Wednesday, December 26, 2012

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.

Monday, December 24, 2012

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

Saturday, December 22, 2012


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!

Friday, December 21, 2012

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
& cannot help but re-equate.
god needs only to parse
the word
to offer a night of falling

(everything helps)


where is the book - 
how etymology would be like understanding ancestors
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

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]

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?]

Thursday, December 20, 2012



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

Monday, December 17, 2012

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,


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.
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

Monday, December 10, 2012

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

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Prone to grieve

                                                                                 painting by Rachel L.
                                                                                         click to enlarge

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

terra-dactyls - earth poets

If the wind in the trees is a bird 
and the rains, ceaseless tonight, 
are pteradactyls crooning, 

then birds are all night frolicking with their ancestress
(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?

Monday, December 3, 2012

IMUNURI Prompt: Prone Poem

twain in bed
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

Sunday, December 2, 2012

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