As I turn away, no tears left to cry
We should’ve talked—I tried before goodbye
The love we laid to rest, now marked in chalk
Not all your fault, not mine—we both did our best
I keep what’s left locked deep inside
A place in me where you still hide
Gentle breeze, reedbeds quiver
Seed heads brush the sky
Golden straw reflects in mirror
Chalk stream slipping by
Dimple disturbs surface shimmer
Trout beneath the willow
Sips small floating black gnat dinner
Eddy's swirling shadow
Kingfisher dives down the river
Orange belly banking
Fleeting flash of turquoise glitter
Picturesque enchanting
Written: October 26, 2025, for contest sponsored by Line Gauthier
***********
Crease-lined poetry conveys a liberated mind,
Your brain transforms chalk on slate into a canvas.
Reading wonderful poems may elicit vibrant imagery,
Recollection may reveal concealed and elusive secrets.
Our inspiration ignites flames with artistic doodling.
Chalk
White powder rock.
Just 45 minutes on the clock.
Teacher is the tool.
The chalk is the writer.
Many lesions, many words.
White dust across the black board.
Erase to smudge.
Chalk re-writes discipline.
Learn as much as you can.
Let poetry begin.
Refining thoughts.
Lost time writing in cursive.
White limestone,
To a soft smoked poem
Children cherish a summer rain
it turns them into unchained frogs
hopping around the gushing drains
splashing about mud puddle bliss
catching those silver manna drops
with pinkish frog tongue flicks.
The chalk people, in meltdown mode
bark out from plastic abodes
warning of killer lightning flashes
thunderous bolts and lion slashes.
The chalk people strip the hoppers
of their short-lived, muddy happiness.
Scolding them into a soapy warm bath
quieting them into smaller pieces of themselves.
God bless the muddy hoppers.
oblivion is nothing new ~ i’ve been there once and will go back too
i awoke crying as sensations grew ~ til death rubbed out all i knew
god only knows who’s really who ~ i’m bamboozled a sign could do
blackboard equations esoteric and true ~ chalk dust for us to chew
can’t see past these monokus ~ that’s okay try this existential clue
life blindly flails on through ~ to bumble and fumble like mr magoo
By
David Kavanagh
Two wonders,
born into our lives twelve and
ten years ago.
A girl and a boy,
my grandchildren,
in the little house in Haw Creek,
I held them less than a year old
as they slept on my chest,
as I walked them up and down
the creaking wooden floor hallway.
Soft lullabies, baby board books,
spontaneous laughter so endearing.
Their drawings in chalk on concrete,
playing in their yard of all seasons,
watching His birds raise their young,
being the blessed Lord's creations themselves.
Oh, years, can you slow down some?
My daughter, son-in-law, and I,
we love their precious youth.
In the priceless art of children,
their drawings in chalk on concrete,
etched across our hearts. ~
Imagine if you would,
a comedic TV show.
Funny most evenings
and has a nice flow.
The guy who works
for Police homicide
the one who dose
the chalk outline.
A psychic friend of mine,
who's always on time,
He's a real psychic
He actually tells people
when not to show up for work,
or when they should
or shouldn't drive.
He's trying to save lives.
Working alone and
telling people over the phone,
when they should stay home.
He's been reported
to the police.
And chewed out
by the police chief.
He tells people to double lock
their doors so
they don't get robbed.
He knocks on your door
and says if you don't mind,
I don't want you
to become a chalk outline.
tomorrow don't answer
your door after 4:00
And ya know kids
like being told,
to be cool and
stay home from school...
Because their boyfriend
or girlfriend Ain't quite right.
Like a song that's sung,
they like to showoff
playing with a Gun.
The parents can't complain,
until then neighbors kid got shot.
They thought he was insane.
Chalk was bold, pale skinned, and big boned.
A soft souled, porous, sedentary teen.
Bulky, he made a big initial impression,
but seemed to lack in true substance.
And thus, was a temporary friend,
often relied on to help others with work,
but then discarded without a second thought.
Good thing Chalk brushed off comments with ease.
Cheese was very much an acquired taste,
with hooped earlobes and a waxy complexion,
quite rugged, yet packed full of character.
He wore a baggy beanie like a protective rind,
and from a glance, he could give you nightmares.
But behind his hard exterior, was a soft nature.
Easily influenced, he was often seen in a smoky hue,
chewing salty, sour snacks outside of class.
These two were really chalk and cheese,
yet their soft nature made them good friends.
Chalk helped Cheese get a grip and find his true flavour,
and Cheese was a rock for Chalk's sense of self.
Together, they were anything but, chalk and cheese,
yet never had they been more Chalk and Cheese.
05.01.2023
A shudder, a tremble,
hearing a screech.
Was it that chalk again -
on that board or this wall?
We tend to hear things
at the strangest of times:
midnight, noon, three-seventeen.
But seven minutes to ten?
Hmm. That's an odd time.
It may come again tomorrow.
But what is weird is that
it will come yesterday.
Yet I knew nothing of that till today.
We have the strangest of brains.
(Aug 2022)
Your voice is
Like nails on chalk board.
It makes me want to
Cut my ears out so
I no longer can hear.
Anything you say
Any more.
Your eyes pierce my soul.
Looking at me
Hating who I am.
Hating who I be become.
Judging everyone
Around you
Who isn't like you
Who don't believe in
What you believe in.
Who don't live the
Way you do
One that won’t my sandals sag
Nor my garments shrinks:
My journeys unduly drag
Nor on me impress that I ‘d soon sink!
A path that shouldn’t me repaint
As though an Art Work now faint …
And commonsense warns me, also you;
One that is like a gospel true
Not a highway but still gets through
All these, please mark with chalk
About the path to walk.
Chalk and Cheese
When you say no, I say yes
When you say skirt, I say dress
When you say lie, I don’t confess
When you say more, I say less
When I say argue you just agree
When I say bush, you say tree
When I say expensive, you say free
I hate the way you undermine me
When I give up, you never surrender
I like coronation, you watch Eastender
I say it’s ugly, you marvel its splendour
When I have amnesia, you always remember
When I want to fight, you want to talk
When you want to run, I want to walk
When I feel happy, you sit and sulk
I am your cheese and you are my chalk.
David cox 04/09/20
Pull out the latch keys kids;
Flashlight tag and blanket forts;
You already know,
safety scissors don’t really cut;
Time to break out dodgeballs!
Let’s rock those slick shoes,
invent things like Data did;
I can still see sidewalk chalk,
images drawn with innocent eyes;
There are still so many ideas
waiting to be finessed;
Get through that channel 3 static
let’s paint on a new canvas;
Pull out the latch keys kids,
Break out that etch a sketch
it’s time to admit we are stumbling;
Possibilities are endless,
Optimism and hope spiraling ?
Simon says use your imagination;
I can still see sidewalk chalk,
images drawn with innocent eyes;
Call hope over, red red rover;
There are still so many ideas;
Think back to bedtime stories,
there’s magic in those rhymes;
The answer is still the future.
We drew a sun, a cloud, a heart,
Umbrellas and two girls
To dress and decorate with jewels
And hats atop their curls.
Last week our art had fireworks
And flags to celebrate
July the 4th, with flowers, too
To thus commemorate.
Those chalk designs aren’t meant to last;
The old ones disappeared.
Just one good downpour wipes them out,
I thought, as dark clouds neared.
Our lives are as ephemeral
As chalk-drawn pictures seem.
We make our mark upon the earth
And vanish, like a dream.
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