For OctPoWriMo Day 11 the prompt is write a “letter to your Muse asking the best way to hear them, work with them, and how to work in the creative stream.” Using the form of a Rispetto with the form in iambic tetrameter (6 syllables) with a rhyme scheme ofabab ccdd.
For Day 17 of NaPoWriMo the Prompt is: to “write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time. Also, I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt Collage.
Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie
“Let us think the unthinkable. Let us do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself. And see if we may not eff it after all.” – Douglas Adams
Eff it all, what’ is thought ineffable;
Think the unthinkable, and so persist,
There’s more than the unimaginable.
You don’t see life, of what it consists —
Creating such possibilities;
Surpassing the “I can’ts,” the “What if’s.”
In childhood’s books, I seek ingenuity,
Rereading print words, traced with strange greatness;
Writing of potential necessity.
Willingly do the undoable, hate —
Not those who won’t risk, but strive — keep shoving;
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about wondering what “future archaeologists, whether human or from an alien civilization, will make of us . . . exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.” Thanks to Michael of last week’s Tale Weavers from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie who provided a prompt about the moon. As well for A to Z Challenge for a GoodRead’s quote the letter today is the letter W.
Credit: Michael – MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie
” . . . All that is now / [a]ll that is gone/ [a]ll that’s to come / and everything under the sun is in tune/ but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.
“There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it’s all dark.” — Roger Waters
Gazing into the future, ‘neath a pale moon gleaming bright,
Hard to believe, people who were, saw the same moon’s shining light.
They had houses, electricity.
So many ethnicities.
It’s different now, the gene pool changed,
Those who look unique all estranged.
All look like us, all brown eyes, dark hair, and medium skin too.
I can scarce picture blond, red-haired, green eyes, or eyes so blue.
Genetic defects they called them, so now we’re all plain, the same,
It’s weird to think, they dyed their hair, all colors, none went gray.
How was it to be individual,
Not for the whole good — sacrificial.
What makes a person now is,
Incredibly different knowing this —
Society of people who fell as those before left their cities,
Frames of what once was, rusted metal, not all that pretty.
Their language full of slang, we cannot pin down lingiustics,
Cannot find words, spoken globally, their lyrics I sing.
But their music is strange, listened —
To some and our technology it fits.
Technology they had weird, but we —
Discover strange things, sound gleaned.
Words not understandable but melodies clear and bright,
Music is forbidden, I sing in secrecy to ancient tunes light.
Some days we watch their stories, their films, when the moon is round.
My favorite days, those brilliant plays, words with lovely sound.
And we find little toys, scrapbooks, phones,
While in the distance the guns drone.
Each man, each woman a soldier,
Controlled by who knows? With no souls.
No hope as those gone far ago had, of a war ending soon,
Gazing into the future, we lived under the same moon.
“Hey Liz, what’s your kitchen chair doing out in the middle of the lake?” Barb asked.
Liz was perplexed, “My first thought was that my boys had done this, thinking it would be funny. But this is just the type of thing their Dad would think was hilarious too.”
“Maybe Mark did it?”
“No he was out like a light at 10:00 pm. The boys were genuinely surprised about the chair and ran to the window to see it. I actually believe they didn’t do it,” Liz said.
—–
The next day the snow was blizzarding, the temperatures so frigid the lake froze thickly. When warmer weather returned Liz saw her Dad outside fishing through a hole in the ice.
She smiled walking out to the ice where her Dad sat:”Dad, did you move this chair outside for fishing?”
Liz’s Dad laughed,” I did not. But it was just sitting here so I figured why not use it?”
The mystery of the chair in the middle of the lake continues.
Well, January has passed already. For me, it feels like it’s still right after Christmas. However, I won’t complain when the winter flies by fast — the sooner it flies by, the warmer it will be in Alberta.
But this too depends on several little ground hogs tomorrow, all who we do not really know if they’ve seen their shadow. So we’ll see, as for now some quotes to make you think. Cheers!
Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie
Mandibelle16 
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