P-Orridge 9 Days Old

A brainteasing cryptic digression evoking foul Genesis:
how insane just knowing Lord Megson, Neil (Orridge—P),
queer rebel satanist, turned unbecoming vapid woman:
xenolith = yesteryear‘s zenith.

Prompt 19: write a very strict abecedarian poem, in which there are twenty-six words in alphabetical order, or you could write one in which each line begins with a word that follows the order of the alphabet.

 

Deal With This

Hello Kitty key-chain
caked in blood, hung on
one rusted nail
the silent shack
silvered wood-grain, locust-buzz . . .
Scattered petals blown by
the dented fan spinning
in the Mississippi sun
withering winter heat
hanging willows over the
bank. Cypresses silhouetted
on the darkening horizon
glacier’s silent witness
while sherpas come and go
seeking her remains
beseeching Buddha
. . . details, details

the little girl she had always been
motionless in the sand of the dry riverbed
the Bedouin poke her cold body
with their staffs
camels quizzically chew cud.
Housewives on Long Island
do their shopping . . .

What did she say
When they stole her lunchbox?
Why were Lunchables™ not enough?

Grief is a sandwich
tossed in a snowdrift,
in the summer of 1941:
Tibetan village of Yarlung Tsangpo;
Inevitability of sun.

 

PROMPT 18: write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail. This may not be a “fun” prompt, but loss is one of the most universal and human experiences, and some of the world’s most moving art is an effort to understand and deal with it.


			

	
	



				
					


	

		
The View from Hair


				

			
				
			
					

			


		

		
 


I fell hard for the head of that Isaac

(note the gravity of my event).

Over Tombstone I soared, on the winds of the Lord

Until Holliday’s bullets were spent.


Floating iceberg, I challenged Titanic

Single raindrop, got lost in the storm;

Genghis Khan’s mongol horse had ideas, of course

Stalin’s mommy kept baby Joe warm . . .


Perspectives from lesser-known players

May improve the morale of the team;

But a view from the edge of the forty-fifth ledge

Will compel true progressives to scream!


Have you noticed the wave on that wizard,

Washingtonian mage of the West?

You may dislike his ways, but it’s only a phase;

Now admit it; his hair is the BEST.


He’s the Cheeto in charge of your nation

Chief constructor of all that is Great.

Though you’re peeved at your loss, Mr. Drumpf is the boss

And there’s no more excuse for your hate.


I’m the roof on Melania’s husband

Call me carrot-top, call me toupée . . .

You can whine all you want, but I’m here to be blunt:

I’m the night after Democrat day.


I’m the hair on your wonderful leader

Driving liberals mad—and beyond.

The Deplorable’s turn: feel the heat, feel the burn;

Oh hilarious orange!  (No . . . blonde.)




PROMPT #17: write a poem that  presents a scene from an unusual point of view.

Perhaps you could write a poem that presents Sir Isaac Newton’s discovery

from the perspective of the apple.

Or the shootout at the OK Corral

from the viewpoint of a passing vulture.

Or maybe it could be something as everyday as a rainstorm,

as experienced by a raindrop.