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Best Cut To The Chase Poems | Poetry

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Cut To The Chase And Tan Hat Man by harris, matthew

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The Best Cut To The Chase Poems

Details | Cut To The Chase Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Indie Anna Jones

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

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018

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A Trip to the Zoo

It was a beautiful day,
So I visited the zoo,
A sign said "Wild Cats This Way,"
Soon they came into view.

The tiger's eyes said,
"I'm gentle as rain;
Come pat my head,"
So I leaped over the chain.

It was a brief embrace,
I'll cut to the chase,
That's how I lost my calf bone,
Walking my tiger home. 

Copyright © Kim Bond | Year Posted 2016

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The Art of Black and White

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


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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To Be Alive

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.

Copyright © Melissa Ross | Year Posted 2011

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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!

Copyright © Bade Khunt | Year Posted 2017

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Code Red: Army of Gods

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

Copyright © Criss Jami | Year Posted 2012

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Snow White, sort of

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 .... 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

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010

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The Spirit of Christmas

John and Bath, short for Bathsheba Adams, were quite a pair.  Nothing ever got them down, except maybe an occasional cold.  Even then she would take hers out into the cold winter day of the back parking lot of the slum tenement building.  Where, there, she would nudge three of the fifteen cats trying to climb her double tattered blue jeans, out of the way, in order to stand and offer her cold up to God, seeing that it was all she had to offer Him and really she would be grateful, as well as giving up her only possession.   She often asked God why He didn’t seem inclined to come and keep them company, because she believed in Him heart, body and soul and talked to him constantly because John just got tired of listening.  She and John loved each other and no other.  She hadn’t worked steadily in Lord knows when.  John on the other hand got hurt on the job just before he was vested in company rights and the pitiful settlement he received was long gone.  He was left as barely good company for Bath, telling her over and over to just wait ‘til “he gets back on his feet” literally.  But that is not an option any longer, so Bath feels the need to keep him company. They really only had what you might call one vice.  That being because you might say they were wasting good money for no good reason.  They religiously bought two, one dollar lottery tickets every day that passed.  Well, there it was, the day before Christmas and Bath didn’t have money but for one ticket.  Well, she hotfooted down through Chinatown because there were still barbers there who would buy hair and she wanted to give John a special lottery ticket for Christmas.  The deal done she was cold as the mischief and begging God not to let her sinus get worse as she headed through the light rain for those lottery tickets.  John, meanwhile was hobbling down to get his ticket.  She always insisted that he walk to the corner himself so if he won he would feel like he had bought the ticket.  The rascal stopped and sold his crutch.  Can you belive, for $1 he sold his crutch.  Well, to cut to the chase, some friends carried him home after he bought the ticket.  Beth came in and after a bowl of soup, they had a prayer and wished each other merry Christmas and exchanged the two tickets which were the gifts.  Well, my story ends here.  I'm not going to tell you one or both won the lottery.  But in the spirit of Christmas I will say they lived quite long, and they were very happy while they lived. 

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011

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Worlds apart

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                                                                                                    

Copyright © david scott | Year Posted 2014

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Red to Black

Red to Black

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.

Copyright © Keith Beavon | Year Posted 2016

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To Bullies

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.

Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2010

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Whats in Your Whatchamacallit

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.

Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2015

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hard words or dandelion tea


implications are not words--
they rarely cut to the chase
merely insinuate the distance
between cold sheets of light
and the water we throw on our faces
to awaken
from the gloom and doom on the one-way
street that
reminds us silence is the path around those razor hedges

once words were green fields
blue skies filled with echoes and clouds of unknowing,
roar with their big heads
poking through
and no one hears the wheat grow
bending into the softness


the dance of the apostate
whirls and twirls
stands on her head
laughs at her folly

she is the company she keeps
and no one is the wiser.

Copyright © Anna Ruiz | Year Posted 2011

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Rocking Under Starry Heavens - Acte D'ouverture

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 ***
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  ©

Copyright © keith osborne | Year Posted 2016

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As a writer, I embrace,
To help me when I’m way off base,
A pencil with, in proper place,
A pink expunging saving grace.

For up my sleeve, it is the ace
Which helps me more than just a trace.
Yes, I’d be lost if in this space
I was not able to erase.

We pencil users must keep pace
With techno-geeks or face disgrace.
Erasers keep us in the race.
Cut to the chase – I rest my case!

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2013

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She Paints By Numbers

She paints freely
Whenever she is around
Then draws briefly
Either a smile or frown

She's good at building texture
Less is more where it counts
She paints by numbers
When she's out and about

She wears a smock 
So there's less of a mess
But when it comes to abstract hearts
No promises are kept

Mistakes are hard to erase
When using an angry oil base
She paints by numbers
Helping to cut to the chase

She makes you feel
Life is but surreal
With you as her medium
Nailed to her easel

Using you as her landscape
In her brushstrokes of give and take
She paints by numbers
The only way she can keep life straight

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2017

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no title

Lets cut 2 the chase 
this isn't a game,
 I'm tired of you and what u wanna play 
u say all day that u really luv me 
but I'm starting to wonder if its truth or play, 
lets cut to the chase ,this is getting in my way 
hey help me I've been waiting all day 
4 u 2 come and find the right things 2 say
 hey help me I'm not gonna wait all day 
4 u 2 come and find the right things 2 say 
dont you see i'm gonna leave  
if u cant believe in what we used to be 
why o why did you have to cheat on me 
 think where we could be 
if u werent being the new you and u told the truth 
so u better come fast
I don't wanna be rash
but u betta come fast if u wanna make it last
cuz there's only 1 thing I'm gonna say
u run your fingers through your hair and say u care
but im not some wear and tear teddy bear
p.s no title any suggestions?

Copyright © Jasmine Turner | Year Posted 2011

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100 days to that day
The stars clapped
When the cap with your lip print
Landed in my hand, so perfectly and clear,
The print of your lips I could almost trace
So I cut to the chase, while my heart race
To the denial that I’ve got feelings for the lace
That follows your essence as you move past me.

Clearly you do not see me
Obviously my feeling does not scream
The cream on my lips that I keep plum does not suggest
My luminous corner craving your attention does not say.
The obvious luscious body in the dress I chose does not communicate.
Clearly my actions do not shout enough.
So, I wait for the 100th day.
For it was a 100 days to the perfect day
When expressing love in words is in order.
In wait I count down the days 100 to one.

At one you were still the one
None had my attention
None Held my heart arrest in the rhythm yours did.
Every word I chose stood pointed to you
Every expression expressly about you
Every choice of color as hot as you
Mine was yours and only yours
I watched you walk toward my beckon
Without reservation your steps bold towards me
I can swear I forgot to breathe
All I could hear was my heart beat to your steps
Though concrete and silent it was far reaching and controlling
One I did not resist.

Just a fraction of that attraction
I harbored and labored to control
Over powering as I Handed you the piece of me
That piece of hard paper that could only carry the words,

“Be My Valentine.” 

Copyright © Abigail Aye-Addo | Year Posted 2011

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Mesmerized by the jam of life in general...
Ask me a question - I will answer as soon as possible 
You don't see the Mayhem this birthday is on May 31st...but you don't know that I was this precious flower that blooms breathtakingly and I used to shine with sinuous serenity...I'll cut to the chase - I want tranquility as a whole!
hanging on the last string - waiting for sunshine and rain this spring
essential enjoyment fillz my day and it's horrid, yet awesome...happiness and joy didn't come easy, but it was an overtime growth...fantabulous universe has made me honestly and God's Hands shaped who I am today
memorizing tomorrow's lines of May Madness

Copyright © J.W. Earnings | Year Posted 2016

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Give Into Veracity Eagerly

Garishly gold pots of miser's old
Cut out's sold for dime and dollar
Nothing real gave out by the shcholar
God gave out such a roaring 'holler

Follow the heart's treasure
Give truth and love's pleasure
Cut to the chase and simply
Erase the rest, give God your love
And put your life to the test.

Copyright © Tim B | Year Posted 2011

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Hey Pixel...

On the contrary,
a language I don't understand?
"Absurd it said, it's in your head..."
Put my keyboard on your hand.
~` Till we start with
1 in the Heart
2 understand our part,
3 steps we'll be
4 digits and
One thumb on the door.
One hand, ready, understand
!ng I
C & convey the G..
0, I it.
  -_   to the edit
+  =  counted.
You can bet on

~If I teach you to See Me, then will you fix my monitor please?

"cut to the chase" is what I heard.
6726 is absurd!
It is indeed, hold onto your hat,
In the Wind is the reed.
And it's blowing back.
better again, as we mend.
dear. forever again as we bend.
"we're here"

Copyright © Izzy Gumbo | Year Posted 2009

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Cut to the chase,tell it like it is,don`t hold back. 
AckkkAckkkAckkk,someone is coming and I give yew the sack. 
Life is not worthless just meant to be 
not iff ewe knoe ; not iff ewe knoe ; but to be: 
Someone to love, someone to listen, and someone to hold! 
When someone is sent from above. 
A Heart is a fragile thing 
beating by grace and by faith. 
Everyone promises everyone fakes, 
no one`s immune from the snakes. 
I have found summer but not in a smile? 
Yes for I have found summer 
pleease babay 
Chat me awhile. 
AS I pretend that we`re married. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2006

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Cut To The Chase And Tan Hat Man

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,
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!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

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For Your Consideration

It's likely to happen at church before the worship service begins. But it also takes place at the end of the worship service as well. Believe it or not, it has been known to also occur during the brief 'get acquainted times'-you know, those few seconds after worship just before the announcements and offertory.  By now you are saying, "What on earth are you talking about.  Get to the point already". Believe me, there is serious chit-chat going on throughout the sanctuary during these few moments, but I can speak specifically for myself. You see, I wish, but I was not blessed with 'the gift of gab' having a huge depository of words.  Small talk people finish your sentence before you do and are enameled with expressions like 'cut to the chase',  'name that tune...', and  'get to the point'.                                                                                                                      

Sports, health, weather, family, geopolitics, God, local and world news. Why, depending on what's going on in the world, the list is long and sometimes unpredictable.  However, there are those among us well qualified to assess situations and solve the world's problem in minutes.  For 'summation people',  it's not always a question of time, but it's more like the way they are made up.  I'm not saying that they are Jeopardy people or smarter than others.                            Moreover, if their world had a wheel of fortune, sighting words would not  come easy for them.  Therefore, they would be more inclined to buy them.
Imagine topics like sports and Geo-politics being shared for two to five minutes. Admittedly, some of us require a lot more time than others.                                                                                                 

07162018cjPS(First of two parts)

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2018

Details | Cut To The Chase Poem | Create an image from this poem.

True FAKE Story Of A Vita Man Junky

True "FAKE" Story Of A Vita Man Junky
(any resemblance between this poem,
and living persons...iz purely coincidental.)

Ruthlessly abuzz in my mind
     loosed another idea
     for a poem asper
(wren) this wordsmith
    first awoke as if this burr
bull ling gray matter of mine cur
rage Hesse lee
     nearly figuratively drowned

     awash with psychedelic fur,
and by an inexplicable fate
     while holed up
     like an atheist fox in
     metaphorical imaginary Alsace
Lorraine booth them
     aye hands needed to brace
against being whip lashed

     compromising meat, who
     cut to the chase
hurriedly beef hoar
     twittering black crows didst erase
finding yours truly short shrift head
     aghast count tin ants
     (marching one by one hoorah...)
     etching mortality against

     (hill reed) duff
     figurative staring in face
o' mine, yet with chutzpah, fortitude,
     and intrepid amazing grace
did man age with the likes
     of one named Horace
aye trumpeted (while donning
     sateen pink “i hate gull
     hubble buoys” frilly lace)
to quickly (in
     quasi Jackson Pollock)
     slap dash nod duh
     soundcloud issued munitions along
     Somme hum battle
     creek King Kong a mace
swing change of

     good fortune did
(Patton Lee) didst 
     Rob Zombie place
pitting (and/or pitying)
     a critical (Weeknd updated) race
against father time hood
     handily did trace,
what appeared tubby my bloom

ming dog gone cat tis strophic
     (through-composed) doom
suddenly by quirk
     of poetic license
     of Matthew Scott Harris
     did suddenly groom
salvation when suddenly out of
     the thick (smoky intermittently clear

mountain) thin air
(Ta DaVinci) Vita man arrived
     juiced in the nick
     (knack paddy whack...a mole)
     of mere minutes to spare,
whence immediately after veer
really gulping, (nee
     emptying) a multi year

supply - downing entire contents lear
rook hilly visibly rippling trachea
     (tricky ya) ying ma ha ha
     esophagus of pill furred
     (courtesy of peristalsis)
essential (placebo) body
     mineral nutriments dare
ring (ala Popeye

     The Sailor Man)
     dozen plus bottled
     blithely ignoring skull and
     cross bones (bier) beware,
when instantaneously
     muscles bulged nsync
     as nostril didst flair
visa discover ring how

     whipping, shaking, and 
     lashing my wet hair
(actually no Chuck -
     wag'n - Norse lie)
my meth thud used to dry
sham pooed thinning mane -
     jar - yea...yea...go head 'n jeer

at this peculiarity of mine
e'en if bald, aye would boldly,
     (sans this creature
     of habit) shake pate
     gnome hatter how *****!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018