Day 30: Not yet

Some say that the poetry is dead
That it doesn’t reach the minds, they said.
Yet, the wily part resides with ease
In the underpinnings of its devotees.
Goverse when you pedestal the stars
Noverse, in the metastable dark.
Candles burning, wicketized and bright
Little ball of omnicating light.
Wordornate the comical, amuse
By parasailed and floated words you use.
Poetry’s not dead, as vilers say
It simply waits to sing another day.

Day 30: Not yet

Day 23/catchup: balm

If I spent my last moments
on this planet
indespant and shrense,
would you finally open up
and breathe me some barthey verses.

juncted words –
brandished in copper,
metable to your heart
and knotted into mine.

Sometimes in the silence
beneath an oak tree,
words are salvings
to soothe
the indespant and the shrentic.

Day 23/catchup: balm

Day 19: The Race

Hurry up! Or you’ll be late!
Mama Boa stussly called
to Olielle and brother Drake,
who liked to dawdle and negate.

No we won’t, they justifored,
and swaggled through to grab their lunch
of gummous, bunola, and more
as they prottled out the door.

Olielle, the elder sibling,
challenged brother Drake to race
and launched an undulated rippling-
her kindly face, feguiled and dribbling.

No you won’t, of course, he said,
and hurled himself into a line.
Keeping pace, he squeezed ahead.
Then she side-pushed – off she sped.

Up a block, or maybe two,
the school bus picked up kubbish kids.
Brother Drake found strength anew
and Olielle was rushing, too.

As the school bus pulled away,
sister launched a strike to catch
the mirror latch. She grabbed and stayed-
Her tail was flopping, all astray.

Brother Drake, he sternly keyed
on sister’s place beside the bus,
And with a firm perspacity
he lunged with longaguity.

What happened next, was all a fuss.
The driver parlowed them aboard.
Sister looked at Drake and gushed,
Now THAT is how you catch a bus.

Yesterday’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.Net was a challenge to write a poem about rushing or hurrying. I enjoy playing with words, and collected some nonsense vocabulary to drop into this poem.

Day 19: The Race

Day 14: Instructions

To biogize a mitterhawk
To make the mythos kinguidly
One wrenches, hammers, glues, and squawks
but does not do so hurriedly.

First – organize and calify
the pieces/parts, all fogglicelled
Then outline links to verify
They fit together very well.

Next, take the skullets with the ridge
And twist them round about your hand
Then tuck them under, just a smidge
The goromass – so slightly fanned.

Then, the aphits must be pinged
-A mallet works with wonders here-
If a cudgel’s all you bring
Then wallop aphits less severe.

Now, once the frame is tacked and thick
And doesn’t doomp or bounce or sway
Apply some gum of magnifick
Then let it dry til Plattursday.

After all has dried and sized
Hoots and whoops are justephored
Your mitterhawk – now biogized-
Is confirled, bornic, grouped and stored.

And when you play all proffin-wise
With pals and netious-equal friends
Your kinguid mitterhawk supplies
A bond, some fun and odds and ends.

Day 14: Instructions

Day 4: The caribou on Seiliu (a mirror poem)

on Seiliu
the caribou
line up and march to
such fanaticism for circuses
Thunder and Blazes
interlocking their antlers
In storm and sunshine,
they march,
with high steps,
the clomping of their shoes
wake the neighbors
the caribou
on Seiliu.


On Seiliu
the caribou
wake the neighbors
the clomping of their shoes
with high steps
they march
in Storm and Sunshine
interlocking their antlers
Thunder and Blazes
such fanaticism for circuses
line up and march to
the caribou
on Seiliu.

Day 4: The caribou on Seiliu (a mirror poem)