Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo writing prompt

Pseudobulbar Paroxysms

 

Bark like a rooster, roar like a chicken
Fake those healings till we sicken;
Churchy frenzies, righteous quavers—
Charismaniacs and ravers.
Holy laughs from Howie Browne
Lame libations: drink it down
Until you sprawl on the temple floor
searching for God’s own unlocked door.


PROMPT 2:

write a poem based on an obscure and interesting English word.

Pseudobulbar Affect (PBA) is a neurological condition that causes outbursts of uncontrolled or inappropriate laughing or crying. It is also known by other names including emotional lability, pathological laughing and crying, involuntary emotional expression disorder, compulsive laughing or weeping, or emotional incontinence.

 

The Ammo Asana

A twenty-something with a Well-behaved Women Rarely Make Herstory bumper sticker on her sky-blue Subaru guzzled a kombucha just before yoga class. The liquid still sloshing in her stomach, she assumed the Cow-cat asana fifteen minutes later. The red-bearded driver of a battered black Ford F-150 parked next to the yogini’s Subaru and headed toward the Freedom Guns and Ammo store, two doors down from the yoga studio. Upon turning off the Christian death-metal he had been listening to, he paused with his keys in his hand. From the cab of his truck he could hear her ginger-kelp kombucha sloshing. Beholding the alluring rear of her temple enclosed in paisley-printed spandex he was inspired to push open the door to the small studio and stick his head just inside the entrance. The effects of the two red cannabis oil chewies consumed the night before had yet to wear off. As the polished brass bells in the threshold tinkled, the sandalwood incense hit him. He fixed her in his bearded gaze from the army-green brim of his These Colors Don’t Run baseball cap.

Baby, is that kombucha singing inside of you or am I asleep and having a wet dream?

Looking up, she saw that he was rudely addressing herself and no one else among the five practitioners flexing on all fours. Her inner peace yielded to disgust as the prana ebbed.

Excuse me but if you are talking to me, your patriarchal, misogynistic comment makes bigoted cisgender assumptions about my sexual identity, she replied.

Hey honey, just tryin’ to be nice. Don’t blow a gasket now. I could hear you from my truck…

Believe it or not, this is how my parents met.
They were married on Oahu seventeen years ago.


PROMPT 1:

Write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body.
The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.

Last Exit: Gehenna

1) Be very broad-minded. Take the Broad Road.
(It is paved with good intentions and says Fool’s Gold, can’t miss it)

2) When you see the signs for salvation, declare loudly that you are tolerant and loving and that sin is an outmoded relic of patriarchal religion.

3) Follow the virtue-signals away from the true light towards your own sinful conceit.

4) Deny absolute truth when you get to Philosophy and take the exit toward Esthetics.

5) Stay on the path of least resistance. Celebrate ANYTHING except the God of Scripture.

6) When the road diverges, revile the nationalist R., along with tradition.
Hatefully label your fellow citizens as Racist Nazis until you merge onto Interfaith 666 at Hypocrisyville.

7) Turn repeatedly L. while flattering  yourself that you are progressive and enlightened.

8) Follow the exact same agenda and antichrist values as that of trans-national corporations while telling yourself you are a bold free-thinker “resisting fascism”.

9) Follow the bumper-stickers of the tenured professor in front of you for 59 miles.

10) Your destination is on the Left, but there’s still time to change the road you’re on
(if the Led Zeppelin song ends and you see the people leaving church as reactionary rubes, you have gone too far.)

 

Approx. time to arrive in Hell = 1 lifetime

Alternate routes click HERE

FINAL PROMPT:

a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.

Great Scot !

https://i0.wp.com/www.luminarium.org/encyclopedia/knoxlarge.jpg

Relighting Presbyterian roots,
God’s forest-fire convolutes…
contentious times burn heterodox.

The catholic cuckoos make their round—
strange fire and popery abound;
Deus Ex Machina winds the clocks.

Let all attend the holy skirl,
an armored tartaned highland whirl
escaping from God’s music box:

a blare of sixteenth-century pipes.
unleashes types on antitypes.
Pure Calvinistic grace unlocks

 the portal’s gate—and, opening wide,
the frightened worldlings peer inside
beholding heaven’s equinox.

We chasten the imploding West
for Bloody Mary’s crimes confessed
(upon the Catholic queen a pox)

but praise the captain of the Kirk
for interplanetary work.
(His enterprising doctrine rocks.)

in the MIX
PROMPT 29: Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene.