“It surely takes a grievous toll
Near the end of snow-white roll” (by author)
My lifespan by default, bawdily brief,
Sadly signifies excremental grief.
From pristine white to shady hues of brown,
Crumpled or creased, crudely disposed aground.
Paradox: I’m the most needed token -
Yet most disrespected, tissue-broken.
It could be smelly feet but no, alas!
It has to be the dark side of an ass.
I don’t intend to make you humans blush,
But you waste me on your waste in a flush.
Thus my life on a roll, floating in vain,
Down the drain, down the drain, down the drain!
August 14, 2026
Varnished Tech Titans
Tattered totems tarnished
Viral tribal bible spiral
Tainted talismans taunted
Cash cows flaunted
Gerontocracy trumps democracy
Theocracy stumps hypocrisy
Autocracy dumps diplomacy
Haunted schism prism
Vaunted Fat Cats
Enigma?…just
Dogma & Stigma
Tit for Tats
Martian Martial law
Doff your hats
To techno-*wats
And petro-*rats
Deplore or Encore?
Poor Planet in flux
All about the bucks
Ersatz Fat Cats
Well More is More!
• Flat chest
• Flashy grin
• Struggling to rest
• Much to my chagrin
Cat and canary at odds through the day
A game of chase hunts his delicious prey
But Tweety turns tables
Just like Aesop’s fables
End game birdy tweets, hubris doesn’t pay!
Chagrin
Take the 'ag' out
and you've got 'chin' ~
There's 'egg on your chin' for you
We are becoming
Unbound
Our fantasy
Unraveled
Sorrow covered words
Of polite regret
They swallow me up inside
Wisdom weary
Behind the storm
We race, reckless
Towards defeat
This is the death of us.
I remember picking wild strawberries
with my sisters so my mom could make jam.
I looked for a glass jar to put them in,
thinking the bigger, the more it carries.
But I didn't much give a tinker's damn,
how thin.
As I ran ahead, I fell on my butt
shattering my jar, much to my chagrin.
Baring my ass, I proved this was no scam,
bleeding badly, I showed how it had cut
my skin.
(Curtal Sonnet)
10-26-2020
- A catfish, a catfish!
- It’s not.
- Why?
- It’s a king of catfishes! Good for you. Ok, put its Majesty in the boat.
The boat is anchored at the edge of the shallow water.
I, seven years old, knee-deep in water, drag my first big catfish, holding its slimy gills in my arms raised over my head, but the fishtail feels the water and, having knocked me down with a powerful strike, the king legs it…
I grew up, I caught a lot of kings, but even on the brink of death I will feel the chagrin.
Creates dark cracks in bits or as large as pits
Happiness shrinks for this horror and quits
Anger, ready to open its tool kits
Growing steadily to make its next hit
Raging mind and not ready for a seat
Inner feeling, crushing social biscuits
Not enough for the heart to grow some teeth.
Dark hair in ringlets softly frames her face,
the style her mother likes to see her wear,
and her new gown looks pretty trimmed in lace
while near the wall, she occupies a chair.
She gazes at a crowd of boys and girls -
the boys, like small men, dressed in shirts and ties;
the girls, like her, dolled up, their hair in curls.
What thoughts might lie behind her dark jade eyes?
Young women not yet asked to dance have flocked
together. Seeing her, they burst into
a fit of giggles. Is she being mocked?
She drops her gaze, unsure of what to do.
Her hope, a tiny bird, away has flown.
As always, with chagrin, she sits alone.
Posted Aug. 7, 2017 for Ever Roper's "She Sits Alone" Poetry Contest
Once again to my chagrin
This nightmare perseveres
And through the glass it comes to pass
To feed upon my fears
And it seems to slay my dreams
And in their stead leave blind
Mine own two eyes to that one prize
My soul doth seek to find
Still I pray that night gives way
And cures this circumstance
That captive holds my weary soul
Within it's darkened trance
And perhaps lay loose the straps
That bind me to this cross
And free from 'round my neck now bound
This curs'ed albatross
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