Last Days of December: A Haiku Cluster

City bus crosses
a distant bridge in the rain --
end of the workday.

Highway is dotted
with cars like caterpillars
going north and south.

Full moon half revealed

looks as if it is wearing

a cloud as a hat.

Weakening sunlight
brightens bare trees on the hills --
two days past solstice.

Day before Christmas --

motorcycle Santa Claus

goes riding through town.

The only snowmen

are the inflatable kind

sitting on wet grass.

Delivery man

with a beard like Santa Claus

brings me my package.

Trees, as if abashed

by their nudity, now wear

necklaces of lights.

After Christmas trash.

Garbage cans line all the streets

with half-opened lids.

Clouds gray as the sky --
daylight wanes like the old year.
I am running late. - Jeff Barnes

Christmas, To Me

I 

I have no use for angels

singing carols in mid-flight.

Give me a colony of bats

flapping their wings in the night

and gingerbread men dancing

and swaying in the breeze

as they hang by their necks

from the branches of Christmas trees.

If you want to give me a gift,

don't send a partridge in a pear tree.

I would much rather have

a vulture in a bare tree.

I never understood the fascination

with that stupid little elf.

Give me a skull with a Santa hat

and I'll put it on my shelf.

I don't want a bearded man in red

to come down my chimney and say, "Ho ho ho!"

I want Vincent Price to come back from the dead

and read me stories by Edgar Allan Poe.

I love to hear the ghost of Jacob Marley

moaning and dragging his chains.

Christmas, to me, is Halloween

with tinsel and candy canes. - Jeff Barnes

have no use for angels

singing carols in mid-flight.

Give me a colony of bats

flapping their wings in the night

and gingerbread men dancing

and swaying in the breeze

as they hang by their necks

from the branches of Christmas trees.

If you want to give me a gift,

don't send a partridge in a pear tree.

I would much rather have

a vulture in a bare tree.

I never understood the fascination

with that stupid little elf.

Give me a skull with a Santa hat

and I'll put it on my shelf.

I don't want a bearded man in red

to come down my chimney and say, "Ho ho ho!"

I want Vincent Price to come back from the dead

and read me stories by Edgar Allan Poe.

I love to hear the ghost of Jacob Marley

moaning and dragging his chains.

Christmas, to me, is Halloween

with tinsel and candy canes. - Jeff Barnes

A West Virginia Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas
and Santa, in fur-trimmed camouflage,
got into his pickup truck
and backed out of his garage.

He drove to Twila's house
and entered without knocking.
Then he left a pouch of chewing tobacco
in her Christmas stocking.

His visit to Zeke's place
went without a glitch,
as he left a pair of truck nuts
for Zeke's trailer hitch.

Betty Lou's house was on a steep icy hill,
but Santa would not be daunted.
He drove up and left her a gift card
for the butt tattoo she'd always wanted.

He went to Billy Bob's backyard
where he left a shiny new grill,
and a big bag of charcoal
for barbecuing roadkill.

He crept into Bonnie Jean's trailer
as she was dozing in her sweats.
He left her a case of cheap beer
and a carton of cigarettes.

Bubba was in the county jail,
and on Christmas that was a drag.
But Santa slipped him a gift through the bars --
a brand new Confederate flag.

He waved and said, "Merry Christmas to all!"
But I won't repeat the words he began to shout
when he drove away and his pickup truck
hit a pothole, and the engine fell out. - Jeff Barnes

Denuded

Autumn
leaves.
Autumn leaves
left.
Autumn left.
Autumn left
leaves
on the ground.
Autumn leaves
left trees
naked
to the wind. - Jeff Barnes

Nocturne

More heard than seen
leaves

like low flying bats
flutter

across the rain soaked
street

this October
night. - Jeff Barnes

The Oldest Old Fart

Don't expect to find me lying in the back of a hearse.
My goal is to be the oldest living being in the universe.

I want to see my great great great great great grandchildren's graduating class
and live long enough to need a robot servant to wipe my ass.

I'm not eager to leave this life anytime soon,
at least not until I see colonies on all of Pluto's moons.

I want to grow 98,632 miles of white hair
and see every ocean on the planet evaporate into the air.

I want to celebrate the 500 trillionth anniversary of my birth
and see the extinction of every cockroach from the Earth.

I want to see what used to be Mount Everest lying flat
and be able to call Methuselah an impertinent young brat.

When, at last, the universe is entirely destroyed,
I want be be around to live peacefully in the void. - Jeff Barnes

Magritte Suite

This is a bit of verse inspired by the work of one of my favorite artists, the Belgian surrealist René Magritte (1898-1967).

If you are not familiar with his work, the Google image search is your friend.


Magritte Suite

Who am I? Where am I? What is this place?
I can see nothing but this apple
that hovers in front of my face.

This painting said it wasn't a pipe.
I know that was no joke,
because when I tried to light it,
it simply went up in smoke.

A castle atop a boulder
hovers in the air,
but nobody seems to know
how it stays up there.

Things look grim at the moment,
but please don't give in to despair.
A bird-shaped patch of bright blue sky
is calling to us from the air.

The sky is filled with men in bowler hats.
Nobody seems to know why.
Are they coming down like rain,
or rising into the sky?
Maybe they just hover
with no place to go.
Who are these well-dressed gents?
Nobody seems to know.


A man whose body is a cage
keeps a white dove
where his heart should be.
Another dove sits on a ledge outside,
and hopes he will soon
set his captive dove free.

She stands naked by the sea,
smiles and gently closes her eyes.
She is her own horizon,
and she slowly becomes the sky. - Jeff Barnes

Hometown

The streets look the same without me.
The trees seem just as green.
The creek runs through the middle of town,
but it never will run clean.

The people love their manicured lawns.
They love their sprinklers and their hoses.
They love to park in their three car garages,
and they love to look down their noses.

They never were my people.
I never paid them any mind.
My old house is like a corpse
that my spirit has left behind.

Everybody here looks unconscious.
They mindlessly go about the day.
The best thing about my hometown
is the road that led me away. - Jeff Barnes

The Myopic Cyclops

The myopic cyclops is on my TV
in black and white. He stares at me.
His single eye is scaring me.
He tells me what I fear to know
on his apocalyptic TV show.
He has one eye on his forehead.
He's speaking words of woe and dread.
He speaks of doom in my gloomy room,
illuminated only by the TV's glow.
He tells me things I'm afraid to know.
He has thick horn-rimmed glasses
with only one frame.
He stares at me with disdain.
I think he can look into my brain.
He has slicked back black hair.
He wears a suit and tie.
He glares at me with his menacing eye
and I can't look away.
I can't ignore what he has to say.
I'm stuck in my chair. I can't get away.
I changed the channel but he's on every station,
speaking of doom without cessation.
I can't escape his never ending narration.
I can't turn him off. My remote's gone dead.
I tried to look away but I can't turn my head
away from his image on the TV.
I have to watch him stare at me.
He is all I can hear or see. - Jeff Barnes


(This was inspired by a nightmare I had recently. I described it to my wife and she said, "Hmm, a myopic cyclops" so I took that and ran with it.

How to Make Cosmic Donuts (also in honor of National Donut Day)

Put a nebula into
a large bowl and
stir until the gases
achieve a creamy
consistency.

Roll out onto
a floured surface
to desired thickness.

Using a donut cutter,
cut into rings and
let stand for
1.5 billion years.

Fill a deep skillet
with oil and heat
to 27 million degrees.

Fry donuts in
oil until they turn
golden brown.

Drain on paper towels
and dust with stars.

Put a black hole
in the center of
each and let cool
in deep space
for 12 billion years. -- Jeff Barnes

Donut Variations (in honor of National Donut Day)

Every spring
my love and I
drive to the mountains
of Eastern Pennsylvania
to see the donut trees
in full bloom.

Legend has it
that no one who has
ever entered a donut hole
has come out.

When my grandfather,
relaxing with a cigar,
blew smoke rings,
the ghost of my grandmother
snatched them out of the air,
dunked them in coffee
and ate them.

Paleontologists digging in Montana
once found a fossilized donut
in the rib cage
of a Tyrannosaurus rex.

My most profound
childhood experience
was seeing Heaven
when I looked through the hole
of a donut shaped cloud. -- Jeff Barnes

Dandelion Sun (rewrite)

The days of
dandelion sun
are gone,
evaporated
like the puddle
that we pretended
was a piece of sky
that had fallen
into the yard.

The moon's
snowy owl
white light
shimmers,
projects shadows
that soothe
me as I embrace
them and
let myself
be absorbed
into their
endless night. - Jeff Barnes

A shameful commentary on our society

Police Car

A police car in
your rear view mirror
is an unsettling sight.

When I see one
I am ashamed to feel
relieved that I am white. - Jeff Barnes

Pluto

My head is like an H-bomb.
I feel my vessels constringe
like a ton of nitroglycerin
packed into a syringe.
I want to go to Pluto
because I belong on the fringe.

My skin is inside out.
Everything has gone astray.
There's nowhere I can go
and nowhere I can stay.
Please take me to Pluto.
I need to be far away.

There's a yawning void above us.
The sky is in pieces on the floor.
The ocean has exploded.
There are skeletons on the shore.
I need to be on Pluto.
I can't stay here anymore.

Everybody seems unconscious.
Everyone's a hypocrite.
Everything is sinking
into a pitch-black pit.
Take me home to Pluto.
It's the only place I fit. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku for May 11

It's Twilight Zone Day.
Nobody seems to know why.
How appropriate. - Jeff Barnes

Deluge

There are storm clouds on my ceiling,
an ocean on my floor,
piranhas in my coffee cup,
and an octopus at the door.

I've got oysters in the attic
and in the basement, a whale.
A shark devoured the postman
as he delivered the mail.

My carpet's turned to seaweed.
There are barnacles on the wall.
I plummet down the steps,
riding on a waterfall.

I float out of the doorway.
The water ferries me along
Carry me, river, take me away
to a place where I belong. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 30

It is the final day of this year's NaPoWriMo or, as I like to call it, Poetry Boot Camp. I will still be posting poetry here, but probably not on a daily basis. I need a bit of a rest. Anyway, today's prompt is to write a poem about a strange and fascinating fact.

Boner Part

In New York in 1927
the Museum of French Arts
had on display the penis
of Napoleon Bonaparte.

Most museum patrons
were not overly impressed,
so, guys, don't feel inadequate
when you get undressed.

One newspaper account
described it as a "shriveled eel."
Imagine how dejected that
would have made Napoleon feel.

Throngs of giggling people filed by
to pay it their respects.
Of course someone had to coin
the term Napoleon Complex.

Laugh if you must, but remember,
it was once inside the pants
of the man who, for ten years,
was the Emperor of France. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 29

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is based on the Plath Poetry Project's calendar, in which you choose a Sylvia Plath poem and write something in response to or inspired by it. I chose her poem, Daddy and tried to write something with similar repetitive rhymes and sense of despair. I don't know if it's any good or not, but here it is.



The Dream


I had no idea what I should do.
I was left without a clue
in the dream I had of losing you.
the sensation was entirely new.
It burned through and through,
this feeling I never knew.
The ground was on fire
and the sky was frigid and blue.
What was left of my mind
burst out of my head and flew.
My fingers couldn't grip
and my brain couldn't think.
Everything was thrown out of sync.
My balance was gone in a blink.
Summer birds died in the cold.
My head was too heavy
for my body to hold.
All the colors turned to gray.
I stuttered and puttered
but could not say.
Dragonflies turned
into birds of prey
as the vortex began
to spin me away
and drown me in my own
tears of grief.
I knew the abyss
would be my only relief. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 28

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a prose poem in the style of a postcard. Well, I tried to do that and used the Veg Head postcard pictured as inspiration. But I ended up writing a rhyming poem instead of a prose poem. Oh well.


Mr. Veg Head


Mr. Veg Head smiles benignly
with his pea pod teeth.
He's got a carrot for a nose
and onions for his cheeks.

His ears are ripe tomatoes.
That's why they look so red.
His hair is made of leaves that
grow out of his turnip head.

He tries to look debonair.
Don't fall for his disguise.
Just look at the evil glare
in his beady black bean eyes.

He tries to look refined
but he is quite the vulgarian.
I know he's a cannibal
because he's a vegetarian. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 27

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem based on a Tarot card. I seem to have a problem following directions to the letter, so I wrote mine based on two Tarot cards, The Fool and The Moon.

The Fool and the Moon

They call me a fool
for following my bliss,
though it leads me to
the edge of an abyss.

They say I'm deviant,
that I've gone astray,
for when the sun rises
I look the other way.

They say I am weird.
They think I'm a loon,
because I shun the sun
and look to the moon.

The sun to me
is excessively bright.
I prefer the moon's
more soothing light.

They say I'm bound
for damnation,
but I won't buy
into their frustration.

The moon is the source
of my elation.
it helps me actualize
my imagination.

They call me a fool
but I pay them no mind.
I'll ride on a moonbeam
and leave them all behind. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 26

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem "that includes images that engage all five senses." I wrote a haiku sequence:


Morning


Ignore the broadcast.
Listen to the birds as they
share their morning news.

The sky turns piecemeal
ever lighter shades of blue
as it defines trees.

Air smells like freedom.
I open the sliding door.
Cats take it all in.

The most gentle way
to ease into wakefulness --
first sip of coffee.

A parting snuggle --
I wish we were back in bed
as we start the day. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 25

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem in the form of a warning label about yourself.

My Warning Label

Do not take to a game,
base-, foot-, or any kind of ball.
Do not take to any sort
of sporting event at all.

Do not try to convert
to your religion
or splash with holy water,
not even a smidgen.

Do not take out in sunshine
or extreme heat.
Do not feed zucchini
or under-cooked meat.

Do not take hunting, fishing
or on camping trips.
Do not feed any sweet
potato flavored chips.

Do not bother, annoy,
or try to lead astray.
Keep a safe distance
or better yet, go away. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 24

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write an elegy, but one with some hopefulness to it. I wrote this in the form of a tanka (haiku plus two additional line consisting of seven syllables each).



The Cat's Ghost

After all these years
I believe you are still here.
I feel your presence,
your little paws on the bed
even though I can't see you. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 23

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem based in sound. One of the suggestions was to incorporate a phrase often heard, so I thought of how cashiers always tell you to have a nice day. My late sister used to ask, "Why do they limit you to 24 hours of happiness?" So I took that thought and came up with this, which I hope is at least mildly amusing.

The Cashiers' Cliche

"Have a nice day!"
is the cashiers' cliche.
It's what they always say
whenever you pay
at the store, the burger joint
or the Chinese buffet.
But why do they limit you, pray
to only one good day?
Why not two or three?
Why not wish you
a happy eternity
or at least a life of mirth
in your remaining
time on Earth?
Why only wish you
24 hours of happiness?
Why not wish you a life
free of stress
and filled with bliss
then send you off
with a friendly kiss ?
Would that be so amiss?
OK, maybe a kiss
would be overkill
but still
when you pay your bill
they should wish you more
than a happy 24 hours.
I don't expect
a bouquet of flowers
but maybe when they bid you adieu
they could say, "Live long and prosper,"
as the Vulcans do. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 22

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt (taken directly from the website):

Today, I’d like you to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens:

The sun can’t rise in the west.
A circle can’t have corners.
Pigs can’t fly.
The clock can’t strike thirteen.
The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.
A mouse can’t eat an elephant.
Well, I love writing about impossible things, so I had fun with it.


Impossible Things


The sun can't rise in the west, they say
but somehow this morning it did.
A convertible sped down the highway.
driven by a big purple squid.

Flowers grew out of the ceiling
as the moon rolled across the floor.
A lion played a glockenspiel
and a goldfish began to roar.

A penguin made a pot of tea
as a walrus baked a chocolate cake.
A rhinoceros rode a motorcycle
across the surface of a lake.

Believe in six impossible things before breakfast,
at least that's what Lewis Carroll would say.
But you should believe in much more than that
for impossible things happen all day. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 21

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem that plays with the myth of Narcissus or the theme of narcissism in some way.

Marco the Narco

Every day he religiously
polishes his mirror
in the hope that he might see
himself ever clearer.

He never passes a window
without stopping for a minute
to posture and to preen and
admire his reflection in it.

He loves spoons and chrome and puddles
and polished furniture, too.
Mirrors are his favorites but any
reflective surface will do.

He goes home every day to admire
his pictures on the shelf
and thinks of how he would enjoy
making love to himself. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 20

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem about rebellion.

Rebel

I put on work boots when I wear a tuxedo
and wear underpants on my head.
People like to wear green on St. Patrick's Day,
but I make it a point to wear red.

I toast the New Year with chocolate milk
when everyone else is drinking champagne.
I wear my galoshes on sunny days
and my sunglasses whenever it rains.

When I go to see a Star Wars movie
I make sure to wear a Star Trek shirt.
I like to eat chocolate cake for dinner
and have a tossed salad for dessert.

I always put taco sauce on my pancakes
and whipped cream on my sirloin steak.
I dunk French fries in my coffee and
pour vinaigrette on my corn flakes.

I park my car in my living room
and keep my bed downstairs.
If anyone should disapprove,
it's not my problem. It's theirs. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 19

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a paragraph about something -- an event, a scene, or whatever, and erasing or creating the words in it to create a poem.

Winter Redux

On this gray
April morning
white tree blossoms
swirl in a wind
so cold
that one might easily
mistake them
for snow. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 18

Today's prompt NaPoWriMo was a bit of a challenge -- to find a poem you are not familiar with, cover it with a sheet of paper, and uncover it line by line, starting with the last line and working back to the first, while writing a response to each line to create the seeds of a finished poem. I did that, but I also edited it a lot so that I had a finished poem.

The Wise Fool

The bird is a wise fool.
His song reverberates
happily in a world of woe,

free upon the wind,
free for the listening,
free as the air itself.

So giddy is he
that, unable to define his song,
he becomes one with it.

He sings the truth
of all he knows
and all he is. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Once again, we interrupt the stream of NaPoWriMo posts. Today is International Haiku Poetry Day, so I thought it would be cool to write a haiku.

The snow is sticking.
I just expected flurries
two weeks past Easter. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 17

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem that retells a family anecdote.


Voyage to America

My grandmother came to America
on a ship from France
with her sisters in the 1920s.

She had a shipboard romance
with a man who was
five years younger.
It was playfully flirtatious
at first, but by the time they reached
New York, they were in love
and he wanted to marry her.

Her sisters talked her out of it,
saying he was too young
for her, he was just a kid.
And so they parted and,
even though they ended up
in the same city,
never saw each other again.

She married my grandfather,
who brought her years of misery
until she finally walked out on him
at age sixty-five.

I never heard this story
until one evening
when I was thirteen and she
was reading obituaries,
as elderly people are wont to do.

She looked up from the newspaper
and said to me,
"My boyfriend died." - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 16

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem that features the idea of play.

Childhood

When they picked for sports teams
I was always chosen last.
I was terrible at playing tag.
I never could run very fast.

I was the wimpy kid
who never won a schoolyard fight.
My father came home stinking drunk
every Saturday night.

I lost myself in comics and TV.
Fictional characters were my best friends.
The best thing about childhood was
that it finally came to an end. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 15

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem "in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil).

Lex's Lament

Women think he is cute
in his red cape and blue suit
as he flies through the air
with such elan and flair
and his spit curled black hair.
I say it's unfair
that my own noggin
merely reflects the glare.
My hair transplants failed
like crops in a drought.
Not one hair will sprout.
I've no need of a comb.
I know they call me chrome dome
when they think I'm not listening.
They make fun of my head,
so glabrous and glistening.
I tried Rogaine but to no avail.
My attempts at hirsuteness
inevitably fail,
and I end up in jail
after returning to crime.
But I escape every time
to wreak havoc on mankind.
I might not be so inclined
to spread terror and dread
if only I could grow
some hair on my head. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 14

I took today's NaPoWriMo prompt and morphed it into something else. The prompt was to write entries for a dream dictionary using one or more of these words: teacup, hammer, seagull, ballet slipper, shark, wobbly table, dentist, and rowboat. But instead of a dream dictionary entry, I wrote it in the form of a dream (nightmare) journal entry.

Into the Vortex

I was in a rowboat, floating in coffee
in the middle of my father's
tacky toilet mug.
I could see my father and my sister,
both of whom have been dead for years.

Either they had grown to gigantic size
or I had shrunk. Either way, it felt
like a cheesy science fiction movie.

They were sitting at our wobbly
dining room table, my sister with
her teacup in front of her and my father
with this godawful toilet mug in
front of him.

I yelled and waved
but failed to get their attention.
My father reached for the mug
and, imagining myself being gulped
with his coffee and flowing down his
throat I screamed, "Dad! No! Don't!"
but he still didn't seem to hear me.

Instead of picking up the mug,
however, he pressed the tiny handle
and I swirled around in the coffee
as though I were in a real toilet.

As I swooshed into the hole
I thought of accounts I had read
about dying people entering
a tunnel, going towards a light
and seeing loved ones
who had gone before,

but all I saw
were the goldfish I had as a child
swimming around me
in the warm, murky liquid. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 13

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to take familiar phrases and sort of upend them.

Trite Makes Right

If wishes truly were horses
then all the streets
would be covered in manure.
If an apple a day
keeps the doctor away,
is there anything a kumquat might cure?

The early bird may get the worm,
but if you're a worm
you should probably sleep in.
A stitch in time
might save nine
but it never seems to save ten.

Laughter is the best medicine
or so they say,
but sometimes nothing is funny.
A penny saved is a penny earned,
but put it in perspective:
it's really not much that money.

Revenge is a dish best served cold,
but you can say the same
about a bowl of ice cream.
Actions may speak louder than words
but if you really want attention
let out a bloodcurdling scream.

They say two wrongs don't make a right
but can two rights
ever make a wrong?
Brevity is the soul of wit
and so I'd better quit
lest I go on too long. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 12

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a haibun (a combination of prose and haiku) about the natural landscape of where you live.



Homespun Haibun


If you look out the front windows of our house you will see a typical suburban street, with other houses, mail boxes, people coming and going in their cars, and children playing ball, riding bicycles, and just running around. But if you look out the back windows, you will see woods, and it is easy to imagine that you are away from what we call civilization. At this time of year the ground is covered with brown leaves from last fall, and the trees are still leafless. It's a scene of gray and brown, though a bright red cardinal or two will occasionally punctuate the earth tones.

Like a beating heart
in a skeleton of trees,
cardinal wings flap.

There are other birds, of course. Yesterday we saw a bluebird. Robins and crows are quite common, and we see the occasional blue jay. We see other animals besides birds, of course, mostly squirrels climbing up and down the trees. Deer also wander by quite often, as well as rabbits and opossums.

Looking in vain for
their vanishing habitat --
displaced animals.

Our cat, Gizmo, loves to sit on the back deck and take in the sights, sounds, and smells of whatever is out there. His fluffy white fur and intense blue eyes make him look rather regal as he sits and takes it all in. I think he wants to know about everything that goes on. I am often reminded of the Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz" singing, "I am the king of the forrreeeeesssssst!"

Red point Siamese,
a lion in his own mind,
oversees his realm. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 11

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem that addresses the future. I am not sure this is exactly what Maureen had in mind, but here it is.

Not So Brave New World

The future we've been promised
since the dawn of science fiction
has been a disappointment
and fallen short of most predictions.

What happened to flying cars?
We need them and this is why:
You will never hit a pothole
if you're driving in the sky.

I want to take a vacation
on the planet Mars
or book a flight on a space liner
and cruise the distant stars.

It's fine to have home computers
and automatic garage doors,
but why don't we have robot servants
to do our domestic chores?

They could clean the house and cook
and take the dog for walks,
mow the lawn, shovel snow and
scoop the cat's litter box.

A jet pack would be more fun
than a snowmobile or jet ski,
a scooter or a pogo stick
or even an ATV.

We should have a Utopian world
without starvation or war
But instead of "Star Trek" or "The Jetsons"
we've got "Nineteen Eighty-Four." - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 10

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem in which multiple things happen at once.

One Sunny Day

We played Scrabble by the window
as the bombs exploded outside.
Aunt Jeannie washed the dishes while
Uncle Steve committed suicide.

Father drank his bourbon in the kitchen
while mother swept the floor.
Brother Bob went to his dead end job
at the run down grocery store.

The accident victim bled to death
before the ambulance came.
We went out to get ice cream cones
after we finished our game.

We saw the mayor set fire to himself
in the middle of a construction zone.
We sat outside the Dairy Queen
in a mild breeze and enjoyed our cones.

Cousin George was in his bedroom
making love with his girlfriend.
Some children played Frisbee in the park
when the world came to an end. - Jeff Barnes

"Trickster" By Jeff Barnes | A Miles of Magic Poetry Video

We interrupt the steady stream of NaPoWriMo posts to bring you a special treat: my poem, "Trickster" done up as a video (hey, we have music videos, why not poetry videos?) by my good friend Miles Holmes, aka Miles of Magic. Please check out the rest of his YouTube channel while you are there! It's good stuff!

NaPoWriMo, Day 9

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about something big and something small coming together.

The Rhino's Guard

The bond between the rhinoceros
and the oxpecker bird
may seem on the surface
kind of strange, even absurd.

But if you understand
the deeper logic,
you'll see their relationship
is symbiotic.

The oxpecker eats
parasites which
make the rhinoceros
itch and twitch.

The nearsighted rhino
has enemies it may be missing,
so the oxbird warns it
by screaming and hissing.

The oxpecker serves as an alarm
and a pesticide.
In return it gets free meals
as well as a free ride. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 8

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem "in which mysterious and magical things occur."

Black Crow

On the morning of your burial
I stood at your grave
and asked you in my mind
for a sign
that you were okay.

That afternoon a black crow
flew three times around the room
knocked a picture of you
off a bookshelf and flew
out an open window.

More than twenty years later,
whenever I see a black crow
that has alighted on the deck,
or a power line
ahead of where I am driving

I am led to wonder
if you've borrowed its form
and come back
just for a moment
to say hello. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 7

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to list your layers of identity, then divide them into things that make you feel vulnerable and things that make you feel strong, then select something from each list and have a sort of dialogue between them. I wasn't crazy about this prompt, but I tried to come up with something, so here is a bit of light, silly verse.

The Ugly Poet

I have my weaknesses
but I can compensate.
My teeth are crooked
but my lines are straight.

I may be overweight,
out of shape and flabby,
but people always tell me
my writing's not too shabby.

My hair is thinning
but things could be worse.
My head may look funny
but it is chock full of verse.

I look like a Ferengi
because of my big ears,
but I write poetry
as good as Shakespeare's!

OK, maybe I flatter
myself just a tad.
I'm not as good as Shakespeare
but at least I'm not half bad. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 6

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt: "Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that stretches your comfort zone with line breaks. That could be a poem with very long lines, or very short lines." I went with long lines, and I went completely surreal.

One Fine Day in April

"A shark jumped out of the river and somersaulted over the bridge,"
said the newscaster who was reporting live from inside my fridge.
Suddenly an octopus flew past my house playing eight tambourines.
He said he was going on vacation for a week in the Philippines.

Then a woman knocked on my door and said, "I have something for you,"
and she gave me a white rose that was planted in a dirty shoe.
After she left I shrugged and said, "I don't know what to make of that."
"Just use it as a centerpiece," suggested my tabby cat.

"I guess I could," I said. "I've seen things more absurd,
like the time my faithful goldfish morphed into a bird
then flew away and got married to a vampire bat."
"Yes, I remember when that happened," said my tabby cat.

They sent me a postcard from Scotland, where they went on their honeymoon.
I still think of them whenever I watch the movie "Brigadoon."
An old man looked in my window. He had a sunflower growing out of his head.
"I can't take this anymore!" I said, then pulled down the shade and went back to bed.

I was awakened by an airplane that landed in my yard.
"How'd you do that?" I asked the pilot, and he said, "It wasn't hard."
A naked lady passed by. She played an accordion while riding a unicycle.
She was being followed closely by the archangel Michael.

"Good heavens!" I shouted. "This is something I didn't foresee!"
"Please help me!" said the lady. "Make that angel stop chasing me!"
At that moment a green tentacle came up from the ground.
It wrapped around archangel Michael and disappeared without a sound.

The airplane pilot shook my hand and said, "I really must be going.
I'm flying to Chicago to apply for a job with Boeing."
I wished him good luck and then a moose driving a Cadillac
pulled into my driveway and asked me for directions to Hackensack.

I looked at my road atlas to see which way he should go
when suddenly he was beamed aboard a passing UFO.
I said, "I hope those guys from space will take him to where he wants to be."
Then I went back into the house and made a cup of tea.

My cat was listening to the Chieftains while doing an Irish jig.
I love my cat but he has all the grace of a bow legged, drunken pig.
Just then my phone rang but I didn't want to talk,
so I put on my top hat and I went outside to take a walk.

I walked past the train station and went into a coffee shop.
A pretty waitress smiled at me and then removed her top.
She had a tattoo of George Washington right between her boobs.
She brought me a cup of coffee and a bowl of sugar cubes.

I said, "I think I'm in a time and place where I don't belong."
"Nonsense," she said. "You can stay here and drink coffee all day long.
I have nobody to talk to except for Roscoe, my pet mouse."
I paid the bill and left a tip, then ran all the way back to my house.

When i got home my phone was still ringing. My cat was quite annoyed.
"Go ahead and answer it," he said. "Why are you so paranoid?"
I reluctantly picked up the receiver and I said, "Hello?"
The voice on the other end said, "This is Neil. I'd like to talk to Joe."

"There's no one named Joe here," I said. "You must have dialed the wrong number."
I hung up the phone and made a sandwich of hummus and sliced cucumber,
taco sauce and peanut butter on toasted Italian bread.
And, putting an end to a typical day, I went upstairs to bed. -- Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 5

I started following today's NaPoWriMo prompt, and my poem took on a life of its own.

Feathers Fall, Dancing

Feathers fall, dancing
in the wind like leaves.
The gray sky is crisscrossed
with branches of fruitless trees.

They look like bony fingers
that try to clutch the air.
A crow's caw sounds like nothing
except a useless prayer.

The genius of the universe
is that it never regrets.
Everything is a whirlwind
and nothing ever rests. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 4

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem about an abstraction using concrete verbs. I took the concept of a misfit (easy for me) and wrote this.



Misfit

He's a submarine in the desert,
a glob of spinach on an apple pie,
a polar bear in a Florida swamp,
a water buffalo in the sky.

He's a coffee table glued to the ceiling,
a fish behind the wheel of a car,
an octopus at the top of Mount Everest,
a dill pickle in a jelly jar.

He's a bathtub in a dining room,
a bass guitar string on a violin,
a jigsaw piece without a puzzle
wondering where he can possibly fit in. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 3

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is to write "a list poem in which all the items are made-up names." Maureen recommended made-up band names as a possibility, so I ran with it. I didn't want to do a mere list, so I tried to build a story around it.


Sage

I first saw her in the Crucified Octopus Coffee House.
She wore a Lutefisk Rage t-shirt.
I worked up my nerve to approach her
and when I did, I asked about the shirt.
She told me that Lutefisk Rage was a punk band
from Sleepy Eye, Minnesota and said
that I bore a slight resemblance to their bass player.
"I hope that's a good thing," I said and she just smiled
and said her name was Sage.

I asked if I could buy her a coffee and she smiled again,
so I took that as a yes. The barista who brought
us our coffee was wearing a Political Fellatio
t-shirt. She said she had bought it at their concert
last September, when they were touring with
Ernie Plays With Guns as their warm up band.

Sage asked me what my favorite band was
and I said The Martian Beatniks. She said she
had never heard them, so I invited her to my place
to listen to their music. "I hope that's not
inappropriate," I said. "I mean,
I don't know if you have a significant other."
"It's fine," she said. "I broke up with my boyfriend
last month because he was mean, the sex was lousy
and he had quit bathing and brushing his teeth."
"Ugh!" I said.
"Really!" she said. "Besides, he had terrible taste
in music. His favorite band was Annie Spans the Canyon."
"Oh, shit!" I said. "I'd rather listen to geese in a washing machine."
"I've never heard of them," she said.
"No," I said. "That's not a band. It's just an expression I made up."
"Oh," she said. "Still, that would be a cool band name."
"I guess it would," I said.

She liked The Martian Beatniks a lot and ended up
spending the night. I made breakfast in the morning --
coffee and Cap'n Crunch, if you consider that making breakfast,
and she told me she had tickets to the Another Dead Fish
concert Saturday and asked if I'd like to go.
"Hell yes!" I said, and we've been inseparable ever since.

I knew she was serious about me when she took me
to meet her parents. There was a Roadside Corn Flakes
concert poster on their living room wall and her father
was wearing a Minister Goat t-shirt.
She took me aside and whispered in my ear,
"You'll have to forgive Daddy. He's such a square." - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 2

Following (sort of) today's NaPoWriMo prompt, I tried to write a poem in three different voices, but I did it in haiku form. I am not entirely happy with it, but the prompt didn't really spark much in me, so this is what I came up with.

Haiku Triptych

I hate cold Easters!
It's supposed to be springtime
and now we've got snow!

You love complaining!
No matter what the weather,
you're never happy!

Their only pleasure
is sparring with each other.
What a strange marriage. - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, Day 1

First off, I would like to thank Maureen for featuring this blog on today's NaPoWriMo posting! I am greatly honored! Thank you, Maureen!

Well, we are at the first official day, and the prompt is to write a poem about a secret shame or a secret pleasure. Maureen mentioned bad movies among the secret pleasure. They are been a secret (okay, not so secret, to be honest) pleasure of mine for years, and I came up with this poem about one of my favorites, Plan 9 from Outer Space. I hope Ed Wood, bless his memory, would have enjoyed this for the tribute to him that it is. Thank you for all the entertainment, Ed!

Who Else But Ed?


Who but Ed Wood could take two brief film clips
of an aging, ailing Bela Lugosi
and from this craft an alien invasion

spearheaded by a drag queen actor
who looked bored by the whole thing
as he sat behind his wooden desk
amid curtains and junky 1950s
radio equipment, giving orders
to his two inept crew members

all in a plan, the ninth such,
to take over planet Earth
by reviving the dead
and building an army of zombies

led by a chiropractor slinking around
with a cape covering his face
presuming to fill the late Lugosi's shoes,
with his zombie wife, Vampira
in her too sexy for burial dress,
and Tor Johnson, the Swedish Angel,
whose face was so scary
it became a popular Halloween mask?

Who else could get a Baptist church
to fund such a venture in filmmaking
in exchange for baptisms of cast members
and the promise of huge profits?

Who but Ed Wood, decades after his death in obscurity,
could have us watch so raptly in our darkened rooms
black and white television images
of Los Angeles under siege
by flying hubcaps, pizza pans and paper plates?

Who else would make us wonder
if this ninth plan by an advanced alien race
was so lame, what the first eight plans
might have been? - Jeff Barnes

NaPoWriMo, early bird prompt

Tomorrow (April 1st) marks the beginning of National Poetry Writing Month, known informally as NaPoWriMo, in which I have been participating for several years. The idea is to write a poem every day in the month of April. The poet who owns the NaPoWriMo website is Maureen Thorson, and she give an optional prompt to follow each day (and she always makes clear that the prompt is optional). On March 31st she also gives an early bird prompt, for those of us who want to hit the ground running, I guess. If you want to see what the prompt is, please check out the website.

Following the prompt as best I could, here is what I came up with:

I Had a Life Before You

I had a life before you
but I can remember it
only in brief instances,
like a fragment of nightmare
recalled for a split second
late in the afternoon.

It's mostly like
trying to recall something
that happened before I was born,
so far removed is it
from the realm of my cognizance.

Each day you give me
the life I had long ago believed
was beyond my purchase.

Whenever I reach for you,
clasp your perfect form
and bring you to my lips,
you fill me with all the goodness
you have inside you.

And it is never decaf. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Can't see the river,
only fog under the bridge --
relentless March rain. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Plastic eggs dangle.
An Easter tree stands in snow.
Second day of spring. - Jeff Barnes

Graham Gardyloo

Graham Gardyloo is an odd sight to behold.
His head is a 20-pound pumpkin.
On his chest he has a set of drawers
that he keeps all of his junk in.

His legs are high-rise apartments
whose tenants all are ants.
You can see them though the windows,
for he always wears short pants.

His feet are pontoons with retractable wheels
so he can travel by water or by land.
He's got a saxophone for a nose
which he blows when he plays in his jazz band.

He's got bungee cords for arms
and suction cups on his fingertips,
candy corn for his teeth,
and red licorice for his lips.

His eyes are 50-watt light bulbs
that guide him along at night,
so if you see him coming in the dark,
don't let him give you a fright.

Graham Gardyloo is the only one of his kind,
at least as far as he knows.
He doesn't know where he came from.
It only matters where he goes. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Haiku

Waning afternoon.
See it hiding in the clouds?
Wispy gibbous moon. - Jeff Barnes

The Fire Opal Sky

Hands like trees grow from the ground.
Fingertips reach for the sparkling heart of the sky.
The stars have vanished from the night,
each one replaced with a perpetually winking eye.

The mouth of the cave has bright red lips
that part to reveal yellow pointed teeth.
Its raspy whisper invites you inside
to explore the obsidian world beneath.

A flight of ruby plumed birds
and crystal-winged butterflies
ride a gale of light purple wind
and swirl into the green-speckled sky.

The sun has disappeared forever.
There is no morning or afternoon,
nothing but the glimmering eyes in the fire opal sky
and the glow of the Buddha-faced moon. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Unhappy choir --
cats on their way to the vet
yowl in harmony. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

His face looks as if
it is swallowing itself.
Sergey Kislyak. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Bleak January --
sky hasn't been blue all day.
Crow on a bare branch. - Jeff Barnes

Mona in the City (collage and rubber stamps)

The Cruelest Month

January is the cruelest month.
Fuck what T.S. Eliot said.
He was a phony Brit wannabe
with a bowler on his head.

Don't whine to me, Eliot
about your memory and desire,
as you sit there snug and warm
writing by your cozy fire.

Did you ever have to have your car
towed out of a snowy ditch?
If not then don't cry to me
you sniveling little bitch.

Have you ever walked in a blizzard
until you felt your eyeballs freeze,
or slipped on an icy sidewalk and
come down hard on your knees?

Don't moan to me about April
if you haven't shoveled your drive
after three feet of snow has fallen,
or maybe even four or five.

If you prefer the winter months
with forgetful snow covering the ground,
then pack your bags and move to Lapland
and take your buddy Ezra Pound. -- Jeff Barnes

Early Morning Moon

Remnant of the night
it hovers,
crisscrossed by branches
like a winter bird. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

January dusk --
a more gentle darkening
colors the snow pink. - Jeff Barnes