He plops on a lily pad
like it’s a cushy spa chair,
wiggling his knobby green toes
and announcing to no one,
“Must be time for a mani/pedi.”
He uncaps the polish,
a shade called Pink Swampy Chic~
and paints each stubby digit
with the concentration of a surgeon
and the vanity of a bullfrog
who knows he’s a looker
if only in his own mind.
By the time he’s done,
the pond is shimmering
with reflections of ten tiny fuschia toes
and a frog who believes
beauty is mostly attitude
and a steady hand.
An engineer's uniform
sparked a child's imagination,
and, one strange and early morn,
he was in a railway station.
An old man lost in reverie,
couldn't begin to understand.
His cloudy eyes could barely see
a young lad's outstretched hand.
There, beneath a station clock,
by knobby cane, supported,
all choked up, he couldn't talk -
how was he here transported?
His railway watch, long unused,
hung from a chain of gold.
Thro' stained-glass windows' light diffused,
he saw a palm outstretched to hold.
Then, like a railroad car on a mobius strip,
a child woke up from a mystic dream,
as an old man dropped in the child's grip,
a watch, and vanished, dead, like steam.
For Chloe, three slices of black Forrest Ham.
Her tired meows that ache, her kitten teeth blackened
And I pet her with a heroin chic hand.
I hear of children with hair that falls out like broom straw,
Lilac bruises littering their knobby knees
And I hear that they are forgotten in 2008.
We are adults now, for those that didn't perish
But we may still bounce from hotel to shelter
Or take cover in the Churches for sinners.
I still think of that feline friend.
The memory jolts me there, every night.
It is all I have; all I can give.
You see that was my ration for the day
And the hunger is eating my ribs.
Mother, she gives Chloe the iron boot
By tossing her to the Giant wilderness
I sob for what feels like fifty lifetimes.
I never see Little Chloe again.
(5-21-26 For "Snapshots of a Night Scene" Contest Sponsor - Nette Onclaud)
Dusk slowly approaches, as their energy finally begins to wane. Half flat soccer balls
speedily sent down a grassless, asphalt field by crooked, knobby sticks.
Stubby chunks of chalk - pink, yellow, blue, white. Hopscotch squares already fading
Frayed jump ropes swinging up, around, and down,
their satisfying soft smacks on the ground, keeping rhythm.
Delighted squeals of joy, laughter, calling out of names to friends, classmates, neighbors, siblings...
Somehow, this view left me remembering
my days of young, pondering the timeless satisfactions and yearnings of youth.
Gentle raindrops begin to splat red and orange leaves, partially painted the weed-lined pavement
Small shadows scatter and go wherever it is they go when the night sets in.
'Twas in London town (as I recall).
I was just a boy so small.
An egg sat smugly on a wall,
by the name of Mr. Dumpty.
Perhaps, it was Spring or early Fall,
that he held me in his thrall,
the gentleman, I soon would call
(fondly), my friend, Humpty.
Oh, how we would pontificate,
those arms would wildly gesticulate
Perhaps, I could anticipate,
he would be kaput.
But my oval friend with roundish butt,
my warning, he would then rebut,
saying, "fiddle dee dee and tut, tut, tut".
Trouble was afoot.
Perhaps, as he swayed in the breeze,
with spindly legs and knobby knees,
if he'd have listened to my pleas,
I'd have a different story.
Can one depend upon a horse,
with feet, but with no hands, of course,
to mend the consequence of force,
unquestionably gory?
It was so many years ago,
years of counseling, I'd undergo -
perhaps, I threw just a little low
to my friend Humpty.
'Twas in London town (as I recall).
I was just a boy so small.
when I tossed him that ball,
saying "Catch it, Mr. Dumpty"
Pitifully, he calls her again and again
Brando yelling, "STELLA" from his knees.
Like he ever meant something to her...
Stop groveling like a fool. She was a tease.
She doesn't come from Kansas or Oz
and Sunnybrook Farm is make believe.
Stop shouting her name. For crying out loud.
Shed your tears somewhere else if you grieve.
She left long ago on a streetcar to get away.
It's your fault she's gone. You and your drama.
You killed her desire. That's what she said.
The conflicts you created left her in trauma.
You were the spider who sat down beside her,
the tiny creature that was much too hairy.
You brazenly acted as if you were a king,
but there's nothing about you that's scary.
After all this time, still blubbering for Stella?
You're a weeping wimp and it's pathetic
how you demean yourself time after time.
No one cares because you're not empathetic.
She waved farewell and made your life hell.
So, get off your knobby knees, Marlon.
Alice doesn't live here anymore. She left
and no longer wants to call you, 'Darlin.'
sponsor : Constance La France
29.9.25
Placed : 3rd Standard Contest
_____________________
“Love is the Supreme Artist Unseen” Poet
with a silent kiss does sperm enter egg
butterfly fondle pollen in morning dew
starling swallow caterpillar askew
with silent kiss does sunbeam caress window sill
spoon dips shallot soup with gentle will
waves ripple shelly shoreline in thrill ~
with a silent kiss does newborn lick nipple
cloud embraces cloud, fluff huffed ripple
bud petal unfurls to air in dare
wrinkled stranded beggar’s knobby hand
smooch offered seeded loaf, prime brand
hands warm curl steering wheel, feel genteel
anchor lands on jewelled ocean floor
with silent kiss does sewing needle pierce
linen white, knife smear butter delight
dolphin fin rouse whale tail, ship returns lipping
the silent kiss but Love in polar need
destined to meet in embosom’s clasp
receiver with giver unmasked grasp
~~~~~
I want to go to Virginia
With a girl named Virginia.
Feel the sullen breeze cross my face,
Surf over the knobby contour of my nose,
Then whiz past my ear as I hold Virginia close.
Her honeysuckle shampoo
Permeating my brain.
Both sets of our eyes gaze riverward,
Wondering if the dream had started
Or is this the magical reality
We forever wished for.
With my phaser on stun clipped at my side
We kept on along the water’s edge
Hand-in-hand. Our skin dry, warm,
And glowing, with our heads full of
Miracles and our hearts
In serene syncopation.
It must have been made
and rejected
in times grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.
This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
soot seared across burnt eyeglasses,
blackened bones,
for after the gas came the flames.
Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, smithereens
dragged across a blind stone floor.
This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.
There is always something left
after the unthinkable,
always some spicule of irregularity,
detritus to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.
The Gates of Hades
today I visited your Grave my love
I wasn’t sure if you noticed
this cemetery is in a Godforsaken place
the knobby old weeping willows
lend a Ghostly tenor to the site
the wind blowing through the trees
makes a Groaning sound or
perhaps it is just my imagination
I am still Grief-stricken since
that time ten years ago when
your soul was taken from me
and lifted to heaven on Gossamer wings
I shall never forget you until
my time comes
fireflies
dispel omens
of the dark black hills
of knots
of knobby toads
nattering evils
Mama’s chili pot put out a call
Wanting a variety of beans in the fall
Forty-nine types of beans showed up in all
Auditions were conducted by me and Saul
Lima beans were boring, dull and bland.
Chili beans are always close at hand.
Pork and beans were stuck up and snobby.
Garbanzo beans were hard and knobby.
We finally chose six types of beans.
Together they made the chili fit for queens.
Mama’s chili was better than ever before.
We kicked the limas and garbanzos out the door.
A rust-eaten frame, a canvas of scars,
A weathered old truck, a king of the bars.
Its paint, once a gleam, now faded and worn,
Like a story told, a lesson to be born.
The tailgate hangs loose, a creak in its swing,
A testament to loads it has borne and will bring.
The tires are knobby, hardened with grit,
From roads less traveled, a seasoned spirit.
The engine, a rumble, a groan and a sigh,
A symphony of power, reaching for the sky.
Its windows are cracked, with stories untold,
Of journeys taken, in sun and in cold.
Inside, a worn seat, a leather embrace,
The scent of old grease, in every space.
A dashboard of dials, with needles that stray,
Whispering secrets, from yesterday.
This beat-up pickup, a soul in its steel,
A faithful companion, a friend that's real.
It carries the weight of life, with a hardy grace,
A symbol of resilience, in time and in space.
Chocolate Cosmos is said to be a flower unique,
My bone might be white, and my blood might be red like others,
My uniqueness, like the pole star, is always at its peak,
I set up my goals; I safeguard my needs on my druthers,
Out-of-the-box thinking, truthfully yet, is my hobby,
Love and truth, like flesh and blood, are my stamina and strength;
I allow my words, deeds, and actions straight, without knobby,
Equilibrium of physique and psyche goes full length...!
I have God-given knowledge, skills, attitudes, and beliefs,
Tolerance is my blood; veins are the world's differences;
I feel joy, like a friend, in erasing other's griefs,
With bridges of love, I lessen fraternal distances...!
Standing out from the crowd with my true self, I grow higher,
Sense of contentment, with the fullness of life, I acquire...!!!
They are aged, decrepit, seriously weird old crones Gladys said
I cannot believe they are alive, they probably should be dead
She is the kind of Alzheimer’s lady who says whatever is in her head
She is as crazy as any of the rest of us, agreed a loony bird named Ed.
Two of us kept quiet, for we did not think we were as weird as she.
We whispered about Gladys and were not kind about her knobby knee.
We hissed around about Ed, as those with eyes could clearly see.
At least we don’t look that old! Said my friend McDig MacGee.
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