Month: April 2023

Grow up!

I ARBOR ironing. I hate it with a burning passion. I’ll
IRON Your shirts one last time, then that’s the
LIMIT. You’re big enough, long past your antic
TERRAway days. I loathe ironing. See to your shirts yourself!

A young man ironing a T shirt under the morning light. Auckland, New Zealand
Photo: Jorge Royan

Fatal

The
WARTY, naughty boy, a miniature
KNAVE (with barely a skerrick of
PUBIC hair) determines – inadvertently – to
SEVER several fingers in the mincer.           

Warthog Ambitions

WARTY hogs trot satisfied under the blazing sun.
SEVER their ambitions from jellyfish, who want to rule. Yes, warthogs think us
KNAVEs; they need no Wifi, they never posit nationalisms to mask their pain. Yet, their conception of
PUBIC good, which, could they pronounce the letter ‘L’ would sound so much better, is sunny and hoggy, each day a gift: They do not need to rule us.

Note: This masterwork of a poem is twinned with my other masterwork poem for a day earlier, the 2023/04/20 words: https://dailyquordlepoem.com/2023/04/22/the-day-of-the-bloom/ . What a difference between Jellyfish and Warthogs and how they they approach other species.

The Day of the Bloom

JELLYfish: now perhaps two centuries left till they can make and hold
PRONGed spears (how have they heard of Poseidon?). Come the day:
GLOBE-domination, nothing less, is their cold plan. The Day of the
BLOOM they have named it in their gurgly speech: jellies multiplying, jellies seizing all.

A viscid piñata

Probing with the tine or PRONG
of my fork into a GLOBE
of somehow suspended JELLY
I expect a perfect explosion of wobbling, congealed solubles.