Best Chop Chop Poems
He assembled in darkness the corroded horn
by familiarity and sense of touch.
Then cast as thunder into the empty night
long tones void of musical melody.
Sustained tones, fierce and woeful
in succession paraded the street.
Each note precisely chosen, unfurled
and carried aloft in chilly air.
The flickering street lamp understood
as long shadows on a cobbled walk
slow danced in the warming glow.
But the music was not for them tonight.
The musician’s voice transformed
and angry staccato flares broke.
Chop, chop and chop on the mighty tree!
He watched it fall dead against unfeeling brick.
Snapping of limbs and morality
but the tree was just a thug anyway.
Indignant “Quiet downs!”
rained from high-rise windows
mingling in the blood of the fallen;
and tears…so few tears.
Still, the music wasn’t for them tonight.
Yet they could not escape the song,
that guileless voice in the darkness,
which once again transformed.
Weeping heaves bellowed through aged-brass
amplifying every tremble of the lip.
Pitiful notes, harsh on either end
and broken by uneven vibrato,
yet piercing in their rawness,
turned away the wrathful storm.
Tremulous begging it seemed,
accompanied a hopeful plea for dawn,
which lulled to sleep the very stars above.
The moon halted to listen as well,
before tucking itself in, cathartic,
as the pitiful busker concluded his song
of remorse for un-lived dreams
and unspoken things
The music wasn't for them tonight.
10/18/15
Categories:
chop chop, introspection, music, night,
Form:
Free verse
You’re feeling so uncomfortably
like a lobster lately,
embroiled in hot controversy
Heated debates swirling all around you,
as your deep-fried life
jumps from the frying pan to the boiling pot
Wiping the sweat off your brow,
standing before the microphones
and blazing bright lights burning hot
You feel like
you’re in a
Twilight Red Lobster Zone
You’re catching a lot of heat, catching a lot
Whew! Brother, it’s gotten really hot
You’re so embroiled ...
feels like you being boiled
Boiled alive,
living the lobster life
Scandal and blooper viral feed
has you in a steamy situation
Court cases ... mounting legal fees
Your green onions
are getting a chop-chop
caramelized sensation
Indecent public exposure, tabloid indiscretions ...
Off-the-cuff sound bytes played on a constant loop
Political incorrectness, multiple divorce messes ...
Plus anger management is your new therapy group
You got a slew of problems like a gumbo stew,
so dump your crustacean career in the roiling pot
You’re catching a lot of heat, catching a lot
Whew! Brother, it’s gotten so fiery hot
You’re so embroiled ...
feels like you being boiled
Boiled alive,
living the lobster life
Being served on a buffet platter is so undignified
Categories:
chop chop, food, funny, humor, satire,
Form:
Light Verse
yellow, orange, red, ribbons stretched across…the brilliant sun
the sound of a rooster..,a fiddler on a roof, above Anatevka
where roads are muddy and tradition is a foundation…milky
town comes alive…chop, chop, choppy…and doughy…fish
feathers…generations…heavy bundles and matchmaking
questions, seriously funny with portentous blessing…worship
peace and harmony interrupted by troublemaker, dancing
dragging his boots down muddy or dusty…near chimney
the bow strides across strings, pointedly…dramatically
the sky still in lullaby state, far above all…it sadly waits
God only knows what will happen next…
In shadows, we all, knowingly or in denial
cross the boundaries from the past to tomorrow
in our present, we levitate, our worries like birds
tomorrow will soon be our yesterdays, faraway looks
no one can traverse nor enter, perhaps lean into
but never mine…embrace not…feel sorry for
not their fault…the split of friendship…waving
bye bye, forgetting the punch line
God only knows what happens next
eventually existence ends and if we desire
we may know the why and wherefore
but likely we, gadabouts, will be checking out
the horizon that is His hem filling heaven’s temple
Categories:
chop chop, life,
Form:
Free verse
Perky Green
Climbing up trees
Chop, chop, itch, itch,
Poison Ivy
Categories:
chop chop, nature,
Form:
Cinquain
You can't fool a dancer,
hard reverb coming at you like Prancer-
welcome-wagon interstellar like Lancer-
holy demon!
When did my steam stop?
Holly weedin'!
Where did you chop chop?
Heeeeeeeeeeeey! ! ! !
Welcome here...
Its home in the winter.
Heeeeeeeeeeeey! ! ! !
Dear Splinter,
it's a creep in the depths of the beat,
it's the 'I won'ts' in the Orgasms and weeps,
the liver turns into seed,
never forgets to breathe,
because the end will set us all free! ! !
Welcome here,
I have a reason to sound clear,
so don't drop out justifyin' why you're not-
flappin- flippin- rectifyin,'
or wearing any gear...
Heather bids to whither in winter with a sinner!
Dharma- bammered- donner's party at dinner!
Don-wan gets undertaken by the cowards of the crewman,
that's what happens off stage at an out-land!
Astounding as the crowd that attracts,
jumpin' jimmy's all around the facts,
people clambering over outdated nick-nacks,
elders not retiring because they know they put evil back,
William wondered of war over sea's with the remorse,
Donna sang to the serious on stage with the poor,
verdict was made to off set the players inundating us with words,
technology crashed the earth and left the economy for the birds.
Categories:
chop chop, age, art, beautiful, growing
Form:
Blitz
As dark as night
You are nothing but agony
Misery ,separation, cries , death ,hate
Perpetrators once my
Friends, neighbors, colleagues, companion
Transformed to haters.
GERMANY , EX YUGOSLAVIA ,RWANDA ,BURUNDI
You patrolled with negation
See ,see now they walk
Head bend ,shame on their faces
doubts in them , repentance they seek
We pardon them, come changed compatriots
Click clack boom boom
Click clack boom boom
Cling cling chop chop
Babies, women ,men ,young ,old
Down, hmm.
Never ,never again
Categories:
chop chop, bereavement, betrayal, dark, depression,
Form:
Imagism
A blood-red private view of morning
A second chance to climb the attic stairs.
The ceiling, ticking time, cascades
A thousand pricking darts, stampeding
Purple chariots, blanketing the sky.
The zealot's blade, so swift to still
The heart that beats an alien rhythm,
No backward glance to desolation.
Within a vastness all-consuming,
The wolf retreats to primal isolation
And howls unheeded at a distant,
Cold and quite indifferent moon.
As thunder clouds converge
And drown all hope of harvest home,
We find that, like the wolf, we are alone.
Inertia quickens, takes a hand,
At last to move the day.
The cabbage, wilting on the edge of sanity,
Bleakly views the blackened pot.
The steady chop chop chop is heralding
The grand ensemble of the daily stew.
Regardless, now the day's awake,
The perils lost in sleep are there anew.
The blood-red now transforms to palest grey.
The resurrected monotone of every day.
Categories:
chop chop, nonsense,
Form:
Free verse
The Dead Essays
Today I wore all black
But there is no funeral procession.
So I just went to work and sat at my desk
Before piles of essays which need to be read,
A red pen in my hand -
Because I am old school
And the students can deal –
And it would seem that women
Of the mid 1900’s were being oppressed
And that is the reason they were all insane.
Yes, all of them. It is clearly stated in paragraphs two and three,
The introduction and the sad excuse for a conclusion
Which is hanging on at the end like some sort of cough.
And here it would seem the student forgot all syntactical purpose
And I am quite certain “When women were alone”
Is not a sentence, and yet it is punctuated as such,
A big fat period where there should only be a comma.
The chop, chop of simple sentences
And yet I am relieved because at the very least,
It is a sentence… no matter how misguided the idea.
Oh, and the idea because today women are equal to men
In every possible way, and I hope the tone is sarcastic, biting, a little ironic,
But no… it is not.
This child does not know to capitalize I
Let alone how to portray through language
A tone which is biting, satirical, humorous.
It would seem I am dressed appropriately after all.
Categories:
chop chop, irony, school, student, teacher,
Form:
Free verse
Dad went to the woods to cut down a Christmas tree,
but it did not fit in the house any which way you see;
so, he cut off the sides and cut off the top_
that year we had a square Christmas tree, chop chop !
___________________
December 23, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/O, Christmas Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1415-768-23
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Funny Christmas
sponsor, Tania Kitchin, Judged 01/09/2022
Second Place
Categories:
chop chop, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
and some days sitting, looking out of the
open door, to the tropical sunlit yard,
feels like being in a Goddam tomb;
but when the long-haired girls walk by
and smile that smile, everything looks
better and that's OK and life looks brighter
and I wake up a little more and dream of
honey and a hot M16, and I make coffee
on the black civil-rights stove, and Martin
Luther King shouts out, "I have a dream,"
and thats OK and alright, and life looks brighter
and the house across the way is decorated in
shame and the hookers hum dull tunes, and
play on their Gameboys, and discuss Columbia
and their vulvas, and the kids they never had,
but that's OK and alright, and life looks brighter
and the stealing monkeys come in and out, and
the furious, curious, crucified neighbours, come in
for sugar, or a loan, or to borrow a dream, or ask
for my phone; and that's OK and alright, and life
looks brighter
and the sharp cruddy, thud, thud, thud, of music
from the disco hall, makes the bad girls dance and
the boys smoke dope, and the priest who wants a
wife and a rest from the bible, gets down and makes
his move; and that's OK and that's alright and life
looks brighter.
and the wheels of the trucks kick up dust and leave
their travelled, oily hopes behind, and maiden aunts
with pension plans, and questions about sex, and fruit
and empty wombs, busy along; and that's OK and that's
alright, and life looks brighter
and the swaying palms and decaying, delaying coconut
farms, with their chop, chop, chop and howdy-doody
charms, get under your skin; like olive oil and turtle soup,
and beaches with perky, querky, pleasant staff;
but their Ok; and mean no harm, and that's OK and alright
and life looks brighter
and an old man once said in the heat of a dense, humid,
lazy, fishing day; "don't give a damn, it's OK and it's alright,"...
and life looks brighter.
Categories:
chop chop, beauty, community, life,
Form:
Free verse
I am a cat
© 2012 By Julie Dunkley
I am a cat who purrs like that
I purr as I wash my paws
I roll about on the floor
Scratching my back on the floor
Scratching my fleas where I please
I am a feline cat if you please
Ssss if you cross my path
You'd better let me sit on your lap or else
I will scratch the floor
Let me sleep on the rug
Infront of the fire nice and snug
Then you can dish out my grub
Chicken and gy I like the best
I sit licking my chops as
The smell floats past in the air
Munch, munch
Chop, chop
Slop, slop
As I lick my chops
Mm this tasteful best
Ups dropped a bit on the floor
Got to get it up with my paw
Meow I need a drink
That will fill in a little gap, I think
Now it's time to have a proper wash
So I'm nice and clean
When I have my sleep
Categories:
chop chop, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
I sit to write, but first I put some oil in the pot.
Ideas need to simmer and I have a lot.
Red peppers and some celery I add in for some crunch.
Into the pot they go sliced up; it’s quite a bunch.
Some lovely water chestnuts, oh I want those too.
Ideas I can munch on . . . a can of those will do.
Carrots also. Chop, chop, chop – then into the pot
I throw them in as well. Things are getting hot.
Yes, imagination’s heating up so fine.
I want a poem on which a reader wants to dine
Onions I must add as well – so savory and wry!.
Sauteed in oil, they’ll not make anybody cry.
All my thoughts I’m stirring up. Oh they’re smelling great!
To add in all the spices I can barely wait.
For substantial content, I stir in something nice:
my major theme, which would be a lot of cooked brown rice.
I stir and stir my cooking thoughts, veggie words so bright.
With the spices I like best, it’s sure to turn out right.
Metaphors to season all is the yummy soy sauce.
Turmeric and garlic salt will really get across
the flavor of my mixed ideas, Oh, and for the last,
I crack some eggs – the final touch for my grand repast.
My stir-fried rice with eggs cooked in will give it tasty fun.
And now I quickly serve it up. Voilà, and I am done.
May 12, 2022
Categories:
chop chop, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Omelette au fromage!
It was like simply taking a risk,
In making omelette, breaking and whisk.
To drive it smoother than silk,
Add up some water or milk.
Chop, chop, chop!
Bulb onion, tomato, bell pepper, coriander and dill,
Salt ,black pepper, whip all before relaxing and chill.
Oh! Have some patience and wait till the butter melt,
As soon as it muster some heat from the hot pan felt.
Let the batter spread!
Hope nothing is left to tell,
Keep flapping untill it cooks well.
Ready! At the center sprinkle some grated cheese,
Enjoy hot while relaxing in the cool breeze.
Craked and stired,
Life is like a Omelette au fromage,
Whirl of love, anger and joy are hot served.
Categories:
chop chop, food, life,
Form:
Light Verse
You cut me out of your life
I’ll butcher you out of mine
Chop chop chop chop
There go the memories
The images
With one fell swoop
I've decapitated your smile
CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP
There go the words
Torn away like extra slabs of fat
Oh…yes, there go the juicy chunks of
sentiment
I had for you
Those I didn't chop
Those I sawed away...
Chainsawed
So the blood splattered everywhere
And made me sick
To the core
What a fool I've been
Slice Slice Slice Slice
Deep into the red meat of the heart
Slicing away every reminder
Of your touch
And every word
Every look
That made me smile
And go weak inside
YES….blood drenched and gory
I pick up what’s left of your image
And douse it in acid
…………..
I nearly suffocate in the fumes
Tit for tat
But I did better than that
I didn't cut you out of my life
I butchered you out of existence….
Ah…much better now!
I’m smiling….
With blood red tears
Rolling down my cheeks.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
chop chop, crazy, dark, emotions, hate,
Form:
Free verse
The pain I feel , deep in my soul....
The soreness I feel , deep in my energy...
The discomfort in my breath of life...
No one can feel... The disrespectful out burst...
The slashes down my spine...everyday..
The piercing in my heart...each second I try. ...
I'm getting spit spatter across my face...
My name no longer wants to come out....
For I hide behind a name I do not know...You know !
I plate my disguise very well...
My eyes are so water down...
I no longer feel , my tears running down my cheeks...
Salted away are the foot steps I walk ....
The hate , they continue to stab....into my soul...
Causing my body to feel empty and lost...
Has I strive to reach my goals....
Being the best , one can be.......
Not worry bout the doors being slam in my face....
Or the suffering I carry....
The only pain that hurts... are the bullets..put inside me ...
Dissembling my body parts....
Is all they do....
Chop, chop,chop until I can find some glue...
No respect...No dignity...
......No honor...
No loyalty...No love...
The only love they carry is hate...
Only pushing me away and away...
Far,far away...
O
So far away
So to continue my day...
I look up in the sky..
Put my hands in the air...
Say my peace and continue to love...
Continue to have faith...Continue to not forget..
If anyone loves me...It's the man upstairs....
Categories:
chop chop, betrayal, emotions, pain, trust,
Form:
Free verse