There was this old fellow from Princeton
Whose Dodge Ram did throw a piston
With the engine bloc shot
He ran home at a trot
And switched to a Chevy in an instant
an entry for Constance LaFrance's contest
Write a Beautiful Rubaiyat Poem
Make a discovery, well-worth your time!
Compare instant coffee to Starbuck's prime,
I-Hop's waffles to those frozen en bloc.
Voila! steel cut oats! makes hunger bells chime.
Use the stove to boil some salt water stock;
turn it down low and pile oats in the crock.
(what’s half an hour? I've a paper to read.)
I have retired and I don't watch the clock.
Lots of brown sugar and butter you'll need,
takes thirty minutes to coddle this feed.
Add whatever, the next verse gives my notes.
Steel-cut oats will get breakfast up to speed.
Include raisins which drift like little boats
in the sugary-rich, buttery moat.
For a breakfast or any meal sublime
include nuts. Then just grab a spoon and gloat.
"Eat your veggies," as a nipper I was told
but I'd hide 'em on me lap so Mum wouldn't scold
then all the quicker feed 'em to the dish-licker
before they were even cold
now I'm older not sadder but wiser
and do enjoy a tasty appetiser
they may appear to look like a pear
here's a myth I wish to quash
tho' they're fruit chayotes taste like
zucchini cucumber or squash
against the fence homegrown I grow me own
and me garden's full of chokos
"Choko-bloc," one might even say
I'll do a prickly pear or two
but still don't eat veggies to this day
The worst of cures
He had bought a flat in a new apartment bloc still not ready for the buyers, but since it was Sunday, he drove to the building to have a look risky surgery and worried he might live long enough to move into his new home in time
A lift had been installed took it up to the seventh floor, flat looked roomy although it had no floor or windows there was a terrace without railing on the terrace he took in the view, could see the bay and the ocean, the sun warmed his face
Suddenly, he burped, had a blob of something foul in his mouth which spat out in disgust, saw it make a splash on the asphalt that turned green where the blob landed, this caused him to lose balance and without a railing a fatal fall
The obduction showed his body was cancer free
The bloc..Has lost the moment.' Perhaps thats no surprise?
An insularity within a country.? Well let the folks decide.!
And if they throw that bloc upon the current lakes?
Will it smoothly ride? Or lacking true fluidity.? into
The deeps will it slide?
ignoring ignorance annoys the ignorant ~ indulge them? I can't
same old redundant story ~ on a soap box for an ounce of glory
too much of the same old chatter ~ spewed from the mouth of a Mad Hatter
Alice will gladly pet the Cheshire Cat ~ if it'd make him chase a rat
to all en bloc, don't swallow that drink ~ write your own poetry with ink
stream of consciousness
A laughing clown filled the heavenly screen
full of malic, behind him, men were eating children
Wine and blood ran down their chests
they had the time of their life
Freedom to exploit the weak and call it democracy
they were friendly and offered me a child's soft arm and thigh
I shook my head, walked on to find my way home
There it was, shining bright on a hill in the afternoon light
The apartment bloc had no entrance
ropes hung from windows
My flat was on the third floor, painted by a mad Russian
who was eaten by wolves in the forest he painted
I tried to climb up vital for me to get home
I was too weak to slide down, and my hands burst into flame
I put my hands in a bucket of water that turned into wine
that I coolly drank
A fire engine hosted by, I stopped the motor and asked
for a ladder, they had no time to help
so, many other hands-on fires that night
I walked to the ever-lasting river, sat on a stone, listened
to the universal language
I let go and became the river
This was wrirren by a friend of mine who lives in Victoria, Canada
My Messy Thoughts of Poetry in Japanese Senryu
1- Poetry & Me
it costs me nothing
it doesn’t bring me profits
I write just for fun
2- Poetry & Freedom
poetry is free
from any competition
why not play with words?
3 -Poetry & Fine Art
play with words for fun
not for any damned profits
like starving artists
4- Poetry and Giving Birth
writing poetry
not give birth to a baby
please don't push too hard
5- Poetry & Work
wanna write or not
it's freedom of poetry
not for a living
6 -Poetry & Merry-go-round
why care how it sounds?
why worry what people think?
on merry-go-round
7- Poetry & Writing Bloc
why do I not chop
my writing block to pieces
sharp japanese swords
8- Back to Poetry and Me
I take a good break
go with the flow of the day
not torture my mind
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
03-01-2023
Amethod of displaying your thoughts and feelings
The sun is hammering down on my face.
Memories that move across a puzzling place.
Smooching all the way back down to my skin.
My cheeks are flushed with tears from the past.
My greedy spirit is taught by a glorious blast.
An ovate calm circle springs to mind tips.
I plunge forward into the crimson abyss.
Freed my caged heart from its custody.
Fearful people have shelter from the world.
In my quest, I am ushered by the primal words.
Mounted shadily on a huge salt-staining rock
Looking toward the abyssal distance bloc.
White shades blend with galaxies and light.
A vibrant brushstroke boson over the skyline.
Sky and the ocean in a lover's arms and whine.
Written: March 20, 2022
I tested negative a few days ago,
the virus has yet to find my ink
to write another obituary.
I hugged my family and invited
friends for dinner, drinking, dancing
and singing, making the old days
return sooner, at least for a night.
Children have no monopoly on
childish thoughts. I imagined the virus
disappear one day like a miracle,
superstitious or not.
Then as I was cooking a nice meal and
thinking of walking my pesty dog round the bloc,
got a call from a medic trying hard to
pronounce my name correctly, with
deep and since apology informed me of
the error: my test was positive. I know what
comes next, my step-sister will think the
worst, accusing me of intentional homicide.
But, I 'm not dead yet, it's not too late,
to invite her a second time, to make sure
we'll both die in the same hospital -- the heroic baton
I cannot reward myself.
blank stonewall faces
narrow-windowed cubicles
~ hearts tear in cramped spaces
Enclave or enormous but pretty king mask
Brick per brick Rome's whack on an iron task
A shield to that tactful lions roar
His safe I'm saved from an odious boa
En masse we feed and stucked with 'cheese'!
On a flax we seat, soft like a fleece
See many at our domain, our blue means love
Cheers and welcoming we did, pure like a dove
Fierce sharks and hawks out like safari park
En bloc we sleep, no careless peep to the dark
Nevertheless, they horse around, we're free from attack
Relief, wow to our mask for the shield attach.
Remember, centuries ago we met
I'th' glorious garden of a hillock.
Then the morose sun was about to set,
And euphoric birds were flying en bloc.
Yonder the crimson streaks reddened the clime
And thy visage adorned with unfurled love—
Strange and secluded beauty hard to mime
E'en by the variegated sky above.
The red river paled into a black brook
As our silhouettes made love to small stars—
A nonpareil nocturne from warblers’ nook
Let in it our conflux of hearts immerse.
The quaint queen of night made thy meek hair shine,
Till my famished lips coalesced with thine.
13th September, 2016
Men in Black,
Wear a Black,
Worry of Black.
War a Black...
Fear a Black,
Block a Black,
Lock the Black.
War on Black...
Luck a Black,
Unlocked Black,
Back in Black.
War of Black...
Mock a Black,
Knock a Black,
Back a Black
War of Black...
Worried Black,
Back in Bloc,
Bloc by Bloc,
War of Black...
Whole Black,
Comin' Back,
Omen Black,
Winnin'Black...
I am sick of eating those huge orange gourds cooked in pies -
And my little garden is choc-a-bloc with pumpkins this year;
But when carved out, they are the talk of the whole neighbourhood.
For Andrea’s contest
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