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 29: Catchy

In Ketchikan, the totems watch
In all directions, there and such.
The rain falls nonstop through the day
Then stops enough to start again.
The settlers were brave pioneers
Who built their homes and commandeered
The land, the Tlingit called their home.
Ketchikan, it’s far from Nome.

A bit of a throwaway verse I’m afraid. Today’s NaPoWriMo.Net prompt was to write a review-like poem. Maybe it will lead to something.

Day 29: Catchy

Day 21: slack

I’ve got no poem today, but it must be okay,
I’ve thought of how monkeys and walruses play.
And how the color blue is my favoritest hue
And wishes are best when they actually come true.

I’ve got no poem today, but I venture to guess
Tomorrow will happen, and the words will address
Some loftier thought, some grander design
Of playing with words that I thought to combine.

Day 21: slack

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 17: Poem (terzanelle)

There is a train whistle wailing at this darkest hour.
A moment when all living things seem still
and our depths on lonely walks will be devoured.

This empty sounding void, not brash or shrill-
A shoulder turned against the light of day.
A moment when all living things seem still.

Thick and black, no outline of the world portrays
such hollow wailing piercing hearts and souls-
A shoulder turned against the light of day.

Not seeking recompense, nor seeking to cajole
a desire to walk towards the light,
such hollow wailing piercing hearts and souls.

A pace that echos in the distant night –
A breathing, lonesome call-a crawling proclamation
of desires to move towards a light.

This empty hearkening, this desolate sensation
A breathing, lonesome call, a crawling proclamation
There is a train whistle wailing at this darkest hour
and our depths on lonely walks will be devoured.

Yesterday’s prompt to write a terzanelle got me thinking. I like the combination of building and repetitive lines in this form.

Day 17: Poem (terzanelle)

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