languishing beside a black pool

unused therefore useless

long enough to move the world

to pry open the gate of heaven

an express elevator to the top floor

whose button goes unpushed

the 41 buick in dads garage unmoving

a farmer whose fields gone fallow

despite jars of seeds on the shelf

under sheets in the basement

a lathe, table saw, drill press

absent anticipation , there is no

hint of waiting. asparagus that

dares rise up gets chopped off.

imagination only harvests a

feeble forced invention

of what use might have been made

what joy could have been, viewed

from behind that dust encrusted wind

shield.

20260430

last day of april

Day Thirty napowrimo.net

2026 April PAD Challenge: Day 30 writersdigest.com

medea is a fear monger
A selfish lover, teasing you for sport
if you give her even half an ear
you’ll think that vitriol and hate
Are everywhere
racist, trans phobic, gay bashers galore!
She’ll drive you into despair surely
as Louise will drive you off the cliff.
now don’t get me wrong
of course there’s many people
doing awful things to each other.
but there is so much good
the worlds pockets overflow with it
so stick your hands in, take some
there’s plenty to go around

what if we had a human zoo?

ok, we do, but i mean, officially?

the bears and the bison

could walk around gawking at

the wise one, the humble one

in a faux corporation

(to simulate their natural environment)

the cage for honesty

seems to be empty

.

20260428

The prompt at diverse call up to seven sacred teachings, seven animals and the admirable and desirable qualities they represent or embody. i figured the white man would put them in cages, or that would be the only way most folks would ever experience them. if only it was the other way around.

Poetics: The Seven Grandfather Teachings dversepoets.com

there is a razor
that lacerates the soul
can you learn to
shave with it?
it does not matter
hair cannot conceal radiance

.
20260428
to no prompt

The poets all got together

And had themselves a meeting

It was a real heater

What was on the agenda?

You, dear reader.

And the poet all decided

They would turn out some new verse

designed to give you instruction

Of some kind. for the poets.

No further instruction provided.

.

well, I thought I would write mine this morning at work

Maybe tell you how to do my job

I’m sure you were relieved that didn’t happen

.

So now the sun is on its way down

And I’m on the back road

Out of town. Maybe I could instruct you

How to get to my house

But it’s kind of a mess, and we have no hors d’oeuvres

.

Maybe there is something that I know how to do

And it would be great for the chance to help you

Learn it too. But what do I know?

About your present plight

Kenya, New Zealand Morocco

You could be reading this from anywhere

(which is amazing!)

.

so that’s what it really

comes down to. if i am

to implore you, cajole you

or give you any instruction at all

it would be to read.

which you have.

thank you! great job

.

20260427

Day Twenty-Seven napowrimo.net

every parting we are sure to say it

and you know the one time we don’t

telling you this shows me

that i don’t do this for her

it’s the …

well you see losing her

will my self undo

that ritual is just a bandaid

her finger plugs the hole

in my heart, no last words

will keep that from bleeding out

20260426

2026 April PAD Challenge: Day 26 writersdigest.com

when, upon the magic of words we lean

to call out and dispel demons what dwell

and hide in the corners of our being

.

miles of guardrails most ignore, and safely

some come to rely on. the girl in the back

seat wonders what hole all that came from

.

some, poets artesian, have dug the well,

through whom poems erupt, have tapped

pain or hunger or some other great oceanic

common undercurrent, fundy-mental tide

unsandbaggable wordfloods inundate.

.

in the april poetic sap does well up within

the poet’s skin, buds of poems prompted

to unfurl. sunny faces shine upon these

leaves which then photosynthesize the

readers gaze into such sweet life sustenance

.

sitting under such poetries, poems are

armor defend from burning rays.

also a triptych a map,

to guide through otherwise uncharted emotional landscapes

.

some sit in a vision, turning it over

and over, rubbing and revisioning

polishing until it is just so

.

Prajapti was so enamored of Vac that,

in his devotion to her, he has forgotten

and can no longer function without her gift

.

once you eat wurruri the preword wisdom

is lost

that wordfree emptiness is barely perceptible among the wordnoise .

if you would be a poet,

.

seek that!

.

20260425

Day Twenty-Six napowrimo.net

the prompt over at writers digest is to revisit or remix a previous poem. this is a great exercise. sometimes i’m inspired to begin again, explore a tangent, or tweak and change things. this was one where i had got stuck. it sat for quite a while. time allowed me to press on. here is the new version:

.

There is a song within me

Deep, in hiding, in the dark places

A secret black fist clenching

a song of sobbing and wailing

choked to silence but not to

oblivion…

not just yet.

.

Across the sunny meadow

step across the tiny rivulette.

to and Into the mighty oak

Down into the womb

Back into the origin

The dungeon, the oubliette

A cage of iron, thought and will

There the demon is bottled up

thriving on my neglect

in the center a case of glass

and polished brass

within, ruby crystal treasure

there is also there

a shade among the shadows

a large lurking manshaped thing

It took me so long to even notice him

longer still to recognize

only now i’m sensing his longing

he’s made of little else

i haven’t caught a glimpse of him

since that night in that cave

i’ve been carrying him in a sack.

.

my throat is sore

mouth is burning

it hurts just to think of talking

so the truth that must sing

is another lurkingshadow.

waiting,,,

here is the original:

There is a song within me

Deep, in hiding, in the dark places

A secret black

Across the sunny meadow

Into the mighty oak

Down into the womb

Back into the origin

The dungeon, the oubliette

A cage of iron, thought and will

There the demon is bottled up

20260425

2026 April PAD Challenge: Day 25 writersdigest.com

ai is as yet a bag of shite
a bowl the size of Tianyan
an astounding word salad
like any good grandpa it’s
vocabulary will shrink to fit
and stoop to your level.
how can we not love something
that uses our words to say
what we always hoped to hear,
what mother couldn’t manage.
some yet are heartless enough
to scab over quick where ai has stabbed
who leverage not caring enough
to read a little deeper. tis a thin
veneer, easily pierced. for now.
all those words of mutiny
can’t endure scrutiny, revealed
to be an idiots tale,
signifying nothing
for now.
it eats, and grows
like us
more and more into the maw
only a few more souls should do
the salad becomes as true
here comes baby’s first poo

i fear no dairy

give me a squirt right from the cow

and added sugar i can do without

so milk her and settle it out

harvest this crop of cream

maybe some fresh fruit

or vanilla bean

but that’s it, no more.

no gums no fillers

not oat soy not coconut

bring the temp down

wholesome smooth and frozen

with one actual amarena cherry on top

20260425

just desserts:

Friday Writing #224: Just Desserts poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com