If you’re very lucky, you may find
The type of handyman
Who can take care of the problems
That you now no longer can.
Climb a ladder to the roof? No prob -
It’s what he likes to do
And while up there, he will clean
The cloudy skylights, just for you.
Clogged up gutters? With some gloves
He’ll scoop out leaves and dirt and gunk,
Staying cheerful through it all.
(I know that I’d be in a funk.)
When he’s finished, he will lowball
What he thinks that you should pay.
Do you know of anybody else
Who’d act in that same way?
Handy Randy is this person
Who is capable and fair
And reliable and really nice,
These attributes so rare.
No one scrubbed the hammock.
Or brushed the cabinet.
Distant like lukewarm cinnamon.
Being an astronaut is a chore.
To look at space gunk?
And you think it’s chilly up there.
Oof.
Nope it’s teetering and croaking.
Gah!
Gaslighting you like a fossilized fudge sundae.
Nothing is messy in outer space.
So they didn’t take the bleach along.
In half.
I left therapy with chewed up gum in my mouth, tastes like my own brain goop.
I took my luggage which was really the “not sorry,” in that room.
Jump started.
Brushing my teeth with that therapy gunk.
It tastes like the crust of what a bug spit out.
Those busted up words and tears.
In half.
And both halves are as alive as the inside of a planet lightyears away.
I left therapy and my jaw started tasting good as carrion-gum.
I left therapy.
With an alive secret.
Re-organizing my life feels like re-organizing a pile of putty
Like draining the swamp but you can’t throw it all out
There is no tool to drain the swamp better than your fingers
Over and over again I scoop out gunk looking at past trails
Goop pour from the sides of my hands as I curl back the scoops
Every third scoop I thrust back creates another extra scoop
I begin to laugh at the insanity of this scooping paradigm
Am I really changing the swamp or just shuffling it?
Faith beams into my peripheral and clarity sets
This dance of muck is going exactly according to God plan.
Two defining features
set man apart from sheep
And every other creature
that fly or swim or creep
Have you ever seen an animal
that daily cooks its chow
Humans are the only ones
be it vegies chooks or cow
A magpie with a microwave
that really is a laugh
To eat a roasted worm or two
not ever cut in half
And what is the outcome
of all this processed junk
The plastic fills the oceans
and the land is full of gunk
Sickest of them all
is the man who makes the mess
Disregarding all the species
he couldn't care much less
Is extinction on the cards
for all that does exist
Try hard to treat the world with love
don't be a pessimist
Rad mad hatter batter approach
Kiwi coach who Key did poach
It seems he is beyond reproach
When it really matters in tatters
Castle clatters Ashes hope shatters
Our guys bowling pies on platters
Memes scatter legacies splatters
Egos not heroes BazBull flatters
The urn won’t return with the Mac
Yearn but burn totally out off whack
Concern can’t learn not got the knack
Brendon a torn forlorn tendon on the rack
But will still earn a packet deserves a smack
Bitten not smitten his racket of cricket crack
Wouldn't change tack and deserves the sack
The hack pack giving him a stack of flak
Finally a step back from just all out attack
Too little too late the recurring soundtrack
Whittled & skittled fate well we were cack
Drunk monkeys just sunk spunky flunkies
Lack guts gumption gusto were so slack
The lies spool pulls over our eyes the wool
Must backtrack no crackerjack comeback
Debunk the funk & gist of narcissist gunk junkies
Cool over old school fool rule of Baz (load of ) Bull
Time these harlots & charlatans brought Test best back
Inertia burns like spinach gunk.
Sludge and the things we like.
Everything is spit out horribly.
Like spitting out pie at Thanksgiving on the table.
Inertia waves its way through,
Tunnels that we made for ourselves.
Inertia should be stillness.
But that’s not nothing at all.
What we think is stillness is actually a grain of rice that came to life.
Angry.
Hits like roller skates came loose.
Baited like a wooden statue made of dog treats.
Empty like someone who counts the flecks of gold that don’t exist.
Inertia burns like spinach gunk.
I wish I was more than a rotten apple chunk.
Useless like sandpaper strips in the ocean.
Or a ruler in a pig pen.
I have enough money to count on today.
And no energy to spend anyway.
So maybe I’ll be rotten on an imaginary throne.
When really, I just want pizza alone.
But that pizza guy doesn’t want to see me anymore.
And the toxic smell is making me sore.
Inertia.
One of those things that allows me to sleep all day.
But doing so boldly and kindly.
the shell softly cracks to spoon
letting steam twirl up
yellow yolk gleams like sunrise
firm fluid just gelled-
yet when whites still weep
its yucky
gunk
Mama always said...Son, mind that bump
The road is wide and the load we dump
So, Mama would dare me
But, fear would impair me
I'm Petrified Forest...Forest Gump!
In Vietnam, Lieutenant Dan thunk...
Me and Bubba should just share a bunk
But, the bunk was loaded
And Bubba exploded
I'm Chunks in the Forest...Forest Gunk!
Well, it's inspection time again!
The Boys in the Barracks are wiping,
buffing, spit-polishing, belts and buckles...
Lest they feel the Wrath of their D.I.'s Knuckles!
Now, once they're all prepped and polished,
Some may soon find...their world demolished!
silence falls...Quick footsteps down the hall...
Not, One, Soul, Is, BREATHING...At ALL!
ATTEN-SHUN! BARRACKS READY FOR INSPECTION SIR!
AS YOU WERE CORPORAL! What Have We Got HERE?
You MAGGOTS! Look like something that...
Got PAID!, Got LAID!!, and then...Got...FRAPPE'D!!!
YOU...CALL...YOURSELVES...MARINES???
CUZ, I'VE GOT A BETTER DESCRIPTION!... LADIES!!!
PRIVATE KLUTZ!!!, STEP FORWARD!!!
THIS...is what the H, E, double Hockey Sticks...I MEAN!
What the HELL!...is that...GACK!!!...on your RACK???
It looks like...you Lost your PAY...Playing...POKER!!!
Couldn't AFFORD...to get...LAID!...
Couldn't AFFORD...to Get... FRAPPE'D!!!
Then YOU...told...ALL...The Others...YOUR BROTHERS!!!
YOUUU!...FELT SICK...BUT INSTEAD...WHIPPED YOUR WICK!!!
IF YOU PREFER TO BLOW...GUNK!!!...ON YOUR...BUNK!!!
THEN...SAVE YOUR GRAVY!!!...AND...JOIN...THE...NAVY!!!
AS YOU WERE...PRIVATE!!!
My fingernails are filthy
Looks like they are digging ditches while I sleep
I begin to groom myself like a cat
I do not use my tongue, I use other nails
Nails scraping gunk out of other nails
Hoping to put off my bath until Wednesday
I swim in sorrow, deep and wide,
Against a tide that won’t let me hide.
Each thought is bleak, each stroke is weak,
My breath is weak, I cannot speak.
If I stop to think, I start to sink.
My eyes glue shut if I blink.
I'm slunk in a glum, glug slug of gunk.
Stuck in the oooze of blues, I'm sunk.
My arms grow weary, my eyes are teary.
My fate is bleary, dreary, weary.
For grief is a sea, land-locked in self pity,
In which we wallow, until we swallow, nitty-gritty.
Feeling kinda cruddy, yup, that's the word
Too many fries, too many burgs
When will I learn I can't handle that stuff
Stomach rebels, starts causing a fuss
Once could eat nails and all kinds of gunk
Now I eat mush and ground junk
My teeth are all gone, can't chew anymore
Things go down whole, my tummy gets sore
So such is the life of this senior type dude
Head for the washroom, each time I eat food
Food disappears like famous greased lightning
Or I sit there for hours, really quite frightening
Irregularity's my name, I'm “IRREG” for short
Hope an operation, I don't have to resort
An artificial esophagus transplanted in me
So I can go regular like it once used to be
Oh for the days when I could eat all that junk
Those days are gone, who woulda thunk
That one day I'd be eating my morning cereal
Laced with Metamucil or some such material!
Why are you sitting here playing with your shadows?
Your bitter sadness is building too much gunk inside your mind.
Let the past go.
Wash away your tears and let the pain flow.
Scrub each thorn till it spills, leave them hollow.
Grit down your teeth; drag a match against the haze,
Let it split open, watch it dance in a maze.
Lips cracking, fingers numb, but my pulse still hums.
A drowning ache in the echo chamber of a hollow.
(C) CRAIG J. BURT & GilaVamp 10/25/24
I can churn stomachs, with a stench of truth
An abscess filled with maggots, pus profuse
As I feed off gunk, new nerve ends take root
Raw language in my words, not gross abuse
Yes! I am disgust, old wounds fear my fruit
To late for contest
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