2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

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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309 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

  1. Sara McNulty

    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.

  2. Sara McNulty

    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.

  3. just Lynne

    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

  4. Bruce Niedt

    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!

  5. eljulia

    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….

  6. eljulia

    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

  7. Brian Slusher

    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.

  8. Janet Rice Carnahan

    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!

  9. Janet Rice Carnahan

    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!

  10. Walt Wojtanik

    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.

  11. Domino

    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

  12. Domino

    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

  13. cstewart

    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?

  14. Tracy Davidson

    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.

  15. Tracy Davidson

    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.

  16. De Jackson

    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.

  17. D_Alloftheabove

    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

  18. J.lynn Sheridan

    “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.

  19. Buddah Moskowitz

    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
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    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,
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    As you doze
    our patented DreamAlign process
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    The Unity 3000
    also data mines your
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    quarantining these aberrant
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  20. cstewart

    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

  21. Lana Walker

    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?

  22. Sharon

    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.

  23. Michele Brenton

    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.

  24. DanielAri

    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

  25. lionmother

    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.

      1. lionmother

        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!!

  26. foodpoet

    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.

  27. claudsy

    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

  28. claudsy

    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

  29. CyndiC1210

    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

  30. maggzee

    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.

    1. D_Alloftheabove

      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!

  31. claudsy

    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

  32. Imaginalchemy

    “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.

  33. Jackie Casey

    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.

  34. MiskMask

    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.

  35. De Jackson

    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.

  36. Walt Wojtanik

    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.

  37. Mike Bayles

    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.

  38. Mike Bayles

    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.

  39. Joseph Harker

    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.

  40. taylor graham

    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.

  41. posmic

    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.

  42. De Jackson

    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.

    1. Nancy Posey

      Joseph, I’ve always taught “synaesthetic” as a poetry term, but lately I keep running across it in literature–fiction and nonfiction–to describe a syndrome that affects people in an usual way. Fun poem, De. I can taste it!

    2. DanielAri

      Thrilling, De! Among these gemstones are gems of lines and thought.
      Really like “To love / is butterscotch with a touch / of Tabasco, see?”
      (Because of “see,” I can hear the whole line in the voice of the old movie actor Edward G. Robinson.)
      Also thought that would make a good haute cuisine surprise–you could sell it to the Art Factory Cafe.
      Also loving the music of “breathe an amethyst breeze”
      and the imaginal sense of “cheek, speak in vermillion”
      Mmm. Continuing to savor in repeated readings…

    3. Andrea B

      Okay “first line” kinda girl, “you can taste verbs” – WOW!!! I also enjoyed the “single squishy foot” poem on your blog and the nice feature by Vince! 🙂 Your poetry is always refreshingly beautiful. And thanks for the comment yesterday. 🙂

  43. cindishipley

    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.

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