It’s not the birds and bees that speak;
O the colorful verbiage of flowers and trees.
It’s not the chirps or the buzz, cheek to cheek;
the waft of rose, lavender, magnolia breeze.
It’s not the high-minded sun, bright yellow;
sunflower’s reach on dizzy-toed stems.
It’s not the ebon chock full of moon-marshmallow;
It’s the intoxication of jasmine and primrose gems.
It’s not green leaves that wave in Summer season;
maple reds, snow-white pussy willows, and cherry.
It’s not the sticks and stones, nor pests high treason.
It is the birds and bees with two legs, making merry.
The president’s bombing kids again.
Blood on the ground, ash in the air,
schools and playgrounds destroyed the same.
And I’m sitting in my ing rose garden,
silk garments pristine and
picking past the petals stained red,
nose clogged with the scent of flowers in the air
and not those that lie mangled,
torn to pieces,
eternally tormented on the ground.
What a privilege it is to be removed,
to have my head buried in this American soil,
ears chock-full of it so the only sounds
that bypass my earthen defenses
are high-pitched laughter
and commands to bend low
under the current state of affairs.
And bend low I do,
down to the bushes that haven’t been maimed,
the stems of elderly jade
that prospered by disturbing no one
and instead shining with untouched beauty.
My heart turns to stone with every headline,
that same jade replacing vein after vein.
Soon enough I’ll be a statue of enchanting green,
dazzling in the sun,
mouth open too late in a silenced cry
in my own damn rose garden.
"The only thing worse than a liar is a liar that's also a hypocrite!" ~ Tennessee Williams
My what a lovely presentation ~
colourful welcoming smiles and delights.
You are a beautiful piñata,
a party on the outside,
chock full of surprises inside.
An alluring shell so inviting.
Don’t crack it open you’ll be alright.
Contents are anything but pretty.
I was happy living with the illusion
but now that I know what’s inside
I find the exterior not so appealing.
I can’t unknow what I now know.
Nonetheless let the party continue.
Let the piñata sway in the sun,
no way I want to burst that open.
Still it brings me reminiscings of happiness
to see the beauty that once was.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines of 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I Am Chock Full
Of Memories, I
Can't Use Any More.
***
That Isn’t Funny
At First, But Then
It Absolutely
Izzy-Izz IS.
***
It's A Slowww-Sloww Coal
That Just Melts The Ice,
Some Metabolism's Just
Mosey On Wanderlust.
***
Busted.
-Gray Squirrel
11-11-2025
Trump's been awarded
the chock full of bull piss prize ...
BUT which seven wars!
Dad writes articles chock-full of stats.
Just refer to his latest on rats!
Both my brothers, my sis,
Mom, and I all say this:
We'd prefer sagas starring cute cats.
Name now one man but Dad who would say,
"Evil rats on no star live" today.
Next, I'll make you say 'WOW!'
with my ana* on cows,
Then my top spot award, I'll display.”
*a collection of noteworthy information
Imagine!!
Spending each day of your very limited life.
Communicating only at one poetry site?
They only respond to those who read them?
How selfish~ radioactive poets, ahem!
They’d drop atom bombs on people’s delicate souls.
People you believed that cared, have turned to coal!
Theirs acts are so specious, so some poets absolutely will fold.
They were foolish to believe, that you had a heart of gold.
We never know what situation in life another poet faces.
Gods of letters, we, drop them from our good graces?
Those who shared their hearts with you…
Mistakenly, you thought, were a friend that was true?
Life is chock full of painful, great lessons to learn.
They won’t kill you…enjoy the warm heartburn!!
Ignorant punches will never, ever get you down.
They give you strength and dignity to carry on.
So pen…but never necessarily to please.
Godspeed! Now rise, get off your knees!
Great poets pen of things that matter to them!
Of hope and fantasy, and each night, whisper, Amen!
The history of fiat
Is chock full of breaches
Of centralized power
That pushes and reaches
Debasing our money
The looters and leeches
Gaslighting people
With Keynesian speeches
Where is our money
In fractional banks?
They lend out in bubbles
And give us no thanks
Restricting our freedoms
With raw overreaches
Yes, the history of fiat
Is brimming with breaches
But now we have freedom
From theft and abuse
A better money in Bitcoin
And the power to choose
The central bank must be trusted not to debase the currency, but the history of fiat currencies is full of breaches of that trust. Banks must be trusted to hold our money and transfer it electronically, but they lend it out in waves of credit bubbles with barely a fraction in reserve.
Satoshi Nakamoto
There’s nothing new under the sun,
It’s all been done, it’s all been done.
--I’ll make a sword also a gun!
The eighties called, it’s all been done.
--A film with car crashes for fun!
Won an Oscar, it’s all been done.
--A tale where you can speak age one!
They made it twice, it’s all been done.
--A race for folks that cannot run!
They’ve long had those, it’s all been done.
--A tragic play chock full of puns!
Talk to the Bard, it’s all been done.
--Nightmare creatures that shock and stun!
Paging Lovecraft, it’s all been done.
--A trip to refuel the damn sun!
Go read scifi, it’s all been done.
--The something with an airborne nun?
Strangely enough, that has been done.
--Then tales of people wrongly shunned…
Good lord, those have been overdone..
--An ode to folks who weight one ton!
Sadly, again, it’s all been done.
There’s nothing new under the sun,
It’s all been done, it’s all been done…
--Yeah, but it hasn’t been done MY way!
The air is so chock full and thick
with irony
It must be hard to draw a single
breath inside
Without choking on it and gasping
for oxygen
But then again at very least
Both my beard and moustache have
grown a little longer in the meanwhile
But isn't that the point of irony after all
It helps you rather not contemplate
think about focus or concentrate
On the total and utter irony of the
tedious task placed in front of you
at hand
Like ironically ironing ones clothes
for work the next day
You’re chock full of kingsize bull crap
Though female you are not a chap
A well-practiced liar
Whose pants are on fire
Your vitriol I’d love to zap
Just little things make you so ratty
You’ll spit venom, gee you’re darn catty
With a scowl and a frown
You will put good folk down
With hindsight I think you’re quite batty
Your language you need to remodel
I’m fed up of reading your twaddle
You can’t leave folk alone
Like a dog with a bone
Try using that brain in your noddle
May I offer a little advice
If you cannot say anything nice
Keep your mouth fully closed
Your bull crap’s been exposed
Go back to your fool’s paradise
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
01/05/22
I’m dining with my cousin Giles
Who disclosed he’d terrible piles
He’s wriggly and twitchy
Cos his butt’s so itchy
His visage is sad, there’s no smiles
He’d tried using soft margarine
This process had just made him scream
So he did not linger
With his index finger
But Anusol worked like a dream
I said it was my understanding
That surgeon ‘s do hemorrhoid banding
But if he has it done
Sitting down he may shun
On this subject I won’t be expanding!
Next time I saw my Cousin Giles
They’d successfully removed his piles
So he can sit down
No trace of a frown
And Giles is chock full of smiles
10/09/21
When respect becomes a dreaded dream
Acceptance,unending nightmare
When the world grows bigger
My existence,almost unnoticed
Like a wasted worthless salt
Laid at the corner of some deserted castle
Only to be remembered oftenly
When option becomes a compromised choice
I still believe this,I'll rise some day
When the dawning showers me periodically
With suffocating boutiques of struggle
And the night,blankets me to a deep slumber
Chock-full of harrowing pains
When my morning chorus seems suffering
And the midday hymn booms with stagnation roses
I still believet this,that I will rise
Slowly it may seem,but surely I will
Because my clinging tree is hope
Tiny as a mustard seed
But deep rooted like Abraham's faith.
lateness is so sad
chock full of excuses, it reeks
makes me want to drink
11-13-2020
As I stared despairingly at the transom,
my daughter declared, as she gave a smile winsome:
“I wouldn’t stand for such a name, if I were Janell!
It’d be okay of course, if Janell refers to the vessel…”
Captain disdain abounds in fields chock-full of chauvinism
A female pursuing a career within must be into masochism!
Put on a brave face girl, and grit your teeth shut
The ponytail pretties better go or you ‘are’ the promoted ****
As seriousness cannot be equated with feminineness,
it is best you strut like you’re swinging two pe!!ses…
Now it’s nice to see more of the younger generation,
accept it’s work and education, not gender identification!
(9/16/20 – Searay 400 sedan bridge; DMS)
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