He gave me a gift, terribly good-
but it was clearly misunderstood.
Good grief, what does it do?
looks pretty ugly too!
Like huge chunky goggles, there it stood.
Deafening silence came over me!
Seriously funny, for you see
this was his only choice?
For me there was no voice?
A cruel kindness- how can this be?
The sound of silence he broke with shout-
Falsely true is what this is about!
Awfully good, you see-
virtual reality!
Definite maybe, you will freak out!
Alone together, now bittersweet
our short minor crisis, we did meet!
In a true fiction world
open secrets unfurled!
These chunky goggles cannot be beat!
There is a cheeky monkey
Who lives just up the street
His body is quite chunky
His feet are not petite.
He’ll knock upon your door at night
Then scamper down the street
He gives the folks a dreadful fright
But he thinks it’s rather neat.
Or he’ll open up your unlocked door
And have himself a feast
He’ll leave food scraps all over the floor
The horrid little beast.
He’ll rummage through your underwear
That you just stored so neat
And try your socks without a care
On his dirty stinking feet.
So before you go to bed tonight
Lock all your windows and doors
And get a dog that loves to bite
And a cat with massive claws.
For there’s nothing that scares him so
Than a dog with bitey teeth
He won’t stay long he’ll surely go
And you’ll breathe a sigh of relief.
Freely admit am more than a bit of a Test cricket junkie
VIP pass doff for punky class of Bazball’s start so spunky
Revel in rocking devil may care peacocking flair so funky
But when stuttered became rather cluttered and clunky
Then Ben not with his men again is still a cheeky monkey
Iffy getting squiffy forgot curfew & in a jiffy all got gunky
Palaver in a lather farce of toff ECB job & gob of slob Key
Smelt wrong the pong not dope has felt old school skunky
Hunky stallion did quaff the trough now rapscallion donkey
Scoff not bob on plunky fob off dob em in for being a flunky
Got a cob on Baz a show off ar*e & Rob chubby and chunky
Sob should burn on the hob as each other’s jail bit*h bunkie
Turn the door k*ob in lob Baz & Bob then Ben lose the key
Chester Chunky reporting for work My Queen
I was flabbergasted
Never before having a flying monkey under my command
Are you one of a kind
or am I to expect more of you? I asked him
I am a twin, he told me.
It is easy to lead my twin around.
If you need him, I will go get him.
I used them to intimidate my enemies.
For hours they flew around their work places, sticking out their tongues.
hush, a quieting word
hush up, a fighting phrase
hush-hush, a soothing term
hush puppy – tasty salty treat
husk, a hull of corn
husky, a stout curved-tailed dog
husking, shucking corn in Iowa
husky man, beefy, chunky and muscular
similar words
sometimes spelled identically
multiple meanings
English is not an easy language
How we, as shop windows
Do present ourselves
You only, down any street
Need this but descry
Out each passer by:
Appreciably, what as gleams
For sweet fruit, a face.
Or less so (though not to some!)
A piece of chunky
Beef, alike juicy.
Knitting's my hobby, I never stop
Blankets, sweaters, gloves, hats and socks
All colours of a rainbow
Chunky or double knit
Whatever it is
I will not stop
Till the day
That I
Drop
* * *
There is a sweetness in the sky
chunky salt permeates the sea.
Perfumed petals on wishes fly,
there is a sweetness in the sky.
They wait patient for a reply
to a wish to be loved deeply.
There is a sweetness in the sky
chunky salt permeates the sea.
Thousand yard stare.
A maniacal laugh.
White, a cold white, an empty white.
What are you doing here?
Deep cuts. Insanity. Rooted anger.
Thick, chunky blood pours into the boiling pot.
A crimson puddle with an inverse reflection.
Please set me free.
Eyes closed.
Screams of a lunatic.
A padded cell for mental decay.
Let me out
How lonely, how frightening.
I quiver with fear,
a glistening smile pierces the cold air.
I’m going to get out.
Cookery Programs
Chunky fists hit the kitchen sink...hard
on every TV channel.
So manly, they are not queers
but 100% men,
No flowery aprons for us.
Cooking was what women did before,
but no more,
Now you get the Sunday roast with added
aggression and swearing.
The kitchen has been turned into
a battlefield of egocentric men who´s
The ambition is to be the best in
the rarefied world of cookery
It is not about you, the diner.
When the kitchen soldiers put food
on your plate,
They try to make it into a work of art
When all you wanted was a steak and fried onions
at a friendly price.
(Latin for 'Michael Made Me')
There lies a town in northern Spain
(thank God it's little-known!)
where every chapel, church and fane
is hewn from honey stone.
Nice chunky arches, columns too,
with barley-sugar twist:
and gargoyles, griffins, gremlins who
quite cordially coexist.
To stroll here is to turn, with love,
some bestiary's bold pages,
and marvel at the mindset of
those early Middle Ages.
Capricious carvings crowd one door,
coeval "carls" of Beckett:
and, scratched into one caricature,
Micaelis Me Fecit.
The mason sits in effigy,
a chisel in his hand.
He eyes us quite audaciously:
that look, we understand.
He doesn't care for Time or Fame,
or Wealth, or Noble Birth:
that "Michael Made Me," is his claim:
and Michael knows his worth.
Milky Ways, Mallow Pies, and M&M reams
The magnitude of calories astounds
Silky glazed chocolate pies and coconut creams
You pack 'em and snack 'em, then pack on the pounds
Malts for days, monster sized, and marshmallow teams
Slurpee slurping every Slurpee around
Your body art's stretched apart, bustin' the seams
Your ears are deaf to the warning bell's sound
You fold it and force it, till your corset screams
Your Chunky Monkey keeps you caged up and bound
You road this rollercoaster on Rocky Road dreams
Now a mile wide, riding a silky sweet mound
PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once there were three squirrels, Charlie, Bruce, and Brice
Pumpkin spice was their ultimate vice.
They searched high and low, hoarded every gourd,
Found them at Sprouts Marketplace, “Oh My Lord!”
"This place is a squirrel's paradise!"
One day they discovered Starbucks drive-through
From then on, their autumnal obsession grew and grew
With pumpkin spice lattes galore,
They usually drank at least three or four.
Till one day Brice noticed he no longer wore a size two.
Then he met the barista babe named Imma Lou
“Pumpkin spice lattes, I’m through with you!
But Imma liked his chunky cheeks. “You’re my boo!”
So she hired him and his pals to be on her crew.
Now they are employees of the month. Who knew?!”
The stars have descended a little lower, to keep us —
My kinsmen and I —company on this night watch
On a newly roused African night.
We filch a little bit of the effulgence of the waking moon,
Reluctant, with the invasion of jealous clouds, their plumes
Fragile with inconsistency.
We rely on the luminescence of each other’s eyes and the trust
In our hearts
Tinder, broken by flying flickers of fireflies,
Shine through the breath of darkness, dis-virgining the chunky yolk
Of secrets and the clout of night, so corvine.
Every breath keeps us warm and frightens the monsters lurking
Around the lean corridors of the enchanted thresholds.
The heavens stare downward —witnesses to a stifling explosion of
Will; so are the crepitating crickets and cicadas —in prayers they
Egg us on, and through borrowed liturgy of nocturnal canticles.
The heartbeats in us make silenced music —loud only by the essence of
Gaiety and humming drums lightly tapped by ancestral fingers,
Helping to warm our hearts and will in the face of the severest darkness
Made lighter by the glows of slow-running lights — the broad painting of
Dawn.
The road trips are for snacks.
That fire playlist to chew on,
a bag of Smartfood to munch on,
some Sparkling Ice to sip on,
then baby we’re gone!
Chunky sub sandwich for lunch,
you probably had a hunch.
I eat them toasted a bunch,
I’m addicted to that crunch!
This bag of almonds I chose,
tasty enough to inspire prose.
So delicious I’d never overdose,
always grazing that’s how it goes.
The snacks are for road trips.
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