I said to my Grandad one day
While packing the shopping away
"I'm gonna leave this
Pizza, four cheeses,
Out decreasing cooking time" - hooray!
"Did I just hear you right'
He chuckled away with delight,
'A pizza for Jesus?"
[ I don't believe this ]
"Four CHeeses..." I answered polite.
Once upon a time, Rumple
Stein sat by the glowing fire
and called the children close.
"Tonight," he whispered with
a wicked smile, "I will tell you
about the Dust- Gnasher."
This creature has skin like old
parchment and razor- sharp fingers
long enough to wrap around the
mattress.
It waits in absolute silence,
completely flattered beneath
your dark bed frame all night
long.
The moment the bedroom
lights click off, its yellow eyes
pop open in the shadows.
It listens for the sound of
deep breathing to know you
are finally fast asleep.
Then, it slowly slides out to
sniff the air, looking for tiny
bare feet hanging off the edge.
If you leave a toe uncovered,
it's cold, bristly tongue will
give it a tiny bite.
It loves to steal loose socks
and chew on plastic toys with
its full, clicking teeth.
"So tuck your blankets tightly
tonight," Rumple chuckled,
"because it is listening right
now."
Rumple Stein tapped his cane
on the dusty floorboards,
gathering the children in the
mansion's dark parlor.
"Long ago, this very house
belonged to a hunchback
goblin named Quasimodo, "he
whispered, pointing up.
"He had ears like a bat, feet
like a duck, and a crooked
back shaped like a giant
potato."
The grandfather clock
chimed midnight, its heavy
ticks matching the rhythm of
the children's racing hearts.
Quasimodo didn't want to hurt
anyone, Rumple Stein grinned,
he just hated people making loud
noises.
Suddenly, a loud, scraping
THUD- THUD- THUD echoed right
above their heads from the
dark attic stairs.
When the kids don't clean their
rooms, he stalks through the
halls and hides their favorite
toys!
The children gasped, looking
nervously at the dark corners
of the room as the curtains
rustled.
"He is watching right now,
waiting to see who leaves
their shoes on the floor
tonight."
Rumple Stein chuckled softly,
closed his book, and said,
"Now go clean up before
Quasimodo finds you."
(first two stanzas are from Charles Messina)
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
(These two stanzas are mine)
And then I heard my niece’s sweet voice
say, “Heaven’s a wonderful place to rejoice.
She crooned a Willie Nelson tune,
then chuckled: “Dude, we’ll see ya soon.”
Couch lock had got me; I couldn’t move.
I wanted to be back in the groove.
No munchies around! Things were all wrong.
Why did I use that stupid bong?
Note: Should I be fortunate enough to win, I give permission for the use of either one or both of my stanzas to be used by Charles Messina , even in reverse order if that were to work better
“No, I don't want to”
he said, choking out a sob.
“. . .” she chuckled and smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Red hand marks were left all over his body.
Only he could see them.
His voice is gone.
The shimmer in his eye dimmed.
The red marks only appear when she's around
Bite marks were left on the spot he keeps hidden.
He is a “rabbit”
She took something that can never come back.
She is a “Wolf”
“. . .” The sobs, yells, begging. Disappeared into the shadows
The “Wolf” ate the “Rabbit”
A friend told me
over a cup of joe
that the devil quakes in Prada,
barring the gates of hell
from the one who now hunts
beyond the mortal plane.
I chuckled, asking
“If that were the case,
wouldn't the sky be a constant
affixed with blinding cracks
electrifying both day and night?”
He simply shook his head, grinning.
Then the flash of a screen drew attention
to images of Death shell-shocked,
huddling in a hospital bed, quaking
with agonized fervor as if
he saw Death himself and lived.
It was then I knew
he was speaking the truth
as the sky crackled above
with bolts clashing
like steeled fists,
reunited at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t the current that woke me~
nor the moon’s cracked reflection
slipping between the reeds.
It was the hush,
the way the water paused
mid-sentence,
as if gathering words
from the silt,
from the bones of fish
who forgot how to swim upstream.
Then~
a voice like wet stones,
like roots unbraiding.
Listen, it said,
not to me,
but to the banks,
to the willow’s slow bow,
to the heron’s hollow legs
standing knee-deep in time.
I waited for meaning,
for a prophecy curled in riverweed.
But the water only chuckled
a sound like pebbles rolling downhill~
and flowed on,
carrying its secrets
to the sea’s open mouth.
He tapped his cane and shook his cup
A rich man tossed a Ben Franklin in
Lifting his shades, the beggar took a peek…
fairly sprinted to the nearest bar
~ as the Good Lord chuckled from afar
Too tempting, the new fallen snow.
Twilight’s twinkling, curious glow.
First the pines chuckled and slid;
down the hill slow then too fast.
The houses’ windows agape,
twisted and tugged, then luged.
Swish..swoosh..swish
Kids in the homes applauded;
Cardinals in mints, blues, greens
fluttered about, catching manna
on their tongues; different is good.
brr…mmm..howl
Eventually, the trees and houses
had to lug their heaviness up the hill,
but they had so much fun, they did
it again and again. Families joined in,
in the delightful twilight, kept secrets
shh…shh…hush
of their magical night. Grandkids believed
it was just fantastical stories, but one night
they hear a ruckus, feel the foundations
rocking, rolling, chuckling, carousing; pines
sliding like frosting down a cake. Delicious.
ahh…ohh…wee
Be careful, the secret’s past from tree
to tree, house to house. The stoic unmoved,
but some are considering moving down hill.
Having finally gotten through
The AI sentries
Dismissed all the references
Quoted from old books
Shaken the scent of incense
The diversion of bells
The echoed reverberance
Of traffic jammed words
I finally got through to GOD
Asked him what I should do
He replied “stop thinking about ME”
And how I can help YOU “
“stop telling people that I love them
If you don’t”
“and stop using MY WILL
As an excuse for not using
Your will…I gave it to you
For a reason.
I suggested he should have a Podcast
He chuckled mumbling
“satan’s got that covered”
“from both sides”
Roaming in the corridor,
The fairy chuckled,
Mesmerized by the beauty of her own dress,
She grew self-assured in her little fairy school.
The multi-colored tutu,
inlaid with wild flowers;
Rivaled her silver sandals,
Which gleamed like her sparkling wings behind.
Then came the final day,
Bidding farewell to her tiny realm,
She moved ahead.
With sadness and excitement intertwined,
She decided to work through,
Until she became the best.
The moment she stepped into the real world,
She realized,
The tutu she wore was nowhere near the fairy gowns.
The praise and love she once received had faded into lies.
Maybe the tutu she wore was the best tutu, but not the best gown.
Carrying the weight of sudden change,
She still chose to enhance her tutu’s grace.
She rushed to the fashion store and cheerfully exclaimed:
"Get me the Cancan underskirt, fabric and shimmery pearls packed!"
The seller shot her an irksome look,
and Demanded fifty golden bricks.
The helpless fairy turned hopeless,
For she could have earned those bricks—
Only if she had a fluffy gown dress.
BACK TO SCHOOL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In August, young Sam felt quite cool,
with a backpack, he headed to school.
He packed up some peanuts,
and a few silly musical cuts,
in his lunchbox then thought, “Aren’t I a jewel?!”
His classmates all chuckled and cheered,
as he whispered, “I’m ready, don’t fear!”
With a pencil in paw,
he scribbled with awe,
“Math’s nuts! Let’s eat lunch, I declare!”
The teacher, the scholarly Miss Owl, hooted,
“Pay attention, Sam, or to office you’ll be booted.”
But he daydreamed of the oak trees,
and the buzzing of sweet honeybees,
while plotting his next acorn loot.
Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry
Contest //Sponsored by: Natasha L. Scragg
Contest Judged: 8/30/2025 4:27:00 AM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 5, 2025
When life threw me a curveball,
I stumbled—then chuckled mid-fall.
Lumped knees, not pride, I wore like bent,
because sneering is something I've seen.
In chemo rooms and vestibules,
I frenzied dry jokes on aseptic walls.
Doctors simpered, nurses would beam—
a punch-line where the fear had been.
When agony thumped hard and sleep grew thin,
I let the silly light writhe in.
A meme, a whirl , a silly song—
made aching days feel less so long.
No, humour incurable or patch,
But it's the ally, not made to part.
It doesn't silence, hurt or truth,
but let me smirk with my aching tooth.
So here's my laugh, though life gushes beneath,
it's how I rise, not how I lament!
A randy, young couple out by the bay
decided to have a roll in the hay.
She pondered, in the moonlight,
"Aren't the stars pretty tonight?",
and he chuckled "I'm in no place to say!"
They sat at a table, weathered and wide,
Under cottonwood branches, side by side.
The July sun filtered through leaves like lace,
Softening time, and softening space.
Years had passed—some sharp, some kind—
Each carried stories, heavy with time.
But here they were, two hearts grown old,
Still warm, still curious, still untold.
She smiled at him through lines of grace,
Brushing hair from her wind-swept face.
“Tell me,” she said, with a quiet sigh,
“Why did we break up? Please tell me why.”
He blinked, then chuckled, slow and low,
“I honestly… don’t even know.
Maybe fear, or maybe pride,
Or just the ache of growing wide.”
He spoke of work, of quiet nights,
She spoke of love, of wrongs and rights.
But in the hush between each thought,
A closeness bloomed they never sought.
“Coffee dates sometime?” she asked at last,
Letting the moment not rush past.
“Maybe supper too,” he said, eyes bright,
“Some evening when the stars feel right.”
And nothing more was planned that day,
Except to let the past give way.
To something small, and sweet, and true—
A second chance beneath the blue.
Scott W.
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