Finish my little WORDLE. It’s not really a very big hurdle.
In the comments add your fun rendition with the solution’s one-line definition.
Please don’t just type the word, that’d be absurd.
I left a cute sample as a seasoned example.
— Sabio Lantz, 4/4/2022
——————————– Prompt: In response to d’Verse Poet’s quadrille challenge (a 42-word poem) by msjadli, I made this nerdy “poem” which is pointing to the Wordle puzzle above. If you don’t know the rules for Wordle, you can find them here. I’m curious to see your responses.
Even after badly wounded, bears continue to fight ferociously. This inspired Old Norse “berserkers”, bear warriors, known for their frenzied battle styles. These “Berserkers” (bear-shirts) and ancient Chinese women shamans both dressed in bear skins to tap into the Bear’s celestial power.
And tonight, the day before the Chinese New Year, my scope polished, I begin my hunt for the Great Bear. The frigid conditions in the dead darkness around me will help me track him down with my sights on his neck. But the Bear will be only the beginning of my hunt, for I will search deeper in the cold woods for origins of the Universe.
A frozen eye into space wisps of solar winds hitting my shields probing the bear’s hibernating secrets.
— Sabio Lantz, January 31, 2022
——————————————————– Prompt: Frank, at d’Verse Poets, challenges us to write a Haibun about Winter. Quickly, before more folks misunderstand this, it is about the Space Telescope. The first star it will inspect is in the neck of Ursa Major (The Great Bear) — the Big Dipper area. Wheew, I wanted to head off lofty readings. OK, my third edit– people still aren’t getting it, so I changed the title from “The Winter Bear” to “James Webb Telescope”
It has always struck me as rather strange, that shivers only begin after you’re warm and safe, finally out of the bitter cold.
Well, tonight the news makes me wonder if it’s only when the bombing stops that a child finally cries.
— Sabio Lantz, 1/24/22
Prompt: D’verse poets challenges us to write a quadrille (a 44-word poem) using some form of the word “shiver”. My world is relatively safe – only two murders in my neighborhood here in America lately. But news for much of the world is far worse over the last years. The corona virus is raging, but worse, are wars elsewhere innocents suffer horribly: Syria, Yemen, Burma, Yemen, Somalia, Ethiopia and many others. But two possible new ones are looming in today’s news. Ukraine and Taiwan. That “inspired” this poem.
Their pet goose is plump and proud. It looks incredibly savory even though others tell me its a chicken. But to me, it is a damn goose!
Perfect, like their rich, green lawn their two-car garage and their spotless unused grill next to their untouched tree house.
It is a goose, not like my dirty egg-laying hens, next our garage packed with bikes, skate boards and cheap camping equipment.
I sometimes dream of having a goose like theirs, accept tonight as we sit around the TV laughing at comedies after our camping trip where we fried them chickens’ eggs.
by Sabio Lantz, 7/28/21
Note: This is fiction built on a montage of my realities (including the joys my wife brings me). It is based on the Persian proverb above for d’Verse Poets challenge. Dedicated to my Persian on-line virtual student, Majid.
Some say “Life is a game”. If you disagree, it may be that you over estimate life or under estimate games.
Learn the game of Go to watch unknowns unfold. Or immerse in another culture, and watch common sense dissolve.
Or write a Quadrille.
— Sabio Lantz, February 2021 __________________________________________
Prompt: Whimsygizmo @d’Verse poets, asks us to play a little game: write exactly 44-words (a “Quadrille”), put them into verses and call them a “poem”.
We usually miss the invitation — like a huge hairy gorilla strolling through our basketball passes — because we are rehearsing our next monologue or daydreaming about everything else but the person we are “talking to”.
The invitation seems to hide — in a phrase — — in a sentence — — in a gesture — but it is not subtle, no more subtle than the gorilla. For if we cared, we could easily see the shy but loud invitation into a world other than our own.
“I went to the store yesterday, even though I really wasn’t in the mood.“
then without even a millisecond delay:
“Oh really! I went to the store yesterday too, it is my daughter’s birthday tomorrow!”
Sabio Lantz, February 2021
_________________________ Prompt: (coming) Note: If you didn’t click on the link, it probably means you tend to not see gorillas.
I was conceived in an indiscriminate flash, before time ticked. Yet it took a meaningless eternity, before I was born nameless from suns. Then, after an aimless childhood, life on earth found me, ate me, and built empires.
In 1931, the British empire released Gandhi from prison while the French incarcerated me in the euphemistic XYZ color space– where human cones were used, to tag my wavelength and tame all of our names.
Crayola called me “Indian Red” but that was before 1999 when “Chestnut” was felt more polite.
Then in 2021, my dangerous name was defended by an angry mob at the White House.
But fortunately, they lost, and I remain “Chestnut” for now — #954535, if your prefer — the witchy code used to project me on your screen, when I am not being reflected off of beautiful hair and skin.
— by Sabio Lantz, February 2021
_______________________ Prompt: Mish, at d’Verse Poets, challenged us to write a poem from the perspective of a color. On my poetic color palette I mixed, science, history and politics but with the final stroke being aesthetics. It has been at least one pandemic since I’ve visited d’Verse — ’tis nice to see folks.
Hopes fixed on a crucifix,
or mighty Shiva’s stone.
No gods respect such requests.
The disease leaves us all alone
to embrace the only magic there is,
the only solace we can find:
the love of those around us —
which some may call divine.
— by Sabio Lantz May 2020
Prompt: d’Verse has another call for a “quadrille” (a 44 word poem) with the idea of “fix”. Seeing the superstitious nonsense that abounds during the pandemic inspired me to jot down this poem. I used this poem to replace one I put here in January but which tens of thousands of deaths later is outdated.
In the US, sneezes receive a “bless you”.
But the Japanese say nothing at all.
I thought Americans were much more thoughtful
until I saw that, though far more concerning,
my coughs, belches, farts and roaring stomach
go totally ignored and unblessed by all.
— by Sabio Lantz, January 2020
________________________________
Prompt: De Jackson, @ d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a 44 word poem using a form of the work “roar”.
For ten years I had been immersed in South Asian culture and languages. I studied both Hindi and Urdu, drummed in a traditional dance troupe, cooked Asian food and studied Indian religion and anthropology. On returning from a year of study in Pakistan and India, I stopped for a short three-week vacation in Japan but I decided to stay and join a Zen temple and start studying Japanese.
I only did one week of Japanese language school before stopping because I found it slow, boring and expensive. But I did learn one very valuable lesson in that week. From the very start, I was constantly comparing Hindi with the Japanese language. In class when I made a Japanese grammar mistake, I would often say, “Oh, I made that mistake because in Hindi we say ….”. Constantly making excuses for myself irritated the other students until finally a bold, blunt colleague was kind enough to confront me saying, “Sabio, we don’t give a shit about Hindi, this is Japan.” And that harsh lesson has served me well in life.
Building a log raft
Safely crossing a rough stream
now he must leave it.
——- (a Buddhist Parable)
— by Sabio Lantz, January 2020
————- Prompt: Bjorn, at d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a haibun about beginnings and new starts.
During my otherwise normal morning shower
a remaining bit of my youth’s Marxism
broke off my back and slid into the tub.
The world’s masses, having no water,
yet alone steaming, safe, abundant water,
crowded in a forgotten corner of my mind
and looked on with envy.
But across my corpus callosum
were classrooms full of academics
glaring at me through their fantasies.
Meanwhile, as my generation’s votes expand,
we suck down the hopes of millennials,
as they ironically compete unashamed
to build convincing deepfake videos
that will feed those masses with ideas
that may not fall off in the shower.
–by Sabio Lantz, November 2019
———————————e
Prompt: It is Open Link time at d’Verse Poets, hosted by Grace, where we post any poem we desire. Here are links to two thing some readers may not be familiar with:
(1) Corpus Callosum: The part of the brain that allows the two hemispheres to communicate cooperatively.
(2) Deepfake: AI used to create images or videos to trick to viewer.
That which grows, multiplies
and invades while laughing
with tears.
Mindlessly striving
for successful
duplication.
Ending only
in pathetic
death.
Repeat
Repeat
Repeat
— by Sabio Lantz, November 2019
————
Kim, at d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a series of Tercets which are “about something that grows or multiplies and is in some way invasive.” She then lists a who group of plant and animal species, as if any form of life escapes that description — including us. I’m not sure how to write like Plath or Hughes — both of which are difficult for me to enjoy.
This month I have heard at least twenty horrible life stories from my patients. I am thankful for the privilege to had temporarily shared their pain while even more grateful that I have not had to live it.
In the same month I’ve had several opportunities to share my sufferings with others so as to possibly put perspective in their lives by offering them the chance to feel gratitude that they have not had to live my poor luck.
A fawn and doe stop
surprised by the snap of dry twigs
starring into lulling autumn colors
— by Sabio Lantz, November 2019
Prompt: Frank, @dVerse Poets, asks us to write a Haibun using the theme of gratitude. Most of the gratitude we know is a mix of colors. A Haibun is a tight paragraph or two of non-fiction prose, followed by a Japanese Haiku ( a 5,7,5 syllable poem with seasonal tones – I used word count, instead of syllables: English and Japanese languages differ a lot).
Sometimes I leave a soaking footprint
mindlessly in the life of someone
much like I do on my morning bath mat
when I pop one leg out of the shower
to grab a towel to dry myself off.
It is a wet step, a clear mark
that slowly blurs into their fabric
joining all the other mindless steps
taken with some other goal in mind.
Boastful bottles of whiskey
line the walls of bottle-keep bars
throughout salary-man’s Japan.
Gorgeous, leaf-stained kept pots
awaiting their owners, line shops
in many Taiwanese tea houses.
These objects allow a delicate display
of status versus generosity amidst dialogue.
Like American cocktail parties’ guests.
— by Sabio Lantz, November 2019
Prompt: Kim, at d’Verse Poets, challenges us to write a 44-word poem (a “Quadrille”) using a form of the word “keep”.
Supplemental Info: (1) Bottle keeps in Japan, see here. (2) Taiwan Tea House (2) Similarly, some Taiwanese tea shops keep their own personal tea pot (an expensive one) and cups, on reserve in their favorite shop.
Prompt: Victoria, @ d’Verse Poets, asks us “to write an ekphrasis using a work of pop art”. Below I have chosen to jot a “poem” about the Japanese artist/poet/writer Yayoi Kusama inside of one of her works. Click the link to read Yayoi’s unique biography.
Our friendship faded a few years ago,
but as we walked through the refreshing woods,
catching up on our estranged histories,
our gaits synced and our shoulders grew closer.
Her laugh, as always, was contagious
and we melted into our friendship once again
only this time deeper as we both realized
our new potentials.
The old forest leaves smelled beautiful.
and on parting I was as awkward as always with her,
giving only her forehead a careful kiss,
puzzled if this was our new beginning.
— by Sabio Lantz, October 2019
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Prompt: This October, Anmol @ d’Verse Poets challenges us to “write a descriptive piece about an interesting person you met today or profile a loved one and write about the things as they transpired with [them] in the focus or perhaps do a self-portrait.”
"I favor poems that keep the obstacles between you and [the reader] to a minimum “
--Ted Kooser (poet, The Poetry Home Repair Manual)
"Most people ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people."
--Adrian Mitchell (poet)
"I hate that ordinary citizen-readers have been made to feel intimidated by poetry, when in fact it can be so much fun, and so lucid, insightful and contemporary. In this I am very much on the Garrison Keillor culture-team. A poem is a conversation or an encounter with a deeply committed, highly entertaining friend."
-- Tony Hoagland (poet)
"It is sad literary irony when poets who crave to be understood, don't write as if they do."
-- Sabio Lantz (a non-poet)
Fields of Yúan 