Fungus Solarium
mushroom
sun room
Give them Voting Rights
Shallots’
Ballots
To Crush it!
Shallot
mallet
Flooded Veggie
Spinach
in ditch
Romantic Invitation
Meet me,
Sweet pea
Don’t Let it Into Salad
Hard chard
is barred
Scarred for Life
The chard
was marred
Sweet-potato Grazers
Two lambs
chew yams
Stink Weed
Garlic
Charlock
Hello, Red Fellow
I greet
my beet
Written: July 17, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: X F Lacasse
******************
From the anvil of solar eclipse flame ~
Sunsmith struck with a mallet lit by light
Blows hump the sky ablaze by molten might—
a yellow nepenthe for summer's shame!
Sapphire sea warbles hymns amid her name
cy(press) woods rostrum by a hedge of white—
shades turned long as time that denied the night ~
Below straw frame—time seems to be the same.
She wafts the fruit till flesh begins to burst!
unbuttoning the orchards one by one —
her breath is spice, her (kiss) an early thirst ~
a blaze baptized in laughter, sweat, and sun
Yet 'neath her crown, a melancholy hides—
a knowing nod to how the sear subsides?
Darkness corrupted my soul
But light only burned my flesh
A steady stairway to heaven
Transmogrified into the highway to hell
I'm not even sure I'm okay
I'm still north of Hell
But deep south from Heaven
My words squirm like mice
Confronting a King Cobra
Starting to dance like a jester
Maybe I always was a clown
For believing in life, liberty,
And the pursuit of happiness
Like, I still strive to be whimsical
Caked in the batter of despair
Just put me in the oven
But there's humor in the sadness
There's laughter in the tears
There's anger in the joy
And rage in the peace
Shatter the mirror to pieces
Reflecting my face on each shard
It's impossible to find the real me
But perhaps they're all real
And I'm faking their fictionality
So in the end I'm still just a phony
Selling the words I say
Instead of the words I mean
But sometimes the heart feels
That which words cannot articulate
So I might drown in the darkness
But I'll only fry in the light
So I'll take a mallet and bash the walls
Just to watch them all fall
And I'll forge my own path
Somewhere between light and dark
That is where the meaning of man
Will surely be found
I am frustrated and annoyed by his ticking,
or perhaps it should be labeled the 'tocking'
By the never-ending tongue wagging clicking
in the language better known as 'clocking'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammer yammering rhythm of strife
mocks the beating pulse of my human heart
What a wonderful fantasy my life would be
if for one day I'd not hear his unrelenting beat
I'd be stress free if time would stand still for me
for without his gonging life would be so sweet
In solace of night, I seek sleep and close my eyes
in need of escape and retreat from earthly chore
but I cannot find a moment of tranquil paradise
for his insistent knelling peals out once more
Each quarter hour his mallet chimes out to me
but his clappers sing off key in monotonous song
Not a lyrical lullaby, but a torturous rhapsody
whose tireless verses antagonize me far too long
I'm tenacious to put an end to his wagging tongue
and shackle the swinging motion of his pendulum
Each hour of the day and night would go by unsung
Being silenced is the price paid by the meddlesome
The in between years
The un-handed mallet, laying without consience.
The smiling, changing expression of freinds past, in defiance.
That moment, sinking amongst dead feathers.
The call of the clock stagnant, without any treasures.
Amongst the rustling mildew leaves a bird, black, yellow beaked !
That smile , i knew, in the dark times,
leaden, in hours oh so bleak.
What of those years then in quilted calm,
mingled in loops of ropes safe from harm.
What of those back broken strokes of sin,
mixed by a guilt pricked pin.
Ah, those years of in between !
You, and me, and a visited Queen.
Ah those days , those fleeting away,
I miss you more, and more, each day.
A zapped mallet
She wields in her feeble hands
Every heart is nailed
What’s gone wrong with Granddad’s dong, it used to be so long
Once the length of Granddad’s dong made Gran burst into song
His dong would go throughout the night, to Grandma’s sheer delight
And Grandad’s dong and Grandma’s song would brighten up each night
But now when Grandma wants a dong, my granddad grasps his mallet
It’s very old and feels like it’s made from a wooden pallet
He grasps it with both hands and Grandma yells, “Just swing that sucker!
Remind me how you swung it round in your best bib and tucker.”
So Granddad grips it in both hands and swings for all he’s worth
He hopes to get a lengthy dong and not just Grandma’s mirth
Granddad couldn’t tolerate another dong that’s dud
And so he whacks his mallet hard, which makes a dull, flat, thud
But Grandma said, “I see what’s been occurring with your dong,
And why of late your dong has been a little less than long.
A dull dong cant reverberate, a dull dong can’t play long,
It’s no good up against the wall; you should have hung that gong!”
The Road I Didn’t Take
The smell of fresh cut pine is
a balm to my soul as the crosscut saw
works its way through the wood, fine
saw dust sprinkles the floor.
The rough palms of my hands push
the plane over the fresh cut side
of the board curly shavings fall
to the floor as the uneven edges are smoothed.
The gentle tap of the wooden mallet
to drive the chisel into the wood is
a soothing sound to my ears, wood
chips litter the table as the dado joint forms.
The hammer is suspended in mid air
ready to strike as a distant bell assault’s
my ears and I awaken to realize I am
late for my shift in the pharmacy
counting pills and worrying about insurance.
When it comes to all my sorrows
what do I do with them
Do I place them in a paper cup
and pour them down the sink
Do I take a mallet to them
and pound them soft as mink
When it comes to all my tears
where do I bring them?
Do I bring them to the sea
to merge with salty smears
Do I offer up my wailings
to the God above?
When it comes to all my sadness
what can take them all away?
Do I grin and bear it with a grin
then walk away on feet of clay
or do I pray for better days,
hoping that ,He'll lead the way.
The xylophone and marimba are often compared
Harmonics being the difference between the two
Marimba with softer notes shared
as harder notes from the xylophone ensue
Whatever instrument is played
Dulcet melodies come forth to delight
With wooden bars arrayed
Xylophone rhythms take flight
As a mallet taps on those wooden bars
To create those breezy notes
Notes that chime with twinkling stars
and a song on the breeze now floats!
4-27-2023
Writing Challenge - Words With 'X' - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
sat on a pallet
with big blow hit my wallet
met with a mallet
read all of the facts
body looked like battle ax
that never attracts
walked along with Luke
disagreed and did rebuke
a crazy old kook
would be atrocious
did eat things when ferocious
also delicious
hammer
handy, headed
clutching, sounding, striking
bludgeon, mallet, pinpoint, fastener
protruding, retracting, projecting
pointed, rusty
nail
Date created: 07/03/2022
The Horse.
A horse gives joy to everyone,
By those that ride them just for fun.
There are others that race them, a quarter mile,
and those that do it Kentucky style.
We also see them trot and pace,
and teams with wagons, that love to race.
They are also quick to run a steer,
and buck a cowboy without any fear.
We see them jump a fence and wall,
and play the sport of Polo, with a mallet and ball.
Their elegance and rhythm we admire,
with a magical movement, they inspire.
They will control an unruly crowd,
that often becomes offensive, and very loud.
They are also used for ceremonial events, to honor Dignitaries past and present,
they are more than a sport for Kings, but are a challenge for others, to achieve many things.
Her husband has been gone eight years.
The conversation about him rarely changes.
“If I could dig him up and kick his ass I would.”
She is slightly angry because he left her with a hundred
thousand dollar debt she did not know about.
She called the bank and they said “The money has been spent
and you signed the loan papers.”
She says she thought it was for ten thousand dollars.
I am amazed that she did not read it a bit closer.
“I’d like to kill him,” she says “He probably told me it was for ten
thousand but it was for a hundred thousand.” I have heard
this conversation hundreds of times.
“How would you do it?” I ask her.
“I haven’t really thought about it,” she replies.
“I guess I would poison him, push him down the stairs,
and smash his skull in about eight hundred times with a
croquet mallet.”
My grandpa built a split rail fence.
He did the best he could.
He hand-dug every post hole,
Sweat and muscle, rough-hewn wood.
Didn’t compromise his standards,
He was sure to do it right.
He made it bull strong, horse high and hog tight.
The carnival just came to town,
Its gaudy midway, too.
Don’t favor taking chances,
But I’ll ring the bell for you.
Gonna swing that hefty mallet
And I’ll win the prize tonight.
I’m feeling bull strong, horse high and hog tight.
It’s funny how the solid things
Endure despite the years,
Through thunderstorms and blizzards,
Broken hearts and bitter tears.
But I promise if you let me,
I’ll be sure to do it right.
I’ll love you bull strong, horse high and hog tight.
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