With glossy lips and many quips, she
Busted onto our screens,
Midst applause she chortled
And careened.' trod the boards, and praised the Lord, made
A hoard with dollywood, it all looked
good,
Then she went obscene, was a vax-keen
Queen, pumping that song, it was oh so wrong..Yet let God alone judge, He alone sees
Through all the fudge.)
The man in the elevator was a plump rounded one,
The buttons of his suit almost coming undone.
He chortled with his might when I walked in,
His askewed moustache fluttering like a bee.
Whipping out a comb he brushed his hair barely made,
His oiled strands of four plastering on his head.
Next came the perfume which he sprayed with gusto,
While I sneezed and choked right in tow.
Pulling the belt barely up his tummy,
He cleared his throat quite like a dummy.
Off I ran into the closing doors with a slam,
Before his paunch held them back - followed by an "At your service ma'am!".
Was it off-white?
A cavity on the hem of my socks
Undulation,but palpably grazed
like the letters you never unfastened
I set sail for my untrimmed toenails
A cavity on the edge of my nail plate
“Ma, its uneven”
Notes, chords, and bolted doors
Inaudible, I pulled more thread
Attenuated, I pulled
The darkest possible color
Reached my wavering fingers
“Ma, it wouldn’t look good”
Chortled, was something funny?
I couldn't catch it
“Ma…my needle broke”
Rainbows glimmered after a laugh
I'm thirsty
My sock is missing
Two large figures left the room
Loose clothes
And covered feet
“Ma, my thread is thin”
Tears of the Dragon
I splashed water on my face;
the mirror cracked in half -
a reflection of fear and doubt.
It was dark in that cold place
of shattered scales.The sea -
rushing over that rusty sink;
and I can’t think about it.
My wings are clipped;
my breath’s dry sulfur.
I said my prayers;
the mirror just chortled.
Chilblains chatter, sore;
the floor, a horror show.
It was doubtful I’m standing -
what for.
Eruption of the mirror
dares me to peek,
but I’m six feet under
my sheets.
It’s Winter here; I drag my tail.
My sharp-teeth-grief’s unyielding.
Of fierce and fiery tears - there is no end;
unholy flames of years misspent.
The wind chortled
Just passing through
Teasing the ripples to white tips
Swaying trees twerked in her gusts
Hawks shrieked on a roller coaster down draft
Sunning turtles watched the duck down fly
Dragonflies didn’t
A huge tsunami did not bother these two
Maude McMillian and her twin sister Sue
They got in their shopping cart and rode a wave
Many commented those old gals are brave
We have been in tsunamis worse than this one said
Yes, and we are still alive said her sis, nowhere dead
They laughed and chortled as they blew around the town
Watching street lights and bridges falling swiftly down
This is no big deal, nothing like the storm of 1992
Maude agreed with her identical twin sister Sue
They snatched up a cat, a dog and two rabbits to save
Sparing them from death and an early grave
You wait
In chortled glee
Time’s ticking toll
Sharpening itself
‘neath your dark robe
And I
Poor fool
Fear not your sting
As naught is left
But tatters
Of past now’s
And you
Life’s dark companion
Have counted every step
Held sway
Lest I falter
Seasoned my errors
With adrenal angst
I wait
In grimaced glee
Enshrouded
In an endless
Thinning veil
Awaiting
“Mice” is nice but might be called “mouses”
if a couple is next to a screen
and there is no screaming from me
except in excitement at my selection.
That Razer Viper V2 Pro
so light and quick under my palm.
Point, click and scroll with complete control.
Sexy as that is, mine’s plain old gray,
like an old man in a squeaky wheelchair.
And my guy started the whole shebang
when he started the mouse wheel turning
in my mind. He said he was taking mice
to India. I chortled at the thought of two
as well as the word choice. How cool
that I can pound on a tablet screen
to ask “the boss” the proper way.
Improperly, the internet replies
that both are right. How can both be right?
I just know my guy is wrong because
the opposite means his wife is…
I can’t even say it. Mice or mouses,
marriage lice or louses. Scroll wheel
turning, turning, turning and “Proud Mary
burnin’” daylight, agreeing to disagree.
*lyrics by John Cameron Fogerty
Colored yellow beneath the sunlight
Eidoloned by azure breeze of the sky
Covered green like trees of delight
Scented by wind and bubbles of lye
Corded in lamp that cools the night
Your heart throbs in counts of chite
Chortled in incense of kookabura
Quilted and freed from petals of Datura
Heart dipped in cherry blossom
Shaped in cleavage of ample bosom
Deathless soul pulsating forever
Your heart lodging idyllic and so tender
The reunion that caused all of the zany brouhaha
From a family kerfuffle with one humorless raw flaw
It all went down quite swiftly, in a quick split lickety
And ended outside in the hedges most thorn thickety
A tray of food put cattywampus on the table by papa
Slipped and fell in by our taradiddle called mama
She was always a snip uppity and pinch or two persnickety
Especially toward mad uncle Ed who's getting old and rickety
As she landed on her derriere he let out a great guffaw
We chuckled and chortled but soon saw our big faux paw
She hurled everything at us from cups to fence white pickety
We dodged and ran fast as we can it was quite a sticky wickety
Flabbergasted brother Bob signaled to hurry with a caw caw
Grampa ran by gramma and pinched her rump with Ooh la la
She caught us all with a sprightly jump, hop and a skippety
And threw us in that hedge like a wild flibbertigibbety
This tale may be strewn with yickety yak and blah blah blah
But that's how ma and pa caused all that wacky brouhaha
January 28, 2023
Writing challenge B word poetry contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Theme : Brouhaha
Chip and Dale were favorite cartoons of my sister and me.
With so much ***** and happiness, joyful they could be.
They ran around in chipmunk form and chittered away.
Making our cartoon fest much better every single Saturday.
Chip and Dale played tricks on other cartoon friends.
Their antics were silly and funny; without any mean split ends.
We laughed, tittered and chortled over these two in a funny way.
They were the highlight of our cartoon day, it was each Saturday
He said that it was brillig, but what did that word mean
And slithy is a word that I had never seen
If you gyre and gimble, what do you really do
I guess when in the wabe, you seek the meaning too.
Lewis was a master of words that were not real
He made you fear the Jubjub, and he made you feel
Like your very being, is a door without a latch
It takes bravery to shun the frumious bandersnatch.
We attack the world of words with a vorpal sword in hand
Verses, like the Tumtum tree, sprouting in the sand
And structure with rhyming can be a manxome foe
Whiffling and burbling, the flaming words will go.
Choosing careful phrases can bring a frabjous day
And poems not dead, like borogoves, find their mimsy way
While galumphing through the tulgey lines with uffish chortled joy
It makes me through and through a whiffling beamish boy
So Lewis paints a picture with unreal words so clear
The Jabberwock seems so real and something we should fear
Poetry is the art of words, with phrasing, tales and fun
Proceed carefully, and beware the Jabberwock my son.
Do you hear it…?
Yes…The Mute..I mean
The Blaring Mute…
When she looks at the ancient mountains squealing of their esse
The Chortled Mute…
When her baby is tended and snuggled against her chest
The Guffawed Mute…
When she stood there to hear his raucous laughter making wacky faces
The Euphonious Mute…
With every word spoken about her beloved
The Sniveled Mute…
When he left her in the cold and cruel winter
The Mute.. so clamorous
The Mute that overcomes the cacophony of existence
Do you hear it…?
Her MUTE…
Heading down a not-very-busy country highway on a summer day
I saw an upside down turtle in the road and I said “Hey!
Screeched on my brakes, to help the little fellow out of the way.
But he got bigger and bigger the closer I got that day.
I was a bit intimidated by his hugeness, but my children could see.
So I gave them a wave, and tried to turn that turtle on his legs, and free.
He twisted his head and tried to take a bite out of my fingers three.
I dropped him promptly, and did not feel a bit guilty.
I thought you were going to save him! My ten-year-old child said.
Did you kill him? The eight year old queried, “Is the Turtle dead?”
The three-year-old was suddenly interested. His name was Ned.
Let’s go see it! He chortled and cackled, ready to see something dead.
He was bigger than I thought, I told them but I will try again.
I flipped him over with a big stick; it was truly not thin.
That turtle was determined to die; he walked in front of my car.
“Don’t hit him!” Kids screamed, so I went around him, that turtle czar.
What’s that on your boob I asked.
You’re a boob, she hissed at me.
The faerie on her sweater sneaded.
Please look in the mirror I pleaded.
Seriously, I am not kidding.
She would not now do my bidding.
I pointed at her right breast.
Just look at what has come to rest.
Faerie chortled rather loudly
As I was carried away fast, not proudly.
Just take a look I yelled to my sis as a plea.
As the Sexual Harassment Police arrested me.
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