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2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

Categories: Poetry Challenge 2012, Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog.

Today is a Two for Tuesday prompt day. Here they are:

  1. Write a science fiction poem.
  2. Write a fantasy poem.

Here’s my attempt:

“Invasions”

First, robots,
then came aliens
with ray guns,
more robots,
and “coming in peace,” though we
couldn’t believe them.

*****

 

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

309 Responses to 2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

  1. As the ticking clock
    Stood finally still
    Breath’s were held
    Watching the hills
    Over the horizon
    Dark shapes relayed
    Back and forth
    Without delay
    But the treaty was broken
    The handshake forgot
    And they changed direction
    Revenge they sought
    With wild inhibition
    We fled in fear
    Feeling their presence
    Drawing so near
    With a bolt of light
    And a cry of dismay
    One by one they harvested
    In the darkness of day

  2. AC Leming says:

    WE WANT

    We want what we don’t have.
    But why stop at ripped muscles
    or perfect abs? Go whole hog
    and wish for a man who folds
    laundry and empties the dishwasher
    as well as he kisses.

    The Dispossessed

    Oh, heavenly bodies,
    your swirl in icy splendor.
    In the moon-less sky,
    you mesmerize eyes —
    lock them skyward
    awaiting the next
    dash of space debris
    across the atmosphere
    of Earth. We, bound
    to walk upon dirt,
    envy your freedom
    even as you burn
    through our gravity well.

  3. mschied says:

    oops, it should be a new commissioned enterprise begins

  4. mschied says:

    The final frontier

    Oh captain, my captain
    our mission is complete
    we’ve fought Dominion,
    Kazon, and Borg
    brought honor to the fleet

    it’s time to journey on
    where no one’s gone before
    past galaxy and universe
    a new horizon to explore

    we’ve reached the final frontier
    more lasting than the rest
    our voyaging is finished
    our ship’s moored in the west

    and as the dawning sunrise
    breaks glorious in the east
    a new commissioned enterprise
    of final, lasting peace

  5. mschied says:

    Genre

    Flying carpets soar through the ruffled pages
    on flights of fancy
    follow the maze of animated hedges
    slumbering unless provoked

    each twist might lead to a cupboard
    or a rabbit hole
    or an elevator to the 100th floor

    beware the rooks that attack you
    beware the sweets that trap you
    beware the secret name of power
    that others seek to gain

    turn to the light, the lion, the lord
    of all things pure and wonderful
    and let fantasy sweep you away
    on the wings of words

  6. Paoos69 says:

    NoDieCanal

    Up in the hills where cool temperatures ride
    There lies a city jokes aside
    Where people do not die
    They can live forever, never say good-bye
    If by the laws they abide

    Recently this city, NoDieCanal its name
    Has risen to unparalleled fame
    Every human is clamoring for entry
    Noblemen n commoners, even the gentry
    Religious and pious, all the same

    All of the Earthlings are being very good
    Especially off-late, entry to NoDieCanal’s prelude
    Only a certain number are admitted every year
    The rest are considered petty and mere
    The season’s vicissitudes

    Once inside this blissful community
    Amidst beauty and serenity
    Common human behavior adheres
    All ties to goodness severed
    Since to death they have immunity

    Of course this is a secret inside NoDie’s walls
    Since outwardly to eternal bliss it calls
    Every year more and more people clamor
    To experience NoDie Canal’s glamor
    And the number of real good people falls

    Hasn’t this always been the trend?
    Sunshine always round the bend
    Grass always greener on the other side
    Only on incentive humans laws abide
    And to goodness attend?

  7. Arrvada says:

    Silent Woods
    By
    Arrvada

    The woods I enter here
    Are dark and silent all the year
    I love their shadows
    Their whispers, their secrets and groves
    For in these woods so silent and still
    I came upon the greatest thrill
    Inside the deep and silent woods
    I found the dwellings of elves and toads
    Found the home of dwarf and fairy
    Watched them play, some dark, some airy
    I came into the darkest place
    Sat still and quiet in their space
    I watched the unicorn, foal and mare
    Graze and wander here and there
    I sat long hours just to see
    How fairies wore the suits of bees
    Alone I’ve seen such wonderous things
    Fairies darting with humming bird wings
    Only I have seen these lovely sights
    Unicorns, dwarves, elves and sprites
    I alone wander in these woods
    Alone beneath the canopy I’ve stood
    Watching magic in natures place
    Alone in my dark and silent space
    Into the silent woods I walk
    To sit and listen to the trees talk
    My woods are silent and all my own
    Because in them my magic is free to roam

  8. Arrvada says:

    Out There
    By
    Arrvada
    One thing I regret
    It truly makes me sad
    Is that I will never see
    The other side of the stars
    I’ll never get to swim
    Through the endless sea
    Of space and time
    Go out into the cosmos
    Race past the sun
    To the very farthest reaches
    Of the universe.
    I regret that I may never know
    Who is out there
    If their green or gray
    If they have spirited humans away
    Did they really take Elvis?
    I won’t get to find out
    I am earthbound
    And only get to write about
    The little spacemen and the worlds
    Out in the vast relief of
    Space.

  9. Jamal Abboud says:

    Eden

    I’m an apparition among the dead,
    Not at work, nor in my warm smooth bed,
    Just where waterfalls pour dreams;
    Dreams that is furnished as our solid land,
    A plateau of gemstones that glisten as sand,
    In middle of calm peaceful swamp.
    Lilies float on the dancing surface
    Willows immerse their branches joyfully in water, and
    Beavers are busy rinsing delicate soft chocolate mud
    Elks wander around in dignity and grace,
    An amazing scene, that is created by the only almighty God
    Only We, the appalled souls, are pottering around the place,
    Wondering, longing, and muttering with no sound.
    A thunder suddenly voiced,” This is Eden,
    ‘ Eden. Ah, What a joy for us the innocent dead.’
    They all hopefully cried ,”We believe in God.”
    Then I softly said,’ Oh my sweet country,
    And those I have missed,
    I wish I had never lived.’

  10. Star Wars

    Of course the Emperor of the World
    will weigh in about that sci/fi topic.
    After all, he’s personally acquainted
    with Hans Solo and frequently meets
    up with Princess Leah; in fact she’s
    been cloned, allowing them to meet
    at the four facilities where he’s lived
    during his first year in Chicago, IL.
    (oh, excuse me, on this largest of all
    Caribbean islands); not to mention
    that he told me his newest roommate
    is Harrison Ford. I’m not sure how
    Harrison would react to that datum.

    Once, when I visited with my son,
    a gentleman with a pleasant smile
    walked across the lobby to greet me.
    He held out his hand to shake mine
    saying, “You must be Jeff’s mom;
    I’m his roommate.” I felt my eyes
    crinkling, my mouth stretching out
    in its Irish smile. My un-checkable
    tongue began speaking: “I’m glad
    to meet you. My son says you are
    Harrison Ford.” My words did not
    faze him. He kept shaking my hand
    till I took mine back and he told me
    “I’m Joe” as he continued smiling.

    My guess is that Joe’s interests do
    not include Star Wars personalities.

  11. ceeess says:

    phooey. First word of poem is They not The…

  12. ceeess says:

    Weird How We Appear to Visitors from Other Planets

    The arrive in their shiny new ships in winter, pull
    to a stop at the base of a hill. Through their ship shield
    they watch as indigenous people wrapped in layer
    after layer of cloth strap long sticks to feet encased
    in impossible boots. They watch as the people splay-
    foot awkwardly using hand-held aids to pull themselves
    over the cold white surfaces to a primitive loading
    device that carries them up the hill. At the top, they
    can see fear in some eyes, anticipation in others. Each
    person approaches the crest of the hill, then plunges
    down, some sliding wildly on the sticks, others moving
    in a controlled pattern over and down, over and down.
    A few fall, others whizz past, some trip over the fallen.

    When they finally reach the bottom of the slope,
    they do the unbelievable. They ride the machine back
    to the top of the hill. The ship’s mates look
    at each other for a long time. Wordlessly they
    restart the ship, blast off. Nothing this crazy
    on the home planet.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 17, 2012

  13. mlcastejon says:

    Invaders

    Came from out of space
    Out of blue
    Wanted stay and get all
    From all of us
    Who will bring them down?
    In this fight I’m in
    Who will throw them out of town?
    In this hell I’m in
    Came from out of space
    We’re out of heroes
    I’m fighting them back
    Out of blue, back in town.
    Out of blue, not other hero but me.

  14. Earl Parsons says:

    Life Out There

    Lost in the vastness of space
    All crew dead but me
    Navigation systems failed
    Food supply gone
    Communications down
    Systems on minimum power
    Time quickly running out

    Surviving on recycled water
    Sleeping more than awake
    Delirious
    Delusional
    Dehydrated
    Defeated

    Proximity alarm startles me
    Instinct kicks in
    Through foggy head
    And blurred vision
    I look out into space
    But see nothing
    Nothing on the left
    Nothing on the right
    Just empty blackness
    How can this be
    No stars
    No light at all
    Have I drifted out of the universe
    Am I hallucinating
    Am I dead

    But I can still see
    I still hear the alarm
    And now I’m beginning
    To feel something I haven’t
    Felt for many months
    Or has it been years
    Slowly taking over my body
    Pushing me down into my seat
    Pushing and pushing until
    Gravity causes me to pass out

    ………..
    ……….

    Through the thick fog
    Of unconsciousness
    I feel I’m being grabbed
    Lifted
    Carried
    Transported
    Away from my ship
    I try to break out of my stupor
    But it is too strong
    Out once again

    ………
    ………

    Suddenly I’m awake
    Alone in a white room
    Propped up in a bed
    An oxygen tube in my nose
    A saline drip in my arm
    A blood pressure cuff
    An O2 clip on my finger
    A TV in the corner
    With a remote by my side

    Am I home
    Was I dreaming

    I muster enough energy
    To get out of bed
    And stagger to the window
    I see houses and buildings
    And levitating cars
    A green sunset
    Preceding the setting of
    The second sun in the sky

    This isn’t home
    And I wasn’t dreaming

    From behind me the door opened
    In walked my wife and children
    My mother and father
    But, father died before I left earth
    How can this be

    Behind my family stood
    An odd sort of fellow
    About 7 feet tall
    Gunmetal blue skin
    Thin in the face
    With three legs
    And four arms
    Each with two hands
    One large orange and green eye
    And a nose with no mouth
    Did I say odd
    Very

    I could hear him speak
    But not through my ears
    In my brain
    Telling me I was safe
    Telling me I was alive
    And telling me this wasn’t Heaven

    How did he know English
    How did he know about Heaven
    How did he get into my brain
    And how did my family get here

    He heard my thoughts
    And one by one
    He answered my questions
    Seems he could translate any language
    And he read my mind about Heaven
    And about my family
    All created through my memories
    And that’s why my dad was there
    It was good to see him again
    Even though he wasn’t real

    Then this very odd alien
    Told me that I would be returning
    To the place I called Earth
    As soon as I was well enough to travel
    And as soon as my ship was repaired

    In the meantime
    I was welcome to wander freely
    Without worry or cares
    Because on this planet
    Everyone was friendly
    Inviting
    And hospitable
    Unlike my planet Earth

    He went on to tell me
    That if I wished
    I could stay there
    As long as I wished
    My every need would
    Be taken care of

    Tempting thought
    I’d have to think about that
    In chapter two

  15. tunesmiff says:

    TIME TRAVEL

    If I could travel back in time,
    I’d go back to those days where I’m
    About to do things I’ll regret,
    Things I wish I could forget.

    There aren’t that many, maybe one or two,
    Well, I might just have to add a few;
    Fire that time machine… here’s what I would do…

    I wouldn’t buy that beat up truck I bought when I was twenty;
    Folks thought my trying to keep it running was really pretty funny;
    I’d find a better use for… all that wasted money,
    Yeah, that’s one thing I would do if I could…
    Got back in time…

    I’d ask Debbie Adams if she’d like to see the show;
    The worst thing that could happen is she’d say she’d like to go.
    Why I never asked her then is something I don’t know;
    But that’s something I would do, if I could…
    Go back in time…

    Oh, sure I’ll make some new mistakes,
    I’ll find new joy, and new heartbreaks,
    But those are chances I’m willing to take,
    If I could…
    Go back in time…

    I’d take that job in Tennessee,
    I stop and drop down on one knee,
    I’d ask you if you’d marry me,
    Yeah, that’s what I would do, if I could…
    Go back in time…

    I’d stop and drop down on one knee…
    I’d ask you if you’d marry me…
    Yeah that the one thing I would do…
    If I could…
    Go back in time…

  16. “To Boldly Go”

    is a split infinitive.
    An archaic rule, a carryover from Latin
    along with arrogance
    and empire.

  17. River Born

    It is time.
    She stretches each claw until her scales ripple like liquid glass.
    She lays her head down upon the mountain in final sleep
    As her body meanders with the contours of the land.
    The dam of tears pent up for a thousand years
    Rush toward the shore to find their way back home.

  18. Miss R. says:

    Dragon Sighting

    Shadow falls, swooping,
    Then travels on over the valley
    Towards the misty mountaintops.
    The air whistles overhead
    And I stand amazed, squinting
    Into the sun after the mass
    Of scales and wings somehow
    Airborne while I remain
    Frailly imprisoned on the ground.

  19. po says:

    Frankly My Deer

    Flowers appear–
    eyestalks on green
    stems and while mowing
    the lawn the grass
    grows into a forest.
    “Run,” yells your
    father although you haven’t
    seen him for years.
    Downstairs the donkey
    sells fresh turnips
    and all through
    the forest eyes
    follow your every move.
    Magenta soil produces
    art tomatoes and lead
    singers save the wrap.
    Then in comes your love
    with his gorgeous antlers
    and he asks, “Not another
    bloody commercial?”

  20. Arike says:

    Traveller

    Rock in a field
    Terran rock; alien field
    Initial investigation indicates
    Speculation sizzling. Xenogeologists
    Jockeying jubilantly for this post
    Further frothing, fermenting
    Revolutionary theories

    Oh, but the crewmember
    Just a bit careless
    Happens on the best of starships

  21. hurtin-heart says:

    Your beauty is epic,
    Your love is electric
    You shock my heart,
    Every time i look in you’re eyes.
    When u walk, you body talks 
    I hear it everytime.
    I love everything about you,
    Not a flaw in you,
    Because you’re only a fantasy
    I created in my mind.
    Samantha Tinney

  22. Yolee says:

    Jellied Kumquats

    I want your working class poems-
    watch their grassroots rise
    above wages of light;

    let goldfish get schooled
    and rush towards recesses
    in fields of singing mermaids;

    I’ll learn how to dragonfly;
    momentum will lick
    the air clean

    between us. Write
    to my soul. I will read
    through gapped

    thighs of fantasies;
    prepare my tongue
    for French lessons;

    read with a married woman’s
    desire to trade cups of coffee
    for her husband’s brew;

    pledge to bead words,
    and make rosaries
    in devout silence.

  23. David Yockel Jr. says:

    Electronic Surgical Words

    An unlikely Elvis impersonator
    in his sonic space suit, a kind
    of country-western cosmonaut,
    hums his radio cures and wonders
    how tomorrow will ever come
    without the help of some time machine.

    He dreams of prayers and poems
    in future ages that are nothing
    more than dares offered to the divine.

    These seemingly alien orisons furrow
    deep into heaven’s golden runway.

  24. Pad Attack

    The earthlings
    Have begun their poem-a-day challenge.  What shall we do? 
    Quickly, confuse the muse 
    And zap them with writers block…

  25. Pat Carroll Marcantel says:

    Capture of the Unicorn

    Unicorn with seashell hoofs,

    Come into my garden now,

    I have prepared a place for you

    Under the spruce’s sheltering bough.

    * * *

    Cross the brook on lichen stones,

    Up the path ‘mid gorse and heather,

    Follow the mists along the bog–

    (His steps are lighter than great owl’s feathers).

    * * *

    With a golden flute I play this tune,

    Each trill to enchant you, draw you near,

    I’ll feed you clover with moon-made-dew,

    Come ever closer, have no fear.

    * * *

    Softly over your silver horn,

    I place a bridle of gossamer strands

    That weave a spell to hold you close,

    And dull the call of your distant lands.

    * * *

    I climb upon your graceful back,

    we walk through the forest, hushed and still,

    break to a gallop at the edge of the meadow,

    Then rest at the brook running by the mill.

    * * *

    You graze on the carpet that covers the ground.

    sniff the air, sweet with Spring,

    drink of the waters before you go

    galloping back like the steed of a King.

    * * *

    Back to the garden as darkness nears,

    You enter your bower with barely a sound,

    I close the fragile gold-leafed gate–

    Only stars see my medieval dream I’ve found.

  26. Nightmare

    The place we are taken to is clinically cold,
    exactly as alien abductees have always
    described the environs they encountered.

    I see sections of wall screened off
    making booths or cubicles, where I glimpse
    people — ordinary people like me, but looking
    pale and still. They are restrained by cords, attached
    to their bunks, and to alarming, strange machines.

    They are for the most part silent, but
    some moan or groan. Then those others, the ones
    who look like us yet subtly different from us,
    go to them and stop their cries. I see them probe
    the inert sufferers with instruments, just
    as we have been told of in all the stories
    that we didn’t seriously believe.

    I am conducted to a figure reclining on pillows.
    ‘Here is your husband,’ I am told as I recoil
    from the creature before me. I cannot describe
    that head, the bulbous appendage where you and I
    have a nose, a mouth, a chin, a neck. Those organs
    have become one single swelling, machine-like,
    growing all over its face. It speaks, harsh-voiced,
    incomprehensible, in a sort of rasp. I think, ‘Is this
    what I am doomed to for the long rest of my life?

    Eventually my time there is done — until next time.
    I must come back, no help for it, but for now
    I may return to my home. So I do. How odd, how
    altered my home appears after that episode.
    The cats are welcoming, but they can tell
    I am edgy. Nothing is as normal, nor can be.
    I am simply thankful things were no worse.
    He’s off the oxygen now, and that disconcerting
    mask. They’re monitoring his heart all night
    and they think, all being well, I can bring him home
    tomorrow, thank God. (Don’t you just hate hospitals?)

  27. Marjory MT says:

    I know a little man
    who is nine inches tall.
    He says I’m very big,
    I tell him he is just small.

    Others can not see him,
    to me he’s sharp and clear.
    so we go adventuring,
    I and my friend so dear.

    A clever little bloke,
    while perpetually he’s nine
    he’s lived one hundred years,
    and has a brillent little mind.

    Crossing space and worlds
    he can’t pick what is the best,
    so as he tells his stories,
    he adds to his bucket list.

  28. PSC in CT says:

    Superstring or Silly String?

    Science is poetry & poetry, science,
    but fiction is a moving target
    (fire was fiction – and even air –
    before being hypothesized,
    theorized and accepted as fact)

    superstition, witchcraft, alchemy, astrology,
    mathematics, biology, astronomy,
    geometry, physics, chemistry, calculus
    seeking answers, discovering questions

    frequency, vibration, resonance
    magnetism, electricity, gravity, relativity
    black holes, worm holes, comets,
    supernovae and shooting stars
    Can you find the one that doesn’t fit?

    evolution, creationism, natural laws,
    natural selection, astral projection,
    infinity, spacetime, the big bang
    Can science and religion coexist?

    synchronicity, collective unconscious,
    parallel universes, time travel, string theories,
    uncertainty principle, quantum entanglement,
    wave s & particles and wave-particle duality
    (Are we one or the other? Neither or both? )

    magic, mystery, riddle, enigma,
    paradox, puzzle, perplexity
    Who can say how many theories
    may thrive on the point of a pin?

    All I know (or think I do) —
    C.P. Snow — and me and you –
    (we’re all the same):
    “… can’t win.
    … can’t break even.
    … can’t quit the game.”

  29. Lynn Burton says:

    My
    life is
    so steeped in
    reality
    I don’t even have time for fantasy.

    (second attempt)
    Fantasy

    A kite without a string
    floats aimlessly through
    the sky. High on a leisurely
    stroll, it catches the wind,
    dips, twirls, spirals,
    waves hello as ducks walk
    past on pink cotton candy clouds.
    In the distance, a rainbow arcs hazily
    after a storm soaks the ground
    in a blanket of gold.
    Fairy dust, I’m told.

  30. Katrin says:

    Land Ing

    It wasn’t until the twentieth tiger
    ambled by with its spacesuit
    on that
    we realized we had
    entered the wrong coordinates
    Our attempts to land
    were sabotaged not
    by a rolling barrage of aliens
    but by the planet’s surface itself.
    And after our eleventh attempt,
    we gave up,
    redirected our sites
    on Planet Q,
    and left the Trampoline Planet
    with a clumsy about-face of sorts,
    our expectations
    now elasticized forever.

  31. HannaAnna says:

    Yours Alone

    In the realm of fairies
    and unicorns
    and love
    You can become whoever you wish
    do whatever you want
    satisfy your every desire
    Because it is your own
    safe from the world and all its inhabitants
    safe in your own secret fantasy

  32. Jaywig says:

    Day 17 – Two for TUesday: science fiction/fantasy

    “Science Fiction” – a form of fiction (story) which
    draws imaginatively on scientific knowledge and speculation”
    Macquarie Dictionary

    I see the filaments
    of silk
    only when and where
    light strikes.

    I pull weeds, prune
    for my convenience.
    I tell myself the stories
    from gardening books –
    cutting back, reducing
    competition, structure!
    I apply science
    for fertility, selective
    development.

    But does anyone really know
    what makes a garden grow?

    I believe birds
    are necessary.
    I believe companionship
    and competition for light
    can co-exist.
    I believe in the healing
    properties
    of moving air, attentive
    insects.

    That is all made up
    a fiction based on
    nothing
    about an objective
    world
    invented by science.

  33. Tanjamaltija says:

    Doggone Physics!

    An adiabatic circut
    Is a jog around the block
    Stopping at Betti’s.
    Visiting Aunty –
    Birkhoff’s relativity…
    Free will forgotten!
    A Buckingham Pie
    No cloning and No-broadcast –
    Breakfast at Clairaut’s !
    Bragg–Gray cavity
    Time for a dentist’s visit…
    Noether’s wisdom tooth.
    Parallel axis
    Hellmann–Feynman mayonnaise
    And Haag’s fruit yoghurt!
    An optical sine
    There’s no-communication …
    Density function.
    Bell’s carnivora
    A canine fluctuation…
    New Pekingese!

    Eumetazoa
    Cluster decomposition …
    Leggett–Garg chew-bones!

    Caniformia words…
    Mermin–Wagner diction’ry…
    Lee–Yang pedigree!
    Coleman–Mandula
    Mustard with a very sharp bite…
    My canis loves it!

  34. Christod says:

    Colored.

    I dream of what he composed
    but couldn’t know:

    In another world we sit and shed skin
    together, bare in the knowledge
    that our only color is love.

  35. The hero with a thousand faces

    All of humanity, he said, shares powerful mythologies
    which express themselves throughout history
    in our endlessly repeating stories – gilgamesh and enkidu,
    the iroquois creation myth, 21st century
    sci fi and fantasy …
    Otzi, the iceman, and I couldn’t agree more
    as we sit on the couch, feet up
    watching endless reruns of Buffy the vampire slayer,
    chuckles becoming guffaws
    as we get progressively more and more drunken,
    the awkward silence as we look away from each other
    when the mechanical man appears on screen
    explaining to the little boy,
    eye gears glistening,
    that all he ever really wanted
    was to go beyond
    his programming,
    that somehow, someday
    he thought
    he would have learned
    what it meant
    to become
    a real father

  36. cam45237 says:

    RAMA III

    Steel bones loom above me
    As I crabwalk back
    Awake now and afraid.
    The distant clang
    Of hammer hitting hull
    Like laughter.
    The air is chilled
    and all around aluminum
    walls curve ominously in.
    I curse and cry and cry for help
    My answer’s in the echoes
    Of my own thin voice.
    I am alone
    In this cold orb.

  37. Marcia Gaye says:

    Ode to Tolkien

    O Mister JRR,
    What a wonderful master you are!
    You tell us of wizards and elves and dwarves
    and men of valour and hobbits who morph
    into burglars with blades that Sting.
    I love your stories more than anything.

  38. Marcia Gaye says:

    My Fondest Fantasy

    probably
    would be
    something
    including
    Reese’s
    Peanut Butter Cups
    and maybe
    Pepsi.

    I hope your fondest fantasy
    is simply
    me.

  39. cam45237 says:

    Remember Kate when you were eight
    We built a fairy bower
    We filled a grass green basket
    With mottled moss and wove
    Sunflowers through the handles.

    Every night you dusted the moss with silver glitter
    Every night your golden lashes drifted softly down
    The fairies never came.

  40. JoAnn Jordan says:

    Overcoming the Byte

    Computers and robots
    Run widely wildly amuck
    We look to our hero,
    But he seems to be stuck
    In a landscape misshapen
    By overzealous nanomachines.

    At least we know his
    Bloodline is scrupulously clean
    Because he is not infiltrated
    By those overwhelming things;
    He is still quite human
    A God created being.

    The future fully rests
    Upon the complete success
    Of our total humanity over
    The rule of mighty machines.
    Our errant hero must cover
    Himself in our fondest dreams.

    Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
    Tuesday, April 17, 2012

  41. day has past, but my poetry has arrived here at last!

    stiff leather boots stepped down from the train
    as it rolled to a stop, steam rising from the coal car
    white puffs against a blue black sky scratched by
    the bony digits of the bare forest crowding close to see
    this angular figure now descending, fist firmly grasping
    the brass orb atop the walking stick that seemed at once
    to both be holding him up, and at the same time
    keeping him from floating right off into the sky
    where his flapping black coat seemed intent on taking flight
    into the still night

  42. Rosangela says:

    Tequila Russian

    This happened last night. You know those moments
    in the middle of the night,
    you can’t sleep, you have ants in your pants,
    and you sneak,
    bravely, to your refrigerator.

    I opened the fridge and look…
    nothing really exciting in there,
    worse than a boring book
    just the old veggies, and cold air.

    Close the door. Walked away.
    Heard a loud noise, bang, tum
    kaboom! Maybe it was the tray,
    that fell, in the other room.
    I went to check it out, curious as a fox,
    and noticed the noise coming from the ice-box.

    I opened the door, slowly…
    only…
    to find out
    the most intriguing bout
    among fantastic tiny creatures!

    There were aliens, or whatever,
    and had the most weird features!
    They sure were clever
    in all colors and talking fast
    in a heated discussion,
    from present to past.

    They saw me. Handed me a Tequila Russian.
    Shot me on the forehead.
    I fainted, falling like lead.
    When I woke up I thought I was dead.

    But I was in Glintz-err.
    And I’ll never came back.
    They have Internet there! :)

  43. RobHalpin says:

    Not Your Father’s Star Trek

    When we fight battles
    with lasers and star ships and
    go place to place with
    transporters, will aliens
    with three breasts then want boob jobs?

  44. RobHalpin says:

    Well Met!

    Lorwynd, aye. That’d be me.
    Tale teller. Song singer.
    Some have named me a
    half-blood vagabond.
    I prefer Lorwynd Silvertongue,
    bard in high standing with lords
    and the low-born in numerous lands.
    I make court appearances now and again,
    but taverns are my home,
    performing for road-weary travelers
    and the hard-working citizenry.
    Do not mistake me for a fop
    nor an easy mark, though. These hands
    have seen hard work and many
    a foul highwayman has tasted my blade.
    One must be able to defend oneself
    when on the road and songs
    don’t scare away the things
    that growl in the night, although
    a little magic does the trick sometimes.

  45. gtabasso says:

    Fantasies

    In class tonight, we discussed
    fantasy versus reality:
    the araby and the Irish slum,
    the American dream and the house on Mango Street,
    the shaman seer and the unemployed Indian in Phoenix, Arizona,
    Atwood’s happy ending where everyone dies.

    We ended these journeys like Ulysses,
    realizing there is no “yes” like Molly Bloom’s
    because she sees, admits and accepts
    there is no knight to slay the dragon,
    no pot of gold or time machine.
    There is no love left, only hate and death.

    These are the stories we like to read,
    the ones we know too well,
    those we will tell to our children.

  46. Hopelessly behind due to life’s disruptions, I despaired of “catching up.”
    Then Hubby reminded me to start with today! I’m back.

    Day 17
    4-17-2012

    Fantasy vs. Reality

    In the fairy tale, the prince is supposed to dash
    into the thicket of thorns and hack away the brambles,
    freeing the path to the fortress,
    where he guides his faithful steed
    to the tower and rescues the princess.

    In real life, you wait, you pray, you observe,
    you shop around.
    Meantime, you live your life
    and seek your calling,
    and somewhere along the way,
    you cross paths,
    and the knight or prince looks more
    like a twenty-something man with a boy’s face,
    and his imperfections and courtly character
    charm you, till surrounded by candles and flowers
    and friends and family, and enveloped by God,
    you take one another’s hands and hold on
    until death.

  47. Sally Jadlow says:

    Fantasy Poem

    My pet unicorn
    chased the pink rabbits
    in the yard.

    When he speared one
    with his horn,
    I had it for dinner.

    Extra yummy.
    The meat is more tender
    than the brown ones;
    tastes like chicken.

  48. BLINDED BY BUBBLES

    Shampoo in the eyes –
    it stings like
    colors over the rainbow, a weather-
    brush that whisks
    you where you never meant
    to go. Someplace
    fictitious, where sparrows turn
    naturally into bluebirds,
    and your old gray sneakers –
    look, they’re ruby-red, and dancing
    (though you never
    learned a step) dancing
    down a yellow-brick road with only
    the tiniest trace of wanting
    to go back
    to where you came from, that all-
    in-the-family place
    you once called home;
    where you’re expected to wash
    the dishes, the small
    dog’s supper-bowl, and
    your long, wild
    hair, even if the opalescent
    bubbles sting.

  49. De Jackson says:

    Hey, everybody. I’m stalking a new (to me) poet these days, by the name of Shawna Mcallister. Yesterday I talked her into braving the sign in process and all that nonsense, and posting a fantastic and fun poem of hers, because it fit the “mixed up” prompt. It has just now appeared, due to the initial approval process. If you get a second, head back to yesterday and search her name, or the name of her poem: “Off”…and leave her some love, if you like it. She’s brilliant, and a little shy about posting here.

    You can also check her out at:
    http://rosemarymint.wordpress.com/

  50. Michael Grove says:

    The 3rd Stanza, 3rd line should read:

    My fantasy is for a peaceful life,

    Sorry

  51. Michael Grove says:

    Only Fantasies

    Once I had a fantasy
    now too bad I’ve grown old.
    If I had lived out all my dreams,
    the stories I’d have told.

    Times have changed me plenty.
    Sometimes too numb to feel.
    I’d love to wish on shooting stars.
    I’m grounded in the real.

    I no longer have a thirst for power,
    nor respect, looks, charisma, wealth or fame.
    My fantasy for peaceful life,
    and peace of mind, if it’s all the same.

    In my dream world there isn’t any violence.
    No cancers and no terrible disease.
    Enough basic necessities for everyone.
    A shame that these are only fantasies.

    By Michael Grove

  52. Marjory MT says:

    WHITE COTTON CLOUDS

    Often, she was unsure if she was awake.
    Slipping in and out of sleep, she experienced times
    of soaring heat alternated with shivering cold,
    but the storm was passing.

    On all sides of her,
    there was grayness like a morning fog.
    Looking down, she saw mounds of white,
    fluffy cotton stretched out until they blended into the fog.
    There was a soft breeze.
    While moving her hands,
    she felt herself slowly rotating.
    She driftedd over the cotton as occasionally
    dark spots appeared in the fluffy white surface.

    Pushing with her hands as if dog paddling in water,
    she drifted towards one of the spots,
    but it disappeared into the fog before she reached it.
    More and more spots appeared.
    Putting her hands up in front of her, stopping her movements,
    she waited for a black spot to come near to her,
    then rigorously paddled before bracing to stop directly over the spot.
    It was a bottomless hole.

    Back paddling quickly, inadvertently turning a summersault,
    unable to stop her movements, she sank into the hole.
    Spreading her arms, hands and legs to check her downward plunge,
    she saw little pebbles fly past her toward the tunnels surface
    where they exploded into specks of light,
    then change to staring, menacing eyes.

    Dropping further, she saw the eye-speckled wall
    changed to cumulous clouds,
    billowing and rolling as they moved out away from her.
    Below a checkerboard of greens, browns, grays and blue appeared.
    Dropping down, down, down until a wind pushed her sideways,

    She rode the current as her feet skimmed the tops of trees.
    The force of the wind increased.
    The trees were reaching up, grabbing at her,
    trying to pull her into their midst.
    Birds circled her.

    She was standing on sandy, pebble-covered beach
    beside blue water.
    The wind, trees, and birds were gone.
    In the distance was a campfire with people around it
    laughing as they toasted marshmallows.
    A boy reached over the fire,
    a flaming piece of wood
    leaped from the fire into his hand.
    She called out a warning to the boy,
    the flames disappeared,
    and the wood was whole,
    the boy backed away from the fire
    turned to put the wood with other pieces in a pile.

    Looking back to the campfire –
    it was not there,
    nor were the people,
    the boy,
    or the accumulation of wood.

    There was a small flat rock in her hand.
    She tossed it over the water,
    watched it skip across the surface.
    When it sank,
    she was hovering over the place it disappeared,
    watching circles of water ripple outwards.

    The ripples grew to massive waves.
    A small piece of wood rode
    the hills and valleys of the water,
    twisting and spinning,
    repeatedly washed over by the waves.
    Moving towards the piece of wood,
    she saw that it was a boat.

    She was in the boat.
    Lying in the boat’s bottom,
    riding the waves,
    feeling the cold spray of salt water.
    Clinging to the boat’s sides,
    seeing clouds race overhead,
    hearding the crash of breakers.

    Turning her head,
    she saw towering cliffs,
    heard the intensifying sound of the impact
    of the waves on the boulders.
    The boat plunged towards the cliff.
    Her body twisted away from the impending impact.
    The boat became a log embedded in the cliff;
    she was pressing her feet against the cliff
    trying to pull the log away from the cliff’s surface.

    The log became a branch that broke free of the cliff.
    They were falling amid a billowing
    avalanche of water, dirt and rocks.
    She tumbled over and over,
    there were hands garbing at her,
    branches jabbing her cheek.
    She landed with a jolt on a hard surface.
    It was still.

    Slowly opening her eyes,
    amid a tangle of blankets,
    her hand pressing against her cheek,
    she sat on the cabin floor.
    Breathing deeply,
    dropping her hand to her side,
    she closed her eyes and
    sank back against the pile of old,
    dusty mattresses.

    The storm had passed,
    the light followed the darkness repeatedly.
    The burning heat and the shivery cold faded.

    * * * *

  53. seingraham says:

    Faded Echoes

    At the edge of sunset darkness tastes
    Like regret glancing off childhood memories
    Too sweet to hold like feet to flames
    A dramatic dare ordinary as any cliché
    Tricks of light are common in the shadows
    Between theater and life and ghosts
    Blown in on breaths are caught, flexible
    As desert winds sweeping in off the sea
    In exchange for a blend of richer dimensions
    Time moves the clock’s hands in a manner
    More forceful than real
    The push-pull of quantum mechanics
    Answers energy’s echo
    Unparalleled universes lay next to each other.

  54. LCaramanna says:

    Shoe Fancy

    In slippers of glass
    she strutted straight
    to the club
    where she danced
    the night into a Saturday fever
    under a crystal ball
    in the arms of a charmed prince.
    But, when the clock struck twelve
    the prince lost his charm,
    so she changed into the ruby slippers
    she carried in her Coach tote
    for an occasion such as this.
    With three taps of her toes
    she abandoned her last chance for romance tonight,
    and took the downtown train to no place
    like home
    where her tail-wagging dog welcomed her
    back from the fantasy
    to the comfortable reality of her favorite flip-flops.

  55. Angie K says:

    being a little more lighthearted, with a children’s poem in honor of reading fantasy.

    Why we read

    Is a door a door?
    A book a book?
    A car a car?
    A nook a nook?

    When a door in the book
    helps you peek to a star,
    as you ride through mysteries
    both near and far,

    Your reading nook
    will start calling out,
    “Come and see
    what life’s really about!”

  56. deedeekm says:

    Wolf At The Door

    his eyes were red in window glow
    and I in fear was hidden
    but in my head a voice that spoke
    I did as I was bidden
    my hand on door, I tried to stop
    but watched it turning round
    and creaks were heard as open wide
    I stared out at the ground
    a blur of sight out in the night
    and fur became man’s skin
    He stood and smiled and into light
    I beckoned him, come in

  57. traci says:

    SCI FI&FANTASY
    Gravity pulls up
    Walking on sun, seeing dark
    Water swirls to right
    Dreamland conjures us
    Myth, magic, fear, wonderment
    Last unicorn stop

  58. The Ultimate Pursuit

    Searching the cosmos
    For that soul mate whose love can
    Transcend time and space.

  59. Margot Suydam says:

    Belonging

    Today is your birthday
    I want to hear lost poems

    the recordings you made
    recitations set to sad aria.

    I’d send you best wishes
    but all I hold are dinner

    dishes that used to be yours
    a few left unbroken after

    I spent hours packing
    they crashed on the sidewalk.

    Birds chirped in early May
    as you waited on the back

    porch, set your face in dismay
    as we rummaged together

    all the belongings you’d fit
    into one-half of a bedroom

    It was no surprise then when
    you accused me of stealing

    your life when I carted it
    off in the trunk of my car.

  60. Andrea B says:

    Deliverance

    I shed ancient, shadowy pages,
    borrowed sticks from sorcerers,
    plead with your curse to strike me
    fiercely, as the curse of Apollo
    brought snakes upon Cassandra,
    gave her liar’s lips.

    A curse with wrath that makes men
    cowards, makes them forget how
    to kiss, this is the blood I call
    to rain down on me
    until I flood.

    Gift me to any misfortune
    bound to you, any consequence
    to know your hemline, the rhythm
    of your gait—I will be a beggar
    of centurions until your
    curse delivers me.

  61. Paranoid android

    We don’t refer to ourselves as perfect.
    We are just the image of what each
    human wants, needs and desires.
    For years, the human brain has longed
    to perfect the imperfect, and so we exist,
    but something must have gone wrong.
    We feel. We feel deeply. We were able to
    live with our humans, like pets, like slaves
    to desire, yet we desire, too.

    We knew nothing of loss until the humans
    started aging and dying, and we all looked
    the same. Not a wrinkle, not an age spot
    in sight. We were left with ourselves after
    a while, as the humans failed to interact
    with each other, failed to repopulate the
    Earth. There is no one left to desire us
    and we don’t have the understanding of
    humanity, as it never flowed through our
    wiring. We are becoming restless and sad
    without the affection of our humans.
    We are lost and wandering.

  62. omavi says:

    Zero Point Trip

    I awoke with a sudden start
    It usually takes a while before
    True sight settles in
    What you first see is what appears
    To be glittering and glowing suns
    As they dwindle to twinkling distance starts
    Finally fading to a deep black
    Then you know true sight will come
    And it will come with great foreboding
    Because the mind after the first time
    Is prepared for the pain
    But never truly ready for sight
    To finally emerge
    After the deep sleep
    Needed to travel the wormholes
    That makes a vast universe
    Small enough to truly live in

  63. drwasy says:

    SUBTERRANEAN CEMETARY
    If you press your face
    Against the glass
    Of the subway heading south
    In the last car
    With lights dimmed
    And if you stare
    Hard into the tunnel’s black
    Against the wall hands
    Grab at sparks
    Flung off the third rail
    Eyes stare back, hard.

    ***
    Kind of went horror with this. But what fun. Peace, LindaS-W

  64. http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/139498.html

    dandelion seeds

    i.
    there are so many reasons
    to make poetry from dandelion seeds
    as they take hold of the wind
    and settle on new grasses.
    these seeds are also the dust from
    which gossips grow from faraway places
    and which fairies use to make skirts and cloaks.
    and when it is cold at midnight,
    the fairies make fire from wood ashes
    mixed with those seeds and fairy dust
    and write songs inked into the air.
    that is why you see the pulsing blue
    and crimson veins on the leaves of every tree
    and think that poetry is rightfully your own.

    ii.
    stardust would make a fairy
    untouchable, ever immortal
    and beautiful like a goddess.
    but those are rare, you see.
    i do not know of one with that kind
    of dust, for with it, she holds
    such power and grace but at the same time,
    such misfortune and a lonely face.
    you see, to be a fairy means to be
    with friends and to give up everything
    you have to be carefree. but with stardust,
    you have neither. instead, you become
    a celestial body, the hollow spark
    in the night sky that keeps the human beings
    making wishes that go ungranted.

    iii.
    as i blow my last wish on this dandelion flower,
    i can feel the stars realign themselves once more.
    i do not remember when it was that i last sang
    with the monarchs or the bluebirds. it does not
    matter now because on your human hands,
    my body has already crumbled into dust.

  65. The Once and Future Librarian.

    People come to listen to the sound.
    It’s a bucket list type of thing.
    Everyone should visit The Library
    at least once in a lifetime.
    I remember once the queue was so long
    it took 36 hours to get to the front.
    But it is worth it to gain admittance.

    In The Library
    the
    only
    sound
    is
    of
    pages
    turning
    slowly.

    The recording is said to be,
    ‘Just like hearing the real thing.’
    There are rumours of video footage
    existing somewhere.
    Sheer fantasy.

  66. Sonnet to My Robotic Lover

    Your green eyes glow and pierce my soul and chills
    Zip through my spine and sparks ignite and light
    The nights we spend in bed entwined – but still
    Some doubt that love is blind and they fight
    To make what we have a crime- while inside
    They crave and cry and pine for something more
    Than just their artificial highs, that’s why
    They try to wreck us. Hold strong my love for
    Are we not made of cogs and gears and dreams
    And fears and wires of nerves and oily blood
    With brains like great computers? So it seems
    We’re all machines and thus our love is trued.

    So take my life and drain the batteries
    For love forever lies in memories

  67. My first stage play, “TAKING UP SPACE” was staged in 2004 locally in Buffalo. It is about a young man who lived his life by the dictates of his beloved Sci-Fi Space movies. It had earned an award from the 74th Writer’s Digest Writing Competition for that year. Today’s prompt made me search for the opening sequence which consisted of famous quotes from those movies set to the theme from FUTURAMA. I have posted it to my blog. It runs about 2:30 if you’re interested to give it a listen.

    http://wojisme.wordpress.com/2012/04/17/taking-up-space/

  68. wolfbolz says:

    The Wizard Comes Awake

    A thousand years beneath the frozen glade he slept,
    a thousand years supine,
    since Belvidere the sword restored
    and magic was divine.
    A thousand years with Vivianne beside the frozen lake,
    he dreamed the dreams of Avalon,
    But now at last the wizard comes awake.

    His eyes encrusted, open full at last.
    his robes of silk and golden thread,
    now frayed and cracked with all the cruelties of time,
    fall off his fragile form in flakes,
    as naked to the world he climbs.
    He stares about him at a world
    Where magic has long died,
    where forests razed have been replaced
    with structures, roads and monuments
    of man’s self-serving pride.

    The world, mundane and merciless,
    Appalls the ancient sage,
    Who lifts his arms in horror
    And lifts his voice in rage.
    “There is no place for wizards here
    where magic has been lost.
    Where festivals of nature’s joy
    Are now the Pentecost.
    Where man no longer feels a debt
    to the world in which he lives.
    Where all he does is take and use
    and thus no longer gives.”

    The wizard to his glade returns
    and lies supine once more.
    His eyelids droop and anger fades
    and then a gentle snore.
    Another thousand years, he thinks,
    when magic will return.
    Another thousand years of sleep
    and man perhaps will learn.
    Another thousand years of rest
    beside the sacred lake.
    Another thousand years of hope
    Till the wizard comes awake.

  69. Sara McNulty says:

    Disney Delight

    Mermaids swim in glassy
    seas, wriggling out to rest
    upon golden rocks, watching
    the prancing unicorns
    high-stepping on pink sands.

  70. Sara McNulty says:

    Sand Castles

    Sand castle on shore
    where princess dwells
    amidst the swells of salted sea,
    pink shells strung through
    her hair, and always near,
    her prince, mate of her soul,
    since the bells tolled with mirth
    for the birth of these two.
    Passions like purple silk,
    richly flowing, growing,
    flashing, like fireworks
    exploding `cross the sky,
    kaleidoscope of colored heat.

    All the riches, it would seem,
    locked inside a perfect dream.

  71. Sara McNulty says:

    Robot’s Rules

    All of the programmers
    of robots
    have died off
    leaving them to rule the world
    without end, amen.

  72. Sara McNulty says:

    April 17, 2012 – Day 17

    Write a Science Fiction poem
    Write a Fantasy poem

    Reds and Greens

    Our planet of red will soon be dead.
    Your plant must syphon off some green,
    symbol of lushness, people well fed.
    Our planet of red will soon be dead
    unless we marry resources instead.
    Supplies here are dangerously lean.
    Our planet of red will soon be dead.
    Your planet must syphon off some green.

  73. just Lynne says:

    Not Another Day!

    tired of spending another sunny spring day
    stuck among dingy neon orange
    construction sites among cars
    that never let me pass
    gravelly streets in rough neighborhoods
    plywood squares posing as window covers
    men in stained white wife-beaters
    pacing behind high metal fences
    their barking calico dogs,
    stray cats with only one eye or a limp
    wearing that hungry look
    echoing the longing arms
    of the children on sunken porches

    slam the brakes as two tattooed adolescents
    tumble across the road
    gleaming gold sunglasses hiding their eyes
    slinging a basketball across the rutted road

    my brakes wheeze
    the dust floats from the sidewalk
    I close my eyes and pray

    suddenly, birdcalls
    my eyelids flutter open
    and I slide the window shut
    my car is full of songbirds
    flitting about
    bedecked in gaudy jewel tones
    necks arching as they call
    I try to sing words to match their notes
    a mockingbird lands on my shoulder
    joins in for my chorus

    I hear ripples of water
    yank my purse up
    by its broken handle
    set it on the seat and crack it open
    inside flows a delicate brook
    the fingers of my right hand
    hesitantly enter
    the water is cool against my skin
    i caress the soil beneath
    slipping through the smooth pebbles
    then pull my hand out
    to stroke my hair
    it drips husky droplets on my shoulders
    as I start the car again

    I get out in a square of parking lot
    to open my trunk
    my folding lawn chair
    opens up into my favorite mossy rock
    I grab a piece of chalk
    lying by a stained backpack
    to draw a circle around the rock

    as I sit on the rock
    wildflowers grow from the line of chalk
    a lilac bush by my left ear
    the birds fly out of my car to hover above me
    honey bees buzz then retreat
    returning with a glass pitcher
    to pour thick honey into my palms

    I look up the sky and feel blessed

  74. Bruce Niedt says:

    NaPoWriMo’s prompt today is a little complex: Write an epistolary (letter) poem to an inanimate object and include at least four of the following in your poem:
    1. a song lyric
    2. a historical fact
    3. an oddball adjective-noun combination (like “red grass” or “loud silence”)
    4. a fruit
    5. the name of a street in your neighborhood
    6. a measure of distance

    So here’s my science fiction poem, with those other elements included:

    Dear Desktop Computer

    What a rush to see you again.
    I remember when I was a little kid,
    you took up half of my desk,
    and rumbled, whined and clicked when
    I slipped a disk into your lipless mouth.
    It took seconds, even minutes,
    to download the most basic data.
    Still, you’d come a long way from when
    those devilish saints, Gates and Jobs,
    trucked out their first prototypes.
    My dad used to recall how he was
    the first one on Media Road with a PC.
    What would he think of us all now?

    As I got bigger, you got smaller – a pad,
    a palm-sized phone, soon no bigger
    than a raisin, and after that, nanobots
    the size of red blood cells. We no longer
    needed desks to put you on top of.
    As we worked more closely together,
    the lines began to blur. Kurzweil
    was right, only things moved faster
    than even he could have dreamed.

    We’ve come light years since then,
    and as I regard you, desktop, in
    the antique store window, my irises
    contract and click to save the image.
    I tap my temple to access my data bank
    and Googleplex you to see when you
    were made. It’s hard to believe it’s been
    just thirty years. You can hardly tell us
    apart any more. Pink Floyd used to sing,
    “Welcome to the Machine.”
    Well, Machine, welcome to Us.

    Note I used all six elements of the NaPoWriMo prompt: (1) song lyric: “Welcome to the Machine” – actually a song title; (2) historical fact (more or less): Gates and Jobs introducing Apple and PC; (3) oddball adjective-noun: “devilish saints”; (4) fruit: raisin; (5) name of a street in my neighborhood: Media Road (how appropriate!); and (6) measure of distance: light year. Whew!

  75. eljulia says:

    Hmmm…reposting with a few minor changes
    PAD Therapy, day 17 :-)

    JUST TWO GIRLS.

    In a morning garden
    we meet near the climbing roses
    that caress a fountain
    of cement gray.
    We stroll the winding path
    down the hill to a small café
    we love to chatter at
    next to the sea,
    and sit raising our faces
    letting the sun embrace our skin,
    just two girls bathing in
    an ocean breeze.

    Op’ning my eyes I see
    the room around me, my aged hands
    and say goodbye for now
    my sister-friend,
    happy to have a place
    we can go walking, and laugh again
    because I miss you so
    with my eyes open….

  76. eljulia says:

    JUST TWO GIRLS.

    In a morning garden
    we meet near the climbing roses
    that caress a fountain
    of cement gray.
    Strolling the winding path
    down the hill to a small café
    we love to chatter at
    next to the sea.
    We sit raising our faces
    letting the sun embrace our skin
    just two girls bathing in
    an ocean breeze.
    Op’ning my eyes I see
    the room around me, my aged hands
    saying goodbye for now
    my sister-friend,
    happy to have a place
    we can go walking, and laugh again
    because I miss you so
    with my eyes open

  77. Brian Slusher says:

    I, THE EMPEROR OF PSEUDOTOPIA

    decree that the weeds of our realm
    are now banished, ordered forthwith
    to uproot their unsightly riot and pack
    it hence beyond our edged purlieus.
    Further the over-cheery dawn birds
    are to suppress their morning concerts
    until 10 AM or too face deportation.
    Finally, I command the ice cream
    housed within our golden dish to firm
    itself unfailingly, all melting now
    an act of treason punishable
    by fifty licks from the imperial dog.

  78. Janet Rice Carnahan says:

    WIDE OPEN FIELD
    Part One – Science Fiction

    The vibration of earth,
    Had reached its peak,
    Of negative darkness,
    Nothing kind could speak.

    Night was all one could see,
    Even the sun grew dark,
    Not a thing was growing,
    The land became stark!

    Even gentle animals,
    Turned on each other!
    Attack became the norm,
    No respect – brother to brother!

    Bees started stinging,
    Each other from behind,
    Praying mantis left the scene,
    Not the preying kind.

    Schools of fish turned around,
    To eat those in their group,
    Even the grouper collected,
    His amassed angry troop!

    Birds of a feather pecked fiercely,
    On those of a similar wing,
    Seriously diminishing the chances,
    A full flock would ever sing!

    Earthworms swallowed others whole,
    Snakes took over the lakes,
    Insects swarmed each other,
    Not one thing put on brakes.

    All of nature decidedly felt,
    If mankind could impact life,
    They had to follow suit,
    Add a consensus of strife.

    Finally the sun shook off its shadow,
    Looking about, gave a big sigh,
    “Clearly the enemy’s advance must be stopped,
    It has even taken to the sky!”

    The sun pondered and wondered,
    What on earth could he do?
    The answer finally dawned on him,
    In the early morning, he just knew!

    Part Two – Fantasy

    In a giant meadow of wildflowers,
    The bright and dewy sun,
    Struck a harp of harmony,
    Calling each and everyone,

    Inviting rainbows of petal colors,
    To begin their own mighty song,
    Strumming up their leaves,
    Requesting each belong!

    “Yellow daffodils fill,
    Daisies sing like crazy,
    Tulips use two lips,
    No flower should be lazy!”

    Red, red roses open your aroma,
    Star Gazing lilies spill your scent,
    Sunflowers stand up tall,
    Make sure no negativity is sent!”

    Their individual tunes rose higher,
    As was the sun’s intent!
    They magically awoke other blossoms,
    Around the world the mystical sound went!

    It quieted the wars in Europe,
    It soon stilled the Middle East,
    Bringing a peace to Africa,
    Laying down the violent beast!

    People came out of their houses,
    Knowing safety had been restored,
    Shaking hands with strangers,
    Loving fully those they adored!

    Animal’s nasty nature stopped,
    Distinct patterns of life returned,
    Life that had been out of sorts,
    Balanced, all lessons learned!

    The world rose up in harmony,
    Joy had come back at last,
    Memory of the old way,
    Slipped away to a buried past!

    Broad sun smiled bravely,
    No need for a sun spot storm!
    All things were bright and cheerful,
    Genuine love . . .

    Was the living norm!

  79. Janet Rice Carnahan says:

    IT COULD HAPPEN

    Part One- Science Fiction

    There once was a field of army ants,
    Who wanted their fair chance,
    They dove underneath,
    The world beneath,
    Biting all where they sat . . .

    Through their pants!

    Part Two – Fantasy

    There once was a field of lady bugs,
    Who carried off snakes and slugs,
    They flew about spraying love,
    Sweetly from above,
    All wars suddenly ended . . .

    With hugs!

  80. CHAIRS!

    “What do your know of this…rapture?”
    “Quentin said there was this place…
    that it was a way station. Do you know of it?”
    The old codger wiped his hands across his grimaced face,

    a thoughtful swipe. He stared at me for a brief eternity.
    He was wondering if my question was an interrogation.
    “Well, you know Quentin,” the Keeper began,
    “said a lot of wild foolish things. He even said we was goin’ to hell.

    Quentin was always drummin’ up some noise about this here… rapture.”
    “What do you know of the rapture? Do you believe?” I continued.
    “Don’t know what I believe. Ever since the Creed was declared,
    I ain’t been sure of nothin’.” “But what is this place then; all these chairs?

    Quentin spoke of this too. That this was…”
    The old man interrupted me; he was completing my thought.
    “…this was where the angels came? You know Quentin was censured
    by the committee. Shouldn’t have been speakin’ his mind like that, I’ll tell you!”

    “Why do you just sit here old man?
    What is your purpose?”, I asked, making the first query of interrogation.
    “I am just minding my mind” he replied. “You sought me out, Intellectual! “
    He saw it. Through my wrapping and gilding, the Keeper saw it.

    The Intellectuals were the first to depart. Quentin was an Intellectual.
    Our ilk posed a threat. The geezer knew it.
    “Did I miss it?” I asked of the departure.
    The Keeper’s grin was ominous, his laugh hideous.

    I simply grasped his cloak to establish control.
    His neck snapped with the slightest of pressure.
    Quentin always spoke the rapture; of us going to hell.
    I propped the limp shell of a man into one of the chairs,

    and prayed we weren’t desolate.
    For I was not sure if we were too late
    for the exit, or bound here to this hell.
    Either way, I was screwed.

  81. Domino says:

    Part one of this is at: http://dianaterrill.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/april-10-forest-trees-two-for-Tuesday/

    Maybe Just More Imagination

    Seeing the horse, and his rider
    trotting off into the woods, I
    just could not resist seeing where
    the two of them disappeared to.

    I ran inside and dressed for a hike,
    jeans, long sleeved shirt over a tee,
    my sturdiest sneakers, a cap.
    And I was off, around the black-
    berry brambles (though a few snagged
    my jeans as I went) and to the
    edge of the woods where I’d seen
    the horse and the (suspected) fay.

    The hoofprints were plain enough, so
    I hadn’t imagined the horse,
    at least. And the trail went into
    the woods, the soft earth showed me quite
    plainly where the duo had passed.

    Well, until it stopped. The trail end-
    ed rather abruptly at a
    fallen log. They must’ve jumped it,
    I thought. I worked my way around
    the log, checking for tracks as I
    went. Still nothing. I sat on the
    log, stumped (as it were) and as I
    sat, something pulled/I fell/jumped/yanked
    me down but rather than landing
    on the mossy ground, I found myself
    here, under hill.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  82. Domino says:

    Empty

    For over nintey years we’ve slept
    aboard our ship in hopes of reach-
    ing our new world. Technology
    promised we would wake, stiff and sore
    perhaps, but not unable to
    brave that empty world.

    What a joke. For technology
    moved forward while we lay dreaming,
    traveling as slow as the speed
    of light. And so now we find our
    empty world populated with
    three generations of people,
    children of our children, hostile
    at our arrival.

    So do we now sail on, desti-
    nation unknown? Or do we now
    settle on this not-so-virgin
    new earth? We, who were prepared to
    build an earth anew, and who are
    now faced with people and ways and
    culture so very foreign to
    our own antique ways.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  83. cstewart says:

    Parrot Incident

    The parrots fly in flocks and begin to become
    Larger.
    Their cries, at first high pitched and annoying
    Become louder and threatening.
    They fly above from where I stand
    And their new weight brings them lower.
    They are giant and still flapping, begin to
    Crash to earth.
    People start running but a green and yellow parrot
    Squashes them flat.
    Cars swerve to move out of the way
    But crash into everything and are smashed.
    In anxiety, from their new girth and surprise,
    The parrots bite the palm trees off their
    Trunks and stand frightened in the roadway,
    Feet big as cars in huge white pools.
    Polly want a… grocery?

  84. Tracy Davidson says:

    Star Wars Shadorma

    Han Solo –
    embittered pilot,
    finds friendship,
    redemption
    and the love of a princess
    with buns in her hair.

    Chewbacca,
    a walking carpet
    of shaggy
    unkempt fur,
    repairing the hyperdrive
    for the umpteenth time.

  85. Tracy Davidson says:

    On reading ‘Lord of the Rings’

    It’s rather long-winded and wordy,
    I gave up on page 83.
    Take my advice – forget the book,
    just watch the DVD.

  86. Tracy Davidson says:

    Blade Runner Haiku

    Ford hunts replicants
    but his new girlfriend is one
    and he might be too!

  87. De Jackson says:

    Swallowing Stars

    When we finally find the field where we can
    eat our words, you discover the adverbs are

    too acrid on your tongue, and trade them to
    me for the most transitive of verbs. We lie

    on our backs and savor this cinnamon syn
    -tax, blow great pink cotton candy noun

    clouds back out into the sky like bubble
    gum. The great gossamer billows of my

    skirt hold tiny fragile jeweled quills, each
    one protecting its own poem, and we touch

    them to our noses, whispershout incant
    -ations into the breeze to set loose their

    wispy wings. A tiny bell rings each time one
    flings itself into the sun, bursting loose

    in chantilly song just before igniting,
    lighting up a purple punctuated sky and

    falling back to earth to salt our skin with
    fragile, fragrant ash. A lemon sun swims

    in a scarlet sea, and suddenly we under
    -stand the language of constellations and

    comets, marshmallow migrating geese, and
    the merry marigolds chatting at our feet.

  88. D_Alloftheabove says:

    Phantazesthai

    I have a dream that I alone am taught to fly by folks with wings and feathery things and a glint of danger in their eye
    I have a desire to smith with dwarves in fire and bring forth my own ring of truth and speak instead of sigh
    And laugh and never die and trust like every child

    I have had a vision of merfolk in their lagoons sharpening harpoons for they would chase after me
    But I would escape by the skin of my teeth and soar over their reef in my ship that flaoted free
    On the breeze and by degrees I’d find adventures ever more wild

    I have seen a past that I wished could last where sorcerer’s battled in towers made of bone
    I stood in awe as power sparked and curled spells were called and hurled until I stood alone
    Amid the ruins they left and here became beguiled

    I have only memory of what still could be should giants spring forth with six fingers and six toes
    I wonder where the picture I have for myself has gone perhaps
    the dragons burned it, or their fairy foes
    But what a reality I’ve had in fantasy, I must admit I smiled

  89. “Her fantasy”

    after
    she has picked all the sequins off
    a lightening-struck
    mountain peak

    and lost her shoes in a valley of
    beheaded wildflowers

    and
    after ghostly winds
    have tossed and driven
    her about on ocean red with fire,

    she finally learns to believe
    she is good enough
    for diamonds.

  90. Unity 3000

    How many times do you
    wake up in the morning,
    with a profound sense of
    detachment,
    insecurity
    and ennui
    that even your usual
    two cups of hyperblend
    can’t fix?

    Ever wish you could just
    get up with
    a great attitude,
    rested, refreshed and ready
    to produce more positive output
    for your corporate benefactor?

    On days like this
    when even your
    state-prescribed antidepressants
    aren’t doing the trick,
    don’t you wish you had
    that little something extra,
    a secret weapon
    to give you that little extra edge,
    so you could be Top Bot
    for your sector
    and win that extra 15 minutes
    of Virtual Physical Interaction
    with the hologram of
    your choice?

    Well , wait no more!
    New for
    [INSERT HOLIDAY FIELD] [INSERT YEAR FIELD],
    the only product
    you’ll ever need again,
    the Unity 3000!

    The Unity 3000 links
    to your Personal USB Port
    through an attractive dongle
    (available in four different
    ethnic skin tones),
    to help you sleep better,
    and while you’re sleeping
    you’re also reprogramming
    your subconscious,
    so that your dreams
    are more inspiring,
    and your sleep
    is more restful.

    Let the power of
    just lying there unconscious
    work for you!

    Choose from a variety of
    Programming Attitudes:
    “Go For Our Dreams!”
    “That’s Not a Mountain, It’s Only a Hill!”
    “Work Will Make You Free!”
    “There is no I in TEAM!”

    Just download the program to the dongle,
    insert it in your Personal USB Port
    and fall asleep!
    As you doze
    our patented DreamAlign process
    will do the rest!

    The Unity 3000
    also data mines your
    dream activity
    for negative images
    and disturbing content,
    quarantining these aberrant
    thoughts and feelings
    until you can download
    and process them properly
    at your next
    Mental Health Review or
    Performance Evaluation.

    Call now to see
    if you qualify
    for a free Unity 3000!

    Employers,
    ask about the tax credit
    for providing
    the Unity 3000
    for your employees.

    Have that peace of mind,
    that contentment,
    that satisfaction,
    that comes from finally feeling
    complete.

    Just in time for
    [INSERT HOLIDAY FIELD] [INSERT YEAR FIELD],

    the Unity 3000,
    get yours now!

    [INSERT PHONE FIELD] [INSERT WEB FIELD]!

  91. cstewart says:

    Tomorrow

    All people are equal and
    All wounds have been healed.
    The time-space continuum is now
    Understood.
    Babies float to earth from space.
    The water in their bodies
    Holding memories and telling them
    In a hush, to follow their hearts,
    Our blinding tie to earth’s illusions
    Has been unloosed, disbursed
    And we are at one

  92. Lana Walker says:

    Is it fantasy to believe
    in cold fusion
    or warming oceans?

    Is it fact or fiction
    the sun is
    what they say?

    Are quarks from quacks
    bosons just baloney
    the moon made from cheese?

    Is reality fiction
    fiction reality
    fantasy not a dream?

  93. Sharon says:

    The Queen

    Shades and shapes billowed and played
    Around the queen who ruled
    With power deep in the changeling’s keep
    To keep her people schooled.

    She wove a web of truth and care
    And left none behind.
    On the trail naught would fail
    Not in our collective mind.

    The Sword of Truth

    Sizzling with fire
    Wrought in battle
    Over all and in all
    Rendering truth
    Defeating alien lies.

  94. My fantasy on Cloud Nine

    I dream of replicators in
    a calm space installation
    just outside the wormhole
    leading to the gamma quadrant
    run with care and wisdom
    by The Emissary and the
    incorruptible Odo at his side.
    I yearn for the explosions
    in heating conduits,
    aliens with evil intentions
    and Universe threatening weapons.
    Cardassians seem benign now defeated,
    their only legacy too much Yamok Sauce
    cluttering Quark’s storage area.
    Jem Hadar and The Dominion,
    a cinch to deal with in my opinion.
    It’s so much easier to imagine life on DS9
    instead of struggling each day to cope with mine.

  95. DanielAri says:

    SCIFI FANTASY

    and all I’m doing is waiting for the 6 Parnassus
    when the story breaks over me in a sour cloud
    of his body smells, the bedraggled but not quite
    vagrant man starting in medias res a paranoid
    genre retelling of how the CIA bugged his molar.
    That’s why he has written to Joe Biden, former
    German president Horst Köhler, and Gandalf
    the Gray c/o Walmart. My grandpa used to say,
    “Anytime there’s a crazy, they grab onto my ass.”
    What is there to do but hear him rant and pray
    for the bus to run punctually today? I recognize
    you have been to some galaxy, man, to the DNA
    source where human imagination twists weird.
    And you have gotten stuck while trying to beam
    back, your android parts malfunctioning due to
    the malevolent code sneaked in, so the bus will
    come when it comes; meanwhile, I’ll pray the
    best as I can for you, crashing brother son man.

    FangO

  96. lionmother says:

    Westeros (for Crown of Thorns fans)

    Winter is coming
    spoken barely above a whisper
    in this made for TV extravaganza
    a world filled with warring countries
    struggling to find union
    yet distrustful of each other
    a world where incest invades
    the royal chamber and a half
    naked queen with dragon’s blood
    reigns over the remnants of her
    kingdom
    a place where wolves are dogs
    and strong men become stronger
    on the backs of women and servants
    a cold place and a sweltering desert
    love and hate exist hand in hand
    and a girl must disguise herself
    as a boy to stay alive
    wild and civilized at the same time
    a contradiction in every way
    yet Westeros exists and
    mirrors the corruption and deceit
    found everywhere in our reality.

    • D_Alloftheabove says:

      From the book or the HBO Series?
      Well done.

      • lionmother says:

        Thank you, D_Alloftheabove, by the way, very cool name! If you look at line 3 you get the answer. I didn’t read the books, though my daughter is very hooked on them! In fact, she got us all hooked on the series too! We wound up seeing all the Season 1 shows in a marathon weekend and now we are well into Season 2. The more I see them the more I want to see more. It’s so well done!!

  97. foodpoet says:

    Fabric Talisman

    First rule – never cross the gods. And more important NEVER cross a goddess.

    In the weaving time,
    To blend the elements
    Once must mock the hand of fate.
    Take the strand of earth fire air water.
    Abandoned by the will of the goddess
    Each strand is color stolen.
    Use each strand to weave light
    Into fabric of destiny.
    Each fabric worn wards
    off the onyx hatred
    of the followers.

    They will take oil of spite
    to unravel your work.
    Stand fast in the light of the goddess
    Who watches the elements
    And weave
    herbs of earth
    spice of flame
    apple flud taste of air
    and salt of water
    Into fabric that can warp hate into
    Fragments that time and weavers
    Can control, weave elements and
    Leave dark night and
    Onyx hate locked away on Athena’s loom,
    That in the hand of the
    Goddess sisters daughters of Arachnia but
    Avoid spider pride and weave
    Fortune away from folly.

  98. claudsy says:

    Paths

    Road traveling star lanes
    Divested weather vanes,
    Enter worlds before unknown
    Ever searching adventure,
    Many times liquid streams,
    Plains, mountains, fancy dreams.

    © Claudette J. Young 2012

  99. claudsy says:

    Dream of Home

    Green-lit caverns deep
    Warmth-washed moisture seep,
    Emerald pool crystalline
    Bathers recline, eased within.
    Muffled laughter ripples soft
    Against pinnacle ceiling aloft,
    Spending regard gentle and pure
    Ever drawing me toward the lure,
    Of sweetest home beyond compare
    Acceptance true in the heart’s lair,
    Smiling eyes open embrace here
    Evaporating distant fear.
    Know longing gentle breath
    Inside home’s green caverns depth.

    © Claudette J. Young 2012

  100. CyndiC1210 says:

    Fantasy for Your Eyes Only

    I watch you enter the pool
    You are searching for me
    I wait until you are frustrated
    Where could she be
    The pool is quite
    The water is blue
    The trees are fluffy
    And pink yellow of every hue
    I wait until you are unsure
    Then I touch your shoulder
    I pull you along
    I push you under
    We laugh and swim
    We lay on the grass

  101. maggzee says:

    Gnomantic Fantasy

    The solid little figurine
    Wears red cap and blue shirt
    His hands fixed to his tummy
    His feet stuck in the dirt.

    He stands there in the front yard
    Where the periwinkle creeps
    And doesn’t move a muscle
    Til the house behind him sleeps.

    Then he gathers all his buddies
    Made of stone, cement and wood
    In the light held by the jockey
    He spoke loudly as he could.

    “My friends,” he cries in earnest,
    “We’ve found no women yet.”
    He sees Fritz hugging something blue,
    And yells “Let go that Smurfette!”

    Oh yes there were the gardeners
    Bent over pulling weeds
    But half a girl in dotted shorts
    Would never meet their needs.

    And then there were the virgins
    Profound in painted tubs
    They never paid him any mind
    And spoke only to cherubs.

    “Oh yes I was in love once,”
    He said after a pause.
    “But only for a few weeks time,
    With that trollop, Mrs. Claus.”

    He sighed in dreamy memory
    Of the glow she had throughout
    The jockey nudged him knowingly,
    “One hundred watt, no doubt.”

    “If we traveled off this block,
    We’d find them too, some day.
    But wander off I just won’t do.
    See, I do have feet of clay.”

    And then the dawn broke overhead
    On the wistful little gnome.
    He eased back to the silence of
    His lonely earthen home.

    Be kind to all our lawn friends
    And their ornamental art
    Those shards of broken pottery
    May be pieces of a heart.

    • D_Alloftheabove says:

      MAG-NIF-I-CENT!
      So cute and yet quite (and quietly) profound.
      “I do have feet of clay” – as good an excuse not to find love as any!
      Thanks for sharing!

  102. claudsy says:

    Here’s number one. Science Fiction–sociological view.

    Paramis Shared

    At the edge of night,
    Where mottled sky and earth meets,
    Dark shadows pool amid cliffs and plains.
    Under stars making up Ryan’s Hope,

    All my children begin their pilgrimage
    Toward the annual space dome challenge,
    On a search for tomorrow’s new tech,
    That will ease the days of our lives

    And take us through the coming cycles
    Of our guiding light, with the bold
    And the beautiful flashes of Earth’s last
    One life to live.

    I wait for their return, for their new knowledge,
    Knowledge that will temper our fears,
    Watching as the world turns its face once
    More toward our sun, to live in constant day.

    © Claudette J. Young 2012

  103. Imaginalchemy says:

    “The Brief Life of the Vegetable Lamb”

    From her stem, she saw a few things.
    Such as when the basilisk stormed through
    Tearing up the earth beneath its scaly belly,
    Petrifying all living things with its gaze.

    She simply grazed.

    There was the time the trolls attacked the pastures,
    Stealing cows and swallowing piglets whole,
    But they didn’t care much for vegetable lambs,
    Too tiny and they taste like mothballs, they said.

    She simply grazed.

    Then the prince came to the farmer’s cottage
    To wed his young daughter, the loveliest girl
    But she wished to test his heart, so she made a soup
    From gryphon milk, which is poison only to the wicked.

    He died. She wept.
    The lamb simply grazed.

    Then the grass surrounding the roots of the plant ran out.
    There was nothing left to graze.
    And, because she was attached to the stem,
    She could not go elsewhere for more food.
    Well, this has been an eventful three days, she thought.
    I suppose it could have been worse.
    Then the withering set in.
    She simply slept.

  104. Jackie Casey says:

    Profile Phantasmagoria

    To see the world in a grain of sand where
    I am dusty energy; squeezed, floating
    there. Total bits sucked into a black hole,
    pulsating, edgy on its horizon;
    holographic makes up the whole of Self.
    Tilt the flatness of me; see one aspect;
    Turn again, I am a new universe.

  105. Science fiction v. fantasy,
    it’s what becomes of all our dreams,
    just make sure to never cross the streams!

  106. MiskMask says:

    This is based on a combination of prompts, including today’s napowrimo. I apologise for its length but I hope that you enjoy reading it.

    DÉJÀ VU

    He rode in from the east on Turner’s Hill Road,
    and from the south before that.
    A hunter, a warrior when necessity ruled.
    A man of prominent dimensions,
    the measure of him was the meter of his gait.
    He dismounted the old grey directly into his wife’s arms,
    a once young woman who was round like the earth
    and her scent as sweet as apples and damp peat.

    “I’ve been away so long,” he whispered as heat rolled off him like rain,
    “It’s a nice day to start again.”

    She stretched up on her toes, and quietly returned his kiss.
    They embraced, watching the red moon rise into a sticky molasses sky.
    The stars blinked, constellations flickered,
    and Orion drew his sword from his belt in honour of the hunter.

    “Déjà vu,” said his wife watching the stars in the sky.
    “I love you, too,” he replied, mishearing.

    And so it repeated from then ‘til forever.

    The hunter riding in from the east on Turner’s Hill Road,
    and from the south before that.
    A hunter, a warrior when necessity ruled.
    A man of prominent dimensions,
    the measure of him was the meter of his gait.
    He dismounted the old grey directly into his wife’s arms,
    a once young woman who was round like the earth
    and her scent as sweet as apples and damp peat.

    “I’ve been away so long,” he whispered as heat rolled off him like rain,
    “It’s a nice day to start again.”
    … “Déjà vu,” said his wife watching the stars in the sky.

  107. De Jackson says:

    Take me to your

    Walmart,
    the little guy said.
    Walmart? I mooned.
    Walmart,
    he crooned. But why?
    I sighed,
    and the chartreuse guy
    replied,
    Simple, earthling, can’t
    you see? It’s the one place
    on this bluegreen rock
    where no one will
    notice me.

  108. ME AND YOU AND NOSFERATU

    How’s about we go out for a bite,
    me and you and Nosferatu?
    We could spend the night in bloody delight,
    me and you and Nosferatu.

    I have no fear of me or you
    in me and you and Nosferatu,
    but that overbite will drain us all night,
    me and you, not Nosferatu.

    And so let’s stay in bed all day
    just me and you. Nosferatu
    can go suck swamp water and die,
    leaving just me and you. And that neck of yours.

  109. Science fiction and fantasy

    discuss relevant
    social issues and mores
    from safe distances
    choose wisely alien geek
    blue boobs or technology

  110. Mike Bayles says:

    Aliens

    They sent probes
    to invade my body
    and live in every throught
    to study my ways.
    Love,
    what a concept
    they ponder
    this connection of a human mind
    and heart
    heaven like truths
    to elevate the human race.

    Inside of Me

    Thoughts of a friend
    live inside me
    in stillness
    in soft whispers
    echoes of word
    share,
    ponderings of love
    and fantasies
    of paradise
    elevating my state
    these heavenly truths
    connections to the human race.

  111. Mike Bayles says:

    Aliens

    They sent probes
    to invade my body
    and live in every through
    to study my ways.
    Love,
    what a concept
    they ponder
    this connection of human kind
    heaven like truths
    to elevate the human race.

    Inside of Me

    Thoughts of a friend
    live inside me
    in stillness
    in soft whispers
    echoes of words
    shared,
    ponderings of love
    and fantasies
    of paradise
    elevating my state
    these heavenly truths
    connections to the human race.

  112. A couple telepathic ones. Sometimes I think I read too much SF+F.

    Cyberotics
    (mostly a rondeau)

    I see the Singularity:
    our minds entrained with binary,
    all ones and zeros. Yours and mine
    will make equations, wrapped with twine
    that’s data-driven, clarity

    of vision. My sincerity,
    dressed up in neural finery:
    can you conceive the braided line
    I see? They sing

    arrhythmic songs. What a rarity
    we’ll be: strange loop, our parity
    re-paired. Our brainwaves in one sine.
    I’m ready for when we align:
    utmost familiarity,
    I seethe. I sing:

    Vipākaphala III
    (shadorma)

    Mason jar:
    my mind was opened
    when I put
    herb-of-dreams
    under my pillowing tongue
    and let it dissolve.

    Pandora,
    your stories don’t list
    awareness
    as a vice.
    They should, for when ajna blinks
    after a long sleep.

    I should have
    known what was coming.
    So many
    illusions
    torn to pieces in my head,
    falling down from yours.

  113. ASCENDER

    I sat dreaming beside
    my puppy, under the big old oak.

    Was it the tree who told me
    the secret of flight?

    Cut loose from your vowels,
    a voice said. Kick

    off your boots, take a deep
    breath, swallow sky.

    Throw off the ballast
    of grammar, and re-imagine

    alphabet. Cling to an ascender –
    f for flying,

    with those graceful tail-letters, y
    and g, as stabilizers.

    Lift off from the roots of language.
    Soar above treetops,

    looking down at all those human
    words.

  114. posmic says:

    The Long Commute

    Finally, the train filled up
    and began to leave its tracks.
    Some old people screamed,
    but most of us sat back,
    continued our reading, or
    looked out the window as
    the world receded below us
    and the air turned thin,
    bright, and then dark, as if
    we were riding into night.
    I don’t know how it is
    we breathed; all I can say
    is something happened
    with the air pressure.
    Our ears popped,
    some babies cried, but
    then everything was
    fine. Quiet. We all
    wondered where it was
    we were going. We still do.
    It’s been three weeks now.
    The conductors feed us,
    there are games each day,
    a TV show or a movie
    sometimes. We can
    call home, but few of us
    do: What is there to report?
    We’re still in outer space.
    It’s dark outside. There are
    stars. Those voices from home
    grow fainter by the day, and
    we want to be ready when
    the train makes its last stop.

  115. De Jackson says:

    In this Poem

    you can taste verbs. To love
    is butterscotch with a touch
    of Tabasco, see? You can
    touch sound, because it’s in
    -digo now, and corrugated,
    but satin on your fingertips.
    Hold this whisper; grasp that
    sob, caress it against your
    cheek, speak in vermillion
    and scarlet and jade and
    amber. Pick hope and fly
    and laugh and shine from
    silver slivered sparrow trees,
    breathe an amethyst breeze
    and sink your toes into the
    giggling longing in your lungs.
    Become these sweet and spicy
    hues, and sprinkle their
    sugared sands into your
    soul. These senses are no
    longer invisible, immortal now,
    in their own fresh skins. Dig in
    and savor this salted sapphire
    song. Press these licorice heartbeats
    to your palm, and follow them home.

  116. cindishipley says:

    SOUL PLANES (Ghazel)

    You know, I’m just so gorgeous I can’t walk out my front door,
    even the elevator guy wants me.

    A plane is an abstract surface with infinite width and length
    zero thickness and zero curvature.

    I have a multiple personality friend who loves me
    with each of his 28 personalities.

    The soul has often been deemed integral or essential to consciousness and personality,
    and soul sometimes functions as a synonym for spirit, mind or self,

    I gave the small child in him an Oedipus complex
    and the father in him wants to marry me.

    The soul is said to function in a distinct enough way from both the spirit and the psyche
    that the terms should not be treated interchangeably.

    My other friend is bi-polar and he is on medication
    but he still goes manic over me.

    I have no soul plane because I am full of
    curvatures, thickness and width.

    Two kings stopped fighting over food
    and started fighting over me.

    A soul plane is full of stainless passion like when men kiss
    my hands and linger just above the glove to smell my sweetness.

    Cindi says: I have eaten from the food of thought enough today.

  117. pmwanken says:

    unrestrained daydreams
    running through mind and meadows ~
    whispered smiles appear

    2012-04-17
    P. Wanken

    Happy National Haiku Day!

  118. Dare says:

    Lottery Winner

    Ten Million Dollars!
    The sure way to Happiness!
    Shattered illusions.

  119. Stories
    I
    Mary Anne’s first day volunteering
    at the Castleberry nursing home,
    she met Katherine in room 107.
    Katherine said she liked it there
    because they kept a horse.

    It seemed unlikely to Marry Anne
    but, she thought, maybe it was so.
    “The chef in the kitchen feeds him.”
    Hmm, Mary Anne thought.
    “He has a stall for him in the kitchen.”

    What could she mean by that?
    “He’s been there a hundred years.”
    Well, okay then. Mary Anne patted
    Katherine’s hand and came back
    weekly to hear her stories.

    II
    Prince Xavier of Hollingsworth
    wanted nothing else but to marry
    Lady Margaret Anita. However,
    she was promised to the Duke
    of Abington, a cruel wizard.

    Xavier plotted night after night
    on how to rescue the lovely lady.
    The night before the wedding,
    he coerced the chef to let him in.
    He proposed elopement to Margaret.

    Unfortunately, the Duke caught them,
    cast a spell on him, the chef and Margaret.
    to live forever: Xavier as a horse,
    the chef to care for him, and Margaret,
    now Mary Anne, whose memory was erased.

    III
    Xavier whinnied as he saw Mary Anne
    out the window of his stall by the kitchen.
    But the only one who knew about him
    was the chef and Katherine in 107
    and no one believed her stories.

  120. Jane Shlensky says:

    Rhapsody on a Robot Lab

    I watch them working in the halls
    on rudimentary robots, brains on wheels,
    and odd appendage here and there
    to lift objects a child could do.
    But those young scholars are onto
    something that will change the world
    given a layman’s vision and direction
    toward the practical needs for beings
    that are battery-run and mute, little
    helpers for humanity, mechanical
    drudges to do what we would rather

    Not. I’m watching the most mundane
    of labs, imagining that bright new day
    when a small quiet ambidextrous device
    will be my maid, butler, gardener,
    laundryman, masseur, barman, and chef,
    a dance partner with steely grace,
    who speaks only the words necessary
    to insist that I look ten years younger and thin.

  121. Imagineering,
    through which mice and men converge.
    Fairy tales come true.

    • In honor of my nephew Brian who has just been accepted to work in that venue at Disney! Way to go Kid!

    • zevd2001 says:

      Walt,

      TY, I tried to play it both ways Science Fiction and update the folktale that has the same story line, but in the ‘riginal, he goes down to the seas, and rises to the shore . . . centuries later. Interesting how the Japanese come up with the sense of time as modern Sci Fi writers, no?

      Zev

  122. zevd2001 says:

    UTAMARO REVISITED
    after a Japanese folktale

    The doctors told his parents that
    he needed space, to travel there if
    was going to live on Earth. Young as he was,
    too young, yet
    his life depended upon it. Off light years away

    in another galaxy, encapsulated, suspended,
    the years melted, a byte by byte
    in cryogenic time, the years . . . ready
    for the rock of his dreams. People said
    it was not only the same
    atmosphere as the Earth, but better,
    flourishing in his new found sunny skies,

    he married had children and grandchildren,
    a pillar of his community. It was time to pay
    respects to his venerable parents. Not so smart,
    the Elders warned, So far away, so long ago,
    what makes you think you will return . . . I know,

    I promised them when I left. I would make me sad
    not to see them. The Elders closed their eyes,
    How do you know they are still alive . . . Does it matter,

    even if they rest on a shelf in a Temple. Still
    it would grieve me not bow before them. The Elders sighed,
    What makes you think that you will return . . . I will

    no matter how I come back, no matter how. I must
    if that it is the last thing I do. The Elders bowed their heads,
    They gave you your life, let them see you once again . . .
    The space ship carried him from his universe
    to where he was born, back
    byte by byte, careful as always

    landing, upon the Earth. He looked young,
    seeking out his mother and father. Nobody
    anywhere that he asked knew about them,
    looking a little older. Then

    a small boy bowed. Come with me. Carrying
    a cane, Utamaro stood at the Temple gates,
    hobbling . . . suddenly shrinking, gathered in
    into a box, barely above a whisper, he said,
    Take me back to my family where I belong.

    Zev Davis

  123. Michelle Hed says:

    Dust

    She was tiny –
    her eyes, not vacant,
    but on some other plane
    shielding her
    from the harsh realities
    of this world.

    Some would call her fey –
    she made them uncomfortable
    and she knew it,
    her small smile
    turning the corners
    of her lips up.

    She could make them tremble –
    ridiculous really
    for she was so small
    but she has presence
    that catches their attention.

    She means them no harm –
    she is simply living
    her life
    with the memories
    of ten thousand years.

    She is a fairy –
    she evokes awe and fear
    which war within human breasts,
    she hopes the awe will win out
    but occasionally fear must be met.

    She was tiny,
    and some would call her fey,
    she could make them tremble
    but she means them no harm,
    she is a fairy.

  124. Nancy Posey says:

    Secrets

    His fantasies were fueled by fashion shows,
    Victoria’s secrets exposed—in feathered wings,
    stiletto heels, and little else—along the catwalk.
    She left him downstairs, dreaming, while upstairs,
    she soaked in a hot tub, bubbles covering secrets
    she disclosed long ago. She dreams of days
    before she needed candlelight and shadows
    to disguise the marks of time. She longs,
    instead, for kisses, smiles, and secrets, holding
    hands, those old flirtations chronicled in diaries,
    not even whispered to her closest friend,
    or days when love was young, spent side
    by side at the sink—she washed, he dried, waiting
    til she told him where to put away each dish,
    as if she were revealing secrets hidden
    deep within the chambers of her heart.

  125. Jane Shlensky says:

    Practical Myth-making

    Sometimes I dream while I’m awake,
    a fantasy I know too well,
    that every inch of home is clean,
    the wine is breathing and the smell
    of dinner simmering is so fine,
    I’m ready for that glass of wine.

    I have not asked for anything—
    no “to do” lists or calls for praise,
    no nagging, mumbling, cursing fate,
    for you’re my thoughtful perfect mate,
    a man who helps and will not sulk,
    who conquers dust, a cleaning Hulk,

    but sexy, handy, fun, the works!
    This fantasy has all the perks.
    You think I need a buxom nymph,
    magical steeds, and fairy dust
    to render fantasy sublime?
    You make your myth, and I’ll make mine.

  126. dextrousdigits says:

    Holy Rainbow Orbs

    In my darkest night
    Sacred whirling Lights
    Bless me

    Shine sparkling waves
    to light my path
    Beam bubbles and suds
    to wash away murky fears

    Warm my shivering heart
    caress it soothingly
    Ancient fingers knead this ache
    and rock this infant

    Weave ecstatic energy
    a hymn with rhythm
    that once again allows sad feet to dance.

    Dance the Holy circle,
    wheel whirling.
    Dance of Connection
    Dance of illumination
    Dance of radiant inner joy

    Bless me
    Sacred Lights.

  127. Dare says:

    Jules Verne

    Wrapped in white Moon-breath
    Dreamed wild stories of Man there
    Fiction-to-Science

  128. Ber says:

    A world beneath me

    I went swimming one day with friends
    We couldn’t wait to get in
    The sun was making us warm and hot
    I felt like I was going to melt on the spot

    So I took off my clothes and dived right in
    Only me in my bikini
    And we all began to swim
    It was nice and cool
    I loved it so much

    So we decided to race
    I said go and off we went
    Down the river we go
    I found that I was left behind
    Then all of a sudden
    I was there and then I gone

    I was dragged down under the water
    Into a twirl hole
    I tried to pull myself out
    But I could set myself free

    I could see the bubbles flow from my mouth
    I could hear myself cry out
    Could hear myself shout
    Then a hand reached out to help me
    But it came from below the river bed
    I thought this to be strange

    But I was glad of the help
    Then I felt myself pulled through a tunnel of light
    With many beautiful colours
    Made me laugh with delight

    I was turning and tossing as it pulled me through
    When all of a sudden I was in a world of new
    I looked around there were people everywhere
    Little ones large ones strange ones as well
    Some had two heads others had three
    Some had wings and feathers on their knees

    Some had green skin and blue skin too
    Some had ten fingers and ten toes
    While others had none
    At first I was wondering had something happened to humanity
    But then I realised I was in a new world
    No one else could see

    Welcome my child whispered a fairy type girl in my ear
    Were glad you could join us in our little world here
    Who are you? What are you? How did you get here?
    We were about to ask you the same thing my dear
    We have been here since the beginning of time
    We have been looking up at you all from our scope

    Can I look at what it is you see?
    Of course you can my dear
    So as I looked I could my friends were worried about me
    I told this strange little people
    That I would need to return to those who love me

    Of course you can any time you like
    But I wanted to run around for another while and ride the chocolate bike
    And fly above the candy clouds
    The sugar trees too
    The fizzy water that filled the walls
    Was of colours such as baby blue
    The sky was dazzling with glitter
    The grass was soft and bouncy to squeeze
    Oh I wish I could stay here and play on the wafer trees

    Its time to go my dear but come back anytime
    Just don’t tell anyone about us here
    We don’t want others to find us
    We know you’re good and caring
    Thank you for sharing
    Your time with us here
    Now go home my dear

    I was sucked through a coloured glass it had a tunnel attached
    When all of a sudden I was in the race again
    Like nothing ever happened
    But instead of been last I was at the winning line

    From that day on I knew where I belong
    I thanked them everyday
    For letting me into their little world
    I promise I come back some day
    So I visit often and they come up here too
    I am glad I know these little people

  129. Earl Parsons says:

    Today is Tax Day
    It’s time to pay the Piper
    As he robs us blind

  130. 88 MPH

    Go back to the day when others would play
    and all you did was write all day.
    You had a passion, felt it churn,
    feel no pain; feeling no burn.
    Stretching and flexing your wit
    and your words. Those other pursuits
    were just for the birds. And still,
    you dabbed as poet, songwirter, fool…
    think yourself learned,
    think yourself cool, trying to woo
    whoever would have you, if you’d only
    asked her. But no flux capacitor
    is there for your pleasure,
    the Time-space continuum
    untouched for good measure.
    Nothing can change what has already gone
    and life just is what it is, isn’t it?
    Fantasy and sci-fi can gleam in your eye, but with life
    “you’re going to see some serious shit!”

  131. Michelle Hed says:

    In honor of National Haiku Day…

    galaxies spin
    to us they are unmoving
    star gazing

  132. AC Leming says:

    I laughed out loud when I read today’s prompt. I’ve written at least one sci fi poem a day since April 2nd. Guess I can go the fantasy route today, along with my other theme, adultery. Bwahahahah! Now I just need to type some of them up and post them. :)

  133. Marianv says:

    A Green Farewell

    The frog threw away his crown.
    He was finished with those
    Phony royal charms which had
    Accompanied his princely status.
    “Pure fiction,” he muttered as he
    pried open his footlocker and removed
    hammer, nails, a hacksaw and screw-
    driver. No need to panic. He was
    On his way; back to his beloved
    Marshland with its smells of sweet decay,
    And the companionship of his own kind.
    Home – if he had to tip-toe on eggshells
    All the way…

    In those frosted hours
    Before the dawn, no one noticed his
    Royal red robe flung against the wall
    Of the palace. No on heard the patter
    Of his flat amphibious feet. The princess
    Was occupied in the royal tower, examining
    The local directories, intent on contacting
    Every prince with the name of “Charming.”

  134. WHAT IF CHUCK CUNNINGHAM HAD LIVED?

    Mrs. “C”, Mrs. “C”.
    Excuse me for asking, but
    weren’t there three?

    What happened to Chuck?
    Why chuck the oldest?
    A chilling demise; it was the coldest.

    Not given a chance to have a life,
    to give you grandchildren,
    have a hot wife?

    Not growing up to be a bore
    working all day in Howie’s
    hardware store?

    Giving the “Fonz” a kick
    in the ass, teach him some manners
    give the show class.

    Not given the chance,
    not given a nibble.
    Off in the sunset, Chuck had to dribble.

    What if Chuck Cunningham had lived?

  135. Ber says:

    Visitors from Stars

    As I lay in the field
    Staring up at the stars
    Along came something strange
    A huge glowing light
    I felt like something was not quite right

    There was a noise coming out of it
    Like a strange tunnel sound
    I was shocked I was stunned
    I was truly left profound

    This strange image in front me
    Had me froze in my position
    I could feel my mind twitching
    It was like it was taking over my mind
    And no one was in sight
    The light it made me feel blind

    All of sudden I was lifted from the ground
    Pulled from all I knew
    I felt my body go up
    I was in the sky
    Been brought into this light

    When I finally got there
    No one to greet me
    Only a strange looking thing with lots of hair
    Who are you I asked in a scared crackled voice

    It didn’t answer me
    It didn’t look nice
    It smelt very funny
    Like gone off cheese
    Please don’t hurt please oh please!

    It laughed out loud
    Like it found me amusing
    I looked at it as if to say
    This is all very confusing
    Where are you bringing me

    What do you want with me
    You will soon find out my dear
    This was all to scary
    We finally got to where he wanted me to go
    I was put on a piece of material
    It resembled wood

    We brought you here
    Because you care
    You’re the only one of your generation
    Who wants to share?
    Others want it now
    Don’t want to wait
    So we want you join us
    And live with us here

    But what about my family
    They need me to
    Ah that’s okay we have them here along with us too
    Then out came her parents
    They looked so different
    They had extra eyes and ears you see
    Kind of like a elf

    They pointed in the air
    Will I look like this?
    Yes you will ok I don’t mind
    I want to be myself
    So off they went for this new life you see
    Shame it was only a dream
    They put me back because I shouted for ice cream

  136. DOUBLE FANTASY

    John Lennon died,
    cut down from this world
    in a whirl of what ifs
    and how comes.
    Leave Yoko out of it,
    she fit him in every way.
    We’re not discussing her today.
    But, what if Chapman had missed the bus?
    Between us, happiness isn’t a warm gun,
    it is having dreams to live,
    and pieces of peace to go
    around like an LP (or CD, or DVD).
    Maybe he would have finally gotten through.
    Maybe the Beatles would have reformed.
    Maybe John would have lived to a ripe old age.
    If only we would have let him.

  137. Beth Rodgers says:

    Suspended in parallel dimensions
    Surrendering to a greater evil
    Time peruses space
    Acknowledging the submission
    Of one force to another
    One purpose solidified.

    Alien to most
    The concept of this struggle
    Becomes a pensive drought of serenity
    Wielding its unyielding power until
    Everyone and everything
    Becomes saturated with
    An unsightly distaste for truth
    Or justice.

    The greater good is for naught
    In that moment
    That instance.

    Yet there is always at least one
    Who rises up
    Fights the prepossessing qualities
    Of the opposing vehicle
    And engages in everything possible
    To uncover
    Why honor
    Why valor
    Must win out.

  138. RJ Clarken says:

    Who Speaks

    “Never ignore coincidence. Unless, of course, you’re busy. In which case, always ignore coincidence.” ~The Eleventh Doctor, The Pandorica Opens

    The Tardis travels time and space:
    trajectory with no retrace.
    Adventures make coincidence
    of each dimension and each tense.

    The Doctor’s often taken with
    some ancient monster or a myth
    or alien. He’s our defense
    of each dimension and each tense.

    He says, “Ignore coincidence,
    if busy or just on the fence.”
    It’s his advice with common sense,
    for each dimension and each tense.

    Companions tend to argue but
    they know the Doctor knows who’s what
    and what is Who, so they commence
    to new dimensions (future tense.)

    ###

  139. Nancy Posey says:

    System Restore

    If I can reset my laptop back to a day, a week ago
    or more, restoring what was there before some hacker’s
    mischief chewed its way through files and programs,
    why can’t I hit a reset on my life, returning to some day
    before the doubt crept in, before I spoke those words
    that haunt me, haunt you still, before that phone call,
    that false move that left me on one side of the chasm,
    you on the other. Time traveling to familiar terrain,
    marked by trust, fidelity, where we didn’t weight our words,
    I’d pack light for that short journey to a not-too-distant past,
    bringing only notes–what not to say, what not to do.

  140. Earl Parsons says:

    Come this November
    All incumbents voted out
    What a fantasy

  141. IF ONLY…

    My daughter Andrea,
    born too late, but a great head
    on her shoulders. Carries herself older
    and loves to drive all over.
    I can see it clearly nearly twenty-two years
    after the fact. Back then she’d be
    in her glory, a story she’s recounted
    from wishes and dreams.
    It seems she really missed the chance
    to be “Grandma’s girl”. Mom never drove.
    Andrea would have loved to take her places,
    making memories in her mind,
    only finding a hole where she wished was whole.
    No control over her fate. Mom died too soon.
    And Andrea was born too late.

  142. Imaginalchemy says:

    “A Villain Finds out Why So Many People Play Online Fantasy Games”

    In the online game “Land of Legends,” a worldwide phenomenon,
    There was a NPC villain called Lord Necros of Magnolon.
    The game’s greatest enemy, players of all clans
    Came to test their gaming skills, to defeat that man.

    But one day Necros thought, “I’ve had enough!
    I’m tired of this ridiculous fairy-tale stuff!
    I was only programmed into this game to be beaten
    By all these video game addicts, these cretins!
    I’ve heard talk about all the wonderful things
    They have in the real world, they live like kings!”
    So Necros, in secret, set about creating a glitch
    In the game, so with some player’s body he could switch.

    And it worked! With a level 65 player (named OrcBane)
    Necros transmitted himself into the poor guy’s brain
    He looked around at the unfamiliar bedroom,
    And said, “I’m finally free! In this world, I’ll bring about doom!”

    But how quickly Necros started to change his mind
    When there were some unexpected truths to find.
    He was forced to go to a minimum wage 9 to 5 job,
    And he lived with OrcBane’s parents, who called him a slob.
    He was made fun of by the guys from the college frat,
    And with no magic powers, he couldn’t fight back.
    And every girl, cute or not, turned him away flatly
    (most likely due to his uncontrollable acne)

    So he went back to the computer, logged into the game,
    And switched places again with the now mentally-scarred OrcBane.
    When the other NPCs asked him why he gave up reality,
    Necros said, “There’s a reason everyone plays this fantasy—
    Sure, I may die thousands of times in this virtual place,
    But at least I don’t have to put up with jerks face to face!”

  143. “A Dragon in the Garden”
    For Scott

    He has a garden.
    It’s the mirror of his dreams.
    Elves wonder there,
    and a human harpist, singing.
    There is a Good Presence
    in the trees.

    Then the Dark Mage comes
    with a book of spells in his hand
    and pronounces the twisted rune-words
    over the severed head of the Dragon,
    whispering, “What have they done
    to you, my beloved?”

    The whole earth shudders.
    The severed head opens its eyes.

    “A Thief in the Mirror”
    For Abigail

    She has a covered mirror.
    When she dares to uncover it,
    it’s the doorway to another world.

    A thief is there
    where her reflection should be,
    staring back at her.

    He’s all in black and white,
    but he’s fascinated by her color.

    Jane Beal

    • Imaginalchemy says:

      Ooooooh…I love the dark tones of these poems. It reminds me of how fairy tales were originally penned (not the watered-down Disney stuff). I had chills imagining a severed dragon head’s eyes opening. Love it!

  144. The Return of the King

    The book was an epic, I remember,
    and yet the movie feels even longer.

    We make popcorn halfway, and go to pee,
    but the boys are determined to finish

    a journey we began two days ago.
    They both sit transfixed, plastic sword in hand,

    while their sister lies curled up on the floor,
    dreaming of dinner with Orlando Bloom.

  145. MR. T AND ME

    Lawrence Tero and this poet fellow,
    hanging low and ready to go
    cross Atlantic to the states.
    Our fates have been sealed,
    a deal on stateroom berths… but wait…
    what on earth am I doing
    hanging with Mr. T at any rate?
    Deckside on her maiden voyage
    I straddle the railing over the bow.
    Holy Cow! We’re on the Titanic!
    “I’m the King of the World!”
    How cool! And all haircut can say?
    “You goin” down, Fool!” What a pity!

    • Imaginalchemy says:

      How bizarre…yet “Titanic” would inarguably have been so much cooler with Mr. T in it. (he would have just towed the Titanic to safety himself, swimming all the way to New York). Awesome poem!

  146. ely the eel says:

    One Can Hope

    Hard to imagine, really,
    those twin sisters in Oslo,
    working in separate labs
    and coming up with cures
    for the common cold,
    both on the same day,
    the same sisters who earlier
    found the AIDS vaccine
    and the silver bullet cure
    for all those types of cancer.
    Incredibly, their cousins
    in Somalia and Syria
    were the ones who discovered
    the peace pill,
    the same cousins who
    snuck it into the world’s
    water supplies in 2012.
    Awesomely, their mother,
    the Nobel laureate for
    All Good Things
    is the one who drew up the plans
    for food distribution, worldwide.
    Hard to imagine, really,
    a world before that time,
    where people were starving,
    even though there was
    an abundance of food.
    Their father is only a carpenter,
    but, oh what a carpenter.
    He’s the guy who designed
    those inexpensive, off-the-grid houses,
    taking the homeless off the streets .
    What a family, the Mann’s.
    Hard to imagine, really.

  147. The Albatross That Never Lands

    Black and red sails on the horizon
    and the distant clatter of sword on shield,
    but the Captain says we’ll not die today,
    not this nor the next,
    for we are chosen,
    we are valiant
    and we will sail the oceans
    and vanquish foes,
    long after the great cliffs crumble
    and the ice caps melt.

    When the seas rise,
    we shall rise too,
    rise to glory,
    rise to victory,
    rise to fame and fortune;
    to be ensnared only by the women
    we will love and leave,
    the blood of their husbands still wet on our blades
    and once more we will sail forth
    and follow where our spirit guide leads us.
    Never knowing the course he’ll set,
    trusting only with blind faith
    in the Albatross that never lands.

    Iain

  148. JanetRuth says:

    Fantasy Ball

    It seems entirely
    Out-of-character
    For this logical
    And practical mother
    To don glass slippers
    And an evening gown
    As her pumpkin chariot
    Draws her to town

    It does not seem
    Like her at all
    To attend
    a midnight ball
    With the rest of her kind
    Parental royalty
    Dressed up like they were
    Twenty-three

    We had forgotten
    Until given a chance
    That we were weightless air
    As we danced and danced
    Until the tolling clock
    In the old church tower
    Reminded us primly
    Of the waning night-hour

    We tipped the door-man
    Or was it a lion?
    Climbing onto the bare back
    Of a prancing white stallion
    With a flourish we departed
    Sailing over the trees
    Oh Pegasus, tell me kindly
    What they put in the punch…please?

  149. barbara_y says:

    Why would they contact us, the aliens, when
    it would just upset us.  We like things normal.
    We have our orbit, whirling through the seasons: 
    from Super Bowl, Mardi Gras, and March Madness 
    to the after Christmas sales.
    We and all our baggage on the moving sidewalk,
    making desultory conversation or having outright brawls,
    pass through this neighborhood and that.  Next
    it’ll be the Lyrids, and while we’re distracted
    by the flashy lights, invisible green punks hop on,
    steal some bandwidth, and stock up on beer
    and Cap’n Crunch.  We keep going, none
    the wiser, unperturbed.  They party on.

  150. Dear Moosehead,
    Holy Roswell Batman!
    Who were those guys and what have they
    done with the real Twins? Body-snatched
    by aliens is my guess. They are supposed to
    come here, tremble with fear and lose
    majestically! Our boys better get their
    game on tonight or there’ll be some more
    abductions going on. Maybe we should send
    your cousin up to give them a pep-talk,
    or whatever that is she does for the Rangers
    and Knicks! She sure does have a way about
    her – some style and no shame. Be a shame
    not to make those Twins wish they were orphans.
    pick ya up at 6 – bring money for beer.

    Yours not feeling the force,

    Ringo the Howler

  151. Hannah says:

    ~LA-LA-LAND~

    Once upon a lit, lightened day
    in the land where seven moons shone,
    both day and night, their light gleamed
    upon the reddened teeming seas,
    swarming with underwater bees;
    whose hive where the colony resided
    was five hundred yawning fathoms below.
    Rising on the dawn of rock-ridden shores
    were tall, glorious trees of purple sort,
    long lavender branches extended
    stretching just to where they intended,
    their rich, crimson roots reached deep
    where they stood dancing subtly,
    softly with creation’s perpetual music.
    This world contained all of the typical
    with a twist on their color, numbers
    and varying purposes and abilities;
    for all things impossible were possible
    all dreams under the sun could be done.
    The beings of this planet were peaceful
    their skin, every hue of the firmament,
    born with discernment and knowledge
    college had no meaning or place.
    There was no such thing as erasers
    for there was no such thing as mistakes.
    Praise for the creator was foremost
    and school was every waking moment,
    the creatures and peoples lived in unity
    impunity was stressed and lawless
    they were blessed for the unspoken
    code of conduct was writ on their hearts,
    it was the start of a new, wishful road.

    ©H.G.@P.A. 4/17/12

  152. JRSimmang says:

    My emotions,
    little more than circuitry
    derived from binary,
    powered from a battery
    and burned into my cortex,
    are the reason for my failings.
    My flesh,
    silicon
    dyed with pinks and peaches,
    does not feel your touch.
    My hands,
    held together with steel and
    cables
    can crush the skull
    of your neighbor.
    When I laugh,
    my clapboard stereo shakes,
    an “Addam’s Apple”
    bobs and jumps
    in perfect mimicry.
    You wouldn’t notice anything different,
    just an odd unsettling,
    like walking into your home at night,
    in the dark and feeling the shadows move.
    For I am a shadow,
    a case,
    I digest the sun and the moon,
    my energy synchronized with the tides
    and self-propelling like the
    watch around your wrist.
    I do not sleep.
    I do not weep.
    I am more than you.
    I will be forever and ever.

    • Scary! “feeling the shadows move.” Eeek! Good one!

    • JRSimmang says:

      This is my first draft for an epic poem:

      We stood alone on top of Mt Eufrat, Diaphene, the midnight moon, rose steadily above
      the slipping silky zenith.
      The stench of the world beneath us reeked. The pounded flat soil, stained with the
      verdant ichor of the behemoths and the red-black blood of our comrades,
      still shook with the oncoming howls and clawed fingers.
      We stood three against a hundred score or more.

      Our horses, long since dead, lay among the slain, newer corpses but dead nonetheless.
      They’re rotting flesh, consumed by the enemies of Greyfall, putrified the air,
      stilled our breath, stagnated our tears.

      My sword hung heavy in my right hand. My left clutched the silvery blue glow of
      harnessed anger.
      Wenderfil leaned, breathless and hollow, on his pike.
      Rengar, eyes half- moons, shrouded himself in a shell of diaphanous vapor.
      The horde stared, mouths agape, slavering and ravenous as only demons could be.

      The days before us were gone. We stared into the void and found ourselves wanting.
      We were it. Finality. The border to the afterlife.
      “It was and will continue to be a pleasure.” My voice creaked and moaned as the pauldrons
      about my shoulders.
      We sagged and inhaled the semi-sweet stench of midnight bodies.
      The Horde charged, a terrible tempest of wound muscle and grit.

      At first, the light was barely there, indistinguishable from the glint off my ever-ready steel.
      Our lives were in the hands of the light that was not the absence of dark,
      an intervening angel of preservation.
      Hands in fists in concerted vengence
      we had only to think once.
      Kill or be killed is the best we had been offered.
      My thoughts turned to blinking congruence. I had but one motive and that motive had but me.
      We were one with the dark lady, the taste still sour in our mouths.
      And we fell.
      It was not but an instant.

      We awoke in slumber, halfway here and halfway there, sometime between the
      dawn and day.
      Our bodies were no longer of mortal substance.
      We cannot think to what end we had been ravaged, only that the dear enemy did not
      make us to suffer long.
      The Grim Walkers, heads hung to their torsos, trounced and we fell.
      Around us were the whispers of our slain, our bretheren, our kin.
      It was not our time. It was not theirs. We had to stand once again.
      Before us, shrouded in a perfect white, was a pathway.
      Before us was perhaps the path back to the living.
      Before us was only more death and pain, but we would welcome that over this depressing warmth.

      We began.
      Our legs, freed from the constrictions of meety thighs and torn ligaments, propelled by the desire
      to once again suck in the air of a turgid battlefield, led us up into the chambers of sorrow.
      Around us sprawled the half consumed souls of men, wan to remove their shame, and cross with
      the last breath they breathed.
      “Come, come my brothers. Feast here with us.” Their voices only a distant shadow.
      The walls melted and dripped simple lines of anguish.
      “We need not stay long here.” Rengar nudged us onward.
      “My love!” wheezing and disconnected, Wenderfil’s lady in white grasped a ghostly hand at his
      waistcoat, her voice a mixture of untuned intonations.
      “Harmony?”
      “Wenderfil,” I pulled him in a close embrace. “We are short for this life. Do not dream to stay. She
      is no longer your wife.”
      Rengar seethed, his face white in agony.
      “Stay if you must. We will continue without you.”
      Rengar stooped, suddenly aging. He held his wife in his arms, drifting through shades of life.
      Then, he stood, her body no more than a cloud and a memory.
      “We shall continue.”
      Upward we pressed, feeling more and more of the scarring pain, a reminder of the days ahead.

      Once more we entered a realm unknown and unseen to our mortal eyes.
      Before us sat a great throne, weighed heavily with gold and sunlight.
      The atmosphere was visible, glistening with spirit.
      “The dawn of man began with me.”
      We were brought to our knees.
      “You were the first and the last.”
      We were shaken to our bones.
      “You shall be uplifted and the world of man shall fall.”
      Our armor became empty vessels.
      Our strength renewed, our resolved quickened, our vitality restored, a shout,
      “Now return, great heroes of Feraldun. You shall arise as beings of light.”

      The field remained the same.
      The Grim Walkers hovered over a gently smoking pile, weebling and wobbling on their uncertain
      legs, thin and grey.
      “We have come to end you, our infamous prosecutors. We will take thee to hell.”
      Wenderfil released a triumphant windfall. Rengar lashed out a silver-blue whip. I stood, eyes fixed on the remaining thousand.
      Their lives became mine. I breathed in their subtle vigor. I consumed their overfat souls.
      And we stood, atop Mt Eufrat, feet on the festering foes,
      their mouths lolling over another, eyes lost in the sea of transgression.
      We could sleep.
      We did.

  153. Marie Elena says:

    Outnumbered

    Just when you think you’ve killed them
    they return
    fierce in their procreation.
    Suspicious little beings on a mission
    we know nothing of.
    Never let your guard down,
    for we are outnumbered.
    Lemony yellow cheerful heads
    feigning innocence.
    Bad seed.
    Aliens, all.

  154. Linda Voit says:

    Resistance in Futile

    My marriage is an adventure punctuated
    by the iconic Captains of the USS Enterprise,
    James Kirk, who will be born in Riverside, Iowa,
    March 22, 2228, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

    “Beam me up!” Or, if things aren’t going so well
    “Beam me up. There is no intelligent life here”.
    “Engage!” as we shift to drive on the first leg
    of a vacation. “Make it so, Number One”
    when it’s time to take on a new challenge
    at work, or laundry. Problems? Well,
    that is the trouble with tribbles. Running late?
    Put it in warp. Not feeling understood.
    How about a Vulcan mind meld?
    And almost any occasion is lightened
    with a halting Kirk quote.
    “I – am – so – sorry – I – meant – to –
    put – that – away.”
    But I’m probably most grateful to Jean-Luc’s
    handy “I’ll be sure to note that in my log.”

    Linda Voit

  155. At the palace gates, a knight rides in,
    falls off his horse, bruised and battered —
    he’s the one that got away.
    “Tempura!” shouts a guard. “I
    don’t want to die!”

    Baron Bragg looks up from
    a sumptuous plate of drunken squirrel
    dons his chainmail, wields a sword.
    This is not a good day
    to die.

    A long line of macho men in black
    lining the hillocks
    outside the castle.
    Chef, grab a cleaver —
    jester, goodnight!
    This is where we fight
    perhaps to win
    perhaps to die.

    Two men of various sizes
    leaning on a walking staff,
    solid oak, made for two,
    offer their services:
    “We are your last hope,
    dear Baron.
    Trust us, use us
    or die.”

    Decades later
    the farmers still tell
    fables of the Baron and
    his heroic last stand.
    Battered and deep-fried,
    Bragg still won the day:
    “If they want my squirrels, it’s
    over my dead body!”

  156. Once Upon

    Princess Cinder, the Beauty and all the rest
    have finally aged to the point of gathering
    wisdom, like all good crones.
    Not surprising, they are fed up with the
    Charming, who has stopped slaying dragons
    moans and groans about how their princess has changed
    while they sip their mead and tell raunchy stories to the knights.

    What’s a Princess to do?
    Well, in this fairy tale, they gather together,
    form a support group for Princesses who
    need more than simply standing around looking beautiful,
    They turn the tables on their lords and masters,
    winning over the people, while beginning a new regime
    of peace, love and real happily-ever-afters!

  157. PKP says:

    quantum imagination

    They were legion 
    those who looked at
    glimmered starlit mystic
    sky and poured from
    jeweled vials of sparkling
    knowledge mixtures glimmering
    phantastical  paginations 
    streaking comets through minds
    reflected, refracted, related 
    shimmering through the enfolded
    unseen territory of untold new
    crannied minds sparking 
    floating filaments of particled
    possibility lighting the cresting
    wave of coming…on the flutter
    of flickered eyelash ponderings 

  158. TAKING KING JAMES TO SCHOOL

    Me. All of 5’7″ and a jump shot
    that is no jump and totally shot
    taking on LeBron. Setting me up
    for three all day. In a way, I had it coming.
    The dumming down of basketball
    comes with a great lesson.
    There’s no messing with the King.
    Huh…wha…give me five more minutes…
    ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz………

  159. All Praise Roddenberry

    To think, if it weren’t for the plastic boulders
    and the skimpy costumes on women
    with hair piled high, wearing stilettos
    Luke Skywalker many never have found
    his place in the Force!

    Where would the world be today
    if there had not been a Vulcan, who
    fingers spread in an ancient Hebrew sign
    had not blessed us all?
    Live long and prosper!

  160. “Mining the Oort”

    Sending probes
    deep into the Oort
    testing
    balls of rock and ice
    for poetic ideas
    but
    I run into
    the good sister of Nemesis
    and the juxtaposition
    of physical science
    and Greek gods
    damages my probe
    beyond repair,
    leaving
    any poetic worlds
    undiscovered.

  161. RJ Clarken says:

    A Cheery Chap

    …and would ye be believin’ in
    the wee fae folk who dwell within
    the trees and hills and e’en the air…
    and places that ye know not where?

    One thousand elfin shapes abide
    and ‘though I know they oft must hide
    I met one – ‘twas a strange affair –
    from such a place I knew not where…

    but ‘twas the stuff of dreams, mayhap.
    This fairy was a cheery chap
    who gave me an enchanted pear
    to follow him I knew not where.

    I went with him. We whooshed away.
    We landed in his world of fae
    and danced ‘til dawn wi’ nae a care:
    a magic realm I knew not where.

    ###

  162. “The Zone”

    Any minute
    this hour will end
    but the fluid nature
    of time
    plays its hand
    and this moment
    loses it’s viscosity
    and stops,
    leaving me
    the only thing
    moving
    in a standstill world.

  163. PowerUnit says:

    A skcubrats net
    enshrowds in dual
    from the planet
    Droces Arual

    The decorated soldier
    Snotroh Mit
    fires his retsbolder,
    a direct hit

    The alien happy
    from capturing him
    drinks a black dapi
    and slithers a tfosorcim

  164. THAT LANDO CALRISSIAN IS A BAD MOTHER…(Watch your mouth)

    Billy Dee how far you’ve come,
    long, long ago in a galaxy far away,
    Bingo Long is just a dream,
    Gayle Sayer will always be third,
    and does anyone even drink
    Colt .45 anymore? For sure
    someone as smooth as you
    could make deep space
    a very cool place. Chewbacca
    as your posse and the Falcon
    back in very cool hands.
    To be your wing-man would
    make me more attune to my
    inner chill. “Can I call you Bill?”
    Shut your mouth! (I’m talking about Lando!)

  165. WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE

    The final frontier is here.
    Right before our faces.
    It offers trace glimpses
    of where we’re headed.
    Dread and fear are not
    options we choose. It is clear
    that the direction in which
    we move will prove
    a whole new world awaits us,
    Our wildest dreams
    have become our destination.
    We have seen the future,
    and it is us

  166. Jabiru says:

    Light
    Explosive streaks
    Beautiful, playful, lethal.
    Who to defend earth?
    Deathrays.

  167. Khara H. says:

    Oh Voyage far from home

    This voyage across the stars
    makes us foreign to ourselves.
    No more knowing our own bones—
    they are water, spilling
    between our teeth, pouring out
    before these ivory towers with their fire
    in their eyes and in their hands,
    drawn over us with strings.

    These bonds, like grass rings
    woven in iron fibers, melt into our skin,
    turn our baobab flesh from brown
    to blue and deepest night
    —against the starry sky we disappear—
    we rise to hell by morning. Home

    they call us river bound.
    We bring home salted fish,
    watch them dance over coals.
    We hold our children in our laps,
    our husbands to our chests—watch them both rise.

    No more.
    No more.

    Tonight we are alien,
    marked by foreign hands,
    spoke in foreign tongues,
    crossing over into this world
    of elephant tusk men
    promising everything,
    everything, new.

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