The Domed Teapot Movie Team stores
good running electrical engineering supplies for
the apprentice vape tester stationed
for training with other code guy
system connectors near the
erectifying rainbow falls of
Mr. Mojo's Old City
WHEREAS(S)
the Eccentric Frontier Goldmine Foundation State has
discovered a recent reference model indicating that
the Eclectic Ghoul Aid Company has failed the
combined skating/scooter/car/bike and
forest river vehicle acid test (though they
did oddly OVER_perform with
dirty toothbrushes while on
motorcycles)
ALL OF WITCH LEAVES US WITH
an Elected Peach Boutique Box Collection of
shadow games and chic cottage band
energies perfectly suited to the
Enneagram Test Cook's home decor
NUT TO MENTION (MUNCH ON?)
the elliptically concentric doctor of the
Goon Power Kingdom where
mad duke predicament bosses are
obsessed with my contraption wheel
drop way of UNDER_thinking the
biased fallacy of self-data camera
set collectors viewing the erect or
oral bored college process that
involves repairing old farts for
recyling at flea markets.
Recalling days in a state
you
might feel after faking
your own breath of fresh hair she fried
from that floor dayward to
be right
on the
pointless hell prototype
aligning with her vision
of
the self-confident soldiers
singing her to the quick and stick-
y hotel where no one
ever
checks out
the plumbing unless pres-
sured to do so by the
bladder
of fact
madam at the recep-
tion desk.
The moon’s peaking tonight.
It’s June with her strawberry cheeks.
Not time for fright or flight.
Childlike brilliance of us antiques.
We look upon the past,
Shimmering diamonds in rough.
How long will our lives last?
So much blither-blather seems fluff.
(Hyperbolically, seen it all.)
Still, the strawberry moon excites.
(T.V. shows in the Fall.)
Life is full; so’s the moon, it’s light.
My anchor spot on, where I’m rooted, in the midst of the sea.
Blue skies blather above me, shimmer of sun, birds fly, fish swim.
Beyond bulkheads, undertow, the spirited treasures arise.
I have a great aunt who can blether and blather about nothing
she drops hints about her wealth as she spits her gobbledygook
Since she is 97, I ignore her nonsense, but she has no idea
For I have her on speaker and every once in a while I grunt
Or I say “uh-huh”, or “oh, yeah”. I never have to say tell me more.
Her claptrap hogwash tripe is longer than the longest freight train.
It stretches from Omaha to California. Empty talk, for sure.
I put the phone down sometimes and vacuum a room.
Or take the clothes out of the washer and put them into the dryer.
When I return, she is still talking. Balderdash nonsense, for sure.
She loves the fact that I do not call her on her bunk and bull.
I check her off my list of people to call for a month. Win win.
The profascist enforcements
with lead jacket endorsements
will rate your performance
dispatching with diligence
violence and indifference
the idea of innocence
and rebrand it insolence.
Thank you for your attention on this blather.
Damp sound of squelching grass
beneath my feet
ushers bright dew soaked morn
on wild green plot
of tangled twigs, stalks, leafs
where young lambs bleat
and blather without rein
in frisky trot!
‘You’ve had one too many’
Declared old Paddy’s wife
She always spoiled his evenings
With her ‘trouble’ and her ‘strife’
‘I’m absolutely sober’
He replied with much aplomb
‘I’ve only had a couple
And I’m drinking beer, not rum’
‘I don’t care what you’re drinking,
You don’t know when to stop
I rue the day I married you
You useless, boozy sop’
‘Oh, hold your blather, Missus
Give that whinging voice a rest
The day you married me
I’ll have you know you got the best’
‘Got the best? Well I’ll be buggered
You really are a pain
I wish that you’d get off yer ass
And fix that broken windowpane’
Now at this Paddy got real pissed
And sat up in his chair
‘Don’t you talk to me of work!’
He said with wild-eyed glare
‘I’ve worked myself to death for you
But you only whinge and moan
I swear I’ll clobber you real good
If you keep on with that tone’
But she was unrepentant
And continued with her rant
On and on she chided him
With never ending cant
The last was one too many
For this much maligned hubby
So he lurched across the kitchen
And he hit her with his stubby!
follow the poolside shadows
Venus of Delphi
daughter of bitter waves
peek through the peephole
of my glaucous thorax
open your byzantine eyes and
spurn your locomotor ataxia
one glance at our vitreous hands
– a sight for blind sore eyes
one brush of our riveted lips
– gone astray in malformations
one ponderous confession later
– immaterial as a shadow of the lash
let the weeping corpuscles lie
swarm and jostle in the grotto
rattle and blather away our days
I’ll wait for your recriminations
fall asunder under your touch
fastidious in my entomology
let the bouquet glide downstream
the scytheman is still in his kingdom
then we rejoice in endless daze
the lingering beaten with bravura
when accused of blither-blather
seek shelter in the moment, rather
than plunge right in confrontationally
into a bottomless pit of calumny
remember to count to ten again and again
ramp it up to a thousand, don’t pretend
if you’re still hot, don’t plead that you’re not
or let bygones be bygones and all that rot
‘coz the chickens always come home to roost
when and if you’re still juiced
you just might slice that swollen face wide open, catsup-red
then hallucinate as into grinning spiders it is shhh-RED
*******
If the horror you've just read
fills you with naught but dread
Try not to lose it, jughead ~ pray hard
before you go to bed
~ Dr. Jack Ell
Often
the rain has something to say to me,
but this rainy day
it is hyperactively neurotic.
Each of my shoes are waterlogged
by a squelching sky-fall.
Then again there is the soggy dribble
when the flood falters
and it plugs the dripping air
only to burst out in hysterical torrents.
It is not mute,
it mutters and sprays wet words;
a babble of bellicose blather.
I am drenched in my own sweat,
as weepy warm sweepings
wash over me.
I was hoping that the last spatter
and squall of the day
would have something to say
but it only seemed to hint at:
'Coming back again."
"Marry me," the spider said to the flea.
Don't you find it cute to live on my web?
No, I will never forget your blather.
On your bedside, my brother in your deb.
You asked for a snack, left me, and be back.
Suddenly, you began weaving your neb.
Wrapped in a silk cage, promise not to age.
Until your last breath rematches the ebb.
What did you expect? Didn't you yet elect?
I'd act the same manner I did before.
You gasp, those deeds. Stay on the web with me.
to handle a minuscule bite and more.
Here lies the prob, no aim to let you sob.
because wedding you seem to be reckless.
The goal of a smooth life isn't a fool strife
In an auld silken entangle speckless.
Don't argue to love less, be deep and guess.
Your brother was so tasty, as a nap.
What have you just done? a fresh web you've spun!
She grinned as she closed the remaining gap.
2nd place contest winner
Written: February 27, 2023
Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Striped stockings crawl up the leg of a little girl witch.
Her face is calm, but when she sings it is an awful pitch.
We listen in horror, as her song snakes up our legs.
She is scary as all get out, says my cousins Susie and Megs.
Little girl witch is sad to hear their persnickety blather.
She knows they do not like her, she hears their chatter.
She tries to soften her melody and her October song.
They warm up to her, and it does not take that long.
They become friends and the little girl witch is glad.
She was always kind-hearted, never irritable or bad.
Her face forms a smile that lights up the room bright.
Halloween has now become a most favorite night.
My father passed a few years back, and he keeps appearing in my dreams, always on the same street and roughly the same dialogue. The poem/story has no real format. Just my feelings on it. Thanks!
Silent Street
On streets where past and present collide, holograms ride delta waves
You sidle up, gate light and easy, mid conversation
I Parse the rhetoric for glimmers of acceptance
But again benign, drivel muddles the way
The one sided blather on photography labors uncontested
Your catalogue, a thorough exhibition of you
Fitting. Buried emotions etched in celluloid
Reveling in silent shame, feeling a camaraderie
of sorts
Time is short, so silent I stay
Ears hinged for signs of accountability
A modicum of responsibility
And so I wait...
The pipe store beckons, it's almost time
Fading into the night he says We'll meet up later
I know we will. So Maybe, next time.
Till then, in silent space, I standalone. Apologies unrendered.
U K minus queen, where All's not as it seems; the crowds Will Gather, there will be much piety and blather, shoulders
To be rubbed, as people dive into the hub-bub at the
Shop restaurant golf club or pub, has something been
Forgotten? that prior was reported ; of ad-nausem top
To bottom, covid nineteen! prevelant on radio TV screen
Of an era with the Queen, remember; don't go getting it '
Is it still on the scene.? Or is just I'm confusing it with
The prevelance of reports on the dying of a queen?
Of course you will not catch it.' Socially if you mourn
The British Queen.! I mean how could a dose of covid
Ever so tasteless be regarded important; next to the wake
Of the reigning queen? So go, out to the highway and
Gather on the strand; wave your flags don black cry on
Others shoulders, in some anti-quarrantine.' And how '
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