NaPoWriMo--DAY FIFTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Try to recreate the sounds and timing of a pop ballad, a jazz improvisation, or a Bach fugue. That could mean incorporating refrains, neologisms and flights of whimsy, or repeating/inverting lines or ideas – whatever your chosen musical form would seem to require!

And Further More—Get Off My Lawn!

I’ve said this so often that it prolee makes you sick;

Rap is just bad poetry somebody set to myoozick.

All these guys with chains and knives all tryna make a rhyme.

They’ve got no clue ‘bout meter or the rules set down by time.

They wouldn’t know a sonnet if it punched them in the face

Calling rap words lyrics is a horrible disgrace.

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWELVE

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a triolet. These eight-line poems involve repeating lines and a tight rhyme scheme. Note: I didn’t stick strictly to the form but did have fun with the pattern.

Turnabout

The streets are empty, the people inside. 

The world is doing a big lockdown. 

Noise is gone. Quiet’s amplified. 

The germs take over and people hide. 

The empty streets do have an upside. 

Creatures enjoy the kid’s playgrounds. 

The wild which the tourists occupied 

Is now alive with animal sounds.

Ouch

This poem isn’t by Chekov. 

It isn’t even by his wife. 

It’s not a vision from above. 

I wrote it standing by the stove. 

It’s not inspired by lost love 

But makes a point sharp as a knife. 

While reading it you’ll see that you’ve 

Lost twenty seconds of your life.

NaPoWriMo--DAY EIGHT

NapoWriPo PROMPT: Peruse the work of one or more of these twitter bots, and use a line or two, or a phrase or even a word that stands out to you, as the seed for your own poem.

Crazy Man Dies*

I met a traveler dressed in camo green. 

His two vast legs had pockets down each side. 

His rifle was a cold killing machine. 

His sneering face had greenish paint applied. 

I asked him why he wore the combat gear.
“I’m hunting fuzzy wabbits in the wood,
Or maybe just a porcupine or deer..
But right now a loo would do me good.” 

I said, “You think out here you’ll find a loo?
Ask any bear around and he will say;
‘Right on the ground is where you leave your poo.
It greens the grass as soon as it decays.' " 

He wrinkled up his lip just like a king.
“If I did that may lightning strike me dead.”
A cloud let loose and struck him with a zing.
Nothing beside remains but melted lead.

*Ozymandias--(see what I did there?)

NaPoWriMo--DAY SEVEN

NapoWriPo PROMPT: Today our prompt is an oldie-but-goodie: a poem based on a news article.

Two Thousand Ducks 

At a fancy South Africa winery estate 

They’ve hired a force of two thousand ducks. 

Do they sample wine with discerning tongues? 

Do they know Sauvignons from Merlo deluxe? 

No, they join in a daily duck parade 

And march all the way to the vineyard fields. 

There they gobble up bugs and snails and pests 

To protect vine growth and improve the yield. 

They’re allowed to poop as much as they like. 

The soil is improved by the poultry muck. 

So if your Chardonnay has a hint of dung, 

Don’t turn up your nose, just blame the ducks.

NaPoWriMo-DAY THREE

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: First, make a list of ten words. You can generate this list however you’d like – pull a book off the shelf and find ten words you like, name ten things you can see from where you’re sitting, etc. Now, for each word, use Rhymezone to identify two to four similar-sounding or rhyming words. Once you’ve assembled your complete list, work on writing a poem using your new “word bank.”

It’s A Mystery 

Nigel is a pirate with an orange wooden leg. 

He’s not sure how it got that way. It started out as blue. 

Maybe when he bet his friends that he could drink a keg. 

Or perhaps the time he downed the grog in sandy Timbuktu. 

It could have been the week he spent in foggy Montreal, 

When he dared the guys to find a use for orange paint. 

It might have been the third pub on the evening of the crawl 

Where he soaked his leg in mango juice without the least complaint. 

He knows it wasn’t Paris where he didn’t tip the waiter, 

Or the night in Louisiana when he bought bones from a witch. 

But it could have been that time retreating from an alligator 

When he hid in sweet potatoes that were lying in a ditch. 

There was that day in Brisbane when he met the kangaroo. 

He fed it peas and carrots and a side of eggs and ham. 

Things were going well until it ate his only shoe. 

Nigel may have hit it with a plate of duck and yams. 

He’s tried to clean the orange off with lemon juice and toothpaste 

Which didn’t work, and neither did the Mr. Clean or soap. 

To try and scrub it down with rum would only be a booze waste. 

So Nigel just accepted it or probably lost hope.

THIRTY DAY CHALLENGE--Day Twenty-Three

A photo a day for 30 days

The Terrible Thing About Cindy

The terrible thing about Cindy
Is she packs a powerful punch.

I learned this yesterday at school
When I tried to take her lunch.

 I had only meant to tease her,

To make her squeal and twist.

The last thing I expected
Was her calculated fist.

 She socked me in the stomach;

She’s more than slightly deft.
And sent me stumbling to my knees
As she snatched her lunch and left.

 After that I was quite sorry

I had tussled with a pro –
I wish my friends had told me

 That she practiced tae kwon do.

~ Barbara Vance

DOGGY DAY AFTERNOON

Warmer days have melted our snow down to lower levels, but there is still plenty of the white stuff up north.  That’s where we went Saturday to watch the not-so-serious part of the Annual American Dog Derby.

 We arrived after the big dogs and their sleds had been down the 40-plus mile track and back.  Now it was time for some kid fun.

 The Junior Race was followed by the Skjoring Potluck Race...

...in which one to two dogs assist a cross country skier along a four mile track.

 This team left with the most speed and control in my opinion. 

 While the racers were out we did a little people and dog watching.  Almost everybody brought their dogs for the day.

 Almost everybody.

 There were dogs of all sizes and breeds.

 Here comes back the fast team…still with plenty of hustle but those tongues are hanging out.

 The return of another one of the Junior Mushers to plenty of applause and high fives.

After the sled races the crowd moved to Main Street for the next set of events.

 First were the Kid Snowshoe Races.  The racers were grouped by age and strapped into snowshoes and set off.

 There was some very serious competition.

Next came the Mutt Race wherein dogs with no training were harnessed to a dog sled and encouraged to pull their friend down the track.

 

 Some dogs did okay with a little encouragement.

 Others were having none of it.

 Then there were the dogs who were just happy to be there and expecting a treat at any moment.

 Just for fun here is some action from the snowshoe races.

The last ones on snowshoes were the Mormon Missionaries.

 First the Sisters.

 Then the Elders. They had been assisting all day with the events and deserved a moment to show off.

 It was a great day to get out of the house and enjoy the sun and the end of a long winter.

 Kids and dogs.  What’s not to like?

ONLY THIS AND NOTHING MORE

Several times during the day, the campers and their leaders gather at the amphitheater for events.

 While the attention of most of the people is focused on proceedings and announcements…

Our camp mascot, Poe the Raven, has other things in mind.

This evening he found an open Dutch oven filled with foil-covered baked potatoes.

 He knows that shiny stuff means chow.  He wasted no time separating the food from the foil.

 He’s a big, big bird and these spuds were just beak size.

 Over a period of ten or fifteen minutes he appropriated several potatoes…

 ...and stashed them for later.

 As the evening progressed all the groups had skits to perform.

 On the other side of camp, Poe found a table with several loaves of fresh bread, also wrapped in foil.

 These campers had been late getting their meal prepared and had left it to be eaten after they attended the evening campfire.

 Poe knew he’d hit the jackpot.

 He proceeded to rip and fling foil as fast as he could.

 Warm garlic bread is on the evening menu for the raven family.

 He flew off with as much as he could carry.

 And came back a few more times…

 For extra helpings.

 When the campers came back to finish their meal they found this.

 Ravens are much smarter than Goldilocks.  They don’t fall asleep in the bears’ bed.  They grab and go.

 The next morning while DH and I were cleaning the pool we saw the ravens were back with their youngsters.

All the campers had gathered for breakfast.

 While the girls were feasting on pancakes, eggs and watermelon,..

 …and the robins were eating worms…

Poe was teaching his family how to raid camp sites.

 The kids were paying close attention.

 Another generation of ravens was learning survival skills.

 “Someday, Son, this will all be yours.”