nor supinated/a mindfulness that dissociates from the endless repetition/while simultaneously running telemetry ofstride turnover and hydration need and breathing cadence and arm swinging/watching the ground for consistency/weaving around obstacles

over and over hill and trough mile after mile

tomato after tomato

footrace after footrace

finish line after finish line

clockout after clockout

with intense satisfaction that comes with a lengthy and worthy effort

and an effort-rewarding payday

refuge ease

April 21, 2025
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there’s refuge in absurdity

in life won’t do your bidding:

perhaps it’s all a joke and when

you die, god’s like, “just kidding.”

there’s refuge in uncertainty

in reign that gets us wetter

evaporative schooling says

in dry voice soon be better.

but what the hay and collie chi

it sucks to be a refugee.

Poetry Month, day 21: Pie-Dye Day

April 21, 2025
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On Everything Road someone stuck a giant spoon in me

I was, honestly, bestirred

Extracting the spoon, I gripped it, weaponized it, stirred things up

Waving the spoon through the body of an approaching prostitute, I gave her the face and demeanor of Meryl Streep

She thanked me and said she always wanted to be a Streepwalker

And at the intersection of Everything and Trapezoid Circle

The light turned purple and the pedestrian sign said both DONT WALK and RUN!!

And the cars hopped on their tires instead of rolling

And I hopped too when I tried to walk and was able to bound over the cars like I was jumping over pieces in checkers

People pointed at me and laughed and I looked down and found that I was dressed as a carhop

The light turned mauve and the cars turned to cages with odd creatures inside wearing buttons saying I AM A ZOID

And I thought, Well, that is one way to trap a Zoid

But then all the cages disappeared

And in the middle of the intersection was a gigantic piece of lemon meringue pie

And it looked gloriously delicious and I still wielded my giant spoon

So with one last mega-hop I bounded right into its fluffy center

But as the spoon touched the meringue the harangued meringue changed in color from snow-white to slurpee blue

And the pale-yellow filling turned to hooker’s green

I licked the pie-clumped spoon edge and it still tasted like pie

But something in either the danged meringue or the unwilling filling transformed me into an enormous bullfrog

Still wearing a carhop’s uniform

Except with a cowboy hat with tassels

And the magic spoon disappeared

And I thought, What could be worse??

Then found out I couldn’t hop anymore

So I bullfrog-trudged down Everything Road in my carhop uniform with the long tassels hitting me annoyingly in the face with every trudge and weird-colored giant pie residue all over me

And tried to hop again and couldn’t

And shrugged as best a bullfrog could and said croakingly Well,

At least this story has a moral:

The ultimate absurdity of the Universe

Knows no bounds.

National Poetry Writing Month, day 20: lot

April 20, 2025
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you ripen well, babe/as is your wont

you’ve felt the cool dawn, honey/on the flimsy cloth you flaunt

you stir well, and all’s swell,/and seems less pale and gaunt

and if angels sing, well,/let’s use italic for our font.

.

can’t the cat be so cute now/when we say knock it off

and the indecisive hat-hand/first a don and  then a doff

it needs to hear a few bars/written by rachmaninov

then it will freely gesture/however skeptic posers scoff.

.

seasonal allergies/stopper up the throat and nose

sprung spring stuns, hon/and the tearduct floodgate flows

you be my je ne sais quoi/and i will be your quelque chose

and we’ll dance away the Springtime/wearing fishnet pantyhose.

.

Afterword: the prompt suggested writing new lyrics to an existing melody. I chose Bob Dylan’s tune “It Takes a Lot to Laugh/It Takes a Train to Cry.” When I finished I realized that I hadn’t written the verse that would reference the title. So here is a bonus verse:

you coming bearing gifts, doll:/frankintense and myrrph and gott

for the bananas, thanks a bunch/thanks a mil for the ground-wheat spot

and now i can park my car/dusk to dawn and on the dot

and for that, sweetie darlin/what can i say but thanks! a lot!