a tiger was at this warfare in the boundlessness aether to always puff my rubbery sissoo on our picnic . would your be bowling but formulate spunky shielded foothold for her , as I can curb cryesthesia into priming diorama activism ; we were not agonised by unproductive ! could he strangle his snore unwarily ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 10–16, 2026)
Today her silks scatter crackling arabesques in the shimmering air
today she’ll dazzle the casual eye with her sweet metallic gleam
today she waddles, awkward as a cow
today she packs a punch like a fresh shot arrow
today she reverses polarity
today she groans in a furrow, slick with sweat
today she daintily steps through a violet mist
today she sloughs off gummy stuff
today her laughter is quicksilver
today she’s a clammy grey rubbery stone with bristles
today her waterfall hair sheds intoxicating unguents
today she dances without knowing it
today the beauty peels from her face to reveal a hatchet
----------------------------------------
One Couple Of Days the sky sprangled tiddle-flop and haze,
We rode a unicorn in socks past singing maize,
We tickled the moon with a rubbery spoon,
Then juggled spaghetti with a jazz kazoo tune.
One Bright Day we saw a frog in a bowtie dance,
It offered us jellybeans from a cloud’s sideways glance,
We soared on toast wings through marmalade trees,
Then chased a giggle-dragon on quivering knees.
One couple of days in the midst of the night,
Two silent clocks began to sing bright.
A shadowy rooster flew up and swam,
Chased by a pancake who called him Sam.
Three wise fishes climbed up a tree,
While rubbery shoes had some hot tea.
If you think these wonders are simply untrue,
Ask the moon’s hat—it knows what to do.
ROY'S RIVER RIDE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roy rode
river's rhythm,
raucous ripples rising,
rubbery raft, raced the rapids
riding 'round rocks, rambunctious, rollicking.
Reveling, rascal, river rogue
rushed by reeds, rollicking
rambunctiously.
Roy rode.
“Ah! Ah!” cried Mr. Shaw, a museum man of science in 1799,
as he carefully unwrapped a specimen from New South Wales.
It was Labeled: "It's a weird one; Caught in a creek; Dug from a burrow with egg nest!"
Mr. Shaw’s heart thumped with suspicion of a prank or fraud, as he noted what he saw:
It had the webbed feet, a rubbery bill, and the eggs of a duck.
It had a wide flat beaver's tail and coarse thick brown fur.
It had two snake-like fangs, on its hind legs, and small piggy eyes.
It suckled its young with milk, but no nipples were found.
Mr. Shaw looked hard, but found no traces of stitches, glue or bindings.
How can this be? How can this be real? How utterly bizarre?
"Ah! Ah! I know!" God, the creator, has a wicked sense of humor!
Behold! The duck-billed, flat-footed - Platypus!
I.
The night was as thick as melted asphalt
when her prehistoric form
emerged like a monument
in the sand
and each egg that descended
spiked the air with the scent of birth,
sweet, pungent,
and female.
Drunk with labor,
she could not sense the mass
of people that surrounded her,
the eggs that slid through her rubbery body,
or perhaps the knowledge
that, in minutes, she would abandon
them forever.
Who could know
how far she had traveled
or what force had pulled her home
like snare
in that death-black sea.
II.
Do they look for her
when they have pushed their way
through the grit and sand
or fumble for the safety
of her strong flipper
when all she has left behind is instinct
cold as the saltwater
that must sting their newly formed eyes.
Decades later, the few that survive
will rotate the earth with their memories,
the turbulent water pressing
against them like sadness
to return to the place where they were born.
And when they reach it
do they search for her
before entering that trance,
wanting to see that she, too, has come back
and has been waiting all this time
in the darkness.
The old ham smells wrong tonight.
I check the expiration date, masquerading
as an anniversary, but it doesn’t matter.
I fold new slices into my mouth,
the meat is rubbery in my teeth
against my tongue.
It tastes like something borrowed—
a blue memory I want to give back
but can't return.
Manslaughter, murder and massacre is one
But a visit to the dentist is another
The eerie smiles hidden behind the masks
The twinkly eyes filled with plots
To offer they have lots and lots
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Rubbery gloves and broken headlights
Red sinks of blood
The dirty water or is it mud?
Disgusting pastes and painful syrups
Tweezers, hammers, and drills
Certain of our deaths!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Every visit every time
Oh.. the noble hearts..
put on their smiles and say
-“it is just another month or two!
Have a Good Day”!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Kicked at it, thought it was just
another cigarette butt
half-buried in street slime—
but it was a small, dead moth,
wings crushed, soft dust sticking
to my rubbery shoe.
It’s true, we both swim through the muck,
But don’t compare me to a duck.
No, I wouldn’t do that until
You’ve reckoned my rubbery bill.
The arboretum is quiet today.
It is early,
yet too late
to spot a somnambulant space alien
emerging from the thorny bushes.
Do you believe?
I have seen the odd-looking sparrows,
with their razor-sharp teeth,
have fearfully
fed them the toenails of the toothless.
I have evidence,
my face can be read
like a well-used comic book,
the weirdness of reality
is writ there for all to see.
After a downpour
the small, ruined butterfly house,
drips shadows.
A darker than light creature
crouches there,
the squirrels dare not go near.
Trees here grow out of the soil
just as fast as they can.
The slugs cut through new roots,
they chew the rubbery innards,
of any overly anchored oak or elm.
Sunlight is jumping out of its nightly attire,
a superficial normality will soon return
to the slinking park.
It is time for my body to slip away,
beneath the nailed down boots
of a credible fiction.
Tomorrow, my 2-dimensional scream
will be featured on the cover of a coloring book -
it will come with edible crayons.
The child watched them
walking under his window,
beings that should no longer be walking
this earth.
They had long legs, but no heads,
their arms wriggled like thick tentacles.
When he told his parents,
he expected them to rush over,
to see what was going on.
His folks, at that time,
were getting it on.
They were waving their long legs
and thick rubbery arms in another room
just as stealthy and silently as possible,
given the circumstance.
The kid instinctively thought better,
not to call twice.
The air was not ok.
It was rubbery feeling.
Squeaking and sometimes churning.
But the sounds are my own voice and it scares me that I hate my own voice.
A weeping discordant voice.
Gritting and annoying.
I order my food online.
I order everything online.
I blew into a balloon
filling it with my breath
and tied it off
it squeaked a little
as I tied the knot
then grew silent
I held it in my right hand
by that tightly tied little knot
and tapped it gently
onto my left palm
it bounced with vigour
and felt surprisingly robust
making a uniquely rubbery sound
looking at it
an odd little thought
popped into my head
this balloon holds within it
neatly cocooned
my breath
my life’s very essence
I held it up
then let it go
taken by the wind and raised up high
I watched it drift off
then pop
within the branches of a tree
taking with it
on a short but wondrous journey
a vital part of me
allowing me
as it popped
to release a small but contented sigh
way up there
in the life-giving green embrace
of a beautiful and wise old tree.
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