April May Reveal June

Thanks to every reader who visited ConnectHook during April.
It made shut-in spring far more inspiring.
Here are my poems posted for National Poetry Writing Month 2020:

1. Paths to Pathos

2. Nicean Barks

3. Blind Date

4. Hard Questions

5. Fowl Feminanity

6. Bosched

7. Subtle Journalistic Yawn

8. Miss Anthropology

9. Inhuman Rites

10. Definedly Poetic

11. Petal to the Metal

12. Anti-Viral Triolet

13. Blow This

14. Vargas-Girl

15. Medieval Mystic

16. Lady from J

17. Face Me on Twitbook (repost)

18. Owed to a Caulk Gun (repost)

19. Rustic Rambling

20. Handmade 0f the Lord

22. Estrofas Duchampescas

22. Soured

23. Alpha/Beta

24. Fruitfulness Multiplied

25. Patriarchal Limerick

26. Questioning the Almanac

27. Abram the Hebrew

28. Möbiustripshow

29. Cat Don’t Nap

30. Idylls of the Careless Hunt




Idylls of the Careless Hunt

But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild,
Else of our Sex, why feigned they those nine
And poesy made Calliope’s own child?
Anne Bradstreet

Huntress, fill my pleading glass !
Let this marksman’s blood be merry.
Whether we shoot hind or ass,
Hail our wet preliminary.

Having brought to birth such brave quadruplets,
Let us toast the midwife with our couplets.

Sweet Diana pours her rounds:
Tawny Port and Shooting Sherry.
Hares now flee the baying hounds
For their country sanctuary.

Thine the night, oh bright and savage huntress;
Lead us to the quarry, chaste Artemis.

Conejito, hide yourself
From the charging adversary
Who would change your pelt for pelf;
(All close shaves are cautionary).

Forgive our clanging gong and sounding brass;
They serve to drive the quarry from the grass.

Healing balm: such sporting frolic,
Dares us to stay sedentary;
Banishing our melancholic
State, her bright apothecary!

Wild huntress, let us know you as the Greeks
And quiver as our heart your arrow seeks.

Toast we now the careless hunt;
Spoonerists wax luminary.
Visions of the hairless cunt
Make my lay discretionary.

Allegory of DIANA, Goddess of the Hunt



Thus ends National Poetry Writing Month
  I bid you all fair Adieu.
Trip away, make no stay / Meet me all by break of day . . .

Cat Don’t Nap

My cat WOKE:
Petra Electra Perpetua.

I’m telling y’all, she massive woke;
lit, like wicked wick holy smoke.

She outsmart Christopher Cracker dreamin’
teach a dog where a BONE at,
discern every demon,
(not to mention advanced forensics.)

She rise, she yawn, she stretch, she flex
then start cashin’ every other pet paychecks.

She charge per minute just to LOOK at her fur
while she sharpen her nails. My Petra purr . . .

Dogs be all: WOOF
She don’t even answer.
Scribe rhymed Arabic lyrics
while she beat a belly dancer
with her TAIL, pffffff . . .

My girl don’t tag, she SPRAY.
Mark every wall, y’all . . .
Seen all over the hood, gnome sain?

Offer her Sheba, she like:
Won’t touch it. Give me that Meow Mix.

My girl teach Afrikan lioness about pussy;
pee on a paean, droppin’ lyrics like mice
other feline get fussy
my kitty get NICE.

TikTok your Instagram feed
right into her bowl.

My girl so woke,
save her own fanged soul.

Slip out the house—she gone.
Workin’ secret route to EGYPT.
Roast every priestess in Bastet city;

My kitty taught CLEOPATRA (u feel me?)
about titty.

She scratch Catwoman, pounce on Robin
Batman wet his weak-ass mask, sobbin’.

My girl woke;
so woke she don’t nap, she sleep—

profoundly. Soundly. DEEP.



write a paean
to your pet.


she adumbrates in artifice
as you orate, then hesitate
before the portal of unnamed being,
reconnoitering.You gather your forces
to exploit her resources
aroma of Soma:
illimitable subliminal bliss
limned in liquescent lucidity. . . Tantric hat-trick:
pull a white dove out of the universal yoni
when her lingam penetrates your third eye
your chakras align and you hit her cosmic jackpot:
all sevens in unknown Proto-Indo-European tongues.
https://i0.wp.com/upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/bd/Slot_machine.jpg/800px-Slot_machine.jpg?zoom=2The apsaras invite all the devis over
for Christmas in Jerusalem
Pangea cracks, spreads apart in differentiation;
incontinent continents drift
then recombine
in individuation . . .Your anima gets an enema
as the Beast melts down
and the heavens descend.

Then clean it all up
and look for a beer in the cosmic fridge.

Annunciation by Mati Klarwein: 1961




Describe a bedroom from your past in a series of descriptive paragraphs or a poem.
It could be your childhood room, your grandmother’s room, a college dormitory
or another significant space from your life.

(off-prompt today, with apologies to Emily Dickinson)