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ConnectHook May 2020
But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild,
      Else of our ***, why feigned they those nine
      And poesy made Calliope’s own child
                                                    An­ne Bradstreet

Huntress, fill my pleading glass !
Let this marksman’s blood be merry.
Whether we shoot hind or ***,
Hail our wet preliminary.

   Having brought to birth such brave quadruplets,
   Let us toast the midwife with our couplets.

Sweet Diana pours her rounds:
Tawny Port and Shooting Sherry.
Hares now flee the baying hounds
For their country sanctuary.

   Thine the night, oh bright and savage huntress;
   Lead us to the quarry, chaste Artemis.

Conejito, hide yourself
From the charging adversary
Who would change your pelt for pelf;
(All close shaves are cautionary).

   Forgive our clanging gong and sounding brass;
   They serve to drive the quarry from the grass.

Healing balm: such sporting frolic,
Dares us to stay sedentary;
Banishing our melancholic
State, her bright apothecary!

   Wild huntress, let us know you as the Greeks
   And quiver as our heart your arrow seeks.

Toast we now the careless hunt;
Spoonerists wax luminary.
Visions of the hairless ****
Make my lay discretionary.
Allegory of DIANA, Goddess of the Hunt
ConnectHook Apr 2020
My cat WOKE:
Petra Electra Perpetua.

I’m telling y’all, she massive woke;
lit, like wicked wick holy smoke.

She outsmart Christopher ******* dreamin’
teach a dog where a BONE at,
discern every demon,
(not to mention advanced forensics.)

She rise, she yawn, she stretch, she flex
then start cashin’ every other pet paychecks.

She charge per minute just to LOOK at her fur
while she sharpen her nails. My Petra purr . . .

Dogs be all: WOOF
She don’t even answer.
Scribe rhymed Arabic lyrics
while she beat a belly dancer
with her TAIL, pfffffft. . .

My girl don’t tag, she SPRAY.
Mark every wall, y’all . . .
Seen all over the hood, gnome sain?

Offer her Sheba, she like:
Won’t touch it. Give me that Meow Mix.

My girl teach Afrikan lioness about *****;
*** on a paean, droppin’ lyrics like mice
other feline get fussy
my kitty get NICE.

TikTok your Instagram feed
right into her bowl.

My girl so woke,
save her own fanged soul.

Slip out the house—she gone.
Workin’ secret route to EGYPT.
Roast every priestess in Bastet city;

My kitty taught CLEOPATRA (u feel me?)
about *****.

She scratch Catwoman, pounce on Robin
Batman wet his weak-*** mask, sobbin’.

My girl woke;
so woke she don’t nap, she sleep—

profoundly. Soundly. DEEP.
write a paean to your pet.

Christopher Smart referenced
ConnectHook Apr 2020
she adumbrates in artifice
as you orate, then hesitate
before the portal of unnamed being

You gather your forces
to exploit her resources
aroma of Soma:
illimitable subliminal bliss
limned in liquescent lucidity. . .

Tantric hat-trick:
pull a white dove out of the universal yoni
when her lingam penetrates your third eye
your chakras align and you hit her cosmic jackpot:
all sevens in unknown Proto-Indo-European tongues.

The apsaras invite all the devis over
for Christmas in Jerusalem
Pangea cracks, spreads apart in differentiation;
incontinent continents drift
then recombine
in individuation . . .

Your anima gets an enema
as the Beast melts down
and the heavens descend.

Then clean it all up
and look for a beer in the cosmic fridge.
Visuals here:
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Mammonite pretender, see the Khazar:
Out of place in the Biblical bazaar;
Fattening his financial calf of gold
Maintaining clueless goyim bought and sold

Abram the nomad mixed milk with his meat
Walked the Fertile Crescent on his own feet;
Summoned from the Chaldees, uncircumcised
Long before that temple was realized.
From Babylon to Egypt, passing through,
Jerusalem came briefly into view.
He lived. He walked right out of the Archaic
To shatter every legalist’s mosaic.
Beholding now God’s current Middle East,
(Collective funeral more than wedding feast)
The Bedouin seem to model more the way:
hospitable intents at close of day.

Four hundred years would pass before they saw
That wilderness of Sinai and the Law;
Commandments Moses knew could never save.
We judge them by accounts their Torah gave:
Twelve generations later . . . what a joke.
The righteousness consumed in holy smoke
As Israel descended, worse than Cain,
to civil wars on *****’s fruitless plain.
In Judges we behold the steep descent
Read well the signs. Be warned—and then repent.
A scene for every Judaistic dream:
Depravity is worse than it may seem.
Your concubine, dismembered at your door,
May light the shortened fuse of civil war.
He aquí la Santa Muerte. Adórala:
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Sociopath usurpers rise to the top
Floating above mere human resources:
Doubtful cream of a churned and churning crop
Soulless spawn of data-driven forces.

I long to see them finally confounded;
I’ll laugh as they leap from towering losses
Their assets seized, liquefied, impounded . . .
May God repay our sociopath bosses!
Major Arcana card 16: The Tower

PROMPT #22: use an idiomatic phrase
as the jumping-off point for your poem.
(The cream of the crop…)
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Para recoger las horas perdidas
hay que coger las zorras perdidas . . .
Today's NaPoWriMo prompt was so silly I had to ignore it.
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Eternal salvation’s a gift

From a righteous young maid in a shift

Who had never been laid;

By God’s Spirit: hand-made

was her baby, our burdens to lift.
PROMPT #20: write a poem about a handmade gift that you have received.

I spent this afternoon watching SHE (1965 Hammer version) with my daughter because I was dreading trying to rise to the challenge of this prompt. I wound up with a half-baked limerick based on Luke 1:37, 38
"For with God nothing shall be impossible.
And Mary said,
Behold the handmaid of the Lord;
be it unto me according to thy word.
And the angel departed from her."
ConnectHook Apr 2020

You speak eloquently

calmly, liltingly,

With West Indian precision.

Your island inflection

Is so lovely. Talk to me

About anything . . .

I could listen all day.

Let us resume the conversation

In Heaven.

Unto eternity . . .

Where we shall be perfected.

I can’t forget your voice.
PROMPT # 16: Pick a person, place, or thing you love, and praise it in the most effusive way you can.
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
His face in my view
Brings butterflies fluttering
Then—one steps forward

His wits, prominent
Opening it as he speaks
"Drown me too," I beg

His voice so raspy
Floating on blue ocean deep
Waves all come in threes

His hands, warm and safe
Clasp mine like a safe haven
Hold me in all fours

His smell addicting
My perfume to keep me sane
Five spritz on my wrists

His neck welcoming
A feast for this hungry beast
My dinner at six

His obsidian eyes
Hold the universe in them
Seven light years close

His mouth on my own
Tastes just like **** fine liquor
Burns as hand strikes eight

His comfort's embrace
Brings this cold corpse back to life
Nine lives' revival

His own sacred prayer
Is his name incarnated
On my knees at ten
Day 16 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Hello! I've been MIA on this site for a couple of days since I really got busy and unmotivated from writing but! I figured out that this is the only thing keeping me sane during the quarantine---why should I stop? So, I'm back!
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
I came to hate the cold
When I noticed that I couldn't get a hold
Of my freezing hands when they were naked and bold
In an air-conditioned bus, as one of my friends told

And I would always seek out the heat
Of his palms on my fingers when they meet
At least they keep these delicate limbs, so petite
From numbing when the chill kiss them oh so sweet

I also came to like the warmness
Of people when they hug me in genuine love and kindness
And I would keep seeking that kind of fondness
As frost surrounds me with little to no softness

Oh, how I remember the warmth of cuddling
During wet and shivery downpour in the evening
Hugging and fondling under the thick, weighted bedding
How comfortable, unlike sleep to the freezing

But then, maybe the coldness I feel
From my hand to my feet's heel
Is a reflection of the atrociousness I conceal
Just to go with this ludicrous ordeal

My soul is just too bitter, just like how I hate
The unfortunate temperature of my fate
Yet fervor is the wish of this vicious slate
Before the chessboard declares its losing checkmate

Unfortunately, things must come to an end
There's no point to try to make this encounter bend
Because it will all just be like play-pretend
Of not acknowledging the conclusion of this descend

I came to hate the cold
And when judgment day comes, with my sins uncontrolled
I'd rather burn in the pits of hell in tenfold
Than to freeze in Dante's 9th circle's stranglehold.
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. I started this one I think yesterday? But I was so dazed from recent relapses that I didn't know how the flow would go. I only finished it today, with a proper-ish transition, this time. Long read, I know, but then the story unravels itself from the length. Enjoy! (And yes I have this condition where I can't maintain my body temperature as well as normal people do.)
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