Long Chock full Poems
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Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or *****
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
In summer re: I haint getting undressed!
Hence donning entire wardrobe,
Saint Nick outfit including,
while trumpeting think spring
argh only about four plus months away
lest some big bird willingly
takes me under their wing
undiscovered since I won't be peaking,
nor quacking duck like
prompts yours truly xing
to tropical rainforest
playing Tarzan and swing
from a vine, while Jane and Cheetah
(sometimes billed as
Cheetah, Cheta, and Chita)
spend hours shopping
upon returning home stock
pantry and house zing
cupboards stacked chock full of
goodies fit for average king doubling
up as Santa Claus gaining
weight courtesy snack foods like
Yodels, Little Debbies, Ring Ding...
thence outsize tummy doth happily sing
Christmas Carols practicing
all year round, especially
hoe hoe hoe wing
nsync with crops germinating
bending, stooping, watering... weeding
abiding techniques organic farming
naturally whenever possible mission avoiding
distributing, generating, impacting
ecological damage, viz carbon footprint
cheerily, humorously proselytizing
landlubbers (land lovers with lisp)
courtesy sweat of one's brow reaping
robust healthy crops - only allowing
enabling, and employing...
eco-friendly deterrents
bajillion green thumbs up
approved by Greta Thunberg
greenlighting her inspiration
to awaken global warming
hence first dibs when harvesting
season this after she subtly,
nonchalantly, enviously... seen eyeing
analogous vis a vis
hungry critters salivating
(think Pavlov's dog)
to savor NON GMO eye watering
delectable, honorable, laudable...
yumzook produce bespeaking
please help yourself
fast forward months later finding
das overly dressed mistir shivering
despite heavily bundled
nature's vegetarian smorgasbord
brutal coldspell faintly recalling
pitch perfect weather eventually returning.
My life has been chock-full of rites of passage
From rising up through the ranks of Scouting
To completing all the grades and degrees
Of formal schooling
To the challenge and discovery
Of dangerous adventure sports
And the many misadventures they naturally provide.
It’s included being initiated into
And doing strenuous religious disciplines
And the good old all-American discipline
Of raising and supporting a family.
It’s also included the pain and suffering
Of life-threatening injuries and accidents
And heart-threatening divorces.
But in all of this, looking back in retirement,
I’m not sure I ever got a complete rite of passage experience.
Did I somehow miss a step
Or feel the next level would give
What the last hadn’t?
Was there an insatiable need for more,
Bigger, better, more powerful hits of Life
To prepare me for what,
A bigger scope and experience of Living?
Was I stuck, and am I still,
In some arrested development;
Part way out of a shell, cracked but hard as iron
A soul confused by what it means to manifest?
Maybe it wasn’t just a matter of becoming
A more mature person
As much as a more complete being,
One whose idea of complete while incomplete
Is ever expanding.
From the perspective of the Infinite
What is an appropriate Rite of Passage?
From the perspective of God
What is the step we have to take
To be complete?
Complete surrender, complete realization,
Complete and perfect communion
Effort and release
To complete the path we youthfully took up in vain
Before we ever could conceive
It is, and always has been, without end…
(8/9/26)
Ah at last camaraderie restored within the Oval Office!
Whew... now with president er... Chief
tenderloin hoof and mouth
knick knack paddywhack shah row'n nah
diseased Trumpen proletariat -
ever so..., (think huck Cain Abel) -
phloem with his tree men diss
anti semitic, biased,
cutthroat dagger type bull leaf
eager, ready and willing
to give Democrats endless good grief,
(a substantial Casanova chock full
of McDonald's fast food beef),
that wily rotten thief
(machiavellian hedonistic commander
with playboy special penchant
to lend wind blow dried hair courtesy queef),
his princely (Jared jarhead) reign no end,
(I reckon at least bajillion years) in sight,
yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief
the meritocratically jaded, general electorate,
who try bringing good things to life - reef
fur to moost recent impeachment acquittal
asthma tongue in cheek persiflage leitmotif.
All Joe king ass hide, I really dread
locked worst case forty sixth oaf with
absolute zero governmental effective cred,
which scariest horror story scenario...
unfathomable, incomprehensible, amenable
to coon sitter seriously joining grateful dead
volunteering bon voyage euthanasia led
by tried and true straight
and narrow grim reaper
me more than willing
to enlist underground
grassroots movement instead
populated courtesy dark shadows
lovely numbskulls and crossbones
think Zombies patrolling
devoid of talking head,
nonetheless not frightening compared
to heir apparent of Fred,
whose real estate Mogul prodigal son
on warpath to shred
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
no matter *****sapiens
turning planet Earth,
wind and fire more'n politically blood red!
After papa succumbed
to congestive heart failure
October 7th, 2020 yours truly
neglected fulfilling promised score.
I did shirk maintaining bond
with youngest sister
who when a boy especially fond
regarding said sibling
whereat myself and and Shari Todd
played cat and mouse
chasing each other to pond
necessitating both of us to traverse
wooded thicket simultaneously
waving our magic wand.
Boyhood of mine chock full of memories
framing me and most favorite playmate
requiring keen eye to distinguish
one scrawny little lad no one would debate
impossible mission to discern
thirty three month age difference,
cuz we appeared to naked eye
as identical twins.
Flickering images of yesteryear
pepper memory faculty where
froze frieze in time
trigger an errant tear
trickling down cheek,
when impish gonif nsync
with me comprised pair
of inseparable Harris offspring
in sum re: portrayed analogy
likened to everyday idyllically kleer
pitch perfect courtesy
weatherman/woman maker engineer.
Our late father though cremated
would if alive furrow ashen brow
aware how Matthew Scott remiss
and no longer doth bother
(essentially incommunicado between
himself and kid sister
ever since she left home
at age seventeen)
for greener pastures,
which meadow (for success -
defined as transcending
her inherent limitations)
sowed the seeds
of her life reaped with utmost
plentitude of hardihood.
Her sixty first birthday
arrives six days from today
(October eleventh two thousand
and twenty two) - decades spanned
with nary acknowledgement
expressed courtesy sole brother manned
existence floundering like a fish
in treacherous waters
barely gasping breath
as he felt afflicted with chronic anxiety
emotionally whipsawed hither and yon
to and fro across
unwritten pages of his life.
Yours truly attests feeling aghast
once upon a time resorting
to self starvation initially omitting breakfast
subsequently forgoing every meal
prepubescence witnessed absent enthusiast
for livingsocial hence,
my death I chose to forecast
fortunately no coroner
called to perform autopsy inquest
about which severe
psychological suicidal ambition I jest.
When yesterday left, today I'm a little right.
This is a tad bereft, yet full with almight.
Misconceptions or misinterpretations, either way it's confusion.
Dreaming of incarnations, and snarled in the illusion.
Mass produced Catholics, unforgotten inside their cathedral.
Discovered some of the relics,
Ancient talisman are unbelievable.
Go forth into the tomb,
Open the sarcophagus, let the rancid stench consume.
Gathering up all that is charmed,
Born inside the depleted after birth.
This does not meant to be alarmed,
However it's been full of its worth.
Die another time, live in today.
Write another rhyme, lines lined word play.
Shaman type, opening the 3rd eye.
Extracted and ripe, breathe to see thru the lie.
Contradiction is a great way to open minds,
Salvation is not a problem unless you are in their binds.
Bells chime and chime, before you can get away with it.
In time covered in lime, and I"m chock-full of grit.
Ready to go to the next, yes I've been there before.
Sometimes just a little vexed, benumbed to the core of my lore.
And as always plum rotten to the core..
I have rules for my writing, believe it or not and as a med-student, for instance, I try to avoid a lot of concrete medical lexis.
I’m learning things, medical things, like how our bodies are chock-full of “gooey gopher guts,” and the last thing I want is some poor reader upchucking in their morning joe.
tweakments is a term for those thousands of tiny surgical enhancements that people with a little disposable cash are using to keep age in abeyance or Instagram impress.
Fixing those tweakments, over-done or overdue, has created
something we call the ‘beauty repair’ economy.
Which involves reversing earlier treatments, like un-botoxing,
de-fillering and un-tattooing - the side-effects of old beauty booms.
Let’s wax poetic...
The wrinkled corners, botox injected
the boobies that gravity hath wrecked
the pump which kept the thing erect
they’re not just mending work inept
or longterm add-ons that become defective
they're aesthetic treatments that age like damage.
Trends can gradually become troublesome
needing rehabilitating and reconstruction
reclamation, restoration or body remodeling
these procedures have few deductibles
but they fuel the beauty repair economy.
Correcting or managing the stacking side-effects
of Ozempic (hair and face) or leaky butt implants
cost way more money than you might expect
to fix the Instagram fads that no longer impress
Beauty ‘ideals’ have always been moving targets,
and now they’ve morphed into the beauty repair market.
.
.
songs for this:
Revolution by MonaLisa Twins
Beautiful by Triangle Sun
Dr. Wanna Do by Caro Emerald
.
.
upchuck = experience emesis
tweakments = small surgical beauty treatments that tend to spiral out of control.
The Churches are empty!
But the bars are chock full?
Walmart, almost a new religion
unto itself.
It's parishioners, adoring cheap
junk on its shelves!
Few would even think to contribute
to any ministry.
But spend thousands on hair dyes,
and cosmetic dentistry.
We adore our bodies more than God.
He is old-hat, while we are so mod.
We attend sporting events, like mad,
true addictive clods.
The Bible? Oh, my, that is terribly old
school.
We think Google is God and provides
us with ultimate truth and rules.
5/9/2019
Imagine!!
Spending each day of your very limited life.
Communicating only at one poetry site?
They only respond to those who read them?
How selfish~ radioactive poets, ahem!
They’d drop atom bombs on people’s delicate souls.
People you believed that cared, have turned to coal!
Theirs acts are so specious, so some poets absolutely will fold.
They were foolish to believe, that you had a heart of gold.
We never know what situation in life another poet faces.
Gods of letters, we, drop them from our good graces?
Those who shared their hearts with you…
Mistakenly, you thought, were a friend that was true?
Life is chock full of painful, great lessons to learn.
They won’t kill you…enjoy the warm heartburn!!
Ignorant punches will never, ever get you down.
They give you strength and dignity to carry on.
So pen…but never necessarily to please.
Godspeed! Now rise, get off your knees!
Great poets pen of things that matter to them!
Of hope and fantasy, and each night, whisper, Amen!
"The only thing worse than a liar is a liar that's also a hypocrite!" ~ Tennessee Williams
My what a lovely presentation ~
colourful welcoming smiles and delights.
You are a beautiful piñata,
a party on the outside,
chock full of surprises inside.
An alluring shell so inviting.
Don’t crack it open you’ll be alright.
Contents are anything but pretty.
I was happy living with the illusion
but now that I know what’s inside
I find the exterior not so appealing.
I can’t unknow what I now know.
Nonetheless let the party continue.
Let the piñata sway in the sun,
no way I want to burst that open.
Still it brings me reminiscings of happiness
to see the beauty that once was.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines of 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025