A train, a train,
Burning through its coal.
And smoke that drives away the cool air.
Or the night sky.
The night sky.
The night sky.
Write about the sky.
Daytime, grass, flowers, swarming.
The seasons, snow, spring, something, something…
Writing and writing.
About a smile,
Never just a nice gesture.
But fodder for my writing.
Smiling, beautiful, toothy, friendly.
Writing, flowing like a train.
Train tracks that burn my fingers,
Even after the train has left.
I bandage my fingers,
And continue to write!
toothy grin, downcast eyes
hidden by two dozen
sunset roses, a great-big
box of choice-chocolates
‘tis a good thing she doesn’t see
his flaming breath, the ring
on his butt-naked-finger
…this once
10/27/2022
I’m back in my book of tricks.
Dragon Fodder given to the wife
after a husband’s bad behavior.
The official name is
Contrails
No more than condensation
The alternate one
Chemtrails
poo pooed across the nation
I can't help notice
months go by
With none in sight
Are we to understand
that
No plane has taken flight
Yet, when they
Return
The skies are cross hatched
Such coverage in true
Journalism
Won't be matched
I've discussed it with
My brother who many
topics broaches
When they return
I call and say
There's sprayin the cockroaches
Air-Bourn Into the 20th Century
David J Walker
I was one of the soldiers who
Missed the target of the jump
Nine months up in a cloudless sky
Where some were chosen to live
And others to die
Before their boots hit the ground
Where I found myself in a
Mid -20th Century place that
Didn’t need me to be Prole fodder
Although it didn’t matter to a
Volunteer who chose not to be
Anywhere else
Though prepared and yet
Too inexperienced to be scared
Of the dilemmas of the battle of
Those willing to do the killing in
The business of war
I jumped into the 20th century
Where I thought there would
Never be more
than this
At the end of
a Mushroom Cloud
~
Diamond
invaluable, resplendent
shining, shimmering, scintillating
jewelry, gemstones, silica dioxide, blight
scratching, abrading, scarifying
commonplace, begrimed
Gravel
~
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Sparkling Diamonds" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
They are teachers. Conference day.
Many clumped up, together, visiting.
I am my usual lone wolf self, doing what I want.
Realizing how foolish it would be to share my ideas.
When so many others have a need to share theirs.
I stay back in the corner taking notes, listening stealthily.
Writing it down in my mind to be used in my poetry later.
She was so unassuming, they will say.
She looked so innocent, they will think.
She has written a book about us! They will gasp.
Who am I kidding?
No one has recognized themselves yet
Even when I was being as blatant as I dared
Waiting for the wrath of an overbearing aunt
Or an under-caring co-worker.
Even when they did not know, and everyone else did.
They are my fodder.
I am their author.
I laugh.
Silently,
trying to
not show
them my
wolf teeth.
If you are going to attempt a waltz in a spotty teapot costume complete with a lid then do remember not to partake in tea drinking beforehand because the liquid might ruin the material and thus render the authenticity of the costume. People then would not quite believe that the waltz was going to be preformed by a tea pot for the fabric would be unsuitable to maintain an act. Acts admirably administer admirable and administrative actions. And a duty bound club of a chosen cup formation is now passing down the streets of the towns to clink and wave their handles at passers-by. And passers-by are neither Portarlington polestars pulsating, pink pine poles picking pogos. And neither are they decagonal in diameter. Disc like then. Good. Spin spin spin. Great. An electrical elephant prancing in a printed gown with a pointy hat. A peanut is very very inebriated and fell off a cushion. Left angled mirror equals four wheels driving to a dunk. Xxxxx authentication z z znz at thirty six hollering hula hooping hummus humps to twenty one beef cutlets in tight trousers. Z
Bud went out to sea with his friends
The ship started tipping on end
To the lifeboats they ran
like sardines in a can
with women packed under the men!
While some took advantage of this
Some others stole more than a kiss
Bud ran out of luck
His zipper got stuck
and "zip" went his chance for some bliss !
The lifeboat soon hissed in the water
Bud uttered, "There sputters a crater!!!!"
The lifeboats were sinking
and sharks must be thinking
"We'll soon have fresh mutters and fodders" !!
-----------------------------------------
For Carolyn's Contest: Vacation Humor 7/21/14
emerald meadow
rich plush svelte fibrous carpet
cheap trite sheep fodder
With arms spread wide like Ibiza
With my Brighton rock stuck in my throat
And throbbing with a pulse
For all that glitters as it slithers into serpentine
The darker recesses, we waltzed
Feeling common as anachronism
London, meet me there
With my whirlwind of Netherlands
We dine upon the night
As a whore twice would
But more the class as we starve
And dining out upon it for a century
Of smiles and a million degrades
Not too much for a pen fodder in these latter days
Completely stultified
A Question of Cannon Fodder
Drenched in the blood
Wept in raining puddles of agony
The wretched and forgotten
Mud of centuries
He fell by knees and palms
Dead to the feet of living
A Splashing tattoo of scarlet drumming
On the futile embrace
Of histories life spent warring
Driven by battle
Riffle, bomb, bow, lance, cannon, arrow and missile
And to thunderous skies
Where blasted shell burst wreaked its revenge of lies
Turned his eyes
And to heavens stars of eternal bliss
As to permanent darkness
Raised his fists
And cried to the voice
Of perpetual emptiness
And ever unanswered promises
A question of tears
Raised from a single heart inside a human chest
Screamed in hopelessness
“ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS ?”
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