NaPoWriMo Day 24 – Profile of Nihirizumu-no-Kage

Photo by joey Zhou on Unsplash

Profile of Nihirizumu-no-Kage

My creative spirit is
a large cat-like creature native to
Africa and central Iran.

In her natural spirit form, her soul is
the fastest land, air, and multi-
dimensional animal, and as such,
she has several adaptations for speed,
including a light build, long thin legs,
a long tail, and occasionally,

when at resonance with her partner
and confidant, she sprouts the most
beautiful wings the color of every
sunset ever seen by man.

Her head is small, rounded, with an
occasional mane of soul energy which
resembles evaporating obsidian.

She has a short snout and black tear-like
facial streaks, which change colors in
relation to her emotional state
and level of artistic fulfilment.

Her coat is typically tawny peach to
creamy pink or pale magenta and is
mostly covered with multivariately-
spaced, multicolored spots, which also
change pigment and texture, often
containing galaxies of their own,

each birthing and dying on the whim of
an examined or ignored idea.

Her name is Nihirizumu-no-Kage,
though she has never spoken it,
nor will she respond to it,
but if I fail to invoke her whole name
every time, she vanishes in a huff.

While an informal partner of mine,
she is never subservient or tame.

If anything, she recognizes me as
a subspecies of her and is often
bemused by my efforts to
hunt down new concepts alone.

While she leads a nomadic life searching
for her own prey, occasionally our efforts
achieve a resonance where I impress her
enough to lend me her power.

As she hunts by sight and I by inner-light,
she is diurnal to my nocturnal nature,
therefore we tend to peak together
during dawn and dusk.  

My creative spirit is threatened by
several factors such as time-space
habitat loss, conflict with capitalistic
concepts like conventional wisdom and
day-jobs, poaching and other types of
plagiarism, and high susceptibility
to diseases and eroded confidence.

Nihirizumu-no-Kage is ailing,
considered as Vulnerable on the
Global Creative Sprit List,
but I have faith in her.

She always finds her way back.

Unrelated to the poem (unless you count the alter-ego thing). R.I.P. Shock G/Humpty Hump

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 24 Prompt:

“Today’s (optional) prompt is a fun one. Find a factual article about an animal. A Wikipedia article or something from National Geographic would do nicely – just make sure it repeats the name of the animal a lot. Now, go back through the text and replace the name of the animal with something else – it could be something very abstract, like “sadness” or “my heart,” or something more concrete, like “the streetlight outside my window that won’t stop blinking.” You should wind up with some very funny and even touching combinations, which you can then rearrange and edit into a poem.”

NaPoWriMo Day 24 Prompt

While I struggled a bit with the editing, this one was fun. I’ve written about this topic before here and here, but this is the first time I tried describing her in a zoological nature. Hope I didn’t piss her off with this! (Oh, and I used the Wikipedia entry for Cheetah as my base article.)

NaPoWriMo Day 9 – Giacomo Casanova’s To Do List:

Photo by Rebe Adelaida on Unsplash

Giacomo Casanova’s To Do List:

“Cheating is a sin, but honest cunning is simply prudence. It is a virtue. To be sure, it has a likeness to roguery, but that cannot be helped. He who has not learned to practice it is a fool.”

― Giacomo Casanova

do study Theology
do give thyself to God
learning the ways of the cloth

do meet the sisters
do give myself to the sisters

no, not nuns (never nuns)
such sacrilege!

but yes, actual birth sisters
simultaneously, generously

do cast off the cloth;
theology can wait

do attend concerto
do listen to the male soprano
becoming captivated, by him?

must learn more- and
-ah, there it is;
an imposter, a woman

do give myself into
her womb for certainty
leaving my seed for her
to harvest our bastard

do attend carnival
saving nobleman from certain death
do get that bread (receive reward)

do go gambling
meeting bewitching courtesan
try not to get seduced and swindled

having failed that
duel one of courtesan’s many lovers
do for money, honor, to save face
or whatever

do prevail, wounding the scallywag
do look over my shoulder
continue doing this forever

do visit France
do learn French
do the French landlady’s daughter

do confuse and seduce
fourteen-year-old girl
trailing her to convent
while she carries my seed

do not contemplate if
this is the vilest task
I have ever completed

having failed at not
contemplating this atrocity
do hold my ale

do meat the sisters (not a typo)
yes, nuns, hun, has to be nuns
to ignore them is sacrilege!

do solicit coitus-ravaged nuns’ help
in wooing underage lover
and maybe do give myself
to one or two more

I dunno
maybe let a monk or pastor
watch a few times?

(try not get arrested for indecency)

having failed this
do escape from prison
with a monk accomplice

do change name, do change game
get that bread, get new threads

try not to squander wealth
on actresses, debutantes,
indiscriminate common strumpets

having failed this
try not to fall into debt

do change name again
after falling into debt again

do save friend’s debutante wife
from unwanted pregnancy with him
via unlawful, dangerous abortion

or, having failed to abort
do try ending pregnancy
via my mystic doggy-style

failing this as well
just say “oh well”
leaving them to their fate
what’s done is done

but do refuse on principal
to become a son’s dad
and granddad, by refusing to
impregnate one of my countless
illegitimate daughters

I do have my limits, sir!
I may be a lecherous cheat
but I am no monster!

after careful consideration
do agree to become my son’s
dad and granddad by- well

(probably see where this is going)

do lean into becoming a mystic
becoming a cultist, claiming to
resurrect the dead

do go ahead and
get that bread
from true-believers
who still pray

never overstay

let’s see, what else?
oh, I dunno
become a librarian, I guess?

do brag about all the shagging
do write it all down
do name names

do set aside enough time
to regret and learn
absolutely nothing

The video I chose is completely unrelated to the poem. Rest easy, DMX. 1970-2021

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 9 Prompt:

“The fun of this prompt is to make it the “to-do list” of an unusual person or character. For example, what’s on the Tooth Fairy’s to-do list? Or on the to-do list of Genghis Khan? Of a housefly? Your list can be a mix of extremely boring things and wild things. For example, maybe Santa Claus needs to order his elves to make 7 million animatronic Baby Yoda dolls, to have his hat dry-cleaned to get off all the soot it picked up last December, and to get his head electrician to change out the sparkplugs on Rudolph’s nose.”

NaPoWriMo Day 9 Prompt:

I may have had a bit too much fun with this one …

Waking, Now Armed with Butterfly Net

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

Waking, Now Armed with Butterfly Net

remiss bliss
I bid you stay
with a kiss
you fall away

eyelids flick
bringing freely
sudden death

a dirty trick
filling me
with your breath

puncturing softly
with careless resourcefulness
only to leave me
aloft in forgetfulness

in shrouds
on the brink
skewing blue

the clouds
lip-gloss pink
reclaim you

when my bed
became the very ground
that we unsheathed blissfully

now my head
empties of every grounded
word you breathed into me

with you along this alluring path
boding replay
a wonderful blunder

and now it’s your reassuring laugh
floating away
leaving me to wonder

if I ever knew its sound
from our beginning
or if that beginning
ever truly began

though I felt you near, around
my heart was grinning
as if we were ginning-up
the tides that ran

in this pale dawn I stand
matter ceasing to exist
I reach for your hand
scattering it in pastel mist

along with your forearm
elbow, dress-sleeve
your promises and charm
lukewarm reprieve

less than I was anticipating
leaving only me
cotton-candy cloud dissipating
where your heart should be

I’ve searched and retraced
our dreamy sham
you saw and embraced
me as I am

as no other had
and had I not leaned
in for more of you
could our moment have transcended
this trick of light?

I find myself glad
and sad that fate careened
into our floral view
as my tongue was apprehended
in thick of night

the sun won’t even pretend
to keep a fair score
can’t recall or comprehend
your name anymore

or if you ever had one
a dream of a life in retreat
dew drops of you rise, undone
but for a hummingbird’s heartbeat

I feel that I wrote
countless poems
dedicated to your eyes
shining only for me

repealed to remote
soundless moans
desiccated in pink skies
a pining, lonely sea

we won’t grow
from what plans remain
succumbing to sea
as bright fields
yawning bliss

I don’t know
what you stand to gain
when coming for me
as night yields
to dawn’s kiss

I must beg you, play not
with sleep so breezily
for next time you may not
get off so easily

Day 27: Sometimes, Even the Jokes are Stale

Photo by Trym Nilsen on Unsplash

Sometimes, Even the Jokes are Stale

This thing is defective.

It fails to connect,
except that when it does,
it will burn itself out.

But it almost never does.

The camouflage is
impregnable to a fault;
if worn for too long,
crisis of identity will occur.

The bubble is beautiful,
if its theory is explained,
which it never is.

It protects by deflection,
gestating its own physics,
lighter than oxygen,
sturdier than steel,

but nonexistent
once integrity
is compromised.

This could lead to a
cascading failure
and frozen self-reflection.

The external shielding
and internal barriers
can become polarized, and
is susceptible to both

and self-loathing
meeting incidentally,
annihilating everything.

At this critical point,
mixing with alcohol
and cannabis products
is not recommended

but it is most likely

Overall, all it’s really good for
is writing poetry,
cracking mean-spirited jokes,
overanalyzing its passions and joys,
and waiting for death.

Retention recommended,
but only for the jokes.

NaPoWriMo Day 27: Today’s prompt:

And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem in the form of a review. But not a review of a book or a movie of a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020 (I think many of us have some thoughts on that one!)

Well that was easy…

Day 24: Ripened

Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay 


Never been one like my first;

scent of a mad bloom
throwing syrupy hints
dying to be eaten

royal dark sheen,
slick like a first kiss,
pristine and unbruised

firm, yet yielding to the touch,
thin skin barely containing
ripened flesh for
my mouth only

gushing at my first nibble,
flowing down hand and face

sticky-sweet in a way
of forgetting decorum

noisily slurping and smacking,
moaning as taste buds are
perfectly triggered

as the natural sugars and dopamine
hit the brain simultaneously
in a way that can only be felt as

so good I didn’t care
who saw the mess it left behind
as I rung-out the last
pulp from the pit between
palette and tongue.

But your first plum
may have been different.

NaPoWriMo Day 24: Today’s prompt:

Today’s prompt is a fairly simple one: to write about a particular fruit – your choice. But I’d like you to describe this fruit as closely as possible. Perhaps your poem could attempt to tell the reader some (or all!) of the following about your chosen fruit: What does it look like, how does it feel, how does it smell, what does it taste like, where did you find it, do you need to thump it to know if it’s ripe, how do you get into it (peeling, a knife, your teeth), do you need to spit out the seeds, should you bake it, can you make jam with it, do you have to fight the birds for it, when is it available, do you need a ladder to pick it, what is your favorite memory of eating it, if you threw it at someone’s head would it splatter them or knock them out, is it expensive . . . As you may have realized from this list, there’s honestly an awful lot you can write about a fruit!

Day 9: Heart-Shaped Dispensation

Photo by Robin Spielmann on Unsplash

Heart-Shaped Dispensation

                        I often                                              wonder
               who came up with                       the valentine-esque
          shape of candy hearts,      as   it resembles nothing of the
      real thing; the vascular     juggernaut seemingly balled into an
    angry fist, forcing fluids     and nutrients to their destinations, no
     thought ever given to its      alleged fragility, or odd tendencies
        for breaking upon rejection,    betrayal, or loss; still though,
            then again, upon reflection,     after experiencing each
                    of these things personally,      at the moment of
                            impact, it was my own    chest I grasped
                                  at, hoping to ease    the pain. Still,
                                           it’s an odd, silly     design,
                                                     though, but     for
                                                          now, I will

NaPoWriMo Day 9: The Challenge:

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem. This might seem like a very modernist idea, but poets have been writing concrete poems since the 1600s! Your poem can take a simple shape, like a box or ball, or maybe you’ll have fun trying something more elaborate, like this poem in the shape of a Christmas tree.

Obviously, I went with a heart shape. Perhaps less obviously, I tried to put a crack in it, but it came out rather wonky. Well, at least I tried.

(A special thank you to Maureen Thorson for featuring my Day 8 poem on her NaPoWriMo site. I’ve never been moved to write for the site traffic, but the unique hits here have gone through the roof, and I greatly appreciate all the new poets and readers visiting me. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, but I will do my best to visit each of you as well.)

Day 6: Eve’s Side-Eye

God/Jesus with Adam and Eve, Hieronymus Bosch, The Garden of Earthly Delights, c. 1480-1505, oil on panel, 220 x 390 cm (Museo del Prado)

Eve’s Side-Eye

I’m gonna take the fall for this, aren’t I?
it’s clear from the Holy One’s grip on me
His glare into the heart of man, unmoved
my wrist upturned, defenseless, submitting

Adam’s dumb gaze affixed on His judgement
obedient, naked, dense, stupid beast
bet he really thinks I come from his rib

fruitful and multiply like rabbits, eh?
guess I have no say in the matter then?

mother of original sin? how droll
mother of sciences is more like it

He may well yet bring me to my knees here
but despite my side-eye, I won’t stay there.

NaPoWriMo Day 6: “…write a poem from the point of view of one person/animal/thing from Hieronymus Bosch’s famous (and famously bizarre) triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights.”

I gotta be honest here; I hated this prompt. I didn’t enjoy viewing the art nor all the nightmare fuel within it (and there’s a lot going on here). Your mileage may vary, but I was pretty close to skipping this one when my eye caught the scene of God/Jesus, Adam and Eve. That scene compelled me to write this.

Day 1: Never the Same One Twice

Photo by Cris Saur on Unsplash

Never the Same One Twice

I lie in bed
a dreaded lie
a lying beheaded liar

a fly caught dead
failing to conceive
the clear pane lying ahead
lying to him

dreading the lies I’ll conspire
constructing in my head

which is a lie
subconsciously formed
before the first lie
coalesced by will
my dream lies

like the rug
awaiting my shiftless feet
and restless legs
egging me on

that I missed the alarm
by two lying-assed minutes
dooming me to what lies
in shadow two minutes ago

which was only ego
yielding to id as I slid
from lying to sitting
grasping at evaporating nothing

warning me that nothing is
as it seems even within
the busted seams
of interrupted dreams

that scream fuck everything
when asked if I slept well
as if I could tell time
and reason from rhyme

and sure
everything’s fine I guess
but I digress
let’s pretend we’re not
because at least we’ll regress
to a partial truth.

NaPoWriMo Day 1: “a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances. For example, bowling, or shopping for socks, or shoveling snow, or teaching a child to tie its shoes.”

A Wondrous Harmony


Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash

A Wondrous Harmony

You are my favorite song
prolonged by our lifelong sing-along;

the seemingly ringing
random sequence of beaconing
notes bringing me in ungainly,
unacquainted, yet infectiously
groovy set melody
that soothes and threatens to
relentlessly bring me
blissful expressions;

you are this to me
as well as destiny
of warm contemplation;

the un-played keys
that say everything,

returning it;
the indeterminate rests
among joyful-singing notes,

reaffirming its depths,
gasping for breath between
belly-laughs by the lungful;

your barely half-measured
triumphal treasure
fills impassioned sensations
with blasphemous pleasures;

ears favor your treble,
bones savor your bass,
and touch yearns for your encore.

Last Thing I Hear

Last Thing I Hear

I bzz-buzz his beer
‘cuzz it’s bittersweet.

He shoos me;

so I bzz-buzz her martini.
She’s staring past me,

through him, past his seat,
to wherezz? Why ask me?

I’m to bzz-busy, you see?
This bzz-sequence is key!

She ignored me! I’m in!
Sweet delectable sin!

Bzzyum yummy-yum,
oh I knew I’d love rum,

now-drowsy, oh no,
the bar scene runs slow;
no one can save the groove,


wings heavy with
fate and doom
sweet regret swells,
atrophy and ache,
can’t movezzz!

She frownszz,

he frownszz,
I drink, I drownzz,

I think, unwound;

can we flies think?

the bland bar muzzac
into thin air.

Do flies have earszz?
Meh, I don’t care,

but the last thing that I hearszz,
before it all vanished into ether

he zz-said to her wet eyelids,
with scarcely a whisper,

“I’d have given you kids;
we’d have been good together.”

Inspired by dVerse Poetics: Surrealism in Poetry, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg. Other poets contributed here.