Cubby Poems | Examples

Crafting a Masterpiece of Soul

Scored, stained, painted, washing, squeezing.
Profound fingers duly pleasing.
A perfect sign is not one’s goal.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Basic colors, silver and gold,
Sprinkles that touch wet paint, behold.
Cathartic stressing’s console.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

A maverick or dependent.
Assured it will be resplendent.
To each his own creed of control.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

The group imparts a tenderness,
Rubbing elbows of cleverness;
And pondering time in fishbowl.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

All eyes on the “perfect” signage.
Does such have a great advantage?
Peculiar go down rabbit hole.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Still, the simplicity of cream;
And chocolate Easter bunny’s dream,
Won’t be held in one’s cubby hole.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Scored, stained, painted, washing, squeezing.
Profound fingers duly pleasing.
A perfect sign is not one’s goal.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

witch's cauldron sets the mood

witch’s cauldron had bit of a hiccup today
ghosts and goblins laughed about it a bit
Halloween humor lives beyond the fray

Dracula’s ghost appeared with a happy hey
some of the warlocks and wizards had a fit
witch’s cauldron had a bit of a hiccup today

a whisper left my arm hairs straight up in a way
who was this entity? Was I now a half-wit?
Halloween humor lives beyond the fray

My feelings were macabre, peace now at bay
Scared now, I found a cubby into which to flit
witch’s cauldron had a bit of a hiccup today

A low growl left me without anything to say
teeth marks in my arm resolved my grit
Halloween humor lives beyond the fray

my ashen face was probably a mealy gray
this cave like place was dimly drably lit
witch’s cauldron had bit of a hiccup today
Halloween humor lives beyond the fray

When Will I Not Love You

When will I not love you
shall there be a distant flame
flickering beyond the warmth of 
an Indian summer's sultry breeze

When will I not love you 
will the sun rest on top of giant
umbrellas dancing heavenly  
about sparkling shores

When will I not love you
shall the roaring tides rise
over broken sea shells 
sending the tiny crabs back
inside hidden cubby holes
 
When will I not love you
will the standing vessels finally 
set sail upon the calming Voss seas
cunning seduction banks of marigolds 
from ancient good byes as new worlds 
collides gleaming about sullen memories 
When will i not love you when

Forbode of Wilderness

Deposited, held in Amazon's Adonis arms
    Hidden inhospitably stashed, kite shadow 
    Curled furtive, stairway stupefied windshield
    Hallucinations lag languished in amusement


    Monkeys freeze, screech scamper scratch 
    Egg smooth roof unscathed cubby abode
    Jagged gaps hang fur curtain climbing mates
    Swung carefree in cramped homecamp humid 

    
    Aghast lopped log rest exhales raggedly 
    Snapped propeller askew salutes defeat 
    Wing bent lungs transform fortitude into fuel
    Crushed accordion bodied anaconda swivels


    Lock jaw latch tight to jungle gym frame 
    Liquid flow flanks scale, giant slug glued
    Fork tongue tastes rain drip following day hope
    Fangs prong Coconas sour tomato gold codicil

  
    Cluster juice burst berries, bittersweet bulbs
    Knobs of Contreu twisted tangerine vitamin
    Fibre feeds faith indispensible, thin torsos entwined
    Fight against forbode of abandonment, exhausted 




                  Anonymous Minor Survivors 
                     Middle of Jungle June

Paused

At the deep shelf of night
a niche
a cubby-hole of stillness

Somewhere a hunt is on
somewhere there is death and feeding
but in this hollow mouth of the cosmos
you can rest
within your eyes
be not stung blind by any blood hungers

Here you can sleep on a bed of starlight
forget yourself
and this lovely savage planet

Everywhere there is a kind of peace
as the mind watches itself
looking
just looking

Grandma,S Kitchen

GRANDMA’S KITCHEN

In her kitchen here,
Grandma’s welcoming cheer,
Embracing kids of kith-n-kin
And engaging with tasty treats pleasing,
From the mixing basin of pudding makings,
With licks of spoon and bowl of creation,
And from the cubby-hole above the stove,
From grandma’s treasure trove of secreted joys
To test the tongue with sugary delights,
And from the ice-box frozen gifts
That stick to tongue and freeze the gizzards way below,
Or plucked from barrel up there on shelf
Home-made from the stove a delightful dip of surprise,
A ginger-breadman or Turkish delight
To caress the tongue beholden to taste,
‘Tis the way of grandma’s showing,
The value of waiting and manners respecting,
That in her kitchen here
Grandma’s sovereign of all tastes and treats,
And that children of kith-n-kin are most welcome here,
And with that comes respect for the queen 
Of her castle at this point.

This is for all grandmothers great and small, 
May God bless you one and all.


Francis Cooper – Mac © 07-Jul-20

The Human Mind

The human mind,
great organizer of endless data.
Creating cubby holes of information.

The human mind
is not designed to allow freedom to the pieces,
not designed to let go of form and preconceived notions.

The human mind is frail.
When first I tried to challenge my presumptions,
to loosen my hold on my opinions and views,
My mind was gripped in a tornado of fear.
To no longer know the answer to every question,
to place my feet on an untraveled land.

It’s so much easier to cling unconsciously
to the traditions and rituals, we take for granted as truth.
When I admit you belong in this world as well,
My icy heart melts to mush and my spirit lightens.

So much easier
To live in the crafted reality of convention.
But how many ships have sailed without me
that could have taken me to distant shores.

The Predictable Old Workday Grind

Organ grinder
Meat grinder
Bump-and-grind
   The workday grind

Get up, get out of bed
Drag a comb across my head
Yeah, Yeah, Paul: You knew that was coming --
   Go to work 
   Pour the coffee
   Water the plants 
   Sharpen some pencils
   Head for the water cooler
   Trade some stories...gossip a bit
   Stall...stall...stall...and stall some more...

Get to the meeting on time
Look engaged
Back to my cubby 
   And then: 
   What's this?  A poem?  
   A what?  A poem!
   A poem appears
   comes flying from my fingers
   onto the keyboard 
   up on the screen
   read... saved... printed … 
   posted on social media... 'liked'

   All over the internet 
   Gone viral
   I'm a thing 
   a downright event!
   Yeah, sure I got canned 
   Of course...
   Know anyone looking for a new poet?


            December 03, 2019
         Predictable Poetry Contest
          Sponsor: Nina Parmenter

Karen and Cubby

The youngest Mouseketeers, they were
The ones who sang goodbye.
If you watched “Mickey Mouse Club,”
You’d remember if you try.

Her long blond curls and winsome smile
Had cross-the-board appeal
And pairing them together
Really seemed to seal the deal.

Though Cubby lives, I just found out
That Karen’s, sadly, gone,
So “now it’s time to say goodbye;”
Her memory lives on.

Karen Pendleton (8/1/46 – 10/6/19)
Cubby O’Brien (7/14/46 -)

Nights Passage

A hole in the darkness 
Perfectly still
Coiled and waiting
Ready to kill

Silent black velvet
Watchful and scary
Spots its next victim 
Passing unwary

A leap and a pounce
Claws and fangs flashing
No chance for the victim
There comes a cruel slashing

A meal for just one
Not for the other 
Its short life is done
There’ll be no tomorrow

But the beast will continue
Its wicked desire
To hunt and cause murder
As nature requires 

A gruesome ritual
Carried out every night
The only defense
Is mornings new light

Sun slowly rising
Continuing its passage
Soft light devours
The monsters advantage

Some creatures survived
Were they just lucky?
Best scurry back 
To their safe little cubby

And for the assassin
There starts a new day
To find a warm sunbeam
Dismissing foul play

As its green eyes grow heavy
And sleep pulls it under
The little black kitty
Dreams of its plunder

Gone With the Pie

They plotted long, that winter’s night
                   Beneath the Christmas star so bright
Three tiny mice in elf like suits
                       Could smell the pie of many fruits

And as it baked, their hunger grew
                                So they decided what to do
They knew that cook would, as a rule
                            Set pies on window sill to cool

They would appear as Christmas elves
                      Instead of their most scary selves
And then the cook, they would acquaint,
           Remove their clothes and she would faint

Just then, with super mouse like strength
               They’d slide that pie the needed length
Into their cubby hole nearby
                Like that!, they’d be gone with the pie

 

12/12/18

A Detective In the House

The clues are there.
The notes.
The writing.
The phone numbers.
The calendar.
Especially the calendar
holding all the secrets
of what was done and will be done.

He is bent over the cubby-holed desk,
slippers, flannel bathrobe,
searching through the familiar
and seeing only the hidden, 
the missing,
the opaque.

The crime?
Something stolen, precious 
and worse,
it is just out of sight, 
next to the words, 
the notes, the writing,
the calendar.
Especially the calendar.
So obvious the number,
the day,
yet not now the season.

He finds her worried face again
and continues.

All those around him
keep it from him-
the secret is- 
nothing is gone,
nothing was done.

The detective searches
for himself in the clues
of unravelling time.

Stray Cat Mischief

Black as a panther he was a tween cat
taking literally my front porch welcome mat
my inside dogs not welcoming him in
I fed him outside much to the cats chagrin,

One day we heard some meows in our hallway
opening up the a/c filter cubby hole with no delay
finding the stray cat inside we were amazed
having crept up inside from our crawl space!





8-20-17

The Jumping Wellies Are Singing La La La La La

The jumping jellies in wellies are singing like la la la

Space suited shells are quite adept at leaning through cubby holes and travelling for a long time. A long time is a lengthy length leaning. But not leaking for leaking is akin to leering and leering belong to lecherous old whales in suits sat on many benches in rows. Rows reaching raiding retching rumps. And rump steaks are mashed to a pulp by a size six hundred shoe having a hop down a stairway. Never mind the beeswax ear drums and kettle fish dance for ot is merely a movie shown here on a screen. A flat screen is often displayed on a suitcase isn't it? Wow how often the occurring jam configured jar invites the ham to a sandwich party. Quite often. But a table top clap is a riot of absolutism that abolishes apple pips. Eradication eating eggplants. Oooh mystic moo tune. Great. Dance then. Hahaha the sponges are riding the paperbacks. Hahah swan dip in the cup. Xxxxx colonisation z z z z at nineteen herrings hearing harpsichordists' to fourteen financially dynamic dynamited digital dogs. Z so why wobble wobble with curd then z z z z z z zbhvq at platform five six seven. Z

Those Were the Hookup Days

In the car cubby,
Phones collide with each other 
I'm feeling chubby 

You build up your might
To start a play fight with me
Don't mean to be mean

As best friends and more,
We are two peas in a pod
I'm feeling skinny

You cheer me up some
We laugh and argue...cuddle...
And TMI things 

Youngest in family 
We are a match - say hello
Phones match, all dandy

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