NaPoWriMo 2025, day 10: metronome

April 10, 2025
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our autonomics do not deliberate/they liberate our thoughts/commandeer/process-engineer pulse and impulse/yet if a compulsive gambler/lets sleep deprivation rive his circadians/he may convulse/derivative of imbalance/navigating not with degrees/but radians

.

the invariant beat of a metronome/substrates our home and hearth/dictates non-invasively whilst we unwary anthromorphs/stave parthogenesis where most the menace is/and keep on step with the rest of the help and hearty/party on to the beat of the back&forther

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 9: gong

April 9, 2025
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the pendulous metal

hangs above and back of the stage

suspended by cord in fine fettle

near the beast slash geek cage

.

feast days death days sometimes for a war

sometimes for the birth of a princess

from a lair in a hill out a paneled corridor

comes the hareskin-covered hammer that convinces

.

and the wielder slabbily muscled lumbers

up the stonehewn steps

with a swing she unencumbers

sports and demons from the depths

.

and the hillfolk scream and scurry

at the liquid majestic sound

and to the stage they hurry

where awaits the Darkness-gowned

.

and the wielder holds her hammer high

and scans the crowd and then

swings and smashes and the Death-Gong

drenches all the throng again.

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 8: Ghazaler’s Djinn

April 8, 2025
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Amping up a lamp with rubadub and easy grin

(Poof!)

A puff of smoke that coalesced into a kickass Djinn.

My wish list is imagined for what seems an easy win.

“Three wishes, three commands” exclaimed the energetic Djinn.

“Then cook me up a lass,” I ask, “A body built for sin!”

(Poof!)

“Alas, the sin is Gluttony,” replied the pranking Djinn.

“I better be more careful,” I intoned with some chagrin,

“So, second wish: Ten Million Bucks,” I told the eager Djinn.

(Poof!)

Ten Million pairs of pants appeared. I groaned, my patience thin.

“Last wish: Just make me happy,” I implored the wayward Djinn.

(Poof!)

And Gary disappeared like calamari on a wharf

And in his place stood Happy, who is Snow White’s Seventh Dwarf.

tariffs imposed on an uninhabited island

April 7, 2025
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the penguins were minding their own non-business

suddenly it was decreed that non-uncle sam would require 10 percent of all sales from the  export of their merchandise to the united states of america

suddenly their safe haven was scrutinized

the penguins became a symbol of mindless incompetence

and while it is true that they are indifferent to these recent developments

my fear is that the mockery inspired by these waterfowl will incur the wrath of the commandeer-in-cheep

i mean commander-in-chief

and following his illogic that leads him to seek retribution for anyone who chaps his hide

he will try to make the penguins pay

through the beak

doubling and quadrupling and octupling down

until the poor lil krillsuckers are booted out of the land of the fee [sick] [sic]

even with a green card

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 7: Mount Rushnomore

April 7, 2025
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I will never be a head on Mount Rushmore/Nor cast my capitated lot/With those four dead presidents/Whence came such woe/So I humbly propose:/Those who wish my Wright[my middle and momside family name]eous visage/sculpted on a mountain/fountain up some seed money,/Honey, and let’s make a Mount Rushnomore/For me and three nonslaveinvolving pals to be headscaped/Scrapedstoned/Shape-cloned into a fitting nonument to lay-backedness/Stray-hackedness and politically neutral

You troll no one when you’re Mount Rushnomoring/Soaring instead above such strife-begetting matters

Begatters of aggression (TR) andor passive-aggression (AL) andor typo-critical hypocrisy (TJ) andor domestic oppression with a side of cruelty (GW) will be invited to mend their ways

Raise the money and let me sculpt a scale model/What’ll consist of Jane [That was my mom’s first name too) Goodall and Jeff Bridges as The Dude/Who’d be between the Great/Raitt, Bonnie and me

See us under anarchic Antarctic ice/After we reverse the genocidotropic anthropic climate alteration

Altercation-quelling proof as snow and then ice resettles on our gently smiling phizzes/Whizzes a more humane humanity into the Undark Ages and that gentle snowfall and ice incrustation on the newly snowcapped peaks of Mount Rushnomore will be the icing on the cake clique

Unique.

NaPoWriMo 2015, day 4: bird flue

April 4, 2025
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the birds are crafty/they invade my attempts to make functional pottery/and rise from the wreckage of a wobbly vase

they whisper hurry up when i am raising a cylinder/and hurrying up guarantees the disaster of asymmetry

and then they wheedle i can still be a bird

and they goad and seduce/until a new bird arrives/not hatched but crafted

it is worse than the alfred hitchcock movie

no tippi hedren for one thing

the birds come in jester and gargoyle/for another

and i am the villain for a third

most horrifying of all: i love them/like rosemary loved her baby/like subbies love doms

they fill a table and cram/shelves and nooks/of my apartment

and i can’t wait to make the next one

and have it escape up the flue of my creative fireplace

a birthright citizen of Phoenix

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 3: The Potter’s Progress

April 3, 2025
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Note: The prompt offered on the NaPoWriMo website invited poets to explain obliquely why they are poets and not something else. But I AM something else, so let’s see what happens when I start with that.

These pieces were done by the author on April Third, 2025, at Lively Minds Art Studio.

The Potter’s Progress

Clay speaks to me tactilely/And telepathically

I need form/I need life

Clay chides me here and there

I deserve better/I do not deserve slapdash

Clay on the wheel connects me/With the Spin with which Creation began

That hum you hear is Universal

Clay has her delights and cruelties/And sometimes a will of her own

Stop trying to make a bowl. I do not want to be a bowl. Make me into a bird with four eggs on my back.

Sometimes cleanup is messy./Beware her dust!

Clay urges me to improve./I asked her why she was so demanding.

You know it is not I who demands. It is you yourself.

I am however thrilled that you do so.

It’s good for both of us, Darling.

NaPoWriMo 2025, day 2:  Camera (Chamber) Obscura (Dark)

April 2, 2025
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Note: today’s prompt says address a person, be anachronistic, invent a new word, etc.

Hey, Caravaggio/Love your chiaroscuro/(Daylight come and me wan go home)

You painted hundreds/Used camera obscura/(Daylight come and me wan go home)

I call you Mike/You’re a second Michelangelo

Castrating duellist/Inventing manstruation

Price on your head/But you kept on painting anyway

You were driven crazy by your mercury and lead

And hundreds of years after you were dead

Your paintings found their way into a first-year Latin textbook

And fourteen-year-old Gary saw them and was stunned

And thought Wow

Wish I could do that