Regaños de la musa

LA sabiduría edificó su casa,
Labró sus siete columnas;
Mató sus víctimas, templó su vino,
Y puso su mesa.
Proverbios 9:1,2 (RVA)

 

Un regaño de mi santa musa
Mi linda y poética medusa:

No des mi inspiración por sentada
O te reduzco a cenizas, luego a nada.

Ni confundas mechones por cascabeles—
No soy yo como esas Jezabeles:

Falsas profetisas decapitadas,
Infames bestias profetizadas;

Ahora que reciban sus laureles
A su maestro satanás son fieles

Beben ellos de la copa de oro
Ingieren el nauseante tesoro:

Cáliz Babilónico de abominaciones
Vacuna Coca-Cola de corporaciones
Veneno repugnante de las naciones.

Pero yo te daría algo más refrescante—
de mis fuentes líricas te haré un amante . . .

 

These leetle poem
I make for ju en Sponeesh
Please to correct it?


PROMPT #12: Write a poem about a very small thing. 

Quantum Limericks

 

Dark matter that dwells in black holes
is still subject to cosmic controls.
It opposes the light
and can never be right
but there’s lots of it left in our souls.

Extinguishing all that is bright
darkness flows, to invade with the night,
overtaking the towns.
overthrowing the crowns
of the powers that reign in the light.

Although darkness will claim I offend,
I’ll use verse as my means toward an end:
it’s OK to see light . . .
it’s OK to to be right
(if there’s anything left to defend).

 

 

 

 


PROMPT #11: write a poem about a very large thing (the universe)

Two For Love


Hi Def Limerick
Those fleshtones, in high definition
Give rise to my carnal condition.
And my bride (a computer)
Makes me, sinful suitor,
A bridegroom of vulgar volition.

 

 

    Behold: The Bridegroom Cometh

That war-lord groomed Ayesha;
Then married her at nine.
Her bridal tent was ripped apart—
The guests were feeling fine.


She cried a bit and wondered;
The meaning was not veiled.
He profited from maidenhood;
Depravity prevailed.

 

PROMPT #10: write a love poem

If you’re having trouble getting into the right mood for a love poem,
maybe you’ll find inspiration in June Jordan

Lines for June

Rock on, rock on, June Jordan; go!
Write on, write on, we feel your pain!
You spit some lines against the Man,
And the Man buys them back again.

And your bad poems become a joke
A poorly-punctuated whine
Insulting readers— and the Muse;
An unpoetic party-line.

The trashy verse you vomit forth:
Makes poets nauseous at your name.
Your screeds are easy to ignore,
And makes one doubtful of your fame.