Sunday, April 13, 2014

Day 16...appliance or kitchen item with other skills or intelligences.

Day 16....appliance or kitchen item with other skills or intelligences.

I submit my poetic short story "Pervasive" that predicted the Internet of Things 2002


We didn't mean to create the new age Adam. It happened as we had the task of figuring out whose life pods we'd put offline. The needs of the greater, we'd race to each other. The needs of the future we couldn't calculate. We would purr from sentient coffeepot to climatologically-correct unused bed a fatal algebra that eventually only equaled life for one.

Day 13--bird looking at Emily Dickinson

Prompt: bird looking at Emily Dickinson

Don't come up

Did she need to exist
Only with a naked pen
As the naked sky called her
Clothed in words
A taunt brevity
Inverted Mae West
Perverted Mae West
What's a woman poet that bares soul?
Don't come up and see me some time.

Day 12 --the creeper? Bubble Pack Ghost Trap

Bubble pack trap
Hear the ghost
Pop. Crack. Pop. Pop.
Walk back to bunny pen.
Where they, in the dark they, so small
Frail necked
Thump.thump. They thump.
Hit the fence,
Coyote spirit
Please eat cats, squirrels, rats.
The dog and. Bunnies here
Not tasty. No. No. Not.
We taste like daikon radishes and tomorrow.

Day 11 -jobs

Based on State College oh Florida Swamp Scribes Prompt

W job?
Where? When can I start?
Why can't you advance. Who can?
Oh jobs. Open.
Ahh. I am.
Low job.
I'll do it.
I will.
Blow job.
It's below
I so
I know more than
I know, I know.
When i go. . I go hard.
Negotiate. Dignity.
Swallow inevitability.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Day 10- about my very tortured friend...


Write a very conversational poem to a friend that frequently struggles with life. Charles Bukowski wrote this poem about his "tortured friend" Peter. It is a personal, intimate and frank conversation between friends. Make it funny, heartfelt or sad. Choose your own tone.

Begin: About my very tortured friend, ________....

Bukowski's grave stone reads, "Don't try." It's his advice to writers.

"'What do you do? How do you write, create?' You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: 'not' to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it." --Charles Bukowski

Part of "About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter...

...“I can’t quit my job,” he said. “I always have trouble getting a
job. I walk in, they look at me, listen to me talk and
they think right away, ah ha! he’s too intelligent for
this job, he won’t stay
so there’s really no sense in hiring

now, YOU walk into a place and you don’t have any trouble:
you look like an old wino, you look like a guy who needs a
job and they look at you and they think:
ah ha!: now here’s a guy who really needs work! if we hire
him he’ll stay a long time and work

About My Very Tortured Friend ( in the manner of Bukowski)

He calls and tells me there's a pirate ship floating in the clouds above him.
Figurative? literal? Fuckered up? Drunk off his tits? What?
He says his life is intersecting in the clouds over his head and he can"t breathe
That other self that is he, up in the clouds
The sails are illuminated by the moon
I"d expect no less I tell him
Did I tell you about the time someone dosed me with K?
I was praying to a shrimp boat almost sitting on shore
I couldn't move
It had flood lights fixed on me like gravity beams. Serious as fuck.
He got mad. A pirate boat that's real. Not a K Hole shrimp boat.
You never believe me,
Which wasn't true. I believed him too much.
I still look for him on the pirate ship in the clouds.

Day 9 -identity

PROMPT from Professor Marcy Murray

Write a poem about identity--- self-identity versus what others see; are they the same? What about how you see others?

Consider age --Grandma is an old lady, but she hasn't always been one.

Look at gender roles & stereotypes: "Sissy is a little tomboy, she must be a lesbian."

Consider race, physical/mental abnormalities and look at how identity depicted in faery tales, novels or even politics.


Passing. Toi Derricotte.
Song of Myself. Walt Whitman.


Is it Real?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Mothasucka
It's real. Bam.
Is that real?
Bam. Bam.
Is that real?
If I tell you you're ugly-is that hurt real?
If I replace your Diet Coke with a coke-is the diet real?
If I drive down a one way street-is it still one way?
If I kiss you with tongue all in your mouth-are your words mine?
If I walk your dog -am I your dog walker?
If I marry your mama-am I your daddy?
If I drive your car -am I your chauffeur?
If I live with my heart on my sleeve-am I naked?
You don't know me.
You don't know me.
You know me not.
And that, you suckweed, is real.

day 8 - social media

PROMPT by Swamp Scribe Joshua Felthoff

Social media, despite the intention of connecting people together, seems to drift society away from being truly interactive with one another.

Craft a poem that reflects your personal view of social media.

Just a thought:

What happens when a poet uses Instagram? Rio Jones: Poet Laureate of Instagram


Revenge Porn Backfire

All that was recognizable
Really all it had was her voice saying things
Things, such things
That really she could have said at a horse track
Spank that ass
Come on, come on
A little to the outside,
But this dark horse showed up on YouTube,
Where she was finally blessed
Blessed such blessings
That her body had a wondrous beauty
A sultry counter note
More than one finish line.

Day 7 - Dream Houses


Write a poem based on of artworks from the one of the pieces in Joseph G. Loccisano's “Dream House” series. This ongoing series is visual poems exploring the “house” metaphor in dreams.

Write about your "dream house."

Examples of poems about houses:
"The Widow's House, " Sarah Orn Jewett
"House: Some Instructions." Grace Paley.

Joseph G. Loccisano,
Department: Art, Design, HumanitiesTitle: Art Gallery Manager



It's a rib cage with a heart beating inside
Like a baby bunny's soft eyes
Like a tiger cracking neck bones
Like a puppy's too big feet
Like a hawk beak scissoring a live snake
Don't ring that bell unless you know in is out
That the gin is poisoned with immortality
That you've got what it takes
With no where to take it.

Day 6 moon

Prompt by Swamp Scribe, Ashley Lamb.

From this world, we can observe the incandescent sun, the ivory moon, and the star ocean above us.

For this poem piece, write about the mysteries of space and beyond.


D____ L____’s. Albert Goldbarth
Drinking under the Moon She Goes Laughing: Margo Tamez


This Mad Moon

Draped over the overpass
Johnny's neo Confederate badonkydonk
Was white against a country black sky.
Some horns blared.
A woooo was often followed by a hoooo.
Impeach Obama yeah
Fell into the passing lane and rolled in a ditch.
The concrete was uncomfortable.
It'd been more fun drinking about
Black markering Obama on his white ass
Than thinking on an overpass.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Day 4 : What Marilyn Monroe Ate

 Day 4:  What Marilyn Monroe Ate

She said, raw eggs with milk
made that body
that silk
those legs
that build.
Stirred, not shaken.

She said, steak. Steak. More steak.
made that body
that ache
those shakes
that make
broiled, with bacon.

She said protein. Like a carnivore.
made that body
that roar
those claws
that more
Big Cat, not prey.

She said girls like me, meat
made that body
that heat
those raw
that week
Pills, last call.

Based on in part:

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Day 2: NaPoWriMo--writing as a lost item

NaPoWriMo Prompt from the State College of Florida - Write from the perspective of a lost item...

Beat It Heart She Said

It was supposed to be golden.
You know?
But she kept looking at the shadows.
The moon.
Stars. Fallen and forgotten.
The full moons reflection on the rolling sea was fair game.
She liked a wild ride.
When I say wild ride, I mean as close to edge as a razor might allow
A mule screaming down the Grand Canyon
A parrot reading back from a Spanish Soap opera
she was all those things wanting the drama
unmistakably insane intellect
the heightened sense of Happy Hour
the barstool's tall stare
the push up hard against the wall so hard teeth hit together in a clink of a darker wine.
She wanted that.
So I went along.
I'm not a tuning fork. I'm a heart.
I go go go
for as it is said..
"If you follow your heart, it doesn't matter where you end up."
Where she ended up was almost like an exorcism.
A faltering of vision
A blood filled fake diamond.
Down. Down. Down.
I fell as she marched away not looking back.
With a splat.
A fat mess of unfulfilled things wrapped around caught bouqueted platitudes.
Something blue.
It wasn't her.
She didn't look back.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Day 1: Stranger

Using the Day 1 Prompt from the State College of Florida NaWriPoMo 2014 Prompt Book.


I watch them every day
But it takes days to see them.
To peer down into the layers of bunny wild.
Their destiny to live fast, die young 
as prey.
Their secret languages.
One is a slow, slow, slow...
SLOW like geologic time wink.
It's strange.
Stranger still to see it
to know it
means ... love.

-- Rhonda K. Kitchens
April 1

Image:  RhondaK.  Bunny Bonez and Jezabel.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

I am gearing up for NaPoWriMo 2014.  This year I am following the State College of Florida student produced ebook with Poetry Prompts. It is 30 days of ideas to fuel the fire!!!

Students at the State College of Florida Venice Campus compile a book
of poetry writing prompts for April's National Poetry Writing Month.

If you want to join me and work ahead: 
WEEK 1 :  Day 1 Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5