If life is a cabaret old chum
it's certainly
a comedy
(seen in the long-shot)
and then some
or possibly
a tragedy
(viewed in close-up)
definitely
not a whole bunch of cherries in a bowl
altho' the thought is very droll
there to be tasted never wasted
as movement is a sure sign of life
sitting on the fence makes no sense
hit the streets running
floating locomoting keep on motivating
think on your feet crafty and cunning
a moving target is hard to hit
tho' it will seem
it may be but a dream
and you can take it or not give a whit
in time you'll find what comes after
meanwhile life is what you make it
They congregate in a bog
vying to be the boss hog
all the teethy little fishes
Swimming in circles they go
Baldy, Waldo, and Bozo
When one of them dishes
they all start to nibble
Watch them hurry to the bog
mouths drooling with dribble.
Throw out the chum
and watch them bite
at each other's bum.
It's a hilarious sight.
Swimming in circles they go
Feeding time is status quo
Along the shore they creep,
waiting to dive into the deep.
It's a condition known as stasis
but has no factual basis.
There's no hurry to reel them in
once they've been hooked.
Their circus act can be booked.
Swimming in circles they go
Banjo, Bongo and Bo Bo
A school of big mouth bass
from waters of the lower class
floating around in the bog
getting themselves waterlogged.
I did not know how silly I could be about a computer game
Until I discovered Word Chum\ – which is the actual name
Your chum can be purple, red, blue, orange or silver too
He or she can look like an angel, a cat, or a weird kind of shrew
All it takes is money, and you can dress your Chum out well
I have spent hundreds of real dollars on this, I guess I am ill
The object of the game is like scrabble, with insightful strategies
You can throw in your tiles and get new ones, but it takes more than please
You have to spend real money to get the Word Chum coins you see
I do not mind, because there are several really intricate “strategies”.
You can keep some tile, and throw in others, or you can ask for a hint.
There is a method to my madness, as a gamer I am no skin-flint.
I have spent hundreds of dollars, and I do not mind at all.
I have had best game of the week for nine years running as of this fall.
Competitive? You bet, but I did not know it until I discovered this game.
Call me Intense Type A champion; I will never be the same.
You came in loud like that was wise—
just flung your muddy paws around,
all growls and spit and cow-dumb eyes.
You came in loud.
This isn't turf. It’s neutral ground.
Your claws too dull to even fight—
the lie you told, that fish can drown.
My instrument, sharpened to thrive,
harvests now free range, as wolf-hound's
alter ego preys on roe-fed lives.
You came in loud.
You came tiptoeing into the fortress that I build,
Broke the shackles that cinched my soul, with your shimmering eyes.
Disintegrated the iron chains that I wore,
with the warmth of your smile and the fondness in your heart.
Liberating caged birdie, which I held on.
Au naturel I am now.
Looking at life yet again with a child like glee.
Buddy, berserk I wish to go,
with the news of your departure.
Wish I could hide you from all,
Keeping you all for myself.
But I have to let you go
To explore new frontiers,
And make new friends.
Fly my friend, fly
I would not hold you back,
though my heart bleeds
And my soul cries.
A space in my crimson hollow you would always have,
Silently, wishing you more smiles,
and more happiness where ever you go.
©Chitra Arun
Nov 2022
Steadily beats he a drum,
Heavily drinking stiff rum;
Zestfully tours he a slum,
Masculine tunes does hum.
Later, his fingers are numb,
Not excluded his half thumb;
Decides he then to sit his bum
For an unfinished chewing gum,
To him released by a chum,
When he couldn’t from him a plum…
Later, shall workout the sum
Of how to get back to doting mum;
A drummer alcoholic,
At times, a workaholic
TUBULAR AND JOLLY HE SAT IN THE SNOW
HIS EYES MADE OF BLACK BUTTONS AND GLOW
ENERGETICALLY MADE, BY THE HANDS OF A CHILD
"What a wonderful morning to build me a chum "
said the child as he picked, packed and put with his might
He poked in a carrot then packed it real tight
but spoke not a word as he stood there, chalk white
He showed him two tonsils, one tongue and some teeth
all he got was a grin and a stare, " call me Pete "
Crunch, crunch went the boots, they were all in cahoot
if you hear me Chum please give a hoot !
It was an owl by far who heeded his call
white as pure snow but not quite so tall;
Rollaway days made for children at play
It was Christmas and oh, it had to be done
inclining an ear he said, ''be a good chum ''
as he turned up a grin, he sang with a hum.
December 13, 2020
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Contest Name: Winter
To carry on the affection ,
Came by enemy's appreciation.
And deed to afford ,
To measure the ford.
Who take cleansing ablution of volley,
For making them holy.
Now making us delight ,
Who never get them in sight.
Now what? The life get commotion,
Getting always inanimation emotion.
Fantasy, fantasy deviates aisle in a day,
Still unacquainted! Whence elapse in a dark day.
Hunger, gelid, frigid, no nighty,
In a long coldly winter night,
Needy for a so big woodpile
In dark, solo I had to chop
Details are good chop --
sticks chum pal up --
marks choc-ice !!!
Choppy choosy !!
Wood not woo !
Cook not coo !
Warming,
fire up,
heat,
fill,
by
I carry supple heart,
Thy name engraved on it;
Heart when pulsates,
Vibrates thy name;
Whispers love and love,
Always love;
Thine exhilaration so egregious,
Coerces me to swoon;
My gait wobbles in ecstatic state,
Fumbles thy arms to hold;
My heart is supple,
Always seek thy chum;
© sadashivan nair
Eric my chum loved a limerick bum
He took her to a theater of Tum
She was a stringy bean
Fell smack on his chin
And picked a guitar to strum a glum glum
Eric my chum/Limerick Copyright© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 22 November 2014
Out of sight and ought of mind is a philosophy vain,
It holds not a bit between friends of standing;
(Not even between enemies, again!)
The more time takes you from sight,
Much more your thoughts arrest my mental train;
And I can’t help but pen this rhyme,
To treat the wound wreaked by time.
Till again we meet these two observe:
Remember your Savior upon the Calvary tree,
And the others a kind request of love,
That you please pray for me!
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