Mushed Poems | Examples

Where are we going?

Bricks under our soles, and
The fluttering of mushed sounds
Paddle inside mine ear.

A portion resembles a desperate race -
Another scoop conveys an andante walk - 

And a fierce heap of…
Stiff and hollow steps—
Ring in a shallow manner—
Down through the dim alleyway—

Methinks, they are all going in some sort of
Clear or foggy direction, 

Where some signs are faded from the sunlight,
And some signs are scratched away at by the 
Huffing—and—puffing of the decades.

Dinner Manners

Quietly waiting
at the table
legs swinging…
Then, Aunty Jean 
brings in
green soup.

Mother-glares at me,
sister-stares with me
at the cold green soup.
Is it medicine,
pond slime, 
mushed frogs?
...at least twenty 
spoonfuls long.
Silently I say, “Ugh!”

Quietly waiting 
at the table…
Aunty Jean brings in
passionfruit cheese-cake,
cream dessert.

Is it more slime,
frog spawn,
tadpole eyes...?

Oh no, it’s a giant slice.
I take one bite…

“Oh,” says Uncle Ron,
“Don’t you like it?”

“Not really,” I murmur.
 
“All the more for me,”
He smiles,
turns goggle-eyes,
leans across,
adds my slice to his.

Cauldron bubbling,
mixture squelching
sauces oozing
gases belching…

“A glass of milk?”

“Yes please, I’d like 
a glass of milk.”

“...and a chocolate frog?”

“No,
No thank-you,
Aunty Green.”

Bananas

Bananas

Here come the sailors of the Seventh Fleet
With their bananas ripe, ready to eat
The ladies, they like them firm
Musty one’s make them squirm
Why can’t liberty always be so sweet!

Limes

They’re green and round not yellow and curvy
Bruised or mushed never—topsy turvy!
Peeled back skin often slimy
Best citrus fresh and limey
Sailor lime-juicer’s sucked to cure scurvy

Chips

Waiting for chips*
Hungry at noon
Vinegar, salt
Use a fork not a spoon

Eat by the sea
Where the waves are unhurried
Peas that are mushed
Sauce that is curried

Two slices of bread
A chip butty create
Overloading my buds 
Luscious carbohydrate

There are pies. There are peas
There is gravy and fish
Loading it all on your tray 
Pile it up as you wish..

Unwrap from the paper
Don't decant to a plate
'Saves washing up'
And besides it tastes great

The angels in heaven
Look downward in awe..
As the humans devour
Much of what they adore 

One of life's simple pleasures
Take a peek, there are many
Eating chips by the sea
Can't be beaten by any


Jinjagoliath 
2nd July 2023

*in the UK French fries are 'chips'

Where the Cans Are

Alone and hungry
left leg aches like a broken peg
in the mugginess of its left slipper.

Not a good day for fixing anything
but the sealed and over salted,
the quickly warmed and spooned
that can be mixed into a taste-less medley
with other sundry comestibles.

The pantry,
(a recessed place with shelf-space),
is a dimly lit store for long kept canned products,
a once carelessly gathered and undated harvest,,
a compulsive cartload
that should never have been bought
opened, and cooked
in any company but strictly my own.

In that larder molders a canned fodder;
here anemic asparagus stalks wrapped in tin
are jammed together with diced jalapenos,
or glossily illustrated kidney beans.
Tomato and noodle soups are haphazardly piled
atop of various loosely defined
stewed meat offerings, including canned Spam
naturally.

After the so-called cooking
(more a revealing of a much mushed-up
mixture of misnamed contents),
I sit down with the steaming plate
allowing the metallic aroma to entice
peckish yet suspicious taste buds.

Fed now with the quickly chewed-over
I’m both glad and grateful
that this ten minute feast
can be wolfed down in so much less time.

Aluminum Siding

ALUMINUM SIDING

my heart is buried behind the aluminum siding,
trapped inside that bubbly feeling i’d get when your arms would graze my waist,
in the late night bus rides when the light slipping through the shutters swathed your smirk in soft, blazing bandages.
you called me darling back then.
why won’t you call me darling again?
your love was scrawled between ink splotches, inside hugs and eyebrow raises, 
while i thought it was too timid to beat its way out of your rib cage.
why didn’t i see where everything was hidden sooner?
my metamorphosis into something more unhinged began the day i left you.
and with you, i left everything i love behind.
you twirled saturn’s rings around my fingers
and scribbled possums on sticky notes that i treated as love letters, hiding them in scratched phone cases and backpack pockets, carrying your heart on my sleeve, mushed in with chewed erasers and tangled earbuds.
so now i walk the heartwrenching path of least resistance away from you,
but it’s not the path around the aluminum siding we used to take.

Insult

That dirty green hearse (the
     first one I'd ever seen)
Mushed through traffic
Like a Notre Dame back
     on a muddy field.
Dripped slush, tears
Aiming straight down
A hollow cheek
     and left to mingle
     unnoticed on concrete,
And flung salty sleet
Bathing me in half-hearted
     insult,
Two miles from no-land
And a scented corpse.


slightly edited June 30, 2021

Melting and Freezing

It's Spring but the snow still comes down.
It falls till it covers the ground.
It melts and then freezes, 
I'm up to my kneeses,
In mud, slush and snow by the pound.

I saw the first Robin today,
Wearing toque, scarf and boots in a sleigh.
It was too cold to fly, 
So he mushed right on by,
Headed South without further delay.

Mary Mary

Mary, Mary how contrary
why does your garden grow?
with old tin cans and frying pans
and muddy boots all in a row.

Car piled high with spider's webs
Their spindly smiles, their lovely legs.
Come and say 'Good mourn ye all'
'We live here now and have a ball'

Inside your hut a homeless man.
You gave some tea and made a plan,
To wash his socks so he could go
And get a job and flat and grass to mow

Golden Wonder, Blenheim Blush
A tattie feast chipped, mashed and mushed.
A field of spuds your Mam would cook,
You now don't need your gardening book.

Pippin, gala, Brae burn and Cox,
Fat round red spheres their crunchy Hocks,
Harvest in a late September
To make the wine for next November

Seasons come as turning bicycles
Protecting flowers from biting icicles.
Feeding plants and changing hedges,
Thick hanging blooms, fruits and veges.

Mary, Mary not contrary,
I know how your garden grows.
With careful plans and gardening hands
and many years in the Know.

Uplifting

Pink's the color of your lips
That I softly gently kiss
When your in my arms so tight
With hugs lasting morning and night

Pink polish being carefully
Put on so I can look pretty
For this special loving day
Of feelings that will always stay

Flowers of pink, yellow and blue
On tables as we say "I DO"
Looking in each others eyes
Knowing our love will never die

Pink frosting on our wedding cake
Being mushed in both our face
As we start our life together
A love no one can ever sever

Lace of pink upon my dress
To match the flower in your vest
Two people looking clean and neat
Sharing a love that is so sweet

There are colors everywhere
That make people stop and stare
But pink will always be the one
That means the most and makes life fun

Death Where Are You

Fraught, distressed, my love forlorn!
Ripped to shreds, my emotions torn!
Without you, I rue the day I was born!
                    Death where are you?

I seek solitude, make the wilderness mine.
My love lost to one so out of line.
Breathless, love can be so unkind!
                    Death where are you?

I wander into unknown places forsaken
Will my heart heal, once unkindly taken?
Misused, abused, I am totally shaken!
                    Death where are you?

My destiny now to wander this wilderness.
Do I still love that faithless lass? Oh yes!
My brain is mushed, my life a cruel mess!
                    Death where are you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5/12/18

Rhyme and Refrain - Poetry Contest sponsored by Broken Wings

Should We Die This Night

Our hearts agree, if we should meet death this night,
then death shall find, we do not heed its sense of doom.
A thousand times we would gladly die without fright
just to taste once more the nectar of our love’s bloom.

There is but one shared, final thing we need now know,
just one more promise, one more love vow to be made
before imminent death does finality bestow;
our mutual pledge said with sought prayerful aid
that as soulmates, our two spirits remain love bound.
We can handle death rendering our bodies mushed,
but swear our shared agony shall bear piercing sound
in galaxies echo if our joining is crushed.
We believe our hearts paired in eternities care,
that surely such is mightier than death’s lit fuse.
Our confidence asserts our love outweighs despair
and our soul-link shall survive all doom may issue.

With our oath now sealed, we lay skin to skin entwined.
Our passionate kiss, laced with tears of sweetheart taste,
does emphasize our love’s want of life for all time
and belief that looming doom cannot our love waste.



... CayCay Jennings
February 15, 2018

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel crushed, mushed and hushed
Like a glass piece shattered on a rock 
I feel, yes,.. Lost, tossed, forced to pass
Feel like got to bend so low to own yet mine
Life seems at an end, road turns rough
When the only shoulder leaves my circle
When my only shade sheds off leaves
The sun, life, scorch strong to burn

Its a hard blow right on the face
A strong throw through the earth
A punch right to puncture a future
To deflate a soul and press on a heart
So hurting that acting works like art
Entertains but brings me back to origin
Just wanna let go and own
Sit back and watch the notch
Anyway, it's life of lie-if

Bottled World

Bottled peppers, pickles, plums, old ladies stand
In small flock at the market gate
Their bottled things arrayed, their pastes and jams
Fruit that hung all summer fat then autumn picked
Mushed and melted, now fills random jars
And on collectors’ shelves in coloured glassy rows
The world shrunk down to bulbs of fancy drink
A gulp or two of bitter, sweet or dry
Forms and labels richer in their tales told
The container not the content draws the eye
People stream in escalator lines
Concrete-bottled, metro sausage strings
Cattle crowd of elbows, faces blank
Not the peacock-pretty multi-coloured things
Not in winter grey and twilight coats wrapped thick
Bottled pickle once a pepper crisp and bright
As golden sun, and the liquor once was grape
Before they locked it in the glass and corked it tight
And the human flow, it runs from light to light
A smile tossed, a boy waits with a rose
Beneath the city-packaged layers, sudden sense
of closeness, them my sea and I their drop

Failure

Your chest is heavy,
with lungs of lead.
your hopes and dreams are now all dead.
Your mind is blank
as your heart has sank
Dreams are crushed
hopes are flushed
thoughts are mushed
mind is rushed.
Lungs of lead
bring breaths of dread,
the pounding continues in your head.
the tears swell
you life hell.
The pain is more,
to the tears form your core,
there is no more 
to be said.

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