There are fingers that pick daydreams
along the banks of this blue electric river.
Eels swim with it’s black-magic ballads
attaching a powerful charge to the swell.
Along the banks of this blue electric river
bullfrogs and alligators provide a drum.
Attaching a powerful charge to the swell
the luminous melody gains its fine edge.
Bullfrogs and alligators provide a drum
chomping at the bit for the celestial.
The luminous melody gains its fine edge
as the intention gains traction to build.
Chomping at the bit for the celestial,
you’ll do almost anything to wield it.
As the intention gains traction to build
mountains of stars swirl into a funnel.
You’ll do almost anything to wield it,
eels swim with it’s black-magic ballads.
Mountains of stars swirl into a funnel.
there are fingers that pick daydreams.
Feels like grumpy faces when I close my eyes.
Unflattering flour on an unflattering apron.
Sandpapered down thoughts.
Flies.
Feels like a garden filled with sand, and maybe creaking sounds.
As if there’s a ghost of a swingset.
Sticks in the grass, but some are alive.
Growling, chomping apple pie with teeth.
It’s all grandma’s house,
Weird bugs, sticks coming to life, torn up scarves.
The vases in the closet.
She used to live here by herself.
We had said for years the same pestering stuff.
Even the willow tree snapped at her.
The feeling is as familiar as gravel in her driveway almost flying into my eye.
I think 92 was it.
Feels like her apple pie spattering near my burning feet.
Flies.
The mellowed out wallpaper.
Hair.
It was the night before her 92nd birthday.
I said “92 is coming for you,” in my sleep sometimes.
Would wake up with flour in my eye.
A feeling like apple pie slobbering on me.
Feels like grumpy faces-
Not grandma’s but her childhood friend in my double vision.
She knows what there is, over there in the light…
Flies…
…eating a Juicy Apple Pie handmade by some stranger.
There goes the tips of those trees again.
Lapping up wood chips.
Like a dustpan.
I had a pulse.
Somewhere in the bushes.
Strangling.
There goes the steam on that train.
Blushing with dark smoke.
I have enough coffee to make the world derail.
Enough about me and nothingness.
There is a pulse like me out there.
Eats things like veins.
Hurting like teeth chomping cold air.
Or other odd things.
There goes that tree again.
He brushes off dust and leaves fall down too.
He acts casual about it.
As if leaves are a pulse that grows back.
Eating ice cubes off the floor.
Feeling something on the shore.
As if there’s a vacation in my hand.
Like chunks of avocado in the sand.
Chewing on blobs and other plant-like things.
A voice as the doorbell rings.
Chuckling, and rumbling doorbell sounds.
There’s some sort of magic that abounds.
Chomping down on the floorboards.
Holding onto invisible cords.
Which are actually chunks of skin falling down.
And one falls on my head like a crown.
Eating ice cubes off the floor and the doorbell rings.
Like a vacuum cleaner that likes clear, icy things.
Dangling from overhead.
Are monsters pretending to be hanging houseplants instead.
Like a monstrous cube, or rolling ball.
It was me who took the fall.
With marbles growing and splintering too.
Chunks are blue.
Blobs, chunks, and things.
Chewing sounds and the doorbell rings.
Invisible vacation howling.
The crashing sounds of scowling.
There was an ice cube, fell to the ground.
Dissolved with a hissing sound.
No one believes at all.
Maybe I’ll grow more marbles next fall!
They crowd around their leader
unqualified, unfit
Vying for some action
all chomping at the bit
They’ve given-up democracy
their morals are all gone
Instead they honor Donald Trump
a two-bit, traitor con
They don’t want an America
with those who aren’t White
They’d rather burn it to the ground
and threaten that they might
They’re homophobic bigots
and condemn those who are trans
Scared of life, scared of love
they punish them with bans
Like preachers, they quote scripture
hang crosses from their chains
But then deport small children
far away, alone, on planes
The MAGA base is poisoned
hating all that’s not the same
Then praise an unfit moron
who’s a fool and has no shame
We won’t give-up our freedom
our vote, or right to talk
Together, we will march as one
resist, and walk the walk
Meandering my garden one day I was shocked,
to see caterpillars crawling all over my parsley plants,
and as though that was not enough they found my dill too,
and they were not just crawling ... they were chomping away.
Quickly, six caterpillars were eating my parsley,
and were working on my dill plants right beside it,
as I was trying to look up on the internet what to do,
anyways, what happened next was like a mass murder spree.
Now, I do not believe or tolerate violence,
but nature can be cruel and have no conscious,
because mother bird saw those six fat caterpillars,
'cause they were not hiding and she picked one up to fly away.
Coming back over and over and over, and over,
'til not a single caterpillar remained on parsley or dill,
I was somewhat sad, somewhat relieved, sort of shocked,
problem solved, parsley and dill have revived and doing well.
Anyways, although I know they turn into pretty butterflies,
they were creepy green striped worms crawling on my green leaves.
The end.
Mint
Flavored
Emotions
Chomping on heart
I can no longer be the one you trust
Pleased as punch this mother quite proud
Flips up her tail and neighing so loud
Her gait so lively, her head held high
A bright young mama, once a gleam in her eye
Unbridled spirit, feeling so grand
The spitting image of his dear old man
Romping through fields, free of reins
Thundering hoofs, flying mane
A frisky young colt like dad in his day
Who was quite a stud they were heard to say
Then back to the barn when day is done
This spirited young colt was born to run
Resting for a while batteries recharged
Chomping at the bit, a spirit so large
Such unbridled youth, exuberance defined
This pesky young colt, it's his time to shine
You say you’re waitin’ on that beer
Well, they got one girl workin’ here
So go have a chip and some dip
Just relax, she’ll be bringing
You say your gin and tonic’s late
It seems that you’ll just have to wait
She’s been running around like a clown
Just sit back, keep on singing
And if you don’t want her to quit
Now stop your chomping at the bit
You see, the situation’s clear
They just got one girl workin’ here
Achoo, Achoo
Miracle Man
9/7/2024
I rise each morning chomping at the bit,
because allergies are giving me a near fit.
As I blow, and I sneeze,
I breathe with a wheeze,
I’m glad it’s nothing that I can transmit.
DRIVEN INTO MADNESS—The ELD
(Psychological impact of the Electronic logging Device)
Here I sit,
feeling like I will go insane –
Time has become a prison,
the clock is a ball and chain,
I’m wide awake –
and I need to go!
But as I watch the clock,
it still says, “NO!”
I’m being driven into madness,
without moving from this place;
Chomping at the bit,
I need to start this race!
Since people are not robots,
can clocks make driving safer?
Are ELD’s also defective,
because they are working against human nature?
Walking downstairs; I see particles of light,
Shimmering in my dark brown long hair.
The light of stars is so bright that it
Envelopes all the darkness into light.
Sauntering there; I am made aware,
By the crispy clear voice of my dad saying,
“Come over there!” I stare looking at his short
Grey hair illuminating a silhouette of bright light.
Dressed all in white, standing.
A long wooden dining table is next to him.
That’s where my aunt and uncle are seated side by side.
My father then extends his tan brownish colored hand,
Offering me a golden colored round Ladoo.
I take it and eat the Ladoo with fervor.
Chomping away nothing flavorful and salivating,
As my surroundings change to pitch black with holding
Nothing but air.
Hedgehog, O hedgehog
dear spiny, meek and mousy poppet.
In England
where the tickly grass grows
greener
we galumph in our rubber boots
up to your little
Hobbit nests
beneath the thorny bushes
were you rests.
We the ever scampy
nippers
fill tin cups with wriggly worms
leave then there
by your dinky
mossy dells.
All the pricky hogs
come from near and nearer,
to snuff and gobble
by the brittle briery
and eat their wormy mush.
Our mucky paws clap
in gay and giggly glee
to see that munchy feast,
their piddly
licky
muzzles
chomping -
quite charming.
Adults say, 'we will catch a flea'
from their pin pointy pelts.
yet we shrug
our never minds, and
our don't cares,
even bring
one tiddly tyke home,
smuggling it up the stairs
to coddle
while we playtime
with some jolly good
fun....
steering blatant revelries, ghouls engaged to death
chomping down streetlight openings in bitter stone
bow walled yew tree drifters, steps of many feet in
shallow parade to pew, the kneel cushion's betrayal
- how the shadowless crave… and the headless sing
Day to day chaos
balancing family and work
chomping on the bills
that never seem to cease
why does life seem so complicated?
When ancient days were so simple
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