she was chucked aside
abandoned and forsaken
learning lifes lesson
discarded and dumped
throwm away and deserted
an abused child
Together, my parents faced two world wars, the great depression, floods, fires, and some things that would bring most people to their knees. Imagine just where I would be if they had just decided that things were too rough and chucked in the towel. At the time, I didn’t think they had a lot to give. But looking back, I’m amazed at how much I got.
steak’s what I wanted
bologna is what I got—
never went hungry
There was once a Queen
Who sat on her throne
Behind closed doors
Giving orders, abusing and casting spells
The staff rebelled and chucked her in hell
Where she remains still spitting poison.
Crows come
And crows go
But Arthur always was.
For years the lofty oak had been
His look-out every day
And soon as Mother chucked the scraps
His shiny eyes
Would spot the crumbs
From eighty yards away.
No craftier crow
In all the land
Than Arthur black and strong
And wise more wise
Than all magpies
He would not fly straight down.
Although he’d had
So many scraps
From Mother's grassy lawn
He’d never ever fail to wait
For just in case
It might be bait
To trap him once for all.
So Arthur’d sit and look around
Then fly a reconnoitre
And then he’d fly a closer one
And land in something shorter.
OK! I think, would Arthur think,
It might be safe to eat it
And down he’d drop
And grab the lot
And quick as quick
He’d beat it.
In memory of a crow that used to perch in the first big oak at our tree nurserey in England during the 1990s and 1980s.
Every morning the town drunk would walk past the general store where all the farmers gathered to have their coffee. Day after day, the same farmers complained about the weather, the high price of fuel, politics, and how bad their wives always treated them. One day the drunk told a joke and everybody laughed and chucked a coin into his beggar’s box. The next day the drunk told the same joke. This time only a few people laughed and tossed a coin. On the following day, the old drunk came by and told the same joke again and nobody laughed. The old farmers told him that he’d never get anywhere by telling the same joke over and over again. The old drunk smiled and said, “Neither will complaining about the same old things.
When making changes
Complaining will never work
Actions are better
I wore my thoughts on my head like a ball cap today
Ready to take off and disregard
or to turn around, tilted in the opposite direction
Easy to grab at, to throw away, to steal,
to sneakily hide a lost trinket underneath.
I am unbalanced like a scale
trying to measure dancers
as they prance about unwavering to any schedule or song.
I am a thrash of discombobulated noises and symphonies,
never harmonizing quite right but still quite beautifully
Imperfect.
I wore my heart in my hair today, let it ruffle in the wind
allowed the speed of an old beat up car roar its engines
like it was reliving her glory days
and I was alive again.
I hung my past up on the clotheslines in my backyard to dry out,
but it rained and that seems to be the story of my life.
At the end of the day
my thoughts are all but worn out completely
ready to be chucked away like a sweat drenched Sunday thinking cap.
Hop - two, three, four.
Socks - two, three, four.
Wait a minute! Where
Is Red One's partner?
Not over here.
Not over there.
Not behind the pillow
Or under the chair!
Red Two must be playing
Hide and Seek with them and us.
When he disappeared last time
The boy's mother made a fuss!
She told her son off because
He didn't roll them into pairs.
No. He just chucked them
Down the stairs.
Red Two is no ordinary sock.
He likes to travel alone...
Who knows what he gets up to
Around the home?
One day, he was hiding
Under the dog's chin.
Another time he was found
In the bread bin!
He's sometimes very naughty.
What do you think?
The other day he turned
Some white shirts pink!
Things sure do get crazy
When he is not on scene.
Ah! Maybe he's been eaten
By the washing machine!
Love is like bubblegum fresh at the start
Zesty and fruity, like adrenaline to the heart
Mouthwatering anticipation of bubbles to come
Time spent together it's outstanding fun
Next comes the bubbles it's fun but it's messy
Lots of puffing and blowing, a little bit fleshy
Normally next, things just get chucked away
It was nice when it lasted but the gums had its day
But in just a few cases, the bubbles are special
The effort for chewing remains well worth the wrestle
And when the bubblegum is all but gone
You are left together with a special someone.
He drew the drapes, nothing caught his eye
it seemed that yesterday had replicated itself,
only today it had chosen a deeper of gray tint.
On balance, it could have been
the color of stale puke, for the night
had up-chucked its darkness into a
sickly yellow
morning bucket of bile.
Examining his mind, he ascertained by
the laborious task of magnifying
the inconsequential
that he was not clinically depressed
just bored.
Later that day he bought a black puppy,
to remind himself that he was apparently
no longer the center of the universe,
a position he had held
to be inviolate until now.
The demotion was irksome.
He took the French Bulldog to Walmart,
claiming loudly that it was a service animal
for he had need of a dumb friend.
His new dumb friend peed on him
in the candy aisle
and generally acted like it was the center
of the universe, a notion reinforced
by its many casual admirers.
That dog was having a great day,
and by the next day he felt it was quite acceptable
to be its little helper and general factotum,
for it absolutely beats
trying to play God 7 days a week
and no day of rest.
I see you for everything you are
What are you?
A poet?...a poet
Define poet for me
Are you a poet if you write many words
Are you a poet if you put many ideas in writing
Are you a poet if you think many thoughts
Are you a poet if you simply write blah blah blah over and over again
Who defines me as person if I cannot define myself
I am a poet
Good or bad
Worthy or unworthy
I am still a writer of words
a conveyor of thought
I dance with words and they with me
I love words
and words ...Oh blessed!
love me
But
There is a greater cause!
...so pause
To be a poet
To touch the intrinsic chord
Stir the cosmic soup
Be the pebble chucked into the pond
One ripple...one glint
as light off the water
to lift or companion
to patron
to hold
A chalace...the golden cup
to be the Holy grail
Chosen
from which a soul may take a sip
Forever blessed
As one if only for a fleeting moment
Not alone
The Quiet Earth we watched that day
A film where the world ends
Two young friends were with me
I said to one of them
She has chucked me
We were high on hashish
He said 'Why not kill her'
The other friend said 'go on here is the knife'
Handing me his father's Ghurka
I got into the car and sped to three towns away
Four separate things tried to stop me.
A traffic policeman, A lollipop lady, A dustcart
And her brother in a car coming down the drive.
I got out of the car and walked to her
She was standing by a washing line
I had the knife in my hand
She said, 'Why did you do it?'
I stabbed her six times and slit her throat.
She collapsed and died.
Smiling slightly.
I went to the car, ditched the knife as I was driving
And went to the post office.
I bought an interail ticket and left for Europe the next day.
6/6/1994
Kelogb 10 (6-7-6)
For Emmanuel Adédayò Òjéládé.
When for all the long lines,
Eyes don't catch up the design
Of all I had combined
And in little shy glance,
The eyes travel in spry trance;
For few minds read perchance,
To get the all heart sort.
In minutes, glance would abort--
Flying off lines assort...
Denied expectant fuel,
Which could turn out rare jewel,
That can make pen go cruel...
Hiring you manager:
Who jaunts words a voyager,
To turn astrologer.
Here is the chance per luck,
That gets mere glance chucked,
Which Kelogb speaks and muck.
Thank you real good, dear bard.
For the honor with regard,
That grace to play my card.
With deep touch of mind blows;
In simple and awesome flows,
Perking what make muse glows.
Young and old have acquired,
What sets many minds on fire--
Operating heart's desire...
Till takes shall turn mantra--
Early morning aurora,
Becomes the great Torah.
You want a poem?
I’ll give you a poem!
All words and meanings
Slightly odd leanings
A pinch of this
A sprinkle of that
All chucked randomly
In a velvet top hat
A fistful of stars
And topped with whipped cream
Nothing is ever as it would seem
It’s a bit of nonsense
Which is no and sense
Do you ever read a word,
So many times
That it sounds wrong
Placed in rhymes
Words, huh, what are they good for?
They mean less, they mean more
Sorry if I’m wandering
It’s just I was wondering
How long this could be
The poem I write in front of me
Do I stop it now
Or now, somehow
Keep driving nails in
Until I spin
Out of control
And back down my hole
This is my calling
This is what I do
Put words together
And give them to you
Sorry if my free verse take
Has made you think me fake
I just started typing
Then found myself hyping
Words and rhythms
That-isms and this-isms
PS has anyone come up with a poem
Dedicated to rhyming with orange?
26.4.2022 8:50am
He listened to our argument with a smile on his face.
Who is this guy? My husband asked, pointing to the place.
That’s just a stuffed snowman, I said. You can ignore him.
That’s when he jumped down and chucked me on my chin.
He gave a whoop-dee-doo and he turned himself about.
He whistled and he wiggled and he gave us both a shout.
He’s dangerous my husband said, hiding quickly behind me.
It made me mad and so I gave him the bony part of my bad knee.
Is he alive then? My husband asked, shuddering in his boots.
I had no idea, but just then the dogs ran in – both enormously big galoots.
They chased that snowman around the room, and he laughed a happy laugh.
The argument had all but stopped and there was no aftermath.
He’s better than our therapist, my husband hissed, and I had to agree.
He lives with us now, and he stops arguments between him and me.
Saving a hundred dollars an hour, and he gives us something fun to do.
We chase him around the room and wiggle and whistle with him too.
Standing over the bridge they just didn't care
What things they would throw in the water there
Food wrappers, old settees and even a fridge
Anything really was thrown from that bridge
All that rubbish and waste that they threw
The environment is poorer if only they knew
No consideration given as they chucked it away
Need a stern lecture is what I would say
To them fly tipping is considered one big joke
Like getting drunk every night and passing a toke
Who is to blame for this lack of utmost respect
You will all have an opinion on this I suspect
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