Twas the night before Christmas late dinner.
Table set, waiting for Conner, a beginner.
Wondering which turkey will be a winner.
Wild round neighborhood, non any thinner.
Turkeys saw the peaceful neighbor coming,
Plain funny, stomping heavy, and humming.
Toms all disappeared and hid while thumbing
Energetic to all the hens to stop chumming.
Neighbor looked all through the woods becoming
Fully stressed out, he saw his evident shortcoming.
In thought, no turkey round rhythmic drumming
His weapon. In an awkward look, little unbecoming.
Turkeys out of sight, outsmarted in the battlefield.
A series of loud banter yelps filled the field.
Turkey heads yield, poking out the brush, concealed.
Glaze ham dressed like turkey for dinner revealed.
Categories:
chumming, christmas,
Form: Rhyme
With irascible words, she continues to bemoan
Writing about poets with whom she picks a bone
Chastising those who like to compete in contests
She's infected with hate, like a pustulant abscess
Her bitter sarcasm abounds for quite a few poets
Shaming their competitiveness, then she blows it
She adds POTD beside her poem title when chosen
but her attitude is not what I would call ambrosian
Her "truth" is not what all of us choose to believe
It's so sad that she tries to offend us and aggrieve
She doth protest too much, and it's unbecoming
She's muddying the site with so much chumming
Many of us write what lies deep within our hearts
But we're not what she calls arrogant or up-starts.
We don't need our wrists slapped, like she has said
Leeches try to draw blood. We don't need to be bled.
Categories:
chumming, bullying,
Form: Rhyme
Bees are coming, bees are coming,
how I love to hear their humming,
tiny wings just drum, drum, drumming;
we’ll be chumming, we’ll be chumming.
We’ll share nectar freely with them,
they’ll take a rest upon our stems,
they’re such minute and buzzing gems;
honey they give, honey they give.
Tickling our petals with their wings,
like a harpist playing the strings,
they’re entertaining little things;
those busy bees, those busy bees.
And when they’ve drunk their nectar fill,
they’ll search and find a place to spill,
they’ll pollinate the daffodil’s;
yes sir they will, yes sir they will.
3/16/2020
'STRAND CHOICE H,any form,any theme'
Brian Strand
Categories:
chumming, environment, flower, insect, nature,
Form: Monorhyme
Some mornings
Written: by Tom Wright
4/7/2018
Thoughts arrive like comets, swift and bright,
Each, a former tenant of a mind swept clean.
Often with a frequency of thieves in the night,
Of late, draped in dust, no more showing sheen;
For worthwhile words, today, I sit chumming,
Ideas that come aren’t worth a dime, nor cent.
But whatever their worth they’ll just keep coming,
Until the end when there’ll be no words unspent;
Categories:
chumming, memory, words, writing,
Form: Lyric
Will Bring To Sing With
Each time before we start to sing
A great voice will always bring
With us than can be enjoyed
Not be bad and people annoyed.
Tenors tremendous always are
Real, true sign of a raising star
And bases great are becoming
With each other will be chumming.
Message seems to be caste in stone
What they really need is a baritone
What chorus does have tonight
Are sopranos singing out of site.
We should try to get more specific
All of the altos are always terrific
Oh and we forgot wonderful organist
We cannot resist from a long list.
Congratulations great choir who will
be singing at 1030 PM Christmas Eve.
Jim Horn
Categories:
chumming, christmas, music,
Form: Couplet
I LOOK IN THE MIRROR A SHADE OF DIFFERENT IMAGES I SEE OF ME. MY EYES BLOGGING FROM MY SIGHT. DISPEAR OF WHAT I SEE OF ME. STANDING THERE LIKE A SOLDIER WITH MY ARMS AT EASE BY MY SIDE.
CHUMMING THROUGH MY HAIR WITH A BRITTLE BRUSH. MY HAIR SLOWLY FALLS AND FADES AWAY. I RUB THE BALDNESS OF MY HAIR FEELING NOTHING BUT, FREEZES FELTED BEHIND. I PANICKING GRAB A WIG HANGING OVER THE BEDROOM DOOR. PLACING THE ITCHGY STICKY DARK WIG ON MY HEAD.
LOOKING SIDEWAYS PARAELLE AND HORIZONTAL FIGURING WHICH END LOOKS STRAIGHTER. FEELING DISGUISTED AND FRAUSTATED. I FLASHED A PHOTO PICTURE OF ME, SHOWING ONLY THE LINING OF THE WIG TREADS.
STANDING THERE GLAZING AT ME THROUGH THIS SILHUETTE MIRROR. I POSED MYSELF AS MY OWN PAINTER OF A GHOUL OF MIDNIGHT. I REARRANGED THE WIG AND MYSELF WITH A JAGGED KNIFE. SHOWING ONLY THE SCULPTURE OF ME WITH NO HAIR.
Categories:
chumming, hair,
Form: ABC
Tackle box, fishing poles, radio, a good book to read
In a quite little alcove , the back outskirt of Lake Mead
The desert sun burning the sky, I’m comfortable in the shadow
I see the shad chumming toward the shore, my bait a live minnow
Suddenly, down the shoreline, I see the water, rapidly rippling my way
I was about to see, a vicious act of Nature: a school of large striped bass
A hundred strong with a school of fifty tagging along : the bass kicked …
I wonder Are The TROUT biting??
Inspired by Amy Green’s Contest : : I saw with my own Eyes
July 8, 1979 -- 10:50 A.M. Lake Mead , Henderson Nevada
Categories:
chumming, adventure, natural disasters, nature,
Form: Rhyme
I descended
Depths pulling
Ropes tightened
Swelling water
Chalky crimson
Pricks of loose twine
Slivers in my ear
Jabbing
Hard.
Red.
Flesh.
Strangling inside.
I collapsed
Head cocked back
Throat asphyxiated
Veins flooded
Liberated
Weaving in a downward
Spiral of hopelessness
Sustained vertigo
Aborted birthright
Chumming across the
Ocean floor
Categories:
chumming,
Form: Free verse