Read Retroflexed Triflections: A Summer Of Poetry Blog Challenges In Three Parts Page 1


Retroflexed Triflections

  A summer

  of poetry blog challenges

  in three parts

  by Steve Lavigne

  copyright 2012 Steve Lavigne

  Discover other titles by Steve LaVigne

  The April 2012 Um-Yangian

  Fork and other poems

  The Unpublishables

  Table of Contents

  One - Trifecta weekly challenges

  Triumph

  Absence

  Dinosaur

  Black

  Firework

  Good v. Evil

  A skinny long haired hippie

  Blind

  Venus and the Sailor

  Radical Departure

  Home

  Operation Surgical Strike

  Normal

  She realized early on

  The Score

  this soap bubble, glass ball

  With This Vorpal Blade

  without you

  The narrow back alley

  Two - Trifextra weekend challenges

  motherless

  “3 wishes”

  on the count of three

  Bills, clippings, yellowing photographs

  Broken butterfly

  Sevenling (in 33words)

  Grasping the last strains

  In three words

  Jesus

  A fabulists’ contract

  Trifecta: The Novel

  Riding this chain clanking

  Daughter

  Three – Other challenges

  Her world, a helicopter seed spinning

  Bliss

  t-shirt

  Robin red breast

  Sevenling

  Lament

  Symbolism

  My nonet

  1 – long ago

  Carnival

  “when words slip free”

  You’ve been gone so long

  Change

  Change (2)

  Follow

  Riddle

  There’s a line

  fire

  random thoughts at 4am

  summer school

  One flew over the cuckold’s nest

  Dessert

  One

  Triumph

  A triumph, this waking

  well rested

  not overly or under

  done

  much as the brown eggs

  on the stove

  which were hand delivered

  with a soft affection

  from a friend.

  A triumph, my reaction

  to the overly exuberant

  shouting and chattering

  of morning children,

  no bleary eyed cringing

  or flashing anger

  this time

  just a gratefulness

  shaking me like

  ripped foil

  or the subtle hint

  of your perfume

  as I remember

  how it warmed

  the nape of my neck

  like a passing breath.

  A triumph, as I wake

  and rise

  yet again

  intimately aware

  of the children,

  your empty chair,

  the empty place

  we still set there

  and how they

  never seem to notice

  your absence

  anymore.

  (Use the Third definition of the word Triumph in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Absence: the devil’s love song

  I.

  The envy of those lacking it

  is profound

  and supremely

  misdirected.

  For we all miss

  something,

  even the devil

  who’ll bottle up your soul

  giving you one lunar month

  to accomplish

  his little task

  in order for you to receive

  your fondest wish

  or be

  forever his -

  one more star

  set

  amidst a twinkling of stars,

  the devil drinking you in

  on his divan

  with a fine brandy,

  your soul glistening like a jewel

  reflecting brightly off his snifter;

  the devil always wondering

  if there is more.

  II.

  Before we met

  did you really feel

  unfulfilled

  with all that you

  had accomplished –

  creating light and dark,

  time and space,

  you,

  yourself-

  and how do you explain

  this fountain of us,

  this flowing of us through

  and over the other,

  each so sweetly moved

  and changed

  and now that you are

  gone

  this absence,

  this emptiness

  in the background

  of being

  and the silence

  is too much…

  III.

  The dog sat in the middle of the road

  and picked at a burr in its paw:

  it licked and bit and chewed

  long after the pad and the paw were gone –

  the burr remaining

  steadfastly

  in his mind, his imagination,

  his dreams.

  (Use the Third definition of the word Absence in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Dinosaur

  These old bones

  trapped in the stone memory

  of its youth

  is a prime example -

  the quick brown fox

  of the mind

  not quite so eager

  to jump or mend

  its broken fences

  anymore

  except perhaps when I think back on you

  long necks nuzzling

  in the twilight,

  our slow, distal lumbering

  into solitude

  and all the while

  Hold me one more time

  I need that stinging newborn wetness

  straight from the shell when I'm with you

  feeling

  to make this old dinosaur whole

  medley

  still singing

  in the landscape

  of my brain

  (Use the Third definition of the word Dinosaur in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Black

  A haircut?

  "No I want them all cut"

  and I am become a bad joke

  incarnate,

  youth’s anti-hero

  dressed in black,

  dark cape billowing over my lap

  and cinched at the neck

  with white tissue.

  The anti-grav chair swivels

  and pumps

  and exhales a hissing,

  disembodied head floating

  unmoving

  in the mirror.

  Silver scissors snip

  and

  clip

  and tilt a clean

  conformation

  to the greater plan -

  my woolly imagination

  chafing

  on the proffered

  platter

  asking

  how they could have ev
er done it,

  the outlaws,

  bob marley,

  john the baptist …

  ask samson,

  it says,

  ask him

  about the

  time

  he

  stooped

  and

  stopped

  being

  "the Boss",

  go on,

  ask him, ask

  him

  and see

  what happened

  when

  he grew

  it

  all

  back.

  (Use the Third definition of the word Black in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Firework - every 5th grade chorus is singing it

  Hey paperbag

  grocery store

  lady

  never thinking bout all the plastic bag

  kids you left ripped and fluttering

  in your chain link

  fenced

  in

  world.

  Hey mr. card sharken

  foreclosen

  2nd mortgage

  man

  rememberin

  when you were

  a rocketman

  and everybody but mr. welk

  was cool

  with pimp hat, rainbow star glasses

  elton

  coloring

  that acne

  constellation

  of uncertainty.

  Boom Boom Boom – that was your heart beatin

  Moon Moon Moon – just something to get beyond

  never thinking you could outshine

  it

  and not

  even one old greasy spark left

  to complain

  about your underfunded

  hopped up

  space program

  to be

  Boom Boom Boom – don’t you remember

  that was your heart beatin

  Moon Moon Moon – just something to get beyond

  never thinking you could outshine

  it

  Boom Boom Boom – listen

  that's a kid's heart

  beatin

  no rainbow glasses

  needed

  Boom Boom Boom – cover your eyes

  they’re fireworks

  making their own stars

  Boom Boom Boom – they're

  fireworks

  of shooting stars

  out shinin the

  Moon Moon Moon – brighter

  than any night

  you could have

  ever

  created

  (Use the Third definition of the word Firework in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Good v. Evil

  Good and evil

  is like porn, he said,

  I knows it when I

  sees it –

  if only he hadn’t gotten tripped

  up in his black

  work robes,

  who knew the sildenafil

  for his heart condition

  would cause a massive erection

  and lead one eye

  witness to report

  fallen on broken in half

  dick syndrome -

  but his wife evidently did,

  her triumph

  as she had readjusted his dosage with a

  bush v. gore mentality –

  finally those years of non-stop

  tongue wagging from the bench

  would be put to some real cunning

  lingual use –

  she would get satisfaction

  in due course

  (Use the Third definition of the word Triumph in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  A skinny long haired hippy,

  by all accounts,

  communing with nature

  during storms,

  disrupting commerce,

  messing with business

  as usual

  and redistributing

  a sense

  of abundance

  to the yearning masses,

  of course,

  he would get in trouble

  with the authorities,

  into a bit of a jam,

  as it were,

  in that rock and hard place

  tomb

  and what father when his son

  calls collect doesn’t

  answer

  but after 3 days

  of clinging mortal stench

  even his most beloved

  was sent packing

  and you just know

  the smile jesus wore as he

  rolled the rock aside –

  "my son, my son,

  why hast thou forsaken me?"

  still ringing

  in his ears.

  This weekend's prompt is borrowed from Benjamin Franklin, who once said, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days." We want you to tell us a story about a guest, invited or otherwise, who begins to smell, metaphorically or otherwise, after three days.

  Blind

  I.

  This blind love

  as natural as the tongue

  of a bell striking back

  when struck

  and we don't think about it much

  unless that bell calls us

  to eat

  to wake

  to work

  to love

  and there you are

  my cavern wall

  and I yell at you

  waiting to hear

  your echoing voice

  so alike

  yet so different from my own

  yelling back

  at me

  II.

  The chipped, blue

  metal cup,

  cold

  from being left out

  all night,

  is colder

  than the water drawn

  from your deepest well.

  Do you rinse

  the cup

  before

  drinking

  from it?

  Is it in

  its nature

  to let you

  do so?

  III.

  blind trust

  without

  foreknowledge

  vacuum

  pregnant

  with your

  birthing

  it

  Nature,

  like a temple bell

  calling you to prayer,

  abhors nothing

  except

  mind

  not searching

  for meaning

  (Use the Third definition of the word Blind in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Venus and the Sailor

  The blouse is falling,

  slipping

  down the smooth skin

  of a shoulder,

  so you know it must be

  the last and most proper of her names,

  Love –

  love as in goddess of the ample

  hips,

  hips as large as a house

  on a hill,

  a promontory

  sidling him in

  between her and the half moon boulder

  earth,

  the quarter moon waving

  seas.

  Looking at her

  is her power –

  the sailor out to sea

  must always know

  where he is planted,

  sometimes it is even called

  home.

  (Use the Third definition of the word Ample in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words/ write a poem based on the painting Venus and the Sailor by Salvador Dali)

  Radical departure

  It's a radical departure,

  you see

  we're old now

  and can no longer blame it on y
outh or youthful

  indiscretion -

  your dress still so white,

  my black tux graying on the edges

  with experience.

  Did you ever dream when you were 18

  kissing someone your father's age

  at your mother's age

  being given away

  at such a strange altar -

  the ring bearer wearing her own

  ring of three daughters

  scampering like bunnies

  between metal folding chairs.

  Your side of the aisle,

  my side of the aisle,

  clattering together with palmed

  conversations

  pinching us in towards

  the old, lisping preacher,

  who studiously ignores with far sighted

  obtuseness

  the next ceremony scheduled to begin-

  a long wooden coffin slowly

  emerging into the nave

  like some decked out toboggan.

  Yes, we swear, we'll give each

  other a healthy head start

  on this next slippery sloping ride

  we're about to begin.

  Yes, each of us swears,

  we can no longer blame it

  on youth or youthful

  indiscretion -

  each of us swearing we swore

  that oath before,

  but neither of us

  quite so sure anymore

  as the memories

  not quite as good

  as it used to be.

  (Use the Third definition of the word Radical in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Home

  And death will bring it

  as it brings us

  home

  to this deathbed,

  two sides of one door

  each the same as the other

  after long absence –

  coal black rock

  shiny under pressure stirs

  and shall we burn it

  in this hearth,

  the only one we have,

  this home?

  (Use the Third definition of the word Home in a poem - responses must be between 33 and 333 words)

  Operation Surgical Strike

  The video game console where the operator

  earned his second armed services medal

  watching from the heavens

  with his surgical strike drones

  protecting an anxious population

  watches the unsuspecting enemies and

  their sitcom life on hi def screen –

  work, dishes, church, bedding

  the wife, family time with the children

  all observed, recorded, analyzed.

  In Pakistan, when the brown American

  and his 16 year old son

  were targeted for elimination,

  the wedding party strike was deemed unfortunate

  but necessary in the media -

  the operator’s suffering at killing

  the family he had come to know so well

  an exemplary act of service to his country.

  And what kind of world do we live in, he thinks,

  when here in Arizona, Northern California