Catharsis

For FOWC: Cathartic, I have an acrostic poem. Sometimes, what is really cathartic for me is to type a free-verse, ridiculously-honest, stream-of-consciousness poem into a draft but then not to post it. When that happens, I’m often tempted to post it anyway, but in the end I decide not to let my freak-flag fly that much. 🙂 Another thing that I find cathartic is to throw ice cubes outside, into the concrete, while yelling about whatever is bothering me. It’s actually rather fun, although I usually do it when I’m alone so that I don’t get any weird looks from my family. 


Cry
And rage,
Taking aim,
Helping
Acrid
Rancid emotions
Taper
Into a
Calmer stage.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming….

Some governors will have blood on their hands. If they think staying home is safer, they don’t realize that supposed refuges can run red with the blood of the despairing. Unsympathetic people call those who bring this fact to light “covidiots,” but I think that what’s more “covidiotic” is having a monolithic fixation on one issue. Depression and other issues make people really tired of Blursday following Blursday, wishing that “anthropause” would take it’s claws out of all the broken hearts.

Your regularly scheduled poem has been interrupted by this thing, because my brain has short-circuited.

Also, I know that the word “red” is supposed to be for a Christmas writing challenge, and this is the opposite of Christmassy.  This was also inspired by a prompt at Poets and Storytellers United.

mistletoe is green,
Santa’s hat is red,
there are other things than Covid
which can make us dead

There’s your poem. 🙂

Sick of Abiding This

I wrote this quadrille for DVerse this morning, inspired by the threat of a new stay-at-home order from California’s governor. Hopefully, it won’t happen, but governors like this one love their power, so… we’ll see. I am also sharing this, two days late, with the Writers’ Pantry.


You might think I’m a prancing pony,
Yet there are war-horses, chariots inside.
I have generally a docile spirit,
Yet can be a general, military guide.
There are overreaches I cannot abide:
No one gets out of Earth alive,
So I’ll go down fighting.

(Dis)obedience

For this week’s paint-chip poetry, Linda wants us to choose only 2 or 3 paint chips and to write a tanka. The theme is “obedience.” I actually obeyed that, at least mostly. 🙂 I tried to make it funny, or at least punny.



Disobedience:
I will not make lemonade
From lemons — I’ll make
Coffee, eggs sunny-side up:
Since I’m going to break, fast!

What Are You Going to be for Halloween?

This is for Tourmaline’s Halloween challenge. Mask is the word for today. I really needed to write this, so thanks for the prompt, even if no one likes the poem! haha

What are you going to be for Halloween?
Does it matter, is there a party?
Is there any trick-or-treating with the kids?

Are there any kids or are we all
Older than our years by now?

What are you going to be for Halloween?
Will people wear a second mask?
What costumes have we been tricked into wearing?

I will be the most terrifying horror:
I will wear no mask and be a human being!

I don’t hate face masks as much as some people, but the longer this goes on, the more tired I am of it. Even if the masks work perfectly, what is it worth? I want to see people’s smiles. I want to be hugged. In the past 7 months, I can count the number of people I’ve touched on one hand. And I am not doing well. Nobody gives a damn about the collateral damage from these policies. What is this worth?

</rant>

My Self-Portrait Looks Too Much Like You

Today for DVerse Poetics, Sarah invites us to come and take a selfie. So, this is a self-portrait poem, which I wrote today and which I was and am unsure about sharing but whatever!


I have my father’s eyes.
Blue, which can pass for green
Depending on what I’m wearing —

I have my father’s eyes
In their color, their appearance,
But far from their substance

Because I see beyond the surface:
He is content with the placid sea,
He has fooled himself into thinking

He rules — he drowns reason
In another liquid, functions,
But how well does he think he’s hiding?

He has tried to sweep
It all under the rug — this family keeps
Secrets — don’t tell me I don’t see!

I have my father’s eyes.
Blue — for the sobering insight
Does anyone else sense the tsunami?

 

 

This Feels Odd

I just got switched to the block editor today, and it definitely feels odd. https://fivedotoh.com/2020/09/03/fowc-with-fandango-odd/ That’s the link for FOWC: Odd, since I can’t figure out how to do a better hyperlink (the kind that was so easy in the classic editor). I should probably consider myself lucky, since it seems like, for whatever reason, my blog was among the last to be switched over.

I had very little inspiration for poems today, several ideas but little more than phrases. This is extremely odd for me because, usually, even if I don’t post, I write 4 or 5 poems a day.

I suppose I’ll try to write a poem about this awkward new editor….Sharing also with DVerse Open Link

OpenLinkNight #273

These blocks do not impress,
Why the heck, WordPress?
I hope I’ll learn to use
This goofy thing, or choose
Somehow to go back
To “Classic” editor, whack
This into internet oblivion.
To disgruntled voices listen:
If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,
Why won’t the coders nix it?

Altered (A)isle

For the Saturday Mix: double take. We are given a set of homophones to use in a piece of writing.

aisle – walkway
I’ll – contraction of “I will”
isle – island

and

alter – to change
altar – raised centre of worship


Down the aisle and to the altar,
She did always dream to go;
But the dream she had to alter:
Fiancé was a no-show.
He had fled to a tropical isle,
Unbeknownst to the bride-to-be;
“I’ll have revenge on one so vile”
Said she, relieved, single and free.