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Mary McCray Apr 2019
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 26, 2019)

There can only be so many recipes for success.
There can only be so many recipes for meatloaf.
There can only be so many recipes for a hit single.
There can only be so many poems about dogs, breakups and trips to Italy.
There can only be so many biographies about Marilyn Monroe.
There can only be so many blues riffs, jazz interludes, and country songs invoking old cars.
There can only be so many widgets and thingamajigs.
There can only be so many eye creams, lipsticks and color-sensitive shampoos.
There can only be so many plastic bags, trampolines and podcasts.
There can only be so many versions.
I can only tell so many new bosses the ropes.
There can only be so many children’s books.
There can only be so many best-selling mystery authors.
There can only be so many brands of soft drink.
There can only be so many brands of liquor.
There can only be so many brands of water.
There can only be so many window frames, iframes and frames of reference.
There can only be so many fireplace repairmen.
There can only be so many times I redo this correction in this spreadsheet.
There can only be so many creation theories with their evangelists on street corners.
There can only be so many arguments I have with my terrier.
There can only be so many poems.
But no, spreadsheets and billboards proliferate like clover
and hypocrites are as bottomless as all the leaves of forever
and poems and recipes and pop songs are the infinite hives of a trillion bees.
Prompt: write a poem with repetition in the vein of  Joanna Klink’s “Some Feel Rain” or John Pluecker’s “So Many.” Getting this in after 9pm! Limping in to the finish line!
Matt Miller May 2010
I’ve stepped out of the car
and into this familiar scene
hundreds of times.
Only the details change.

I no longer bike down the hill,
past the pecan trees,
and throw white rocks
into the stream.

I don’t race through pastures
along the thin paths
whittled into the earth
by the hooves of the herd.

I gave up trying to beat
nails into wooden rejects,
making thingamajigs
and doohickeys.

I used to criticize the stiff pews
and cringe at the red crushed velvet.
I diverted my eyes
from the forty tithing members.

Now all the bikes are broken
and the pecans withered away.
The stream has dried up
and the rocks are *****.

I no longer want to run
and the paths are faded.
The cattle have been sold
and the pastures overgrown.

I only use hammer and nail
to make practical things,
and even those
are not really worth making.

I sit and accept the message,
upright and alert.
I shake the hands of the congregation
and look them in the eye.

Only the details change.
Perig3e Jan 2011
You were an heiress,
inheriting a life time trust fund
from a fortune made
manufacturing waxy kid's coloring thingamajigs.
Your mother drove you each school day,
in a classic powder blue Mercedes coup.
She was beautifully coiffed,
high bred serene, great skin,
And you were blond, blue eyed, smart and smiled.
When I saw you I always felt -
I felt not worthy of living on your planet.
A few years after graduation we met,
I had had a few beers so I told you everything.
I am sorry for causing you those tears.
All rights reserved by the author.
Mike Hauser May 2016
you know what sends me
close to the edge
all these people
with their thingamajigs

they really think they're something
mr. and mrs. big
all because
they have a thingamajig

walking around with
their heads held high
their thingamajig
right by their side

who are they trying to fool
or wanting to kid
we all know
about their thingamajig

it's hard to hide
after you've cracked open the lid
no way of denying
you've got a thingamajig
zebra Nov 2019
just a naked light bulb
obsessed
with the swimming shadow i cast

slushy brained
with a ****** iota of a heart
driven by the loneness machine
that keeps me company

modernity grows black metal teeth
technology
nothing quite works anymore
except the inflexibility of algorithm's

they are my slave
and I do what they say

my upload is down loading
to a disappearing file
marked nervous breakdown
on a blinking screen of high velocity electrons
apocalypse of endless virtual hysteria
in a spectrum of LiteBrite

my wife screams vomitus epithets
at the computer
every ****** day
***** **** stupid ***

but
on the other hand
i dont need to navigate
the complexity of human relationship's
any more

i like my new virtual girlfriends
***** with long legs and *******
with her lesbian friends
playing in a barrel of lubed ******
and **** thingamajigs
preggo, and *****,
having *******
licking edible *** beads
with her best friends
Hypno girl
Kink Ya
LiL Red
Toxic Candy
Slutty Bunny
and
**** Bait Bon Bon

a cabal of delicate feminine monsters
Subs and Doms
like a garnish of pimentos
red fire kimchee ****
and sweet butter pickles
and if i lose a girl friend 
the spiders will find me a new one

i'm just a man getting on with life
driven by the loneness machine
that keeps me company

i'm just a man getting on with life
driven by the loneness machine
that keeps me company
JB Claywell Feb 2018
He wanted a couple
of McChicken sandwiches,
so off we went.

He was fidgety and bored
at home;
had already watched a
DVD and...

it was time to
get out, into something
else for awhile.

Having placed our order,
I followed my grown-man
son to a table of his choosing.

We sat and waited for our
lunch to arrive.

The placard at the end
of the table said: #36.

While we ate,
we chatted about whatever
happened to be rattling around
in his head at the moment.

(I was only half-listening.)

Two men, at two different tables
near ours were having virtually
the same conversation into two
different cell phones.

The white man,
with the red beard
said:

"All I need is a few more dollars and I can make it back to Kansas City. I tried yesterday, to catch a Greyhound and they told me that I didn't have enough to make it all the way there, so I'm still here. I've been here about six days.  Yesterday was my last day at the shelter. Now, they're giving preference to veterans, so last night I was outside. But, at least the veterans are warm. I'm not a veteran so..."

The black man
in the hooded
sweatshirt said:

"I just got off the phone with my sister. She said that if I could come up with $20 for gas, she would come down from Kansas City and get me; take me back up to her house so I could see Mom. Mom's in the hospital, she ain't doin' so good, man."

My boy went on talking about doodads and thingamajigs;
movies full of mayhem and video games and their magic.

(The artistic, autistic wanderings of his thoughts)

He ate his McChicken sandwiches,
paying no attention to the two men
nearby.

My own mind wanders  
to thoughts of an ATM;
two twenty-dollar bills
given away,

wanders still to the last
ten dollars in my wallet.

I know that my son and I
are supposed to go to
the local video store
after lunch.

Which of these three men
should I give my last ten
bucks to?

Should I keep it for myself?

The boy is using the smallest,
crispiest French fries to poke
holes in the wax paper that his
sandwiches had been wrapped in.

I smile at him,
sigh,
and say: “Thanks.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For making that decision for me.”

“It would’ve been a hard one for me to make on my own.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he says,
looking confused.

“I know. It’s okay.
Finish up and we’ll
go look at some movies,
maybe some comics.”

My son slurps
his soda-pop,
crunches his
final fry.

We make our way
outside into the
bright sunshine of
late afternoon.

*

-JBClaywell

© P&ZPublications
This changes everything Capitalism versus climate
(copy written 2014) by Naomi Klein

Though published
more'n a half dozen years ago,
whereby the author
painstakingly details **** sapiens
impact upon planet Earth,
she intelligently describes legacy
lock, stock, and barrel
young people forced
to confront, an alphabet soup
of challenges courtesy motley crew
otherwise ordinary people,
whose penchant to concoct
various and sundry
extraordinary doodads,
seminal thingamajigs, or
visionary whatchamacallits
ushered Industrial Revolution.

Industrialization by hook and/or crook
incredibly, indubitably, ineluctably forsook
agricultural modus operandi - just look
at onset of manufacturing processes
(where population concentrated)
which radically revolutionary
(number 9) mechanization subsequently shook
agrarian paradigm to the very roots
basically, essentially,
and interestingly enough took
away that bucolic,
holistic, and individualistic
coveted and sacred bond
yielding organic crop of tasty morsels
which raw bits (albeit fruitful)
allowed, enabled, and provided
farmer in the dell to cook
powder milk biscuits
courtesy sweat brow
labor yields good eats yum zook.

She (the writer) alludes to activism
years before the voice of Greta Thunberg
affected the young and restless
with the urgent plea for climate change,
yet yours truly (me)
conscientious keeping lively exchange,
when I thoroughly enjoyed
livingsocial amidst grange
where a bartered bride got acquired
during frenzied interchange,

who currently woke
up out of her hours long siesta
while her husband tea zing ideas
to craft reasonable rhyme
did immerse his concentration
housed within
sixty plus shades of gray matter
did figuratively steep and soak
now quietude respite disrupted
snatching precious scarce interludes
of quiescence okey-doke

to distill purposefulness
coaxing and cabling
while cackling wife
causes riddled interruption
reducing mineserious minded intent
as some laughable joke,
nevertheless endeavor enduring
to resume objective and evoke

insight gleaned reading about
how humankind spectacularly
(actually horrifically) rid
oblate spheroid third rock from sun
multitudinous flora and fauna gone
iconoclastic as Butch Cassidy
and Sundance kid
burning fossil fuel
to appease robber barons their ego and id,
no matter toxic pollutants belched at expense
to extract sought after substances hid
deep within bowels of continental crust,
yet recent renaissance
regarding renewable resources amid
youth offer glimmer of optimism
to thwart total mass distinction
comprising every plant and animal.

— The End —