Granny’s Special Surprise

For my birthday, she brandished 

one long, bony finger,
summoned me in-
          side, sidled be-
          side my hungry
          taste
               buds,
slathered my platter
with exceptional brownies,
crafted under super-
          vised care
of knobby knuckles
& one loose stringy
gray hair. Her smile revealed
one tooth had gone missing,
dotted out by a smear
of chocolate frosted inking.
She nodded & asked,
“How do you like them, dear?
Do you feel funny?”
I confessed I’d never
been a consumer
of nature’s sedatives
or potions.
She said, “Silly, that’s not
what I meant. These goodies
were assembled
with some of my friends
who couldn’t escape,
so I stirred them right in.
For your birthday all year,
remember this adage of three—
     see no weevils,
     hear no weevils,
     speak no weevils—
because they’ve departed,
gifting you with pure
unadulterated
protein & a message
from beyond."

Live life to the fullest
even if that means
hiding undercover
in somebody’s
cupboard in a sack
of flour—cowpea,
granary, or rice.
Pick your poison,
for the fate
of our family tree
foretells
that no matter your vice,
you’ll never live twice.

Granny's Special-Ingredient Brownies

For today’s prompt, write a poem of threes. Your poem could be about the number three or feature three of something, for sure, but it could also do some other things. For instance, your poem could be composed of tercets (or three-line stanzas), have three syllables per line, or be a three-line poem (like a haiku or lune). Or write about tricycles or triangles or any number (though mostly the number three) of other plays on three.

* * * 

Mimic Octopus

I’m a punked-up
filament
of vintage pill-box hats.
I’m twisted
from a multitude
of copper curios.
I’m a pewter
dragon safeguarding
a trifling gem.
I’m awakened
by sugared ink
& horizontal limits.
I admit
one, a deliberate pledge
some call willy-nilly.
I shapeshift
to protect myself
from restless sweats & threats.
I thrive
in water—
river, ocean, tears.
Every seven years,
I shed & shift
myself.
I’m a paper family—
snipped, clipped, and loved,
handled, dropped, and yellowed.
Forgotten.

This Octopus Doesn't Live in the Sea

Here is the prompt for Day Three (copied from Writer's Digest):

For today’s prompt, write an animal poem. The poem could be about an animal. Or it could just mention an animal in passing. Or include an animal in your title and fail to mention the animal once in your poem. Your poem, your rules.

*****

A Four-Letter Word (A Poem for Day Three of PAD)

Today (day three) is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt, which means you can pick one prompt or the other, do both separately, or mix both together. Do whatever makes you feel good. Here are the prompts:

1. Write a stop poem.
2. Write a don’t stop poem.

Are the Signs Confusing?

A Four-Letter Word

It was a tiny ex-
     pression meant
to control flow
and indicate right-
of-way.
He said go.
She said no.

*****


[Please note that all prompts have been copied from the Writer's Digest Poetic Asides website.]

Opposites of Love - a Poem for Day Three of PAD

Well, darn. It's six minutes until tomorrow, so I'm posting a poem that isn't quite finished. 

Here is the prompt for today (day three):

I’ve found over the years that most people who can make it through three days have the stamina to keep poeming for 30. So let’s get through this together!

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) of Love,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Water Bottle of Love,” “Smart Phone of Love,” “Toothbrush of Love,” “Tweet of Love,” or any number of blanks of love. I actually kind of love this prompt and am surprised I’ve never done it before.

He Wanted to Sit While She Wanted to Stand

Opposites of Love

There was something exhilarating about
the bold contrast of his three six-foot over-
coats so perfectly arranged, to my thirty-six under-
garments in great disarray.

I craved the ideal mate to love
me until death became fate, but her devotion
smothered me like a lumpy pillow
held against my snoring face. 

***

The Mechanics of Change (a Poem for Day Three of PAD)

My poem for day three of PAD is below. 

It's been a long day. After another evening of scribbling through my blocked emotions, I came up with something my perfectionism would allow me to post, though I will probably make more changes later. (Note that the typed version is different than the photo version.)

"For today’s prompt, write a machine poem. A machine could be a car or a robot, obviously, but simple machines include levers, pulleys, and screws. There’s also 'machine learning' and 'deus ex machina.' But there are many other ways to come at this prompt as well."

A Rough Draft Like Me

The Mechanics of Change

People like you are written. I leaf
through pages in search of your character.

Others are made from the heart
of antique lamps, lack of sleep,
drafts wafting through single
pane windows in this old house.
Expensive revolution repair
put ahead of new siding
and updated bathrooms,
character puttied inside
ancient plywood walls holding
whispers of love stories, hoping
these drafts will blow through
strong enlightened choices
to flutter your pages,

set you free.

*****