"poetry gruel" or "Oliver's Twist"
Rights of passage of
Writes of asses of
Passing unseen
Censors and
Seen that
Kumquat cum
Ming and it felt
Like something
Something that
Felt so so good
Like Woodie
Religious
Fruit so
Self
In
Tuned
Turned on
And in out of
Touch with what
What what was what
Was
Or never
Has been but
may I have
some more
(no not
s'mores:
those chocolate
and marshmallow
melted
treats)
I was asking
about your
usual
gruel
that stool
you serve
as fodder
and fuel
that may make
me nay make
me neigh as
if a horse of
course pub
lically I won't
speak more
than what
what's
that
Mister
Ed?
Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon--had no fiddle,
The little dog laughed, got smashed as a Poodle,
the cow laughed a little, and found the fiddle,
The cat played to Nero, a pal and hero,
yet smelled things burning while playing the fiddle,
The cat Roam'ed about, thought it was the griddle,
though the cow saw Nero play fire--did fiddle,
Caught in a piddle, while cat Roam'ed a riddle,
dish sought by a poodle, as cow plays fiddle,
the taste of kumquat, the dish adds a riddle,
as things come short, the cat loses the fiddle,
ponders a poodle, a true diddle, diddle,
noise sought--found, twiddle, a dish and a fiddle,
To see such sport--the poodle in the middle,
the dish ran away while spooning the fiddle.
Rush to my house I have kumquats, you said
They're ripe, moist and sweet, I'm right here in bed
An eager beaver, I raced
But my high hopes were misplaced
Your spouse was eating your kumquat instead
An orange Tesla that was bought by Scott
Ran out of go juice right there on the spot
Then was quickly passed
By a Pacer, gassed
And AMC car shaped like a kumquat
Over the ken, a mistake with no karma.
Crawling down the footpath, intense drama.
Out through the castle's crack in the wall.
We're coming down to the creek's squall.
Here's a mill that's sparkling amid sound.
Here is the lake with the froth lullaby.
Here's the hump with pace in the ground.
Wonderful areas, even they are nearby!
Keepsake keenly kisses kindled kumquat.
If I die with a pleasurable juggernaut.
Wise Father, I'd relish some of your gray.
As finale point, forgiveness all the way.
I retain the hid locket safe in a gold case!
Granny's keepsake pearls that I misplace!
Written: September 12, 2021
''K'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The Perfect Omelet
I think I'd like an omelet
so please find me a giant pot,
a half a dozen fresh kumquat
and don't forget the cheese.
Add a jar of jumping fleas,
2 cans of fancy black-eyed-peas,
do not add pepper, or I'll sneeze
and don't forget the beans.
Stir it often, add sardines,
a couple cups of jelly beans,
a bag of Florida tangerines
and don't forget the beets.
Just when it bubbles, add snake meat
and feathers of a parakeet,
a spoon of honey to make it sweet
and don't forget frog legs.
Add some peppermint, two kegs,
a weasel raised in Winnipeg
and most importantly, I beg,
don't forget the eggs.
What's that you say, no eggs today?
I guess I'll put this pot away!
I'd like an omelet the most.
Guess I'll settle for some toast!
In the land someone forgot
I found my Camelot
On a cal-de- sac on a corner lot
In a tree filled plot.
It's my beauty spot.
Probably to a lot
It doesn't look all that hot
Even with blooming forget me nots.
This place has oak trees that have over shot
The driveway some what.
I am thankful there is no dry rot
In the place I bought.
I will plant apricot
And kumquat
Trees in the back of my lot.
The coyotes, eagles, owls, boars, hawks,
Turkeys, and so much more all come for
A visit to the land someone forgot
That I bought.
It's no wonder this place has my heart.
Who would of thought?
This baseball diamond was what I sought.
You Can Never Dance A Tango With A Mango
You can never dance a Tango With a Mango
And the Damson is a drama in the Jive.
And the Grapefruit you can bet
Has not done the Rhumba yet
And that a Kumquat does the Foxtrot
Is entirely false.
The Samba when in season can be entirely pleasin’
But the Mango cannot Tango or dance the Waltz.
10/19/17
For 'Daft' contest by Kevin Shaw
I have a habit of constricting words
with a bitten tongue, chewing up & spitting out
the debris of lost opportunities.
Only to be left with a kumquat discontent.
Her beauty wrapped her identity
around my conscious mind & tongue
& vowed to never part.
These old habits never die.
Her name
was the only remnants I could ever distinguish
from the bits of my regret. Somehow,
still the sweetest taste I've ever known.
Four years
rested on the tip of my tongue.
Four years
struggled on the edge of my lips.
All I could muster up was, "Hi, my name is ..."
You are the twinkle in the life
of elephants and blue giraffes.
You conjure them up in your sleep
and give them lots of ginger treats.
Perhaps you ride on lion's backs
and hear of secret planned attacks
on zebra homes and wallabies.
Perhaps you even hear them sneeze.
Maybe you hop in your canoe
and race the river otters too
to find the crocodile flower
and taste the kumquat, small and sour.
I think that all your dreams are true
A red-backed snail with one slug shoe.
A butterfly who sells perfume
and marbles played in moth cocoons.
Bubbles blown by flying fish
and riding them to wherever you wish.
A swirl of purple pearly walls
to protect all of your lemur calls.
A thousand sunset’s burn below you.
A serenade from Him that knows you.
You dream in delicate patterns deep
of animals you're sure to keep
And care for in the paradise
You'll feed the parrots coconut rice.
and scrub the algae turtle's back
while he chews on a lettuce snack.
You'll nestle in the wild bears den
and help them call the salmon friend.
It's quite a sight to comprehend
A dream to make our dreaming end...