Handmade of the Lord

**PROMPT #20: write a poem about a handmade gift that you have received.**

I spent this afternoon watching She (1965 Hammer version) with my daughter because I was dreading trying to rise to the challenge of this prompt. I wound up with a half-baked limerick based on Luke 1:37, 38

For with God nothing shall be impossible.
And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord;
be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her.

Eternal salvation’s a gift

From a righteous young maid in a shift

Who had never been laid;

By God’s Spirit hand-made

was her baby, our burdens to lift.

I could have weaseled my way out of this very challenging prompt with a haiku . . . but you were spared this time.

Rustic Rambling

Apr19

Aggressive clowns stalk the sidewalks
dressed like they’re fifteen when they’re fifty:
methadone zombies and smoked-out ghosts.

From foul urban ghettos’ trash-strewn streets,
from vicious twerking braided beats,
I love to get away and climb God’s sylvan hills;
see no litter, and hear
no thugs’ pulsing sound systems, smell no drugs,
and drink of Mother Nature’s thrills.

Behold no trace of urban dysfunction
here in the glorious green unction
of generous Nature,
where educated citizens enjoy the Creation
far from the vile gangsta nation.

Call me elitist, call me names;
but wind sighing through the summer trees
brings me to my knees;
your ugly non-culture
is only good for drama revenue:

Maintaining bureaucracies,
family court payouts,
dogging absent fathers,
. . . nothing new
forced me to free verse this.

I leave you, soul-dead city, for the hills
organic Nature’s subtle rills

What city-life hates:

natural, tranquil, reflective . . .

Anathema to Urban.

PROMPT 19: write a “walking archive” poem (go on a walk and gather up interesting things.

Poetry Re-Slammed

Apr19

Slammed FURTHER

and FURTHER

Will Franken: One of my Favorite POETS !

Owed to a Caulk Gun

Apr18

STICK’EM UP with Liquid Nails

DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE

See Other Caution on Back Panel:

I'm hot for you Cowgirl.

You’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby—I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces; pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight. Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you . . . stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl, and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier; there’s only one side of you: the good side.

Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose. YEE-HAW ! Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet—be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…