Best Plugs Poems
All I can hear are voices-voices-voices
trampling over one another
no concern for unfinished thoughts;
repeated high-pitched points never driven home;
laughter like sharks biting at my brain;
sounds of a drunk circus juggling volume;
a ferris wheel of chatter spinning out of control.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk
Like a wood pecker chipping away at my patience;
I sit in the next room
wondering how I’m alone
yet still cannot hear myself think;
wondering if through all that stampede of gossip
anyone is actually communicating
wondering if anyone is listening,
Anyone, except the walls and me …
Power points of dimensional spinning graphs are largely placed in cement viewfinders in aerated office space with dome foam chairs. Dome foam chairs are the salt of seats and seating is considered important for lengthy discussion tables whose droning voices appear to form no conclusion yet get salaried by the milliseconds. Thousands and thousands of bold shining gold bullion bars mean thousands of printed bull speeches. But leeches sit on beaches and sip nectar out if the environment they consider their haven. It is never really demystified, added up, or fractioned the carious deeds instead they are multiplications that divide and fracture causing much disharmony in a mustard coloured cereal bowl with many crunching sounds. Cresphontes calls crethus and cynortas then danaus appears in a silvery crown on a semi misted horse. For to be a simpleton at that time was to sport a dimple on ones forehead and bow easterly but only when a westerly breeze was chatting to northern flames. The burst of southerly inclines meant the little trotting army could approach from every angle and therefore a fisherman or shepherd could be made very alarmed and run around flailing arms in the air shouting aloooooo alllooooo alllooooo but no apologies were made to these innocent harmonic workers of the lands. Blup blup fishermen and Barr baaa basalt shepherds left their careers and began work on the structures that would stand to signal power. Processing plants of today are akin to planktonic paintings upon the grounds and are an eyesore to behold. Many an eyesore is many an era in waste. Napoleonic Neptune numbers nurturing ninety nice nimble nymphs nautically. Beam then. Go on beam. Great big grin. Split level chin wobble. Fantastic isn't it? Z autobiographical Z at seven jumping tennis balls in a stew pan to thirteen moons on motorbikes. Z xxxx z
I have friends who whine to me, so I whine back naturally.
Now my cat whines at the door.
He's much louder then before.
This sound I can't ignore
Never wishing to offend, I
need to end this whining trend.
Ear plugs.
Ears ringing from the compressing sound
Feathers still floating to the ground
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate", most frequently translated as "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here". A. Dante, 14th century Italian poet
They sway the power over mere mortals
They drop the words that cannot be appealed
Gods of carjacks are deities, immortals
The voodoo magic over vehicles they wield
Their world is full of strange sounds
“Alignment, ratchet, dolly and exhaust
Lift, mallet, drip-pan” terms are out-of-bounds
To lowly humans who will surely be lost
It’s torque, rotation, caddy, pliers, wrenches
Inspection sticker, undercarriage rust
The noisy drilling on the workshop benches
And wailing, “Fix my car at once or bust!”
Compressor hiss and cannonade of hammer
Struts, piston rings and diagnostic code
The mystery of sensor change glamour
Oh, deftly moves, returning auto to the road
It’s coolant check, brake fluid, fuses, coils
Spark plugs replacement, tire pressure gauge
They know of summer vs winter oils
And best brake pads, domain of the sage
Cars pulled apart, they look so weak and tender
Like bugs without wings that cannot fly
Await repair of the fender-bender
We’ve all been there and can testify
Patched tires, shock absorbers, sockets
The wiper blades, the funnels and headlights
Big bucks repair our hitting pockets
But while here we have very little rights
Male shadows standing here and there
They look askance, the humbled, quiet bunch
As if infer the process of repair
With facial expressions of a hunch
And while surgery performed, there’s hope abound
For chariots of fire, as before
When gods of auto centers, homebound
Us send at once, by fixing what was sore
January 12, 2025
When silence knock the door
After all fights to be calmed
Plugged my ear to hear music
Pray to my dark deafness.
Survival of basic skills
Become a necessity as breath.
Plugged to calm to unbearable one.
What the music accomplish
In hands of capital gain.
Sam wears earplugs because his wife snores.
"Please see a doctor" he often implores.
"I think you have apnea
and I'd really be happier
if this is something you do not ignore!"
He sweats, he grunts
he plods, he plugs
There is't a ditch
he hasn't dug
Works like a dog
and eats like a horse
Though most of his meals
are only one course
Had to quit school
when his parents died
Got married young
to his 'baby bride'
One kid after another
took away his youth
Then his health took a hit
Too much gin sans vermouth
Now at age 60
He's old and worn-out
Nary a field seeded
for memory to sprout
when i am alone
are where i rome
or at home
i listen to my sounds
turn vol down
lay around
and sugs
i where
EAR PLUGS
Bath Plugs
The bath plugs, who weekly have been
talking with my
aloof and snappy parents about
presenting me in front of
a TV (oh how the anguish of
paranoid will kill me!) audience to
show, mock, my
sickness, are inductees of
the governing body of
the City of
Sydney.