Long Toothpicks Poems
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I’ve heard a few lovebirds singing the same
sweet song to each other amongst the
white and pink blossoms of spring.
“I love you so much I want to put you in my pocket”
they sing to one another. Their song sounds
shrill to me.
I can only imagine folding my sweet love up
like so many notes passed in grade school
classrooms, and tucking her away
in my pocket to live alongside crumbs
and lint and cigarettes and toothpicks.
Shouldn’t she go somewhere better than my pocket?
If I loved her I’d at least let her live under hat or in
my bookbag where there’s much more
room and far less itchy crumbs and sharpened sticks.
Acupuncture
A local acupuncturist could not conceive,
Of why, about acupuncture, I did not believe.
My first thought was, where do I begin?
So I looked at her with a wide grin,
And started a monologue I’d given before,
And usually ends with their anger galore.
Chinese, Japanese, Viet Namese or Thai?
They’re all quite different and decry,
All the others as dziggetai.
The meridians are fake, they do not exist.
Acupuncturists playing the fantasist.
But here’s the point, this is the home run.
Toothpicks work and the job gets well done.
Sham acupuncture it’s called and it works just as well,
As regular acupuncture and this should tell,
You just how fake acupuncture really is.
But practitioners still must support their biz.
So ask them of papers published that show,
Definite effects of this treatment they know.
Blank is all you ever get.
There are no studies as of yet.
They’ll always say more research is needed.
But nothing ever comes. It’s always defeated.
Every follow-up that tightens the protocol,
Negative results are all that befall.
Ancient? Not really. Look what they used.
There were no needles and now you’re confused.
You can find them online and they’re actually blades.
They were bleeding people, like all medical trades.
the fire's out.
the hearth is stone cold.
even the wick was spent.
the ominous echo booming off
the walls was enough
to rattle the door with an unoiled hinge
winds whip like a raging winter storm
trees snap like toothpicks.
ice build up on knees
it's the gnashing of teeth
sawing through bone on flint.
a pathetic attempt to spark.
no bargaining.
no salvation.
nothing but the grind
when there's no more jaw to chew
crowns tumble onto the floor
only to reveal seeds.
biting into the fruit,
kicked out by the stone.
rolling back alone
all of the lies that you told?
it's time to pay the foul
a debt.
a regret. .
it's the gnashing of teeth
d i s c o n n e c t i n g.
decaying friendship.
the loneliness
scraps of jagged salt meals
you'll never eat
did I leave that stove on?
no, don't think about that
it's just grinding
with no oil.
gums begin to tear
as you realize
that you've been biting
your tongue
the whole time....
damn!
Every friggin day
mother hen runs amuck,
while all chicken's
beady eyes appear awestruck
drawing particular
agitation, irritation, perturbation...
of Punxsutawney (Doctor) Phil
(well grounded) woodchuck,
the latter glaring at henpecked
yours truly rifled
tail feathered rooster,
whether communicating
nonverbal sympathy
towards me, a garden variety
Gallus gallus domesticus dumbstruck,
who doth make feeble attempt
albeit without explaining
rhyme or reason
poetic, plaintive, pathetic... cluck,
regarding doomed pyrrhic victory
against incessant cackling
more fowl and upset
than goosed duck,
she that casus belli hideous source
feels cooped up bred to lay eggs
absent any pleasure to fµç*
out her tail feathers fin
hushed yoked for sole purpose
mutter under beak, what the "huck"
subsequently, she takes frustration
buzzfeeding me 'bout chained to
chicken feed to earn
breeder (yours truly) favorable luck
yielding "FAKE" farmer
Matthew Scott Harris megabuck
regarding top quality accolades
raves subsequently generate
he invariably feels moonstruck
matter of fact expanded business
necessitating workers to drive
state of the art rigorous motortruck
the missus decries mistreatment
scratching thru mire and muck
to fill little beasts in belly,
eventually retired, repurposed
relieved invariably chef
buoy or gull hardy sole destiny,
whereby one or another
hired hand will gingerly pluck
every spruced, primped,
groomed... feather
in short shrift priming
precious helpless creature,
(who bemoans lack
of state bird status)
into slaughterhouse five
butchered, filleted (maybe), quartered...
routed to household kitchen
gamely served at potluck
toothpicks applied to teeth
loosening gristle unstuck
after appetites satiated
belt unbuckled years ago
purchased before Sears Roebuck
shuttered stores, plus
bought linens and things
comfortable pillow perfect to tuck
under drowsy sudden sleepy head
unaware coop d'etat mutiny hatched,
whereby sly fox weasels him/
herself to guard henhouse
finding petrified slack beaked
AC/DC powered chicken coop,
where prating poultry thunderstruck.
Ethiopia was easy to chew right through
African jungles taste delicious yum
Biodiversity treasure-troves devoured
No splintered aftertaste or toothpicks left
Eating Australia was a challenge
Don't want to hurt no kangaroos
I wish I had a bigger mouth for Europe
To cover bushes and lumber in one chomp
Rain in South America is like salad dressing
Makes me famished as trees vanish one by one
Canopy after canopy drop
This place is too alien for me
Sand has always been my favorite snack
I'm moving on to dryer spots
When I finish with this world real soon
It's off to other planets to consume
The mess is creeping up into my guts
Giving me a punch. I turn my cheek so it does not slap me.
Clutter tightens the unhappy bands around my heart.
Makes me feel depressed, lethargic.
Energy level is a thousand past zero.
I am helpless now. Stagnant. Immobile.
Overwhelmed, I feel myself shut down.
What would you do it this was your mess? Internal voice asks me.
This irritates me because it IS my mess.
There is caramel corn glued to the end table.
It lies under a pile of toothpicks, aspirin bottles, and eyeglasses.
Magazines, a dictionary, and a half cup of moldy tea.
There could be a family of porcupines in there somewhere.
How about we start small? The voice asks.
I did not think it would be possible to shut me down any harder but it is.
It takes me a month to finally get a knife and scrape up the caramel corn.
In fifteen minutes the entire table is clean.
I feel younger and happier than I have in six months.
I feel alive.
Want to start on the kitchen? The voice asks.
I shut down quickly.
Easter morning brings stress
asking for God's advice
Three-hour drive to parents
asking for God's patience
slow traffic and detours
asking for God's guidance
I will be ready to turn around
asking God to just get us there
So relieved when we arrive
I'll be hungry and tired
tons of food will await us
brightly colored eggs
sister's homemade dressing
dad's homemade peanut butter pie
sister's chicken
mom's coleslaw
my store-bought king's Hawaiian rolls
car ride home will be interesting
eyes will be propped open with toothpicks
belly will be hitting steering wheel
and I will be ready for bed!
Easter poetry contest
Regina McIntosh
April 1, 2022
even
more so
today what's
said must be to what
whatever society's censors
say may or may not be
but a term i dispise as
being "politically" correct
when
younger
i checked myself
by saying geeze instead
of jesus and the oh so visual
wording of h e double toothpicks
while playing
pickup sticks
then
the introduction
to pig latin 101 when
something so simple
seemed like Kaczynski's
written indecipherable diary
but verbally knowing
no one knew
a linguistic
magician's
slight of hand
putting the first letter
at the end then adding
an ay so now can you say
under which cup
the new word is
can you
fathom or
imagine the right
before your eyes and
ears what trickery i could
perform as my Mum gasped
me not grasping
she couldn't
believe
that i
knew that word
but also had used
that word in her house
and now i at the age of
thirty two
she slapped me
after
running
from out of
a backroom
when i so unso
phisticatedly spoke
not as Socrates being
Greek to me said
uckfay
Form:
Late evening flash
Moist breezy glimpse;
Abrupt rain
~~~~~~~~~
Strange journey
Dreamy silhouettes;
Vivid backdrop
~~~~~~~~~
Hazy skyline
Concrete toothpicks;
City skyscrapers
~~~~~~~~~
By city fringe
Curious onlookers;
Random commotion
~~~~~~~~~
New park bench
Metallic sparkle;
Cold stainless steel
~~~~~~~~~
Childcare centre
Small people congregate;
Life at play
~~~~~~~~~
By this park bench
Two lovers kiss;
Midnight tryst
~~~~~~~~~
Jog and log
Fitness agenda;
Gym workout
~~~~~~~~~
Last day here
September goodbyes;
Rain for tears
~~~~~~~~~
Book bazaar
Sun-baked tomes;
Wisdom ageing
~~~~~~~~~
Tea leaves wet
Hot brew swirls;
Aromatic interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Old-time ambience
Espresso moment;
Cafe glimpses
~~~~~~~~~
Rainbow sky
Promises kept;
Surreal feeling
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 October 2016
Singapore
Adjusting Appetizing Palates.
I have sampled the variety,
I am the one who has tasted life;
The one who has had a taste of life.
Rarely indulged in the main course-
Seldom a full meal-
I come hungry-
To leave satisfied...
I want more substance.
Sampled the world on wooden toothpicks.
I have had itty bits of everything.
Piecemeal offerings to try entice my loyalty.
Old ladies with new recipes passing
them around on trays in supermarkets of the world.
I come back for more free samples.
The more I have traveled the more
I have sampled life.
Moi-Moi- and peanut butter stew.
I have tasted life with different seasonings and spices -
Tried a variety of cultural dishes - Some bland, some spicy
Tried the soul food of each one's pride as
I swallowed mine.
I have never gained control of my soul.
It wandered with me sampling life on platters.
Now desirous of healing-fish soup.
I wanted more – Traveled;
Partook of more –
Tasting life's offerings from the - rich to the poor.
Drank out of Chrystal as well as tin cups.
I have eaten from Chinaware,
and drank from gourds,
I have supped on
Hors-d'oeuvre and canapes';
Inner-voices led me to hot rocks and tepees—
Sweat camps with medicinal potions.
Tasting life in places where strange
medicine men reside.
I have eaten rice in 2000 languages.
In Asian and Indian tongues.
I swapped collard greens for callaloo;
Then stepped up to taste breadfruit -
Filled up on Ackee and Saltfish a
Exotic palatable dish.
Though never full off of life –
Not gluttony statutes yet, I have done
more than get my “whistle wet"
Still, I am glad:
“Oh, how grateful to be alive”.
Able to sample the tender morsels
of appetizers so fine.
Even though I am a
Connoisseur of fine wine.
…and have enjoyed plenty
tidbits of earth’s great bounty--
In this life.
I have supped in the finest cuisines.
Treated royally as if I were a queen.
I have supped in mansions,
or sat, an ate under exotic trees;
Yet, there is nothing so satisfying-and no one abler.
As to be back in the hood, trying not to go berserk;
Waiting for a slice of Sweet Potato pie for dessert.
After getting my grub on, at Grandmas table.