Micropoetry Monday: Absurdity

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Sunnie Mooney had always said
that she’d never retire
till she became a millionaire,
but then she got starstruck in the kisser
by a meteor in the shape of Alec Baldwin,
knocking the day & night lights
out of her.
To upcycle
what his mother had self-deprecatingly
referred to as Ivory Rubbish,
her son, Moon Pi,
donated her body to science fiction,
& she made more money as a sideshow prop
than she ever had as a freakshow character—
finally reaching that million-dollar milestone
after she’d reached for the stars.

Dangerous Curves Ahead

Judy was hauled off to the fat farm
while Janey was rolled away to the funny farm.
When they connected through group therapy,
they realized that one man
(ex-husband to one, ex-lover to the other)
had driven Judy to try to eat her way to oblivion,
the other, to check into it.
And so, these 2 women done wrong
decided that the only cure to their troubles was Joanie—
a leggy, blond nymph who would turn their ex’s eye
& empty his head—
for Joanie had driven all her husbands
to buy the farm.

When Fanny Took a Load Off
Fanny Bottoms (nee Derriere)
was the butt of many jokes
because of her Spoonerisms,
but she got the last guffaw
when she turned the other cheek
on those anal asses
by showing them the
dark, unwaxed side of the moon.

Micropoetry Monday: Pith & Punctuation

Em Dash was as innumerate
as En Dash was illiterate,
but when they did a DNA test,
they realized they were descended from the Hyphen,
who separated words & numbers
& helped women keep their maiden name
while taking their married name, too.

When Lady Apostrophe
went to her daily therapy sessions,
she became increasingly indignant
over Dr. Dew Nothing’s diagnoses:
obsessive-possessive disorder,
delusions of grandeur—
as Lady felt like she was the only thing
that held two words together—
& a slew of imaginary frenemies
whom she addressed (rather poetically).
Dr. Nothing—
having sent Lady Apostrophe on her way
with a 90-day supply of chill pills—
preferred Miss Period,
who only bothered her once a month
& would be gone
long before she retired.

When Readerly, Writerly, & Grammarly
wandered into a minibar.
Readerly entertained herself with reading the menu
& Writerly, with making it more interesting,
while Grammarly punctuated the pauses in Readerly’s speaking
& proofed the edits that Writerly had lovingly made.
Different facets of the same person,
they made a great team,
for were smart enough not to consume anything
from the minibar,
with its absentee mixologist,
overpriced products,
& chilly atmosphere.

*Fiction Friday: Micropoetry Based on the Novel

Every Mormon a missionary
meant that every deed had an angle—
some were acute,
& others, obtuse,
but a negligible percentage was just right.
In the Catholic Church,
helping the poor was their way of showing
how great God was,
but performing acts of service in the Mormon Church
was to show how great the Church was.
Including Books of Mormon in military care packages
seemed like taking credit,
for the ubiquitous Bible spanned all other Christian denominations
so that no one church could claim it exclusively.

Unlike the Catholic Church with all its pageantry,
its stained glass windows & ornate architecture,
& the Baptist Church with its ultra-modern megachurch facilities,
the Mormon Church was spartan in comparison,
for they claimed to believe in truth, not traditions.
The Mormon meetinghouse was a building that looked like any other,
save for the crossless steeple & the sign with Jesus’s name on it.
The Mormons had convinced me for a time
that spending money on large & fancy buildings
would be put to better use to serving the community,
but then I remembered Jesus & the woman
who poured expensive ointment on His head,
& one of His disciples chastising her,
stating that such could have helped the poor.
That was when I saw these uniquely & fearfully made buildings
as honoring the One for whom they were built.
It was in this way that these churches were akin to the Mormon temples
that the brethren & sisters called God’s house—
these temples for whom entrance was available to the few
who passed the LDS litmus test.
Many would say the Mormons
were better than the Baptists,
but it was only because they had to be.

I was an eavesdropper,
a voyeur,
but the romantic scene made me ache
to share such intimacy with a man.
I had once fancied myself as a nun,
for I had believed that to be a woman’s highest calling;
now I fancied myself as a married woman,
surrounded by large brood,
for in the Church,
married motherhood was a woman’s highest calling.
Like the sinners they were,
my friend & the one she loved retreated further into the dark,
for what they had done could never be brought to light.

The game room at the end of the hall
was like the light at the end of a very long tunnel,
& down the rabbit hole, I went,
feeling like Alice,
getting larger as I drank from the vial
that would not cure my curiosity
but make me crave to satisfy it more.
Mick & Mart,
always the players,
never the spectators,
had monopolized the ping pong table for an hour
before I realized Kath & Tony had disappeared.
I knew they hadn’t gone outside to play
Ultimate Frisbee in the parking lot
but had gone somewhere in secret to play other games.

Though Kath was the only woman,
Tony treated her like the other woman
because she was “The Other.”
For her,
he jeopardized his soul for entrance to celestial heaven
& his grand standing in the community.
His parents were uncomfortable with the idea of biracial grandchildren,
for Green Haven was predominately White, Protestant, & Republican,
& those who fit into all three categories tended to be
the most prosperous citizens.
He was a giant frog in a small pond,
having hopped from lily pad to lily pad;
he wanted to become the prince of Green Haven,
& I knew he wasn’t sure he could do that
with a wife of known African heritage.
Though Kath’s skin was fairer
& her hair lighter than mine,
it was what was under the skin
that had defined who she was in it.

Logline for Because of Mindy Wiley An Irish-Catholic girl coming of age in the Deep South during the New Millennium finds her family splintered when two Mormon missionaries come to her door, their presence and promise unearthing long-buried family secrets, which lead to her excommunication and exile.

When Age Was No Longer Numbered

When the world no longer aged,
learning did not cease
but development did.
Husbands loved their expectant wives
with their rounded bellies & tiger mom stripes,
& the mothers loved their little one(s) within,
who floated as if in a state of suspended animation,
the mothers,
in suspended celebration.
The babies born were loved for who they were
& who they would never become.
Developmental milestones became a thing of the past;
educational milestones became the next big thing.
There were no more birthdays—
just calendars marking each day
since the last birthday had been celebrated;
there were anniversaries, however,
for Time continued marching on,
leaving a lighter bootprint
with every passing year.

It was an era of endless childhood:
of childhood sweethearts who would never marry,
of teenagers who would never know wisdom,
of young parents who would never become grandparents,
& of grandparents who would never pass away.
Those who loved their age loved their lives;
those who wished to be young again would be old forever;
& those who wished to grow up would never know independence,
for no matter how much they learned,
they would never mature.
There were no more conceptions or births,
no more deaths from old age but unnatural causes.
Those who loved what they did would do it seemingly forever,
& those who did not
could not bear an eternity of hating their livelihood,
so they went back to school
in acknowledgment & the reclaiming of their perpetual personhood,
for they had all the time in the world.

In this reverse Groundhog Day,
where the days changed, but the routine did not—
the world began to live in an almost hypnagogic state,
for the only promise of tomorrow was that it would come.
For some,
this cessation was the spring of eternal life,
for others,
a never-ending winter.
And for those who were too young to know any better,
it was all they knew.

Micropoetry Monday: Love Story

Photo Shape Editor: https://www.tuxpi.com/photo-effects/shape-tool

When Mr. House met Miss Holmes,
he found himself in need of a woman’s touch,
while she became the lady of the house.

He wrote on the lines,
she, between them.
He was an open book,
she, factory-sealed.
He didn’t seal the deal with a kiss
but rather,
unsealed her
with his.

He was the man with the golden touch,
she, the woman with the silver tongue,
but it was because of her touch
that his tongue was loosened.

He is

Lily

For even as He grew in Mary’s womb,
He had not disappeared from the heavens
of the preconceived & the immortal,
nor from the earth beyond the veil of birth;
He, who was limitless—
limited by neither time nor place—
did not possess,
but came by invitation only.
For those of the New Testament,
He was the Spirit of Christmas Present,
the Old,
the Spirit of a Christmas Yet to Be.
For the planet walkers of today,
He is the Spirit of a Christmas Past—
a spirit who remains ever present,
even as, like books, symbols of His death
are burned or banned,
even as His words are,
like books also,
rewritten or translated according to the times.
He was the literal Son of Mary,
yet her spiritual father.
He is the masculine,
the Immaculate,
the embodiment of The Overcoming.
He is the lone lifeguard who can save
from spiritual drowning,
the storyteller of the common person,
the pescatarian.
He is who He is,
but for many,
He is whoever they imagine Him to be.