Two quacks walking side by side
one looking one way, the other the other
disturbingly similar, they could be one
and never the twain shall meet...
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Convince them of necessity. Then councel
Of an immediacy.? Step it up to an emergency.' And keep it fast paced-volitile
With some pathos see.! Appeal to good intent..And hype the alarm, then offer the
Solution to every arm.? Throw out the cash
Raise the debt, get some princes to press
Knuckles yes! Get that photo op set.' Push
Out the quacks, oh the doctors i mean.?create some rules..Get real obscene, get
Old dolly parton to sing along, and many
Celebs will join the throng, its all about egos in the world you see.? And paying and
Paying..Well who ( the hell) values whats whats free.?
Taking photographs of strangers at the park,
I wonder upon the foundations in which
they were built.
Did their mother sing them to sleep?
Did they not have a mother?
The most important questions
are the rhetorical things.
Did they practice piano
or attend dance recitals?
Creativity is a beautiful thing.
Were they encouraged,
or discouraged?
I think that eventually
you become what you become,
regardless of anything.
Back to my work:
Old couples hold hands.
A Black woman plays jazz.
Newlyweds skip.
Teenagers kiss.
A clumsy kid trips.
A duck quacks.
Fountains spew.
Flowers bloom.
Everyone laughs,
and God smiles.
This world is as ugly
as it is beautiful.
Today,
I am grateful
for all the pretty parts.
Sometimes it shrieks, hoots or creaks,
whistles, cries, trills or squeaks,
rattles, russles gurgles or moans,
babbles, crackles, grunts or groans.
Sometimes it chatters, chirps or howls,
baas, ribbits, hisses, roars or growls,
cackles, coos, squawks or crows,
chitters, bleats, clucks or bellows.
Sometimes it, barks, buzzes or caws,
clicks, gobbles, gurbles or heehaws,
moos, humms, oinks, meows or neighs,
peeps, purrs, quacks, snuffles or brays
the silence of nature is a never-ending song,
forget your troubles and come sings along.
tranquil forest pond...
ducks swim in melodic quacks
hymns of breeze on lily-pads.
floating leaves rustle...
for it's mate, sings the calm dove
the frog Prince waits for his love.
Date 9th June 2025
Sponsor Nette Onclaud
Contest Name SHOW ME A CHOKA
Now, that the world is getting purer and cleaner
everyday
who clear incoherently harbour dirts and spillage around.
Is it not the hand meant for cleaning and washing
and working out this and some of the other things?.
And the mouth for eating and drinking and talking
and laughing and many ,many, many other wishes
of sort kind?.
And foot and leg for us to reach out the dustbin for
instance?.
The dirt can't be a waste products perse nor the hand
a part of such dilemma nor the skull a kick hell out
of a thing cup? nor what dramatic human right nor
political taboo?.
I have a problem and that is true is quite different
from I have problem and that is true?.
Why then these people pollute nature
when already it's suffers contamination and stagnancy
and spillaging and wasting like quacks and qualms.
If you wanted three things, laughter, imagination, and wonder,
but could only ask for one,
you could ask for something wild.
You could ask for a child.
Or, say you had three New Year's Resolutions,
but could on make one.
If you were me
(which I happen to be)
I would promise to first take care of me.
My other goals follow, making three.
Then, I could better enjoy each friend,
and I would be kind to them in the end.
Those two are my other goals.
Together three make up one whole.
What needs most attention is my back,
so, I must sort through skilled practitioners and quacks.
My dragon Rutherford is a dare devil out for a thrill
Along the way he likes to roast a good kill
I climb on his back, not knowing where we are going
If he says “bring a coat” I figure it might be snowing
He flies easily between continents in a couple of hours
He has other talents, some truly remarkable super powers
Invisible during flight, he sometimes messes with a 747
I tell him to stop it, or he might not make it to heaven
Rutherford knows I am strict but loving, he is my tight pal
He flies me to other galaxies, I am his favorite old gal.
He has been my dragon since July thirteenth of 1972.
Exhausting summer if you knew how many miles we flew.
He eats along the way, roasting pigs, sheep, cattle, and one time a boar.
I know he is getting ready to feast when he drops out of a soar.
He always wants to share, but I bring my own snacks.
I don’t like to eat anything that moos, gobbles or quacks.
Last week we flew to Scotland, which was quite a trip for me.
All because Rutherford had a craving for Welsh apricot tea.
He is a marvelous pet, who has best intentions about me.
I love my dragon Rutherford, together, we are happy, you see.
bread floats across lake
bird's nose dive in formation
with chaotic quacks
Ah we know that life is balanced so much such that
capitalism is a brother or sister economy-
Yes, let me not assume that success is an opposite of
something and that wealth is a twain?,
and how wealthy is otherwise how private or em?,
is there any qualms or quacks or pros and cons
or tragedo-commedy for the better?.
In the pond, where beavers and bullfrogs are kings,
a duck has webbed feet and wings and things.
He quacks aloud instead of sings -
on his face, a useful tool...called a bill. He ain't no fool.
When he blows that thing, he really swings,
in the pond, where beavers and bullfrogs are kings.
bread floats across lake
bird's nose dive in formation
with chaotic quacks
cannot bear the weight of all my sin
Alas, I fear, I’ll commit them all again
To add another pound or two of guilt
And hide behind my flame-retardant quilt
And so if Hell must have me I’ll submit
And stand accused of sins I did commit
And some, alas, that fell between the cracks
Of penalties enforced by dark robed quacks
And yet the penalty does seem severe
For one who made a mockery of fear
Now feigns the trembling words “I do not care”
To mend the garment rent without a tear
I have sinned in thoughts and words and deeds
To minister to those without a creed
chicanery rules
the day… charlatans and quacks…
carry us away...
I've written about chickens with big fat legs
Told of eating my way through the fridge
My psychiatrist says I'm really quite normal
Though I feel unbalanced, a smidge
I've heard of a place, can't remember where
They can treat an affliction like mine
Problem is though, it means a lobotomy
Sends a quake up and down my spine
Don't wanna be mumbling naughty verses
As I wander the streets in my socks
Or talking about inappropriate subjects
Like armpits, halitosis or snots
One reviewer said I was absolute bonkers
But still sings along with my songs
Seems like she might have the same affliction
Methinks both of our mind's long gone
The bottom line to all this nonsense is
Not much can be done so I'm stuck
Wearing this crown of a silly old jester
And quacking all day like a duck
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