I was without internet access for several days, so these poems didn’t get posted to the Lexington Poetry Month blog. But in keeping with my promise to myself this month, I’m posting them here in a block.
Day ten prompt: blinking light
[untitled]
Criminy! Turn off the blinkin’ light, will ya? Geez, it’s the middle
of the night, already. Some of us have to get up
in the morning.
Where were ya, anyway? Out with that
Maurice or one of his friends? Hey, I can ask,
can’t I? I gotta right.
What’s it to me? A fella gets woke up like this
gotta right to ask questions. If ya’ don’t like it, next time
don’t turn on the blinkin’ light.
Day eleven prompt: charging
Battery
He has a reputation for running up debts she cannot pay
Too easily he sees red and lunges headlong at anything that moves
Something restless in his blood calls out to her worst judgment
She feeds off the energy of his palpable buzz
Day twelve prompt: sheep
Sheep
All we need
is a little direction
All we want
is green pasture and still water
All we like
is to do what we please
All we have
is you
Day thirteen prompt: plan
[untitled]
I’m sitting out on the deck, trying to enjoy the lovely morning (bird song, light breeze, etc.). Someone is doing yard work on the next street, and they’ve been using something with an obnoxious gas motor for more than an hour. Except for when I’m mowing the lawn (which I’d frankly rather do with a non-motorized push mower, but that’s a topic for another day), one of the major benefits of yard work is the peacefulness of it. I don’t really see the point of spending so much outdoor time using a machine so noisy I have to wear headgear to protect my hearing. And the electric gadgets are bad enough; the gas-powered ones are a downright public nuisance.
Enough rant for now. I think I’ll go check my sprinkler out front.
Day fourteen prompt: beer goggles
Grasping at straws
It goggles the rind – that thick protective
layer of flesh (to cushion against impact)
encased in a slightly tougher skin (to control
moisture loss) – how such bizarre writing
prompts come about. I think perhaps
beer (or the consumption in great quantities
thereof) is somehow involved.
Day fifteen prompt: utilities
Pithy musing
utility is but
one
tiny
letter
from futility
The Daily Compost 