A Life of Games

Cluedo.jpg

When she played “Old Maid,”
she realized that no one wanted to be one,
yet never questioned why
there was never an “Old Bachelor” game.

When she played “Perfection,”
she realized that speed and accuracy
was the winning combination to more than games.

When she played “Operation,”
she knew the world would be better off
if she wasn’t a surgeon.

When she played “Checkers,”
she realized that once she mastered something,
she lost interest in it.

When she played “Clue,”
she realized how much she loved
figuring things out.

When she played “Scrabble,”
she realized that dictionaries were friends
to the right people.

But when she played video games,
she realized how much she hated them.

Mondays Will Be Different: Sweet Little Nothings

So, I’ve phased out my #Micropoetry Mondays.  Life has been getting more intense, so I decided to scale back from writing five short poems a week to one short poem a week.

And voila!  My new Monday feature, “Dove Chocolate-inspired poetry,” was born.

~

I’d never heard of “found poetry” till I took a college level poetry class, the definition of which can be found here:  https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/found-poem-poetic-form.

I began finding (if not looking) for poetry in unlikely places, and, being the dark chocolate lover I am, noticed the cute little sayings inside the Dove candy wrapper foils, thinking, I could do something with these, so I began posting these short poems to Instagram (while I had a phone, anyway).

It was perfect. I already had the graphic–I just had to provide the text.  It is in this way that the poems practically write themselves.

Revive the art of conversation.jpg

She had them put their devices down
to get a CLUE over some CHESS pie.
MOM had the MONOPOLY on sociability that night,
taking a RISK by shaking things up.
When they all made plans for another night,
she saw it hadn’t been a TRIVIAL PURSUIT.

Fiction Friday: Novelines from the Book

We sat around playing “Clue,” not knowing that the person who would become the true murderer, was just outside the board.

“It would be nothing to believe in a God we could see, but to not see & believe—that’s what faith is,” Brad said.

Sisters Corbin & Kyle were like nuns, daring not show an ankle or hint of cleavage, which Sister Grahame had done, & Sister Hatcher had none.

The advent of the new sisters, who were more like Catholic postulates, brought with them a peace that hadn’t existed between the other 2.

Tony was like St. Paul, believing it was better to marry than to burn with passion—which would be fine if his passions were limited to one girl.

The Mormons left much to the imagination, but mine for Elder Roberts roamed wild.

The spirituality of the Mormon Church made me feel a stranger, but their sociability gave me a sense of belonging I had never known.

Then my gaze rested on Sister Wiley, who was oblivious to the 2 new souls joined in happy reunion & sweetest communion with God the Father.

When Sister Wiley’s eyes met mine, I was chilled, & I knew, underneath the golden girl, there was a tarnished silver lining.

Micropoetry Monday: Weapons & Things that are Hard

The rock was used to kill,
the paper, to destroy a reputation,
the scissors, to maim—
all were equal as weapons.
All can kill the spirit,
but the rock alone,
the unrepentant soul.

She was a ruin—
jagged-toothed &
draped in moss,
till the rock collectors came,
& she was made better
than the sum of her parts.

Water was her weapon—
boiling water pouring on the body,
icicle piercing the heart,
saltwater filling the lungs—
no fingerprints left,
DNA washed away.

His affection for Lila #9’s
soft curves was hard.
She fulfilled his every need,
yet did not get pregnant.
He loved her like a real woman,
until she conspired with the one
to whom she sold his sperm.

*In John Updike’s story, “A&P” (http://www.tiger-town.com/whatnot/updike/), he does something unusual:  He implements a long adjective using hyphens, describing a grocery aisle.  My ENC1102 professor had us come up with our own; the weapons in the “Clue” board game came to mind.

Revolver-and-rope-hammer-wrench-screwdriver-pipe-shovel-dagger-candlestick-trophy-skillets-hatchet-blowtorch-and-chainsaw-store.

Poem-a-Day Writer’s Digest Challenge #30. Theme: Bury the (blank)

Hooray!  Today was the last day of the poetry challenge, and I managed to (during finals month, at that) complete a poem every day on the day the assignment was given.  My last poem for this challenge was basically “Clue” meets “The Seven Deadly Sins”.  It’s a bit silly, but I had fun with it.

clue

Bury the Bodies

In the Lounge, Miss Scarlett clutches her Revolver,
the odor of gunshot residue following her to the Study,
only to find Professor Plum, her lusty lover,
sporting a necktie a lovely shade of hemp Rope,
his wrathful face wretched and ruddy.

Miss Peacock, her green-eyed mother,
who tried to kill her while she was eight months along,
is lying in the Library, next to a Wrench,
pieces of her brain matter decaying,
creating a monstrous stench.

Reverend Green, her uncle,
is crumpled in the corner of the Conservatory,
next to him, a Lead Pipe dripping with blood,
his pockmarked bald pate his distinguishing trait,
now surely dancing with the greedy in purgatory.

Mrs. White, her housemaid,
and her maid of dishonor,
who was lazy and fat with gluttonous sin,
is slumped over the console in the Hall,
Candlestick bent, with her head caved in.

Colonel Mustard, her second cousin,
whose pride was in big game hunting,
has a Knife broken in his chest cavity,
and is bleeding out in the Ballroom—
the epitome of depravity.

When she gazes into the mirror,
she sees all her different personalities–
the family members she murdered years ago at a party
fueled by their unfettered criminality.

She, having finally slaughtered them
with the weapon of her choice—
having heeded the voice,
runs to the Billiard Room to take her cue,
only to see that under the influence of a hot toddy,
she, with a bullet to his spine,
murdered poor Mr. Boddy.