Double Bubble

Deimer’s dilemma -

to chew or not to chew.

Unwrapped and ground

trapped between molars,

pinched between the cheek and gum-

ming up the dental work!

Sucking extreme sweetness

until jaw gets fatigued.

Bazooka Joe never gave

these bubbles a blow.

He brought his own!

©CE - 2016

A response to dVersepoets - Quadrille 3

"He Stirreth Up the People"

1934 A.D.

He stands proud and confident
high upon his mount,
high above the masses
to hide his flaws and failings.
He offers them hope
in the promise of prosperity.
It is some kind of heresy
to dispute his teachings,
as he is preaching his gospel -
the greatness of people
in the sameness of soul; heritage.
He gathers them in,
the ‘shepherd’ drawing his flock of sheep
close to his breast; men, women
and children of one heart.
He starts his oratory like a parable -
a cryptic story, docile tones
descending upon hungry ears.
But the furor builds to a raucous diatribe,
with forked tongue against the twelve tribes.
A new ministry arises, for he despises
their existence. He is persuasive;
he stirreth up the people!
Steering his sheep to the slaughter!
Sieg Heil!


©CE - 2016

Taken from the inscription on "The Masses" - Vol. 5, No. 3, Dec. 1913 


From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums - Jan. 31, 2016:

Radical

Miz Q will be taking another little break now. We’ll be back when the impulse strikes–keep an eye peeled.

Here’s a bit of inspiration to go out on.



The magazine “The Masses” was published monthly 1911-1917.
I invite you to browse an issue or two in the NYU archives. See if something strikes you.
 

She Had Been the Beauty of Song

Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory.

~Percy Bysse Shelley

She will end like the fading of music,

a lovely note drawn to its silent conclusion when

her song, having reached crescendo, dies. Soft

lilting, beautiful in its sad demise, she joins voices

of angelic choirs, all endearing songs that would die.
Every sound resonates and vibrates

filling the air with the cacophony of death’s knell. In

the evening when all is silent and still, she sings the

song of her beauty to live in my memory.

©CE-2016

"Golden Shovel" poem taken from "Music, when soft voices die"a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

 From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 30, 2016:

 

January 30

The Borrowing Poet

In his poem “The Golden Shovel” Terrance Hayes takes “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks and repeats it twice. Each word of the original becomes an end word in the poet’s new poem.
Read down the right margin of “Golden Shovel,” and you get “We Real Cool.”
“We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks
“The Golden Shovel” by Terrance Hayes

I want you to do something similar.
Choose a poem that you like or admire. (You’ll have noted that the Brooks poem is relatively short. You can use a line, a couple of lines, a stanza, an entire poem.)
Remember that your poem doesn’t have to be (probably shouldn’t be) about the same subject as the source poem.

OPTIONS:
1) Use your chosen section as Terrance Hayes did, to create your own Golden Shovel.
word word word word word the
word word word word fog
word word word word word comes
word word word word word on
word word word word word word little
word word word word word cat
word word word word word word word feet
2) Easier, but not as cool–let your selection read down the left margin. Begin your lines with its words.
the word word word word word
fog word word word word word
comes word word word word word
on word word word word word
etc
3) Forget the shovel, and use your chosen section as your poem’s title, first line, or epigraph
Whatever you do, give us the names of the poet and poem, and a link to the original piece.

Hoarder's Lament

I have too much "stuff",
it has to go
to the dump...
to the Goodwill...
to the consignment...

Who am I kidding?

I've saved for too many
"rainy days",
"could come in handy somedays",
"you never know when you'll need..."

I don't need it.

And I bought an umbrella.
Actually I bought two.
And a raincoat...

Obsolescence has been saved
and could lead to my grave
if I'm not careful. Pulling out
my hair by the handful.

One man's junk can be another man's junk
if I play my cards right!
I battle the inclination to replace my "stuff"
with more "stuff"; sadly, my junk drawer
needs another drawer. It ends up
on the floor or other flat surface.

Shelves are everywhere if you can find them.
My mind says "Purge, Purge, PURGE!"
I fight the urge.

I have too much "stuff"


**

From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 29, 2016:

It’s Safer Than Arson

I’d bet that –unless you’ve recently experienced fire, flood or some other disaster, or moved into a much smaller home–you have too much STUFF. Fortunes are there to be made selling containers, containers, and systems of containers. Books instruct on how to organize and how to winnow out. If you haven’t used it in a year. If it doesn’t give you joy. If it doesn’t open you to wealth, health, success, or happiness.

Yep. Then come the magic words:

THROW IT OUT! (or sell it–to someone who’s as buried under goods as you are, but hasn’t had that moment of epiphany/despair)

Today, write about your stuff. Love it, hate it, try to fit it in the trash. If it’s taking too much space, turn it into words.

Added A Wordpress Presence...

I've gone the route of adding a Wordpress blog to precipitate commenting and appreciating the works of other writers and poets.

New Site: Word Chase in Cyberspace

Tag line: Boldly Go Where Your Words Flow!

Site URL: http://wordchaseblog.wordpress.com


While this will remain my main blog, feel free to see where my words boldly go over there too!

Say You're Sorry, Say Goodbye

I thought of her the other day,
and in a way
I missed her so.
Why did she go?

Could it have been her heart grew tired?
Uninspired?
She'd had enough
and she was off.

Her departure left me muddled,
on the shuttle
We departed
broken hearted.


***

Directed by "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 26, 2016

Three-Day Midweek

Have we done any forms lately? No matter. We’ll do one now.

Minute Poem

We’ve done this one before, but since then I’ve met up with a variation, so you get two for the price of one.
Here’s the version offered by Robert Lee Brewer:

Some forms have a long, exotic history. Some forms are relatively new, but have a well-known founder. Others just seem to spring out of nowhere. Such appears to be the case with our most recent poetic form: the minute poem.

The rules are rather simple:
3 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas)
8 syllables in the first line of each stanza
4 syllables in the remaining lines of each stanza
rhyme scheme: aabb/ccdd/eeff
written in strict iambic meter

So each stanza contains 20 syllables times 3 stanzas equals 60 syllables total. Since there are 60 seconds in a minute, I’m going to go out on a limb and proclaim that’s the origin of the name minute poem.

:::::

And the one from Jeff Hardin:

The form is three stanzas with each stanza using the following syllable count:

8
4
4
4

(That is, essentially the same, but NO need for rhyme, and no specific meter.)

I like the unrhymed Minute, myself, but the choice is yours.
OR
Hey, you’ve got three days. Go wild and do both.

Casablanca Revisited

So, of all the lousy gin joints

everything points

to that damn song!

It’s just so wrong

that she should leave. Play that song Sam,

and I will jam

your damn fingers!

The pain lingers

long. Paris has no appeal

and the real

sin would be this:

Kiss? Still a kiss!


**

Directed by "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 26, 2016

Three-Day Midweek

Have we done any forms lately? No matter. We’ll do one now.

Minute Poem

We’ve done this one before, but since then I’ve met up with a variation, so you get two for the price of one.
Here’s the version offered by Robert Lee Brewer:

Some forms have a long, exotic history. Some forms are relatively new, but have a well-known founder. Others just seem to spring out of nowhere. Such appears to be the case with our most recent poetic form: the minute poem.

The rules are rather simple:
3 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas)
8 syllables in the first line of each stanza
4 syllables in the remaining lines of each stanza
rhyme scheme: aabb/ccdd/eeff
written in strict iambic meter

So each stanza contains 20 syllables times 3 stanzas equals 60 syllables total. Since there are 60 seconds in a minute, I’m going to go out on a limb and proclaim that’s the origin of the name minute poem.

:::::

And the one from Jeff Hardin:

The form is three stanzas with each stanza using the following syllable count:

8
4
4
4

(That is, essentially the same, but NO need for rhyme, and no specific meter.)

I like the unrhymed Minute, myself, but the choice is yours.
OR
Hey, you’ve got three days. Go wild and do both.