Best Cut To The Chase Poems
Foxy ponytail got a sharp tongue,
her pretty jade eyes blink-blink lashes
really cut to the chase
Keep the skirt hounds on the run,
obsession scent spur their mad dashes
Her pause give ‘em all a digital trail erase
She cracks the estrogen whip ...
let cheeky fools taste the pointed quip,
if they don’t mane macho lying back down
Amelia Earhart flygirl cool attitude,
soaring pioneer spirit air-to-ground
Indie Anna Jones' outback boots
love kicking the salty sea dogs around
Never yet met a man to meet her match;
to strike her fire
with a sincere, fingertip touch
Self-reliant souls are the hardest catch,
free space desire
oxygenate a bonding kiss rush
Indie Anna Jones
is looking for the next archeology dig site
to soul carbon date
So dust off the adventurous bones,
have a hopeful heart that’s gonna do right
And you just Dr. Feelgood might
be her perfect mate
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
Forget your Greek grammar,
And your algebra, top set,
Brush aside history, economics even if your grades are a sure bet,
And I'll tell you why,
For knowledge money cannot buy,
And that's cake, yes cake.
Whether it's cheese, chocolate or creamy and layered,
You tell me what's the sure fire preference?
Another jammy finger licking wedge, or an obscure civil war reference?
Sorry! Calm down, you just don't seem to be on the same recipe page,
Yes ok, Marx, Aristotle and even Einstein, wise, sage touching the sky,
Yeah right, when did any of them knock up a half decent mince pie?
Ok,ok but you say it's not the point but it is a fact,
And yes I personally take it to heart,
I'm not going to trust anybody who can't cook a blinding treacle tart.
Lets face it, it's all about priorities, and degrees centigrade or fahrenheit,
No, seriously when you're down with nobody to offer advice,
Can't you see there's solace in the next sticky slice.
It's cake, that's the answer, not to your questions, I'll grant you,
But to your cravings, frustrations and failings,
So who cares about syntax and what rhymes with silver?
That Socrates was right and who's Pitt the Elder?
No, here it's time to cut to the chase, it's now, make or break,
We must all rise up and demand more cake!
The Art of Black and White
The art of black and white photography…
Majestically, this art does not portray
Mixed colors to distract the viewer’s eyes
As they absorb the beauty on display.
The contrasts, boldest black and varied grays,
Can wake up eyes, with definitions deep
And crisp, to make strong statements that are felt…
While colors sometimes put the scene to sleep.
Emotions felt in black and white are keen…
Concreteness of the boundaries define,
While colors blend, their definitions lost
To mellow feelings by their soft design.
The photograph in black and white screams out
In purity of curves and lines that show
Intensity of form cut to the chase
By glow and brilliance seen on stark plateau.
Poetic, yes…the art of black and white
Photography, intense and clearly bold…
So dominates our view because this grand
Dimension offers beauty to behold.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~1st Place~
Contest: Black and White Film Photography
Sponsor: Giorgio, A.V.
Judged: 03/30/2015
Iambic Meter, 5 feet, Rhyme: abcb
.
Let’s cut to the chase,
Life is only about the race,
To the achievement of the dream,
The flow of the soul’s stream,
Guides to all known desire,
A means for joy to transpire,
Stemming from the heart,
Like an intricate piece of art,
Life is never a one shot deal,
The spirit’s wounds take time to heal,
Eyes can open to what should be,
Like the morning dew on an aged tree,
And the beauty to be found,
In the soothing sound,
Of a distant bird,
With ideas blurred,
All senses are drawn upon,
Quite a world to take on,
Though one can see,
The complete glee,
In the eyes of a child,
And the untouched wild,
For life to thrive,
We must be alive.
Long ago, in Fairy Tale Land, there lived a beautiful young girl
named Snow White. She lived with her wicked stepmother , the queen. The queen
was jealous of S.W., and when her faithful mirror began to tell her that she was no
longer the fairest in the land, ( the honor now went to S.W.), she had the young
woman taken into the woods and killed.
The kind woodsman couldn't do the deed however..and S.W. ended up in a
cottage with a bunch of unhappy Little People. The were, in no particular order-Vain,
Ungrateful, Grouchy, Stupid, Flatulant, Nasty and Petulant.
They were supposed to work in the mines..but rarely went there..instead the played
a lot of Texas Hold'em and sang.. " Whistle While you Malinger".
To cut to the chase..the queen found out and had Nasty feed S.W. a poison
apple. She fell into a deep sleep. Thinking she was dead, they put her in a glass
coffin in the deepest part of the wood. Well, who should come riding by but a biker
named Larry..he kissed her , as he would never pass up a chance like that. She
awoke, and they rode off ..never to be seen again .... but..it was whispered that
she had formed a group with 7 little guys and was performing on the strip in Vegas...
And they all lived happily every after...(except for the queen, who became an old
hag and in a rage took a hammer to her poor mirror).
The End
For John's contest
She was intelligent enough not to tell the gentleman of
The access card to her madness of heart
He played strong suits in case his suitcase didn't make
The pursuit in hand soon cut to the chase
But this is business at its finest
When we promised we wouldn't try this 'cause
It's an -ism that isn't auto
Like the condition in my blood flow
Don't you know oh
You didn't know
And now it's code red at the marina
And the emotions bled because I've seen her
Venus in arms baby an arsenal from afar
Venus in arms with her army of gods
I fight emotionless
Since in my soul there's less
We're in suit
But you get the credit while they edit out the sects
Oh it's enough
Baby the -ism's from above
So it's code red at the marina
And the emotions bled because I've seen her
Venus in arms baby the arsenal from afar
Venus in arms with her army of gods
And she's in my arms
Like a victim of love
Yes in my arms
My victim from above
Multitudes enter the venue
all know there's something Entre Nous
You Take a Friend to find your place
it's time to just Cut to the Chase
All Losing It, the lights go down
Signals a start to the Countdown
Vital Signs race to Larry, Curly, and Moe
a Distant Early Warning that starts the show
Can't Resist that sound, distinctive
while The Stars Look Down it seems instinctive
The Spirit of Radio starts (with an attitude)
up on your feet you're In the Mood
Making Memories with a Headlong Flight
and straight on into The Color of Right
Might they play The Necromancer
or maybe even Fancy Dancer
Tom Sawyer starts a wild frenzy
One Little Victory follows unrelentingly
No Ghost of a Chance they'd play Cygnus X-1
but books one AND two - they aren't even done
only Intermission
Presto - back with 2112
how far back will they delve
A Passage to Bangkok brings you to Tears
then showing four aspects of their Fears
While Mystic Rhythms start to grow
O Baterista is next, as we all know
YYZ, Working Man both kick ass
Natural Science and then The Pass
Makes The Body Electric and Time Stand Still
knowing you are Here Again of your own Freewill
They Test for Echo seeing all still alive
Red Barchetta makes sure you can drive
Trees stand tall in Cities of Gold that are Seven
swaying themselves under the starry heaven
Limelight shines in La Villa Strangiato
Wish Them Well for it is time to go
But We Hold On....
Malignant Narcissism starts the encore
Spindrifts into The Snow Dog and By-Tor
One can only Hope it's not the last tour
Closer to Your Heart than ever Before(and After)
In the End you know
you are Finding Your Way back home
endlessly rocking
endlessly rocking under starry heavens
As the Caravans travel onwards
riding out into a heartless sea
Remember what, to you, brought these words
Dirk, Lerxst, Pratt, and the lonely letter of E.
song/album titles/partial lyrics-Lee/Lifeson/Peart ©
Now we're worlds apart, I've never felt so misplaced
I don't know where to start, the days I find hard to face
Now I'm wondering what to do?, it's like I no longer exist
Trying to find a way through, I just can't help but reminisce
And I ask why it is she had to leave what exactly went wrong?
Without her I find it hard to breathe, the days they seem so long
The chances of us getting back? now probably a million to one
Any advances on a panic attack, but it's so hard now she's gone
If ever I'm walking down the street, and which ever way I turn
I keep hoping we will once again meet, as for her I still yearn
So many opportunities for questions I could have then asked
And now she’s just another faded out picture from the past
Now she is just someone that I once knew but still I really miss
I can't help but feel so blue, thinking of times that we had, bliss!
I'll cut to the chase, she was someone who touched my heart
Still I think of us in that time and space, though we're worlds apart
written 1998 some lines originally (1996)
rewritten 2000- worlds apart
A more personal deeply rooted poem about an exgirlfriend
I did a follow up to this called a bad case of nostalgia(2005)
please note sorry took off here tryed changeing in the end put back as was just changed title
is their to much rhyme i dont know
What’s in Your Whatchamacallit
Capital One asks “What’s in your wallet”
I’m thinking what’s in your whatchamacallit
Biosolids is the official label
The aftermath of last night’s dinner table
If this isn’t clear, I apologize
I don’t want to get graphic in young reader’s eyes
But let’s cut to the chase, get to the scoop
There’s gold and there’s silver in everyone’s poop
Researchers have found at least 50 metals
In the biosolids when all of it settles
Substantially enriched in rare platinum group
So much silver and gold in treatment plants poop
Waste products produced by a million of us
Is about 13 million, let’s further discuss
With the US population let me make this clear
We are pooping out gold at 4 billion a year
Poop has been gathered from big towns and small
With commercially mineable concentrations in all
It’s not really clear how it gets in our waste
Hair products, cosmetics or food that we taste
No matter the source all researchers conclude
We send silver and gold down the defecate tube
Another true story from your Uncle Mike. Not only am I not getting rich writing poetry, I appear to be flushing away millions down the toilet.
Red to Black
Pink?
Pinkish!
The first flush of youth on the face at the gate.
Who? Pat Bouwer.
Then she’s maturer
And peach is the more appropriate word.
Whilst Red and Black are sep-a-rate.
A life-time of years
One of love not tears.
When out of the blue
There’s a transitional cell.
Bottom line? Please tell!
Cut to the chase.
Cut! Cut? Cut!
The knife excises the renal invader and its cancerous bower.
(Oh my Pat, it’s a fearful pun.)
One organ is gone
Still with poisons and rays they smack her in case.
Then hope flares up like a flame
But the crab bites deep
And begins to creep
Ever on, and silently on, like a veritable ghoul.
Peach fades to pallor and blanches like powder the beautiful face.
Now days are Black
And the western horizon is increasingly Red.
But Red inside her is read as life.
Something to grasp and hold very tight
Albeit only a straw.
Then in a twinkling Red switches to Black
And the dreaded Black blood gushes upward and out
Filling the dish she, yes she, holds alone in her hands.
A stainless-steel dish with a renal shape.
What bitter irony is that?
Worse still, she’s all alone;
A nurse without a nurse.
The ultimate curse.
What’s a vocation it’s only a ‘jop’
In any event the bell does n’t ring.
‘Bloken ?’ Oh yes it certainly is.
So move out, move out to where there’s love,
Care, and compassion but void of hope.
Now it’s gentle Black hands and Red epaulettes.
Calm are the days and gentle the nights
As warmly wrapped in her morphine cocoon
She wanders content with ghosts of her past.
And the Black is contained as she slips gently away
But there is time for a final whispered exchange
And a tender last brush of our lips
“I love you lots”,
“And I love you too.”
Then with a sigh and smile she is gone
As one of her own softly squeezes her hand.
Now Black is the hole that is left behind
And Red is the grief consuming my mind.
Impeached, indicted, discredited, expunged,
Forsaken and little short of being hanged,
Does the punishment truly fit the crime,
Inciting sedition and for that I need do time?
Are they crazy or simply deaf,
Do they think I work for UNICEF,,
A do-gooder, a kind hearted soul,
The kind of man to pigeonhole?
I'm a maverick, a crusader at heart,
The one to lead, feats to start,
I change the world it doesn't change me,
I push and I pull, won't let things just be.
So someone please tell me where I went wrong,
Was I not trusted to be valiant and strong,
To Shake the tree, purge that swamp,
On bureaucracy and waste simply stomp?
Build the country, cut to the chase,
Squash every foe, win every race,
And now what, have I've gone too far,
Plunging to earth like a falling star?
Give me a break, cut me some slack,
I did a great job, the country's on track,
Save for this Covid all would be fine
All other Presidents would I outshine.
Don't undervalue, don't underrate
I'm the one man you can't just abate,
Count me out at your peril, think I’ll retire,
For those that have crossed me, their future is dire.
Thought cessation, welcome interruption
The zone of polarity rotation
Quietude the door, allowing Gods grace
On stretching stillness, at an easy pace
Long thought hiatus, our meditation
We are empowered for co-creation
Our intent colours manifestation
Path simple, so let us cut to the chase
Thought cessation
Lower mind resting, births revelation
Within sphere of our active cognition
We feel divine love within, face to face
Bliss magnetism ignites, our inner space
Needless striving shifts to celebration
Thought cessation
27-January-2021
Hiatus poetry contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Be you a fun lovin slammer or be you a true bully,
I am one who can truly appreciate either's creativity,
A True War Of Words Between Me and another poet (aka True Bully)
I can also appreciate and enjoy as if I beat the crap out of them physically,
but I'll cut to the chase right now to any bully out there reading this.
We have children on this site. Innocents with hopes of true bliss
and if I ever get word that you've crushed any one of their sweet spirits
I Will Kill You Mercifully & Quickly I Promise You This!
My troops will flood complaints to the soup staff about you and before you know it
overnight you'll be kicked off this site. You will have permanently blown it.
True, you may resurface once more again
but if you're still a bully your character will soon reveal you again my friend
and I have no problem killing you again and again and again.
So if you are a bully. You Have A True Enemy Known As ME my friend.
To All bullies On This Site. This is My Threat NOT My Warning.
Cut To The Chase...And Tan Hat Man!
Though reading horror stories (macabre),
an only every now and again
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
(subsequently fueling
desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
critical opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself (by all counts once
a bad little kid) deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence, an instantaneous
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
viz flight or fight blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife shined!