Best Chewed Poems
If the leaf wore a tree
And the ocean ate fish;
If a flower sucked the bee
And beans ate the dish;
If a beggar was chief
And a boy was a girl
A song would be brief
If a bird wore a curl.
If the grass chewed the cow
And night turned to day
I'm wondering how
Work might be play.
Wouldn't it be great
If the sun was the moon
If early was late
And a line lost its tune.
If all of these things
Were natural to do;
Then a song wouldn't sing
And teeth wouldn't chew.
***
Yer briny whore
akin to boar
wit' mangy hide 'n scurvy-pocked
chomped 'n chewed
me black 'n blue
wit' carnassial chompers as of croc
Be curs'd, yer nit
me ample bits
equated ter yer own be nowt
yerz be carnivorous
scaly 'n scabrous
yer plaque be axed ter beef up grout
Uncomely wench
yer skunky stench
blunted me hook 'n scorched me beard
me peepers stung
me hornpipe hung
shorn ter th' bone 'n shrivelled 'n seared
Comely 'n curvy
riddled wit' scurvy
th' cap'n's whore-maid tooken yer whole
yer rat o' th' sea
holed and *****
yer fired yer cannon in a rottin' port'ole
Blow me down, lover!! I love it when we talk dirty.
(Hahahaha. I see the Soup powers-that-be deleted my word. I swear it's not used as a swearword. The word rhymes with "hussy". lol)
Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
the write of you
like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
the write of you
how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
write of you
Sticky smears on the table top.
on the couch spilled soda pop
one chewed up shoe and one flip-flop
I’m doomed to clean this mess non-stop
Greasy dog bones gone astray
found buried in the rug today
the hamster made a getaway
where he’s gone it’s hard to say.
The shower drain is plugged, I swear
the tub has grout and needs repair
dirty laundry everywhere.
it really is a mess out there.
Under beds dust bunnies show
all closets are on overflow
the fridge is packed with things that grow
dishes clog the sink, I know.
Spaghetti sauce dumped on the floor
12 eggs broke, need I say more
fingerprints on every door
this place, a never-ending chore
Just when I think things can’t get worse
the leaking fish tank cracked and burst
40 gallons was dispersed
I think this house is cursed.
In every corner, ledge and groove
dirt and grim must be removed
there’s one solution I approve
pack your things, we’re going to move!
Liz Relly – 3/06/2012
“Cobwebs and Dust” Contest (new start)
Finding Forgiveness
Can you forgive my humble home?
A cardboard box my diamond dome
Can you forgive my scanty clothes?
The least that I worry of my woes
Can you forgive my crooked smile?
The frigid air a thermostatic trial
Can you forgive my lack of food?
Your leftover meals I have chewed
Can you forgive my hungry heart?
A life brand new I’m hoping to start
Can you forgive my tapering tears?
There’s little left after all these years
Can you forgive a saddened soul?
A love lost in an empty echoless hole
Can you forgive my losing of will?
A shattered stain of a splitting spill
Can you forgive my only existence?
For the Lord has in his holy presence.
Nov.06.2017
Healing power of forgiveness
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
There was a possum
of worldly descent
Gathering diamonds
and things it had spent
Chasing a catfish
down dragonfly row
Wanting to see if
it was someone to know
Laughed at an aardvark
with tangerine pants
Filling it's pockets
with yesterday's ants
Climbed up a staircase
that led to the sky
Waving at meadowlarks,
saying goodbye
Chewed on a cabbage
it found by the gate
Wondering if it was
something it ate
Sat down alone,
which was normal you see
Crying those tears
as it hoped it could be
Somebody's friend
that he never could find
Merely a possum,
just pay him no mind
He'll get along,
it's just something to do
And if he passes
in front of you
Maybe just smile
and tell him hello
He might be somebody
you'd like to know
Or let him be
without well wishes sent
For he's just a possum
of worldly descent
For the Dandelions Tiger Lillian and Bear berries Oh My Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy
At a point where the old road meets the hill
and runs down the other side
There's an old tin shed that's standing, still
and a grave where the old dog died
He surely had seen better days
when our paths chanced to cross
As I lit up a fire and laid out my swag
he got up and wandered across
I could see from the look in the old dog's eye
that his race was almost run
but he sat by my side and offered his paw
So I gave him a pat and a bun
I cooked up some meat and he chewed on a bone
then he rested his head on my swag
We sat and we watched as the stars all came out
and his tail did a slow steady wag
We fell fast asleep and I woke with the sun
to find the old dog passed away
So I gathered him up and I buried him deep
and sadly I went on my way
It was later that morning I stopped at a farm
to ask about work round about
and I happened to see a new litter of pups
one turned and came waddling out
He sat on the ground and he offered his paw
and I saw a strange glint in his eye
Had the old dog returned? Was he telling me now
that I shouldn't be sad that he'd died?
Well I picked him right up and his warm puppy tongue
quickly licked off the tear from my cheek
I couldn't think straight, I was stunned and choked up
and found my knees going all weak
So I bought him right there and I gathered him up
He settled right down in my swag
As I walked down the road I could feel the odd thump
as his tail did a slow steady wag.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
I can’t breathe.
It isn’t because I’m upset,
Because I’m not.
Not upset.
I rarely am anymore.
No, that’s wrong.
I am,
Sometimes,
But it’s not painful
Like it used to be
Back when I had real emotions;
Back when I knew what it meant
To be human
And not an empty husk
With nothing going on inside.
I’m a husk,
And God
But it hurts so much
To be empty.
Words echoing,
Screaming,
Always screaming in my head,
Slamming their fists
Against my battered throat,
Tripping over my bloody tongue,
Whispering past my chewed lips
Because all their power
Was lost fighting me.
I’m my own villain,
My own executioner.
I wrap ropes around my neck
And take a leap of faith
Off the nearest building.
My community service?
Suicide.
Wipe my remains off
Of your three-hundred-dollar boots
And forget about the girl
Who used to sit across from you in class
With the saddest smile;
Twisting her depression
Into something almost edible.
Forget about the girl
Who stood for
Everything that burns
And curdles
And breaks.
Forget about the girl
Who used to be okay.
Forget about the girl
Who’s nothing more
Than a streak across the pavement
And a brief vigil in the streets,
An excuse for tears
When she didn’t deserve them
In the first place.
News flash
Huge bash
Big fight
Last night
Clyde's Bar
Bizarre
War zone
Chairs thrown
Snouts poked
Gals choked
Eyes blacked
Ribs cracked
Hair snatched
Backs scratched
Throats slashed
Heads bashed
Tossed stools
Blood pools
Ears chewed
Tossed food
Knees kicked
Knives pricked
Low blows
Stomped toes
Dames sprawled
Cops called
Clyde's closed
Foreclosed
We buried our dog, Ding
With her favorite things,
Like our couch, plus our bed
And pillows for our head.
Our carpet she muddled
With dirt and pee puddles,
The window she stared through
To bark at who knows who.
The hedge she sniffed and chewed,
All of our leather shoes,
My truck’s passenger seat,
But not the children’s feet.
Two of our best chickens
She chased like the dickens,
Seven of my wife’s hats,
But not much more than that.
We paid a contractor
Who with a large tractor,
Dug a humongous hole
For our dear doggy’s soul.
And it did our heart good
Though we now sleep on wood;
Without a comforter,
Since we did comfort her.
Dare not rove in the woods on Halloween
There are witches there who are best not seen
They tempt one with brew that resembles stew
Truth is what goes in the brew’s not for you.
They put in chewed bones from fingers and toes
What they consider gravy, no one knows
Avoid the brew or you'll blow up and bust
Ending up becoming a cloud of dust.
Stay alert for ghosts and ghouls, one must do
They're out to frighten the life out of you
Never accept a trick or treat from them
A trick is a prick from a toxic pen.
A treat is a sweet one should not dare eat
They are made from remains of frogs webbed feet
One would then croak and jump for evermore
Take this advice, stay behind your locked door.
The tide worn and barnacled pylons
holding up the wharf wobble
on a sea swell like loose teeth.
Most of the decking planks
are missing. Those that remain
span joists with bones
of rotted wood fastened down
with rust. A chain wire fence
bars public access
and a large red sign
screams a message of danger.
I find myself looking through
the wire, asking who else
would stop by and perceive
a strange beauty here,
that in the wreck
of this derelict wharf,
something immutable
has found a home in the rot.
Its history
is not mine nor does it
conspire with a notion
to snare me with a kind
of enticing nostalgia.
What is here is more like
time chewed pick up sticks
stuck in mud.
And yet I don't know why
I am moved so, standing here
with all the reverence afforded
a relic of something almost holy,
why my pen should waste time
chasing such an elusive presence
around a page.
Perhaps what is here
is an essence of what my mind
cannot grasp, that other,
a mystery imprinted on a finite world,
a longed for sign of hope
in a language known only
to the soul - or is it simply
something more mundane,
slowly loosening the pylons
holding up my brain.
Sometimes
the myths characterize us
more than we realize
You who have never been here before
a nocturnal drama in the open air
A worn and skinny body with bright green eyes
Five hundred and two winters old
That's what the king is looking for
If only
Friday the 13th was a lucky day
listen ... a barking dog or is it a wolf
No goddess of love has a broken heart
The night was so long that the goat
chewed several times on the rope of hunger
Suddenly the light came on
Maybe
everything was nonsense
and not scary horror at all
02/08/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
If only, maybe, sometimes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
3rd place in the contest
Poem Of The Day : 04/08/2020
Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
Why?
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I could smell that fresh baked dough, rising up
through the air. Created from double zero flour,
from Italy, carefully prepared.
A fine effort, was made to preserve this delicious
perfection. A secret recipe handed down from
generation, to generation.
All the spices were fresh, to create an awesome
flavor. San Marzano tomatoes, fresh garlic,
and basil to savor.
The crust looked crisp, as this creation was pulled
out of a wood fire oven. Melted provolone, mozzarella
and asiago, cheeses, I was Loving.
As I chewed, my taste buds were having a love affair
with the tomato sauce. For me it would never again,
be store bought.
I would love to share a slice with you, because I know for
a fact, you'd find it delicious too!
Michael Tor 8/22/2015
Dedicated to all pizza lovers.