My 30th posted poem. My 32nd written poem of the month.

Poetic Asides prompt: Write a “Letting Go” poem

Bad Day

You rolled a 2
for strength.
Let go
of all your inventory.

No,
you cannot re roll.
This is not a game.

You
will be carried
by the dwarf.

He will not like it.
Neither will you.

A response to the prompt on Poetic Asides.

And suddenly, a gun

appears in the hand
of the protagonist.

Chekhov’s agony
can be heard
as a screw
gets twisted
in the doctor’s
skull.

May is International Victor Hugo Month

I first discovered this observance in May of 2008

I actually forgot to celebrate it in May of 2009. Which, all things considered, is pretty sad. I’m not going to go into too many details on all the things I’m considering, but if you follow the links, and connect the dots, you should figure out the depths of this sadness.

Well. I won’t forget this year! I will celebrate! And I encourage others to do so. Let’s spread the message. May is International Victor Hugo Month!

I had forgotten that I had started out this month counting the “posted poems” – not the “written poems.” On April 4th and April 6th, I wrote poems, but didn’t post them, and didn’t increase the poem total. Later in the month I refrained from posting poems I’d written, but posted old poems in their place, and increased the poem total.

But if I am counting correctly, I have already written 30 poems this month.
I still plan to write a poem tomorrow and Friday.

Poetic Asides prompt was to write an ‘end of line’ poem.

EOL

A friend asked
for comments
on a poem he wrote.

I said I reached
an unexpected ‘,’
at end of line 10.

It’s been eight years
since
I coded professionally –

I still think like a computer.

***
2 more days, 2 more poems

I wrote both of these yesterday, as a result of yesterday’s prompt at ReadWritePoem – to write an acrostic based on a word that is ‘part of you.’

Beshalach is a transliteration of a Hebrew word. It is the name of the Torah portion I had to read and deliver a sermon on for my Bar Mitzvah – in 1982.

Beshalach

Bondage at our backs, the Sea of Reeds
Enveloped the Egyptians, as we
Sought safety, and opportunity. G-d
Hearing our cries of hunger, made
Available quail and manna, provided we
Left none behind; Some didn’t listen.
Amalek attacked us from behind, where our
Children and women were vulnerable.
Hashem was merciless in response.

***
Exodus 17:14

G-d instructs Moses
to record the events.
“Memorialize Amalek
as I will blot out
the memory of Amalek.”

Even today, we seem
To make the most noise
Over what we’d like forgotten.

***

Caught Up!

I was reminded of this song this morning when a story was told about a national conference of executives of Jewish community organizations where a speaker made a reference to “a bunch of Shylocks.”

I suspect the poor speaker had no idea where the phrase came from, only its general meaning. Either that, or they had major league cojones.

Knowing a word’s etymology can be important.

Similes Should be Fluid

The river
like a baby
had a bottom
susceptible
to floods.

Expanded version

The Bottom Song

A river
like a baby
has a bottom,
and the bottom
of a baby
is susceptible
to floods;

so the people
who built houses
on the bottom
of their baby
should have known
what was coming
unless they had no babies.

– bridge (over troubled waters)

A volcano
like a baby
has a bottom.

Today’s prompt at Poetic Asides: Write a “More than Five Times” poem

Remember: The narrator and the author of the poem aren’t always the same.

More than five times a day

I wish I’d done something
differently
a decade or two past

I check my email
hoping to find
something interesting
happening
for someone else

I look in the refrigerator
and see only
the beer, cold cuts,
and milk carton
of questionable age.

ReadWritePoem’s daily prompt: Keep an ear out for the first sentence (or even word) that is said to you after you read this prompt. Build a poem around it.

The first poem I wrote was a double haiku.

Shut-in

My cat refuses to talk
and I’ve been inside all day
without phone calls.

I need a few items
but chatting up the sales clerk
feels desperate.

***

I finally went to the store – to pick up the items referenced. And the first sentence I heard is the title and refrain of the following sick, twisted and disturbing poem.

you don’t want it anymore

the quarter you handed
to the magician
who made it appear
inside the mouth
of the girl who never
brushes her teeth

you don’t want it anymore

the birthday cake
you were looking forward to
but then your brother
extinguished the candles
with spit

you don’t want it anymore

the gerbil your uncle
watched for you
while you were on vacation
how can I say this
so you will understand

you don’t want it anymore