Long Spongy Poems
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Winter fetches a hillock of the wind and downpour.
Exacerbating people to mislay their blight core.
Peculiar demesne keepers are utterly aroused.
While tiny dwellings, slums are bulldozed.
Flush breaks out among the poorest of the poor.
Thoroughly jiggling, they shiver in the spongy cure.
None of the people around me appear to descry them.
They are enduring dull, agonizing demise mayhem.
In the midst of the winters harshest season,
The scenery is desolate, and homes sap blacken.
Snow inversely overwhelms everything.
Making hills that are huge and transcending.
People in neediness succumb to the winter.
While we continue to offer a hefty fee for a heater,
We tuck ourselves into our cozy beds for the night.
People have stuck to death all around from frostbite.
Relish life by humming songs of love every day.
I'm unconcerned if it's winter or summer ray.
The universe is a child's hand on your shoulder.
When life is volatile, death lacks uniqueness jolter.
Written: January 15, 2022
Winter Wonders Within Nature Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
"The clouds spill a thousand secrets"
in transitional transient forms
Your touch is like the spongy clouds
blessing me bountifully with brazen benevolence
"Melt my tears into your sweet fire"
for I'm daringly, defiantly "love-drunk on desire"
You can even "seduce the stars without a script..."
Who am I to escape your emerald eyes?
Like a moth drawn to the incandescent candle
I faithfully flutter around your fervent fulgence
You are my amber ambrosia
enveloping me with your amorous aroma
I dance dreamily in dandelion stardust
for you are my dearest, dashing, daring darling
We'll learn life's lavender lessons in tandem
Our souls are intricately interlaced and intertwined
Ruby passion sizzles...
when our hearts are in hazel harmony
Our mutual understanding is unfortunately understated
If you're the sea, I'm the sand
lapping your lapis lazuli waves with my love
We're crocheted cohesively for forevermore
our affection for the endless eternity
our adoration and admiration will never die
We possess an inseparable intimacy
immeasurable immortal imprints
impressed upon this universe
~ Hyacinth hearts held together even in heaven ~
Cup Cake Insurrection
Evidence mounts as cup cakes bake in ovens
Camouflaged in chocolate brown
Revolutions start this way they say
Secured, metallic ready in tin pans waiting
375 degrees transformed
To something spongy to the touch
Perhaps we are over thinking this too much
Cup cakes are not the enemy, not out to get us
No one ever died of deliciousness I trust
Only a few pounds gained from wolfing down too many
Rising up while baking is not an uprising or revolt I'm told
They don't carry concealed weapons to my recollection
Or topple monarchies or kill government officials… I think
Topped with sugar icing, colorful sprinkles, innocent and happy
Deep inside I suspect strange things are happening
Cup cakes baked outside our country
Come here with unknown ingredients
Want citizenship with no visas
It is hard to keep the peace with foreign recipes
Cup cakes don't really understand our ways
While baking in tin pans
I'm lost in an unforgiving jungle!
The trail I'm following is sporadic and confusing
and as the undergrowth closes in, it's suffocating;
making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The high humidity leaves me drenched in sweat:
the heat is unbearable, my every muscle screams.
Panic is spreading!
Chills creep up my spine,
and I taste fear's bitter dregs on my tongue:
as its pungent odor wafts from every pore.
Like a mantra, I keep repeating a desperate prayer:
"Please, God, save me."
The ground under my feet feels spongy,
and I hear the rustle of hidden terrors in the leaf debris.
Whatever possessed me to attempt this hike?
As darkness descends, the dense canopy entombs me.
My face is a scarlet mask of scratches:
and acid tears burn my cheeks!
The pounding beat of my heart is overpowering:
and I collapse into a sobbing heap.
Fear stalks my dreams in an exhaustive sleep;
unsure if I'll ever awaken:
or even wish to.
“Sweet Cheeks”
by Positive Mark
There was a time when I’d still buy a mango,
not in remembrance of you, but most definitely in celebration.
Sweet cheeks,
with the doors locked.
Each grip
was a cork popped.
Consequences mixed with the nectar in your kisses.
Mouths full of forbidden fruit, each time the serpent hisses.
Walls are patched in old huts, and temperature increases.
The amputated left to bawl, and howl like other species.
The moth-adjusted breeze came from the sway of slender hips.
The energy was transferred through a pair of spongy lips.
A shrimp boat at a sports bar, and a stick of marijuana
can turn an SUV back seat into a leather sauna.
A curse, caught in a gust of wind, can turn wild spirits loose.
They laughed each time your kisses filled my mouth with mango juice.
At times,
I’d buy a mango,
At times,
I’d speak your name.
The rum would slur your syllables.
I’d readjust my aim.
Immeasurable passion kept the two rogue lovers warm.
Caught in Dante’s Inferno, now we’re hurled by vicious storms.
I felt as if that fruit would manifest your swift return,
but no amount of sweetness could deter the scathing burn.
These days I sit in neon rooms,
when darkness steals my day.
The mangos are no longer here.
I fight another day.
What Gets My Goat - By Noah Kidding
Though I shy away from drink,
an unexpected case
of DT's finds this ace
of spades (also known as the spadille)
bleating heart liberal,
airing how disgrace
full the Tommyknocker of zee prez
doth aspire with
Desperation toward efface
sing outspoken, knowledgeable,
intelligent, et cetera grace
full Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, sans
The Shining eyes of dragon light,
and self deluded Dreamcatcher
importance bulwark brace
sing, bullying, and spewing
pot shot vitriol toward
said neophyte lace
sing his blather with
spongy bobbing parrot head
of his papa, who hoop fully gets
ousted by Democratic
candidate from place
de resistance on pedestal,
he haughtily perches touting
himself as superior race,
aye pray to dog his trace
as human wrecking ball
expunged and reprehensible
brewed den mean ways vanishes
upon election day
November 3rd, 2020,
and his ilk (henchmen
one and all) in vase
sieve like Kudzu, or
other aggressive choke
king courtesy intolerable, inhospitable,
and ineradicable testy,
pesky, and grumpy folk
especially one bearded
Dudley Doright dressed dude
with gray flecks poke
king the brown grizzle
blindingly shimmering from
"FAKE" filal smoke
and mirrors Junior Firestarter
slicked back hair doo evokes a joke
lame Kujo, albeit
cheap tricks up pa's city
faux Taj Mahal sleeve!
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
I like my fungi
sauteed in butter
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.
I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills,
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes
and colours that range
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.
But most spectacular
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network
of fibres thinner
than a human hair,
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients
to hungry roots
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.
Sacred Gratitude
Rockin and Rollin inside my soul
Beckoning musical notes float within me
My heart surrenders and opens
Expanding
When the world outside dances in tension
Feeling bleak and unforgiving
I am grateful to receive
Simple nuances of pure magic
Breathing into my being
Allowing a journey to the place
Between here and now
Standing in dense forest
I approach one of the gentle giants
Her redwood bark burned and blackened
Fires and history tattooing her skin
Fury red growth emerging
Her new coat of velvet delight
Limey baby branches
Make their way to the air
Thirsty for light
A deep hollow near her base
Where I can walk inside
Blackness..soft spongy bark
Touches my fingertips
A dreamy pause
Almost silent
An internal space
Quiet gratitude as I look up.. up..up
Hundreds of feet to a circle of light
Glimmering above
Sunlight trickles in
Kissing my eyelids
Diamond dust reveals
Her burnt underbelly
I stretch my arms up high above me
Sliding them into the sleeves
Of her gigantic branches
As I become her
Arms...limbs full...stretch.. radiating
Rising up ...my head tall
Viewing nature’s mesmerizing tapestry
Woven yellows and greens
Meadows, springs, water lapping nearby
Echoes of bird calls
A white snowy owl lands on my limb
Quiet gratitude as I see her blink
Her wise old eyes
Rotating her white feathered head
Counterclockwise so she may see
The entire circumference
Of her surroundings
Oh dear owl
Sister of the universe
I hear your silent whispers
Feed my soul with your insight and wisdom
I am grateful for your guidance
As I journey through subtleties
Of acceptance, challenge, and bliss
Arriving at compassion
For life and for others
Clearly this is not a scheduled flight
A rhinoceros is falling from the sky
Outer space is no place for rhinos
Traveling nearly at the speed of light
We have no right to question why
This animal is not made for flying
Surrounds himself with sponges for protection
Why not cotton, parachutes and prophylactics
No place to rest its head or feet you know
Falling rapidly, sleep becomes impossible
Sheep eating grass below are not worth counting
Unaware of dangers to be encountered from above
Sweet dreams my little spongy friend from space
Overweight alien with no documents
Making an illegal entry into the United States
Should someone inform authorities of this collision
Or next of kin or at least the PETA people
This might be some form of cruelty
Time will tell on impact
Good-bye for now