A fresh, hefty heap I left in the box.
You scooped it away into that flushing abyss.
A crisp, satisfying sound echoed—
Music to my ears.
Phew. My poop was gone.
Are you a wizard?
Four long years passed.
Then, the human assumed the form of a serpent,
Devouring a long, green cucumber.
Slathering my poop all over it,
Licking away the giant, pungent stink
With a satisfied tongue.
And then, trying to seduce me
With a terrifying truth:
"Here’s Churu for you~"
"I’ve got another cucumber, you see.
And I made sure to spread the poop extra thick and salty this time."
"Eat up."
Ah, was I that hungry?
Did you pretend to throw away my poop all those years,
Just like a magician hiding a trick?
I passed out.
Overcome by your dark truth.
How on earth am I supposed to look you in the eye tomorrow?
There is a vision we hold,
It's value in what we've been told,
The reason so many souls are sold,
Working life away to acquire Gold,
Molding their existence.
What is its significance?
The difference from another stone,
Alone it does nothing,
Only brings in problems,
Robbing them of peace.
Others looking for a piece,
Greasing the greed in them,
Only shown we needed some,
A little crumb planting a weed.
Feeding families in need,
The shimmering greed,
Poisoning earths seeds.
Dirty deeds making enemies,
Turning beauty into pennies,
Keeping the people from getting any,
Many crying and dying creating scrutiny,
We have a Mutiny in reverse,
As the curse is lifted,
Only the gifted can see,
The truth behind money,
I think you'll find funny,
The value it is assigned,
Is defined within your mind,
Signed by the soul,
That's how it will roll,
Gold stole the power you hold,
Devouring a life you were told,
was about just growing old,
watching it all unfold.
You’ll hear an earth shattering crunch,
hesitation that is broken instantly.
Lick the eight ball and throw a punch.
Devouring a scared reflection for lunch,
got out and be who you’re meant to be.
You’ll hear an earth shattering crunch.
Shadows of doubt you must expunge.
Champions aren’t developed delicately,
lick the eight ball and throw a punch.
Letting go of the frailty of a runch,
hands will gather aggression idly.
You’ll hear an earth shattering crunch.
It begins with little more than a hunch,
don’t be too cautious or move hastily.
Lick the eight ball and throw a punch.
There is nothing seen as too much
to the brave who dream aggressively.
You’ll hear an earth shattering crunch,
lick the eight ball and throw a punch.
What better than a summer afternoon?
Where else, but on the trail to La Toscana?
Who is it mounts a mens that's not more sana,
devouring a voluptuous Verdi tune?
Which month might one elect, which isn't June?
I'll pass on Sassafrass and Lisdoonvarna,
to binge on bars, basilicas and Barna.
I like my treasures liberally-strewn.
You're cynical? Think pinnacles don't serve?
I can't agree. A twelvemonth of frustrations,
quotidian slap-downs and humiliations
are answered now. We've finally capped the curve.
The clouds will come again, of course, but verve
should also have its vestals. A libation!
banished into exile of freedom
with no chance of extradition
bail collateral and ransom refused
he marvelled at his painless tattoo
a rotten apple devouring a snake
inked into now sunburnt skin
reminded him that not everything
seemed as had been commanded
his island prison was very far removed
from what they called civilization
no barbed wire or wardens assaulted
mindfulness and serene integration
he cherished his forced independence
from years of familial violence and abuse
an inner orchard of peace blossomed
as he made good friends with himself
body design had healed mind soul and spirit
he was an escape artist by involuntary decree
who would they torture as their victim had vanished
a few pricks on the outside were a small price to pay
Calico Cuban cats devouring a cheese cone
Des Moines deer directing a driven drone
Elmhurst elk writing out an elongated poem
Fresno felines frolicking in feathery sea foam
Gary’s gorillas grabbing themselves a grooming comb.
Hanover’s hefty hags happily losing their home
Illinois iguana playing his slide trombone
Jersey’s jackalopes creeping up on a bone
Kingston’s kangaroos sitting as still as stone
Liverpool’s little linguistic feeling all alone
Mammoth meerkat wanting Cuban cat’s cheese cone
Never-do-well’s nemesis capturing deer’s driven drone
My puppy Beau has been digging
His face and front paws are black with mud
He looks like he has been devouring a chocolate pie
Clean him up? Are you kidding?
He will go right back and do it again as soon as I do.
Barista’s Bakery home of the screaming cupcake
I had to rush inside to see what this meant.
Screaming was happening in two corners of the room.
One boy was devouring a purple cupcake.
It was screaming bloody murder.
Another couple was gnawing on a carrot cupcake.
It was shrieking as if it was in labor.
I have to have one I said. Which one is the loudest screamer?
That’s the mother-of-all-screams lemon cupcake, the baker said.
Before I even got started the cupcake began to yell “HELP! POLICE!”
People by the billions
watching a moon devouring a sun.
Soon after, the devouring is forgotten.
Like a holocaust.
Like the Twin Towers.
Like a trinity,
Like the two hundred
Hostages
of
HAMAS.
Upon a littered path I trod, alone,
A companion sought in my wanderings.
From afar, a peculiar man appeared,
In an abandoned caravan he resided.
Clad in tattered, sleeveless attire,
His laughter, unsettling, filled the air.
Devouring a rotten slice of cake,
He beckoned, "Hey, brother!" with lunatic flare.
Anxiety gripped my heart, relentless,
I darted to a mud shelter for refuge.
Exhaling relief, I sat in solitude,
Leaning against the primitive, fractured wall.
Suddenly, a peculiar voice emerged,
Echoing like water droplets cascading.
Attempting to rise, my legs refused,
Weakened and weary, my resolve waning.
Surrender beckoned, the shadows encroaching,
Evil lurking in the inky blackness.
But as I drew breath for a desperate cry,
Mama's voice pierced the dream, rousing me.
Awakened from the vivid reverie,
I found solace in the realm of the waking.
For the lonely walk and its haunting trials,
Were but a dream, a fleeting illusion.
When devouring a hot chicken pie
An advertised flat caught my eye,
I would hazard a guess
Judging from its address
That the asking price wasn’t too high.
I collapsed in a state of deep gloom
When the landlord denied me that room,
He said “Nothing’s worse
Than a chap who writes verse!”
Within minutes I started to fume.
After snatching some six hours of sleep
I thought I should challenge that creep,
For with scant explanation
His discrimination
Might cause a young snowflake to weep.
I knew I should counter his crime
With an angry yet passionate rhyme,
He was powerful and scary
And so arbitrary,
And his property’s well past its prime.
My letter, dispatched the next day,
Employed words that I’d rather not say
(They are not in the bible),
Then he sued me for libel,
So his rent I’m not able to pay.
So the lesson is easy to see -
Do not venture to write poetry.
It could end in defeat
Then you’re stuck on the street,
Simply begging for coffee or tea.
Exclamation marks rile up and excite Mrs. Ex.
She teaches seventh grade English and always suspects….
We are overdoing it when we use even on.
So I throw them in my paragraphs to have some fun.
She says they should be rare and exclusive to execute.
Her ideas are not mine, they simply do not compute.
Loving these fine exclamation marks, I make with my pen,
But she grades my papers, so a huge pickle I am in.
She says, “Please use them sparingly! Better yet, not at all.”
But what if I see a gigantic man-eating woman sixty feet tall?
Or a monster devouring a grade school and a shopping mall?
Mrs. Ex stares at me, in a kind of weird wordless stall.
What if you only used this mark once a day? She suggests.
Her suggestion annoys me, my pa and all of our guests.
Of course, new exclamation marks are all over the things that I write.
Infuriating out of Mrs. Ex, who ran away from her job last Tuesday night.
sucker punch action
blue ringed venomous mollusc -
man eating creature
gives head for kill
pinch of salty consumption -
mouth waters pleasure
octopus sprays ink
under cover of darkness -
tentacles retreat
coral for duvet
two lovers mate in caress –
sweet sixteen again
17th April
The blue ringed octopus can actually eat a human being thus devouring a Super-Ego.
Destruction roars through the land
Like a fire that can only expand
Fire which never dies
Silencing unheard cries
Raging through the forest today
Devouring a city like prey
Circling and taunting the few
For all that they knew
The few would lose
But without a bruise
They stopped the destruction
And without instruction
Worked together
To create better weather
They brought the world back
And raised the veil of black
To start a new tomorrow
Without any sorrow
And may it live on
Like the break of a new dawn
I do not eat salt, she says haughtily
Making me want to pour a salt shaker into my mouth
I appease myself by devouring a family sized bag of potato chips
Unsalted? Ha! Right!
Chocolate does not agree with me, she says in a superior way.
I pick up the twelve pound box and set it by my recliner
Ready to eat each and every piece while I watch
one of my favorite movies. I do not deprive myself.
I am watching my weight, she says.
Making me laugh and feel I have one-upped her
as she weighs less than eighty-nine pounds
and has no boobs thanks to no salt and no chocolate.
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