THIRD of the kings, Frank, was incensed:
NOBLE though his intentions were, he began to
WRING his hands with worry. He had to
SCRAP too many ideas for gifts to take.
Category: contributors
New Madrid
HABIT of thinking they’re a far-away thing oft
SOOTHes my careless thoughts; the
ADAGE of blindness aptly describes my
FAULT of forgetting about New Madrid.
NB: The New Madrid fault quaked in the early nineteenth century with such ferocity that the Mississippi River was said to have reversed its current for days. The quakes and aftershocks also formed Reelfoot Lake.
A Habit of Blame
FAULT so often dead ends with weary keeping of accounts.
ADAGE might say that grace begins where blame ends.
SOOTH so spoken seems right enough, yet there is the matter of
HABIT, ingrained need to name the villain of the piece, to be its hero.
Just another scion
Being the middle NOBLE in a family of
five, the SCRAP at the centre of the litter, it’s
difficult to WRING a decent living from the
leftovers; not even a THIRD, barely a fifth.
To Taste Goodness
WRING from life the marrow, wrest its joys, seek its every
SCRAP of beauty. Face down agonies. If you are blessed, perhaps a
THIRD of your days may meet expectations, if reduced. Better to be
NOBLE with so little won, so little to claim, and yet to have tasted goodness.
To Beth
BISON-mascot of the high school where my wife teaches. Can’t
BOTCH this DQP poem now. This one goes out to Beth, who
ABHORs the moment with the checked out, lax, student; yet for her, the golden moment always
GLINTs: the connection where you get through and spark something for a student, able to receive.
Craftmanship
I
ABHOR to see something that I know is a
BOTCH, poorly-made, carelessly thought, a
GLINT insufficient in the creator’s eye. The
BISON, still extant, stands perfect, as he ought.
Bad Buffalo
BISON playing Quordle, sees the word
BOTCH, and does a double take thinking it was a word
ABHORrent to the bovine community, and with a
GLINT in his deeply black eye he ponders transgressive obscenity.
Unwelcome Guest
KNEEL at the grate. Peer in. Rear back.
COBRA right there, nestled in the ducts of an ocean
LINER. Can he get it out without passengers noticing? To
DEBUG how this happened is a task for later.
Cobra
I have yet to figure out how to DEBUG
a hissing, snarling, glass-eyed COBRA.
The one I found in a discarded bin-LINER
reared, and said, I will give you all the kingdoms of the world if you will KNEEL before me.
[No snakes in New Zealand, thank God, and may that never change]