Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.
It's enough to make one chunder
there used to be a time Down Under
when fair dinkum the label on the tucker tin
only stated the true blue maker's name
and the Vegemite we'd eat for brekkie contained therein
while not a porky implied mate there's something to hide
with a shonky no responsibility disclaimer
I’m spewin’ cranky as today's focus is on what's not inside
no GMO cholesterol additives gluten calories caffeine nuts
no added colouring sugar preservatives
no artificial sweeteners monounsaturated
no polyunsaturated &/or trans fats
and bloody oath cobber that's not all as I recall
no worries tho' there's also low sodium
not whingeing but one wonders if it's a dodgy admission
there's no bonzer thingo within such as ace nutrition
meanwhile I'll fill my billycan from yon billabong
surrounded by a few emu and a roo or two
as up a gum tree the kookaburra laughingly looks on
there's nothing more I can do so may as well
bung another shrimp on the barbie blow the froth off a few
have one last blast on me didgeridoo Blue and shoot through
Breezy,
break away free bird,
as free as easy as the wind
wanderess go onward
~ through life~
with an incessant need
to find solace
and meaning
back in god’s grace
It’s penetrating places you roam
and journeyed from
Free bird without
a home, without your flock
Once wings spread across
golden honey horizons
then held still on a dock
Cries o’er the retched waves
drenched in its chunder
into the d
e
e p
pulled
u
n
d
e
r
yet, naïve waif,
like a seagull in the skyline so free,
inside is a breezy pathfinder
Blowing are the winds o’er the sea
facile and carefree
Jagged are rugged roads that block,
all paths ahead obscure
bone trails lead downward
Mountain lions abound stalk,
smell the desperation on sweat
dripper of hurt, rebellious
When ships pass in at night,
they speak in the darkness,
disappear in the vastness
Free bird fly far—far away,
never to return again
A tempest moves the wind
wildly through the trees
s~h~a~k~ing sands
Put your hands together
Wanderess,
be still, runner
contend a prayer
come into sense
come home ~
Academicians …
masticating and
grinding their ‘truth’
Spewing out
what they would have us swallow
in gagging choking egotism
Regurgitating it back
in the toxic chunder
of a narcissistic reality
Papering the walls
of modern thought
with the bibs of their retching
As they hide within
their ivory towers
—festering in mass
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: September, 2023)
DON’t CHUNDER DOWN-UNDER!
In the land of the Southern Ocean
Legal forces have been set in motion
Binding those who once wandered free
With restriction: imperious decree
When did wild and free spirit take flight
What became of ‘No worries! She’ll be right!
Once a destiny set for enchainment
Was transformed to a land of attainment
With demeanour of free careless rapture
Like a will-o-the wisp hard to capture
Then fear came like a thief in the night
Where now: ‘No worries! She’ll be right!’
Let that old psyche bring remission
And defy decrees of politicians
And of those who would cower in fearing
Of a threat enabling domineering
Bring a future that still can be bright
With: ‘No worries! And with: ‘She’ll be right!’
Alone again and on the road,
Walking with the dusty toed,
Me swag on a back almost bowed,
An outcast me I wonder?
To get a fair wage yes we fought,
From daylight to dark six days for ought,
A slave of the black balled sort, {no job for him}
A persecution wanderer.
Old time shearers stuck together mate,
Formed trade unions in every state,
Went to jail there’s no debate,
Sometimes made a blunder,
To aid the working people poor,
Equality of wealth worth fighting for,
Deprive the stinker rich for sure,
The hog trough leaks, yes under,
We forget just who to trust,
The Liberal party, sacks us, must,
Serves super-rich, the poor are flushed,
Down the gurgler, just like chunder?
{spew}
Don
i see it all the suffering call,
where we sense the one God's number,
suffer from the romantic thrall,
colour fades, black on white is called,
cos then we're torn asunder,
look out here comes the thunder...
chunder-from down-under,
did ya get that taxi's number:)
thank you Russell Sivey,
"Shine on my Ego."
Don
chunder is what you throw up.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.