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.
It’s always what I say,
It boils down to what I sow.
get me off speaker
tweaking out my destiny, they trying to know.
Push the issue we ain’t cuff,
You got me pushing all this dope,
Popping out at the mouth,
My pockets chunky, tweaking hold your tone.
Crazy, feeling lazy,
Wish for me to crash out.
Busy bone switch after our freaking history,
Like we was back in school.
You needed someone to get over me
I did it on my own.
Cut me off, you think I’ll bleed it out?
I’ll turn you to a song.
Create a cheese platter.
Cheddar in chunky cubes.
Cream cheese combined with crab.
Crispy crunchy crackers.
Cherry compote with chopped
cucumber and cashews
compliments cottage cheese.
My typewriter
was not a good typewriter,
its keys were weighty,
you had to use brain muscle to work it,
nobody wanted it.
My son unpacked a home computer.
I stood by and watched
as all the electronics were laid out on the floor
and surgically knitted together.
I knew then
that I would be consistently out of touch,
and possibly would remain
stuck in an obsolete year
trying to catch up
from the rear of the field.
I wrote my first poem
on that clickity-clack manual machine,
then a dozen more,
all of them were heavy handed,
yet that hefty labor
made me think
I was crafting something worthwhile.
Later, I was enslaved to a computer keyboard,
chained as I was to its subsonic urgings
I could tell
the world was speeding away
faster than I could write.
When my kind of poet dies,
he is immediately ed,
for all his contemporary poems
turn into digital wormholes
that suck him into an unknown grave.
The young look to dead poets for wisdom -
truth is,
that those ham-fisted plodders
have long ago
turned into chunky typewriters
that nobody wants.
You can tell it's finally winter,
the glaze of icy glitter
Darker mornings, sun late dawning
Freezing cold and bitter
Woollen hats, chunky scarfs
slippery and sliding paths
children's runny noses
Red lips and looking chapped
A festive time
Happy elves and Santa's sack
He sees if you've been good or bad
I know that for a fact
Christmas crackers, candy canes
Songs are played and party games
winter is for all to enjoy
No matter what your age
A special season, I love so much and that will never change
Fly dust is a pie must
when baking “trick or Treats”
Spider monkey, nice and chunky
also makes good eats
Effervescent woodworm whip
tops them both with ease
Serve it all for Halloween
they are sure to please
Happy Halloween everyone!!!!
My cat crunches her chunky canned food,
My cat crawls and creeps, curious- and shrewd;
My cat chatters and croons, so cheerful and charming,
My cat is clever and captivating, carefree- and often alarming.
My cat is so cute and chubby and likes to cuddle with me,
My cat is camping-out on my cozy couch purring on my knee !
Pen and paper in hand, words swirling in my head,
Working on my big essay, Sounds and Whispers, and planning.
Buzz, crash, drip, pop, whoosh, splash, bang!
Startling me, what are those sounds?
A phantom mouse, maybe, hiding under my desk.
I’m sure I heard a squeak.
Jumping up, I knock over my cup—splash, it crashes to the floor.
I gasp, arms flailing; my elbow hits a box perched on the shelf,
My eyes follow it, mid-air, SLAM—
The box hits the desk, BOOM.
I stifle a scream, peering at the phantom mouse scurrying around.
I sigh—my heart races.
Thump, thump! Like a jackhammer.
Wet shoes, making SQUELCHING sounds and slipping as I go.
Buzzing, like a tiny plane,
Just as I grab the handle,
A big, black horsefly lands on my hand,
I try to shoo it away—
But SMACK! SMACK! SQUISH!
Crossing the threshold to safety,
That squeak returns; the not-so-phantom mouse, is closing in on me.
Crack, crack and pop, pop, I run,
Chunky little legs carrying me
Out of this nightmare — fast.
Soupers as lovers unite, with spoons and bowls held high,
All soups from broths to chunky chowders, they'll try.
Making steamy affairs in poems that burn and delight,
To fill the world with soup, that's their plight!
With spoons like scepters, ladles toppled full for the fight,
They struggle as wordsmiths with all their might!
Adding chillies, spices and herbs, to en-flame the brew,
They take aim with stakes to drive into apathy's stew.
So here’s to all soupers, lovers of muse, noble and true,
As they dish up their broths, lost souls, to bring to,
With their bouillon and bisque, mulligatawny and minestrone.
Let's say bon aperitif to them all, with a hoot, yippee and whoopee!
You’re my banana split my favorite treat
Rocky road chunky monkey and one more ,
Your 're my Pina Colada ,hard to beat
Sprinkles,whipped cream,sauces I surely adore ,
The Pina Colada, a booze drink with flare .
You’re my peacock , a flashy bird of pride .
You’re my hope diamond your beyond compare.
You are like a redwood tree, strong, my guide
Banana splits are great ;eat them ,you get fat ,
Do not drink to much or you will get drunk ,
If peacocks have nous , be not a plutocrat,
Treat your beloved with care or stink like a skunk.
Balance desires with care no, plights to share.
You and beloved are glad without a care.
I saw the picture and it definitely is not the same
Is it someone new?
It’s not what I saw in the mirror as I got ready for public view.
The reflection tells me, “Ok, not too bad.”
I’m old, yes, frumpy, but no reason to be sad.
I see a youthful spirit, fluffy, but not too fat.
I think of my age and remind myself that
People change, no one stays exactly the same.
My outfit is not trendy, but not out of style.
Sorta classic, as I see it, in style for a while.
Later, I see event pics posted online.
Who is seated in my place
And why is she so wide?
Her face is in profile;
It’s sagging and old.
It’s odd to think she’d be so bold
As to come out like that,
Wearing a top that doesn’t hide fat.
Her ponytail isn’t smooth,
And look at those chunky old lady shoes!
What was she thinking?
Did she even try?
And suddenly I realize and let out a cry.
She’s sitting with my husband.
Who could she be?
And then I notice sadly, the she
That is me.
~ Judy Bausch
clunky chunky unfamiliar words
not easily understood due to their tweets and pops
shoving themselves against my dendrite highway
hidden yet acutely felt
dancing the brain Watusi
I wonder if I will ever write again
chonky choo choo pouf
chunky is cool, funky.
sorta art deco, style
puffy, fluffy and comfy,
ardent, like fluffy slippers!
While vanilla ice cream has me snoring,
chunky types – Ben and Jerry’s – aren’t boring!
Flavors I like are
a wee bit bizarre.
Onto those many toppings I’m pouring.
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