IMUNURI: New prompt next week

Catch up on older prompts, respark from one of your past favorites, or experience a week without poeming on IMUNURI. Whatever you choose, may it be for a blessing :)

Body on blades

 

She’s been thinking about

things that don’t need thinking.

This gives her the sensation

that the rink sinks inches

every time she launches a leap.

A ghost wince pinches her skate.

The klutz who learned the triple

Lutz—a great deflation—smack!

Cold reminder of the bindings

in her locker. Her back iced,

she bounces up, glissades her body.

Her choice. Noise of the sigh

at the lost points. The crowd’s

high fallen to sea level.

To be or not to be

mother or medalist.

Shake the thought, find mo-

mentum, ignore the devil.

Re~noodling "Isaac's Flight" ( on a suggestion from Janice Sandeen )

Isaac's Flight

Our lullaby verses for the year

Her words were our shared comfort

The tender new buds of recognition

The stubborn old rifts between us 

 “He was peaceful ”

“They were slow, full belly breaths ” 

Before the morning of his flight

Heavy eyes had watched him all night

In his final bedchamber

That sterile nook that was

Curtained off privacy

While we stood bewildered 

His spirit hovering above us

Like an old Eagle at rest

A strong Semitic nose

The beautiful curve

More pronounced than ever as he lay there

The mouth hanging open and dark

His forehead warm and moist when I kissed it

In the hour after he died

Sweet relief was all around him

Then gone

Slipped out through an opening

No one was watching

The secluded moment

True to form

In the harbour of his sleep

In his mother tongue

He was saying goodbye 

Leaving his hard earned English language behind

Defying all impaired reasoning

Shining through the fog of his Dementia

The anchor of his sweet calm

A near extinct Moroccan Spanish

Picking up speed and entangled memories

With time spent spinning in circles
In that hospital room corner

Papa was splayed out in all directions

KALI

I see a strange dog outside our bedroom window.

Free dog roaming leashless.

Not like our dear old Kali, always in need

Of restraint.

Still, her namesake is wearing out with age.

More bark. Less follow-up.

Could be dog-world envy.

Her worn out hip. His agile gait.

Free dog smelling our laundry.

Kali safely inside.

Your red shirt dripping on the line.

Made in India. Great bargain!

The blue sky card

The blue sky card

god trumps the predictions
plays the blue sky card.
science falls into itself
to keep theorems intact
each meteorologist
consults his instruments
(again)
& cannot help but re-equate.
god needs only to parse
the word
meteor-ol-o-gist
to offer a night of falling
stars.
     *
       *
         *

(everything helps)

[excerpt]

where is the book - 

how etymology would be like understanding ancestors

[important]

and how we also need to listen to the future beings - 

what is that, how to understand the futurewords, not simply

derivational but also visionary/suppositional

nice used to mean foolish

fools used to be prophets

nice (adj.)

late 13c., "foolish, stupid, senseless," from O.Fr. nice (12c.) "careless, clumsy; weak; poor, needy; simple, stupid, silly, foolish," from L. nescius"ignorant, unaware," lit. "not-knowing," from ne- "not" (see un-) + stem of scire "to know" (see science). "The sense development has been extraordinary, even for an adj." [Weekley] -- from "timid" (pre-1300); to "fussy, fastidious" (late 14c.); to "dainty, delicate" (c.1400); to "precise, careful" (1500s, preserved in such terms as a nice distinction and nice and early); to "agreeable, delightful" (1769); to "kind, thoughtful" (1830).

what kind of blessed foolishness from the future might illuminate and guide us

if we were to listen

nice (adj).  [etymological entry from the future]

late 23c., "envisioning possibilities" from New French nice (22nd century), related to the rattle blast rocket ships capacity to stun the passenger into a hypnotic humming state of bliss through subtle vibration. Related to the idea of rocket travel as a kind of salvation, a common milennial fever in 2090-2114 during the first planetary exodus. 

nice used to mean not knowing, in the future, it comes to mean, knowing not only with the senses; intuitive, visionary

it's hard to have good posture when the heat's out

it's hard to have good posture when the heat's out

huddled by the space heater, a crisp breath billows

more quiet than a shout, like an apple well stored

anticipate benevolence in velvet depth as night turns

learn to breathe in breathe out, feel the fronds

of guanyin's willow supple and stout

what was once travail turns _______* at the core

[*Note: each time read, place a different adjective in the blank, from this list

or your imagination: 

hopeful, growthful, trilling... ]

[or what about removing "at the core" - although I like the resonance with apple in stanza 1]

so

what was one travail turns to ease

[is this an artifact of feeling cold, the incapability of completing a thought/poem?]

[other ideas on how this poem could end?]

ThisTHREAD

weavesINandOUTofEVERYTHINGthatITtouchesANDisEVERYTHINGthatITtouches.THISisWHATourCONSCIOUSNESSis.EMANATIONexquisiteEXPLICITsometimesTHINGSthatAREexplicitAPPEARotherwiseANDitISourTOOLSofCOMMUNICATIONthatLIMITthingsTOanotherEXISTENCE,apparentlyONLY.existenceWHATisEXISTENCEbutApointingTOsomethingWHICHhasAsubtleREALITYthanFROMourUSUALwayOFdescribingIDENTIFYINGsomeTHING.thingsAREmarkersEITHERimplicitORexplicitOForFORsomethingELSE.andWEareTHEdanceTHATensuesONthisPLATEinTHISdiet,THISwayOFlife.IT'sCOOKEDupHEREforWHATEVERappetiteITfits.BONappetit.PLEASEcontinueTHREADafterDIGESTINGsome(ORnot).TOOmanyCOOKScooksMANYpots.WHENisTOOmanyTOOmuchORnotENOUGH?

Ostensibly So

In a world of polarity
The dance is true and all
That is not true too
Whatever arises As if
Only appears that way
Ever so slightly more
Strongly than its absence

We negate and negate
Only to affirm that which
We so strongly urge to
Disappear or to not seem
Real --can it even be so?
How many millions pour
Into this machine day upon

Night? Perhaps there are a
Few/many things/no things
resting/writhing in/out what
Is --perhaps/surely language
A guess is surely/perhaps not
Music does embrace/reject that
Which is/is not sound/silence

Language stands/falls as the
Mightiest/weakest liar/truth
Teller of us/them all/none
What kind of bargain/force
R we/U dancing/stilling
With/against while speaking/
Refraining from speaking

What is/is not being said
Where is/isn't the polarity/
Non-polarity and can/cannot
We/I simply/complexly be/not
Be as we so/so not confidently
Deny/assert? Summarily so all
That Is is That and also This

Stuck noodle - ribbon of time

Stuck noodle - ribbon of time

scent of the music
wafts through the kitchen,
room we all gather in,
“Hey, is that spaghetti up there behind the Wedgewood?.”
“Yeah, it stuck.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I used to like to make big red wine infused spaghetti sauce
& serve it to lots of people,

U  
N    
 T
  I                       
   L                       

THAT night I had invited 8 guests to dinner & had the spaghetti cooking
in a Big pot on my rented stove & it was ready to drain; the salad, the big red wine infused
spaghetti sauce served ready to spoon in front of 8 guests in 8 mismatched chairs
out on my little enclosed patio when this one guest -
a taller than me slender woman ( my highschool sweetheart) with long blond hair
came into the kitchen next to me and quietly said
“I need to tell you something. I got v.d. from BJ (another guest) & may have
passed it on to you.”
I saw RED & had to go outside for air.
There sat  BJ laughing
& just that fast
I overturned the table,spaghetti sauce, salad & all onto my used to be friend.
END of pasta party. End of highschool sweetheart.End of my making infused spaghetti sauce.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
& still that noodle hung on the kitchen wall behind the stove
guarding the secrets unsaid, dares not slide to the floor
as the landing would crash too hard & too loud,
until the day of the remodel got too close.
& that noodle began to vibrate & shake & threaten to go airborne.
Soon it would be time for twice cooked pasta.
MINE!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
go noodle ya all

p-sketti writher

IMUNURI Prompt: Make It Up

Fabricate, fictionalize, fantasize.

Intoxicate yourself with lies.

Penetrate the plain curtain pretending to represent reality to find some gold-ore
marbling of weird, wondrous alternative.

Plunge headlong into the faith thatyou can create anything just by imagining.

Make it up!


keywords: makeup, poem, your name

A ribbon of time - noodle script

Do something with a noodle:

Rainbow Pasta

Slurp it, see how rapidly you can hoover one up, what shapes does it make rattle-slapping your chin

Write about the splotches of sauce on the table cloth from this maneuver

Throw one on a wall, does it stick? 

Eat a noodle off the wall you've thrown at it, as if you were in a movie where gravity changed 90 degrees. 

Dance like a noodle. Is there a different move for linguini flop? Does angel hair float? 

How do you write a noodle poem? Is it thoughtful, or spunky? Experience a noodle. Write a poem. Stay flexible to the possibilities. Share the results of your noodlexperiments...

Tags: noodle, poem, [poet's moniker]

Image source: Wonder How To ("How to Make Your Own Super Cheap and Simple Rainbow Colored Pasta")

like sticks

Prone to grieve

                                                                                 painting by Rachel L.
                                                                                         click to enlarge

terra-dactyls - earth poets

If the wind in the trees is a bird 

(as Mary Oliver suggests - http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/057.html)

and the rains, ceaseless tonight, 

are pteradactyls crooning, 

then birds are all night frolicking with their ancestress

pteradactyls

(a name I always thought meant these ancient shark-like ravens

with their leathery wings, were poets, shrieking dactyls)

the birds and the aflying dinosaurs are rampaging 

and i dream of wet, sodden gardens

where all the seeds are obliterating into fine mash

the soggy dream ground cannot grow anything

with all these birds and dinosaurs calling (storms arriving)

what happens when our creative spirit

encounters a nor'wester

I know pathetic fallacy isn't a fallacy

but there's a moment here, a poem

drowing in air, pummeling and soaring

its way to earth from the birdcloudpeople

a poem, can it make it

through the storm

to drop on my head

and open my mouth

with a bit of that oldsong, 

the dinosaurbreath, 

the terra dactyls and spondees responding

in my glottal stop, tongue untying

if i snapped on the lights now

and looked at my profile

would is see a beak there

or just these opened lips caw-crowdling

dream miasmas 

dropping from the words

soaring into sight?

IMUNURI Prompt: Prone Poem

Rest. Relax. Recuperate. Recline.
Supine. Sleepytime.
Hibernate. Malinger. Surrender to Winter.

This week, write while horizontal.
Poem from a pillow.
Create beneath a comforter.
Touch the divine from your divan.

You may choose to write about relaxing or about winter inwardness, or you could write about a stressful subject with the support of bodily comfort. You might also try something playful, pillow-talky. Follow your fancy while flat on your back or belly.

keywords: pronepoem, your name, poem

is listening

Storm Owl

                "Storm Owl" ~ copper sculpture by Rachel L.
                                         click to enlarge

Of ancient news 

Of one and no constancy

Looting the dark treasurely spoils

The glare of horn and beak