2019 Madness!Poetry


Help me! Help me! Lost I am.

I’m in a jelly…oops, a jam.

I don’t know which go I should way.

My head is backwards turned today.

Like scrambled eggs, my mind appears

In how I think it interferes.


Little Word began his wandering without seriously pondering

Ways to get back to his spot where he was crucial to the plot.

He traveled over words and binding, logic rapidly unwinding.


Nosy I was. Thrills I needed.

So my wanderlust I heeded.

By the chapters moved was I

Yet signage home was not nearby.

I’m homeless now and sip a soda.

Don’t know why I’m chann’ling Yoda!


Little Word dreamed of his place. Awaiting pals preserved his space:

Page eighty-eight and ten rows down. He was the word around the town.

But as he ventured from his line, his eloquence grew less divine.


Go back I’m ready and to take

The reprimand for my mistake

As from midsentence I departed

My repentance is wholehearted.

Need I now some slight assistance

Navigating ‘cross that distance.


Time was quickly running out for Little Word to find a route.

He felt obliged to fix his page—bestselling Book held all the rage.

If Little Word could not get back, poor Book would face the markdown rack.


Do wordsmiths have a special cue

When they try hard to push on through?

Then… Yoda wisdom floated by.

With ‘Do or do not. There’s no try.’

This percolates inside my brain.

A hint for me to entertain.


Our Little Word sat in a field wherein the path was soon revealed.

He ran along Book’s gilded edges, up and down like flying wedges.

When he reached his page, row ten, he reconciled himself again.


His buddies threw a gala party, each partaking full and hearty.

When he passed, they did applaud their Little Word who’d been abroad.


And Little Word?

He beat the rap.

Next time I won’t forget the map.


ALPHABET SOUP – Round 4 (FUNDAMENTAL) advanced to semi-finals

So yesterday…well
I’m sure no one predicted
that dad would yell he’d take my cell
and say that I’m addicted

Dude SMH
Cause that’s so lame
But even I admit
Your cell phone use is way too loose
You could cut back a bit

Yo that’s a lie
Cause FYI
I don’t deserve his wrath
The phone don’t beep when I’m asleep
Or when I’m in the bath

you’re about
as hooked as you can be
You take the phone into the throne
I hear you when you pee!

Oops, sorry bro
That’s TMI
I hear you…
From now on
There’s no dispute, I’ll use the mute
When heading to the john

I’m glad to see
You’re hearing what I text
Can’t do the time? Don’t do the crime!
JK so what’s up next?

The fundamental problem is
My social life—it dies!
IDK who would help me to
Find out about you guys

if I can help
the struggle sure is real
I hope your dad will ease up, man
It’s such a lousy deal

He’s coming for my cell phone now
Please help me find a date
It’s for the dance
I’ll text you soon



BOOK REPORT – Round 3 (DIATRIBE) advanced

The Hunger Games. A Separate Peace. Macbeth. Richard III.

The Giving Tree. The Odyssey. To Kill a Mockingbird.

“Of all you’ve read,” the teacher said, “Which one sets you aglow?

Identify the book and tell us which line makes it so.”

The Crucible. The Grapes of Wrath. Their Eyes Were Watching God.

The Hate U Give. Or Charlotte’s Web. Which one should get the nod?

So many novels that I love. So many nights spent reading.

Which one, if pressed, do I like best? Which one is superseding?

I don’t want books that give me looks into a writer’s head.

I want to feel a book reveal a writer’s heart instead.

Forgo the sacred diatribe, a pompous author’s choice,

For me convene a gentler scene with calm uplifting voice.

With that in mind I am inclined to offer up my case.

A tiny prince who is convinced he’s found a friend in space.

Without conceit this prince petite has caught me in his spell.

What makes the desert beautiful? Somewhere it hides a well.



Jack and Jill went up a hill and ended up both tumbling.

Humpty Dumpty sat—and that resulted in his crumbling.

Lil Bo Peep who lost her sheep was cool and cavalier.

Miss Muffet tried to munch her lunch but ran away in fear.

They gave up their ability to tackle their own mess.

The fragile folks believed a hoax that made them acquiesce.

Enter Jack who had a knack for leading a crusade.

The magic was disseminated, took root, and conveyed

It’s understood

Beans are good

Giants can be slayed


HOMEWORK – Round 1 (FORMULAIC) advanced

John Henry had a poem to write. His rhyme was uninspired.

And everything he tried to pen was hackneyed, worn, and tired.

A rose is red. A violet’s blue. He felt it was no use.

It wasn’t Browning, Hughes, or Blake, or even Dr. Seuss.

Iambic meter could be right. Or should it be trochaic?

The poem must be unique enough to not sound formulaic.

If mast’ry of the classroom work eluded him or worse,

He might recover and discover writing in free verse.

Or else


in Spanish.


ON MUSING LOSING – qualifying entry

One thing that I find amusing (although others find confusing)

Is the way that lose and losing don’t look much like bruise and bruising.

Should we pity strangers’ views of all the ways that English skews

Our patterns of linguistic cues from hues and hoos to who’s and whose?

I think, instead, let’s spread the news of remedies for language blues.

Then sufferers can pick and choose from therapies of booze and brews.