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Fool
[Verse 1]
In the corner bar where stories unfold,
Pouring out dreams worth their weight in gold,
Each drink tells a tale, a heart is revealed,
Listening close to all the wisdom that is sealed.
Hope in the glass, lift your spirit high,
The night is young, let your worries die. (Fly on the wall)
[Chorus]
Raise a toast to the night, let stories ignite,
In the rhythm of laughter, we’ll find our light,
With every pour, we chase away fear,
In this bar of belief, the Neon gods cheer,
Then we tend to shed away our tears.
[Verse 2]
Masters of thought, with a drink in hand,
Bartenders, philosophers, Cocaine dealers seem to understand,
Mixing up more ambition, give me a shot of that,
Things that can’t be ignored, like a baseball bat,
Words flow just like liquor, wisdom in disguise,
Open you mind, your heart, your soul realize with real eyes.
[Chorus]
[Outro]
So come and sit with me, the pain will go away,
Let us find a solution for when we stray.
I say...
his wings were chopped at an early age
he was just learning to stand up and live his life
the cricket grounds are still lively without him
but his ghost still lingers around watching everyone
what could've been, what he would've been
they all haunt him in middle of the night
what he has become now is the result of ignorance-
someone whose heart was bleeding but ignored each dawn
carrying chopped wood
to stack in our supply pile ...
my whole day splintered
Chefs open your baskets.
What you`ll find is,
A pound of ground beef.
An onion.
A jar of Prego.
And a box of medium shells.
Chefs you have 30 minutes…
Good luck!
Once had a friend, Ken Steeles
With the girlies he sure had appeal
Outshone me I agree
Chopped liver was me
But my star possession was concealed
© Jack Ellison 2015
It was the autumn of nineteen thirty nine
when the war was just beginning
the world was taken by surprise
as news of the war came in that night
The desk was cluttered and topsy-turvy
everything was disorganized and in disarray
balls of crumpled paper lay everywhere
unfinished report waited on the type writer
Cigarette butts filled the ashtray to the brim
some have the smear of lipstick on them
this was the sight that greeted me
when I entered the house that autumn day
Then I found a single gold earring
lying beside the faucet in the sink
I wondered to whom could it belong
as my eyes took in the sight of the room
Beside the bed an airline ticket waiting
the flight was scheduled for the next morning
My heart was gripped with fear and panic
as the thought of him leaving filled my head.
For "Chopped III" Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Flight Plan
The room stunk of stale cigarette butts -
someone elses perfume. She had known –
but not wanted to know – that there was
someone else. The pain had been dulled,
the insult absorbed. The anger rose,
simmered, plotted. She had felt the first
pangs of infidelity when she found the
gold earring. The sickening scent of a foreign
perfume drove the liar’s dagger deeper.
She used the old typewriter to compose the
invitation, collected the cigarette butts,
slowly rolled the earring between her fingers.
It had been easier than she had thought.
Place the cigarettes in the ashtray, hide
(but not too well) the lone earring in
his car, place the blood stained,
typewritten note on the bed.
The detectives bagged the evidence.
The airline tickets would not be needed.
For Craig Cornish – Chopped III – Poetry Contest
Submitted - 11/19/2014
Moth-winged Minuet
Closing my eyes I flew
from lonely chair
through open window
in mesmerized anticipation.
Drawn toward the glowing
warmth of the porch light.
Flames torched my heart
as another circled.
The crickets kept time
as we danced
a moth-winged minuet
of transparent melancholy.
submitted to Craig Cornish – Chopped II – Poetry Contest
11/8/2014
I sit by the open window watching out for hubby's return.
The ancient oil lantern sways casting pools of light.
There are insects buzzing around it, they seem to be playing kamikaze.
Some pay the price as they get zapped, others seemingly to live charmed life.
As I sit waiting enjoying the night sounds, a large moth appears by the window
so close I could touch it. Then it starts its crazy yet enchanting dance.
Flitting first up and down, now going round and round.
Mottled browns and reds adorn wings of glossier like silks.
Alone like me it seems to be yet having fun drawing weird patterns.
It gets closer to the glass on each pass, a dancing dare devil of beauty.
I do not want to see it zapped, so go out and turn of the lantern.
Sitting in the old rocker chair, I gaze into the star studded sky.
And there silhouetted is my moth
as it flies away across the moon.
Free to live another day and night
it is joined by another as hubby arrives.
written 11/08/2014
contest: Chopped 11
Locked
within
memories
of happy times.
Fun we had that night
Bought a new cell phone, hate
wearing new pair bi focals.
broke a pencil signing name on
a playbill for" Tarzan of the Apes"
Dated Eighth September Twenty 0 One
"Used Cell Phone, Pair bi focals,broken pencil,a playbill dated 8 Sept 2001."
Various green shades Among a million blades Tall and thin Blowing in the wind Home for many a creature small Watch your step so as not to fall And if by chance you do Look close and see ants marching in rows of two Things exist some unable to see with the naked eye Creeping, crawling and a few that fly Thus brings to us an amazing world All symmetrically rowed All this and more in the yard you just mowed!
Chamber Music Chopped
Sailing to heaven,
the violin and viola
never noticed
the cello sleeping
dangling in the sky
until it was too late.
their anchor was gone
and the trio became
a broken record.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
January 8, 2013
i posted poems earlier, why no reviews?
We are hanging hams, are we
in cellars off the coastal sea
licked by Mediterranean breeze
or foot-smashed grapes in Tuscany
afloat in oaken barrels, we
as flavors gain complexity.
Everyone is clever, everyone is bright
We are salt and we are light
We're the craft of chocolatiers
(from Switzerland with warm
hands on cold mountaintops.)
We are slowly sipped espresso. We are chopped mint.
We indeed are crème brûlée
formed by hand like potter's clay.
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