I wake with ambition, bold as a drum,
till I trip on my slippers
and spill my own gumption.
I vow to eat healthy, crisp apples and greens,
but the cookie jar whispers
like it knows all my dreams.
I fix the loose cabinet with flair and a grin,
then discover the screwdriver
still dangling within.
yet somehow, through the stumbles and spins,
life hands me small joys
placed right under my chinny, chin, chin.
She rolled up her piano and tucked it underneath her chinny chin chin
off the the courtyard she went to play a tune from Mama Balloon
"Absolutely not or never" said porky pig as she played shiny, to win
inside the water fountain a red cap bobbed and floated like a loon
Singing to the top of her voice every tonsil quivered as she did her gig
bass lined to the music she strolled the keys on a piano forte made of pulp
"Play it again " cried Petunia Pig while re-arranging her imaginary wig
but as the rain began to fall, Suzie stopped playing and began to gulp
Suffering Cilantro your piano has turned into nothing more than mush
said the little piglet with a tiny little bugle nose as bright as a red rose
"I got a rockjam keyboard made of foil at home" she began to gush
but all she heard was " Tsk tsk tsk" and suddenly the oink just froze
"Send out the clowns" huffed Piggly Wiggly Bob who lisped his nouns
and so Suzie with an origami thingy ma jig fined tuned a little trumpet
"Keep it coming" whooped Porky Pig and Daffy Duck painting the town
they danced to the beat of " Oh Susannah" without hurry without fret.
I was stunned at my cousin’s new mural on her living room wall
I want one! I yelped, can he come by in the fall?
He’s totally booked up, his popularity is big.
I should warn you, he eats a lot, he is kind of a pig.
I hear he is a sloppy painter, my husband chimed in.
He does not want strangers in our house, he has a chinny-chin-chin.
I booked him in October, assuring him we would tire up the dog.
He came on the fifth, and he truly ate like a hog.
But our new mural was lovely, more beautiful than my cousins.
How many have you painted? He squealed, dozens and dozens.
My husband huffed and puffed, irritated at how much he ate.
He was messy and dirty, but my new mural was great!
by the hair of my chinny chin chin
I wonder some days whose body I’m in
personality a secret, some days you see
from not only you, but also to me
If a zebra came calling, would I let him in?
Bet I would by rule of the chinny chin chin
Where would he sleep? Would he need a feathered bed?
He might not be choosy, my inner thoughts said.
Would this zebra have a name or would I have to name him too?
Would he try to eat my sock, dungarees, overalls and left shoe?
Why do I concern myself about oddities like this?
Would he be a mister, a Mrs. or a sassy Miss?
.
ya heard 'bout
the hair on hiz "chinny chin chin"
'turnz out
that wolf luuuvz'
all thuh hairz on
hiz chinny
chin chin'd
tuh
thuh hairz
lo
b b
'twixt'd
hiz
asterisks
Aunt Marge’s Christmas letter sat unopened again.
Most of us walked by it, and said “not by the hair
of our chinny chin chin”
We knew what it would hold
Accomplishments of her six awful kids
We had nothing to do with them
Thanks to their behaviors
our family reunions had been on the skids.
This one is perfect.
That one is fine.
Billy is the president of railroad nine.
Tommy is an outstanding citizen now.
Her children were all amazing, wonderful,
her family a wow.
Aunt Marge has been bragging about them
in Christmas letters for fifty three years.
In truth they are spoiled brats
have caused lots of us tears
Her braggadocio bragging is annoying to me.
That unopened letter finally finds its way to the trash bin
without being opened, as our family all did agree.
Beneath the midday sky
I devoured the Plum
Deliberately sinking my teeth
Piercing the bloody burgundy skin
Savoring the golden soft flesh
Bittersweet nectars, the color of emptiness,
Rolling down my chin
I do not care
No one to see
No one, but me
Rotating the violet orb
I violate the virgin surface
The Plum’s exposed flesh glistening
Beneath the tangerine sun
Another bite
Another turn
My chinny-chin-chin soaked in ecstasy
Three more bites
Is all I need
A foreshadowing hidden deep inside
The Seed
A promise of what will be
A memory of what once was
Gone forever
Like you
Beneath the midday sky
Words carved into long-suffering granite
The color of emptiness
“Taken too soon”
Weep beneath the tangerine sun
Deep inside the hallowed ground
My seed
My Son
A promise of what could be
A memory of what once was
Gone forever
It’s vast and its infinite, it never ends
It goes on forever, no corners no bends
Planets are specks in the void that is space
Stars are the glitter that keep them in place
I passed all the tests of wit, strength and skill
They asked me to lead, I told them I will
For ten years we’ve thrust through the void aforementioned
We shall not return, we shall never be pensioned
A planet who’s star that no telescope glimpsed
The home to which all of humanity limps
I captain my family, they serve as crew
A format I know is familiar to you
I won this position through moral stability
My physical strength and mental agility
This journey we make through laborious black
Entrusted to those who refuse to look back
My children may live to see our destination
Their mission to create a new human nation
Though ten years have gone, since we fled that last war
I doubt I can stand thirty-seven years more
My wife shares the helm with my kids buckled in
I dribble a bit down my chinny chin chin
I’m losing my mind, and it’s a sure bet
It’s down to my kids yelling...
‘Are we there yet?’
14 January 2021
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Contest: Musings on Space
homeward bound three sheets to the wind
floating like a butterfly from a night with some friends
singing hello walls at the top of his lungs
hoping that the gin doesn’t give him the bends
little miss betty with a pan in her hand
waits on the porch for the sight of her man
eight pounds of cast iron should just do the trick
he’ll beg she forgives at the sight of her plan
here comes old bob with a grin on his face
climbing the steps as they creek in the night
as he opens the door with grace and some care
the site of betty’s frying pan brings him sheer fright
without a word spoken she leaps to her feet
frozen with fear now gone is his grin
with a mighty grunt she aims and then swings
bob takes it full force with one on the chin
October 6, 2020
One On The Chin Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Stand back! Get out of the way!
The Master Chef is here to play!
I looked in amazement as the man ran in.
He was wearing a beard by his chinny chin chin.
Who is he? I asked my friend’s son.
I don’t know he replied. Should I call 911?
Let’s wait I said swiftly for I hate to cook.
And this guy did not have a very tough look.
Pepperoni! He yelled. I threw it straight in the air.
He tossed it into quickly into my mixing bowl there.
Tomatoes! He hollered. All I had were canned.
He handed me a grocery list and motioned me away, his hands fanned.
I got everything on the list – jalapenos, horseradish, tomatoes galore.
He was stirring red sauce when I came back in the door.
Where are the banana peppers? Is the store very far?
I know I got them! I yelled. I ran back to the car.
He mixed up the hottest most maniacal spaghetti I had ever seen.
Just one taste of it turned most people’s gentle pallet’s green.
But I am one of those women who love the hottest food more than most.
So I crowned him the King of Spaghetti, and he comes every Wednesday to host.
i'll never fear your
pelvic beard it's
as natural as
the hair
on my
chinny
chin
chin
so i'll huff
and i'll puff
but i'm not
much of
a gruff
wolf
that
would
blow your
house down
so Norma Jeane
stand over a subway
grate don't hesitate to
let its hot air run up your
legs and puff your dress up
to a parachute so i can fly away
There once was a nanny,* lived in New Guinea
She's spot her billy, O would she whinny
She'd kick up her feet
And then she would bleat
She'd curl the hair on his chin-chin-chinny
*A nanny is a female goat
Puzzles, playdough, toys galore.
Come take your pick as you come through the door.
Your stuff is boring; I want a lot more.
Not the same-old- same crummy junk again.
I want new stuff, by my chinny-chin-chin.
What about the puzzles? I ask, with surprise.
Studying his face, studying his eyes.
You loved them last time. Don’t you remember?
We had fun with them way back in September.
They are the same, every day, every week.
It’s new puzzles I want, it’s new games I seek.
What about this, the child said,
Let me get my phone out, and I will talk to it instead.
What about this, the child did say.
I will leave you alone, we will not have to play.
What about this? I said to the child.
Let’s be pirates, and ninjas, and we will live in the wild.
We can growl, and say mean stuff, and it will just be in play.
No, said the child. I hear mean stuff at my house every single day.
The pigs want a piece of this action
No way are they going to oink this alone
They don't know how but they're going to make it happen
The only draw back is the lack of thumbs
How in the world did those cows hold the hammers?
Where did the sheep get all their ideas?!
After all it's the goats with the brains!
Them and all of their kids
They don't need that big of a rocket
Room enough for a bucket of slop and a couple pigs with a grin
Asked how many were in the mood for adventure
Not by the hair of their chinny chin chins
Some of the little piggies were off at the market
Some little piggies would rather stay home
To eat all the newly purchased roast beef
Which left the other piggies with none
But most of the piggies would rather just wee wee at home
I guess when it comes to the pigs
And adventurous spirits they seem to have none
They find enjoyment on earth in the back yard
Laying around wallering in mud
This is last of the farm animals I care to try and send to space at this time....
As always thank you for your patience and understanding....
The management.
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