Category: Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology

Today’s prompt was a noir theme, so I twisted the elements of futurism, cityscapes, and absurdity.

The Snarkadelic Word Smith Awaits the Penguin Whisperer

Standing in the dark haze of the alley way.
Every breath sends a chilly fog into the night.
The stars long since blotted out of the sky by
Manufactured neon bulbs flickering in their
Inconsistent rhythms like an erratic heartbeat
Spooked by unknown sounds and thoughts
Unchained in incessant regurgitation
Lying awake at midnight between consciousness and dreaming.

The mind rambles on like the city streets
Never failing in their constant symphony of horns
The cries of those wandering souls long since
Forgotten by the society that claims to care
The politicians, photo ops, guilt-driven good deeds,
The jaded jerks with their assumptions of panhandling no-goodniks,
Passing by in their 400-dollar suits and brightly shined shoes.
Never giving second thought to the down and out.

Sleep is a luxury in these days of twenty-four hour shifts.
Electric suns destroying rhythms here since before time.
Machines built without off buttons are clicking round the clock.
Coffee cups overflowing endless refills of a caffeinated generation.
Walking past art and beauty in a haste, a waste, laser focused
On problems man-made and trivial while eyes grow beet red dead tired
In a race to see what machinery will wear down its rusted elements
In a final cry of acquiescence, its bones and bolts no longer fit to serve.

Taxis screaming down the street in hurried impatience
As I glance towards the calm dance of a paper bag flying in the wind.
The ever present ticking of the silver encrusted pocket watch
Hanging from the stranger’s trench coat, shakes me from my dream.
Here he has delivered in simple whisper the keys that unlock that next lexicon
Destined to pass from my weary fingers onto simple paper.
As if on immovable cue by some divine puppetry my reluctant muse, the penguin,
disappears into the night leaving this word smith waiting once again.

 
© 2013 D.L. Lang

This poem was published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

This poem was also recorded for the album Happy Accidents:

Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry

I’ll tell you what. NaPoWriMo is making me google poetic terms. Poetry has become so engrained in me that the terms learned so long ago have faded. Educational, productive, and fun!

And now, the prompt (again — the prompt is optional!). Because it’s the 8th, I thought we might try writing in ottava rima — an Italian form that, in English, usually takes the form of an eight-line stanza of iambic pentameter, with a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c.

Cardboard and Freedom

This week we remember slavery
By living eight days without bread.
What poor replacement for bravery
To stand and eat this matzah instead.
I long for a banquet more savory
As culinary complaints fill my head.
Next week I’ll enjoy some butter on rye.
Year round I am ever grateful that my people did not die.

 

 
© 2013 D.L. Lang
This poem was published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

Jewish Poems Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry

Today’s prompt was to write a poem consisting of declarative sentences, yet ending with a question. Here is mine.

Desires of Destruction

We all desire the same things.
We need nourishment and shelter.
We all require friendship and love.
So why do we manufacture bombs to fall from above?
© 2013 D.L. Lang

This poem was published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry

Today’s prompt was to create a cinquain, which has a specific rhythm and a five line stanza structure.

Today

Today
when I woke up
enclosed in loving arms,
no problems could ever invade
my heart.

As a bonus here is my micropoetry for #PenguinPoetry:

The Penguin Poet

If there are two things that I love,
it is penguins and poetry.
I would love to see a penguin write
some poetry for me.

 

 
© 2013 D.L. Lang

These poems were published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry

Today’s prompt was to write a poem of lies. Yes, these are all, unfortunately lies, but oh, what a world if true.

Plowshares

I awoke this beautiful morning
to witness an amazing sight.
The nations have laid down their arms.
Their peoples will no longer fight.
The evil dictator tyrants died of heart attacks,
mysteriously overnight.

The swords have been beaten to plowshares.
The guns, museum pieces now.
The nukes have been dismantled.
The tanks have rusted down.

Estranged lovers and parents
with children long since left,
now embrace their differences,
and hold tight to each others breast.

On this day no innocents died.
The children are all healthy.
On this day, no mothers cried.
With peace, we are all wealthy.

The doctors now have magic pills.
Cancer and AIDS—no more!
Starvation and homelessness
a thing of the past.
We each have more than we need.

Religions now work together in peace,
each praising God in their way.
Differences are accepted and celebrated.
Not a single mouth preaches hate.

No politicans are bought off,
They all improve the world.
Political parties have opened their eyes,
Shook hands on peaceful compromise.

No tornadoes strike the plains.
No tsunamis wreck the shores.
The earth no longer quakes.
The sunset and sunrise paint love in the sky.
And rainbows adorn the lakes.

©D.L. Lang 2013

This poem was published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

Peace Poems Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry

The first day of NaPoWriMo! Today’s prompt was to use the first line from another poem and riff on it. I chose Allen Ginsberg’s “Kaddish”:

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.

downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph

the rhythm the rhythm–and your memory in my head three years after–

See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15307

I”m no Ginsberg–could only hope to be one tenth as good a poet. It being the 7th day of Pesach, I was going to wait, but it also being Yizkor, a time for remembering those you lost, I’ve decided to post this anyways. Ginsberg wrote his epic poem in honor of his mother, Naomi, z”l. Mine, well, thank G-d, I have not yet lost either of my parents. Mine is for a friend. My best friend. Nat, z”l

 

Perpetually 26

Strange now to think of you, gone without a single goodbye, while I walk on the sizzling pavement of downtown Enid.
High school reunions in the blazing summer heat and I’ve been up all night,
typing, drinking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to remade mixtapes,
a pale comparison to old dusty cassettes now spun out to oblivion,

but cherishing
that last bit of handwriting. Screaming your life to me with new ears,
but why didn’t I
listen?
Aimlessly searching notebooks, childish scribbles for one last hint of you.

And now–your memory in my head three years after.
Awake my soul from this bad dream!
That I might hear your soulful strings serenading strangers in the symphony.
That we might both have made it out alive!

And I stood, shouting, “Look!! Be grateful, you fools! Your best friends are alive.”
I am minus one.
Minus one big gaping hole in my soul.
Oh regrets!

You are everywhere, haunting high school halls, pedalling through muddy sidewalks once yet to be constructed.
Twins from two families–so different, yet so alike.
They know not what they have.
Platitudes.
Platitudes.

And I, almost 30.
And you.

Perpetually 26.

 

 
© 2013 D.L. Lang

This poem was published as a part of Abundant Sparks. Dig it? Grab the book:

Poems from the book Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology Poetry