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So this is it. Day #30 and I have six words left from Read Write Word #15. I have more than thirty poems. I have made some wonderful new blogging buddies whose poems I will continue to read and the prompts have been amazing.japan-2009-293

Keep writing!

This lunacy must end

It was less like hardscrabble
more like a magical mystery tour.
Thirty shiny pennies jingle
in my piggy bank of poems.
The company was wicked.
I’ve travelled on different cadences
and I close these thirty days
with nascent aspiration.

And to update my Naisaiku:

today’s the last day
thirty blossoms are blooming
A RED LETTER DAY
thirty poems are written
let’s have a party!

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(Microsoft media clip)

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Day 18 of NaPoWriMo with Read Write Poem.  Somehow or other I missed Carolee’s lexical prompt on Thursday. I had fun with this, although it’s only a fragment which I hope to develop later. The word I chose was ‘fugitive’ and I think the following  quote from Shakespeare may have been in my mind as I framed my first line:

Shylock: … you call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,

(Shakespeare: ‘A Merchant of Venice’)

Fugitive

The locals call him drifter, hobo, bum,
apostate, absconder, escapee,
renegade, rebel, runaway,
I favour émigré, exile, political refugee.
Interrupted, disjoined, divorced, unplugged,
cleft from a branch of an ancient tribe;
ephemeral, short-lived, a shifting silhouette;
a canvas for fantasy.

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Thursday is Space Travel Day
(or what I did instead of writing an instead of poem)

I thought that the bees
disappearing was a fiction
in the last series of Dr Who
but apparently it’s true

The bees are disappearing
and I’m on a mission to find them.

I’ve taken a short cut
through a  wormhole,
avoided  a black hole,
and suffered acute anxiety
adjacent to a singularity*.

I’m drifting towards
a green nebulosity
an optical illusion
makes it look like
briny sea.

There are no hotels
or swimming pools in space
but I’ll be jubilant
when I return to earth
with a hive of honey bees.

*.astrophysics hypothetical point in space: a hypothetical region in space in which gravitational forces cause matter to be infinitely compressed and space and time to become infinitely distorted

The words from Read Word prompt #!4 are in italics. i’ve used all the words I didn’t use on Monday plus ‘briny’ which i misread as ‘bring’. There are links to more poems here.

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Well, this is my response to the 50 word challenge. I was too idle to ask a friend, face to face or virtual, so my words were pretty much what I could scavenge from unused wordles and word prompts (random or otherwise). Jill over at RWP has invited us to be introspective.

Ruminations on Life

Life so far has been more like
a slalom than a sleigh ride.
What I need is a cerebral foghorn
to help me navigate the buoys,
a hiatus in which to lasso
the bucking broncos, then
I’ll be batting against all comers
until I collapse in a heap.

The bombardment
of inchoate ideas
will no longer crush me.
I will run like a fugitive
whilst paparazzi scour
the city streets
…if only in my dreams.

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3WW CXXX

As it’s almost another Wednesday, I’d better post last week’s episode of my continuing short story.

The prompt words are earnest, layer, reactive.

By now it sounded as if the mob would soon reduce the shop door to splinters.     Pierre’s response was reactive. ‘There’s an outside toilet in the yard. Go in there and lock the door, but first you need do unlock the back gate. I should be able to fool them into thinking that you ran straight through.’
Her earnest expression relaxed. ‘God bless you,’ was all she said.
He had just pushed her outside when one  voice rose above the others, ‘Open the door and give us the slut.’
Pierre wiped the layer of perspiration from his forehead before he replied.

You can read the previous episodes here and link to 3WW here.

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Eden relinquished, he hauled
his bruised cadaver
from the bog. He rode

on sunfish, soothed
his aches in ocean pools, kindled
a flicker to an incandescent glow.

The junk of centuries, he sorted
into piles; ammunition to malign
anyone brave enough to smite his intent.

Mischief in retirement: he could leave
greedy short traders and fly by night bankers
to rip-off bushed administrations and (Blair) witched principalities.

Old Nick is an English name for the Devil or Satan.

bushed (adjective): 1. exhausted
2. Autralia, New Zealand bemused: perplexed and confused.

witch (verb):  exercise witchcraft; to cause or change something by witchcraft

The Blair Witch Project is a film.

Join the poetry train here or by pressing the logo.train3

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