A pair pulling their weight
sandwiching the meat of my literary treasure
~ shelving their showstopping good looks
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Santa was fast asleep in the workshop
When a prankster caused a balloon to POP
It was that naughty elf
Who now sits on a shelf
But can't cause trouble cuz he's just a prop
No others liked that creepy little troll
Shelving him would keep him under control
Mrs. Claus said to me,
"That one's such a bully!
He doesn't belong here at the North Pole!"
Somehow, he got loaded on Santa's sleigh
And after the reindeer had flown away
He tried to take the reins
Santa put him in chains
'Ho, ho, ho." He dropped him on the freeway
A tiny home improvement
Can instill a sense of pride
For your efforts are apparent
And results can’t be denied.
Taking charge and getting started
Are the hardest things to do,
But if things go as you’ve planned them,
All the credit goes to you.
So today I finally tackled
Unattractive kitchen shelves,
Adding bright new contact paper
Meant for folks to do themselves.
Every item got a cleaning
And a bunch of things got tossed
And the finished project’s worthy
Of the hours that it cost.
Just a minor home improvement
Yet I gave myself a gift
With some freshly covered shelving
And a lovely spirit lift.
Ma and Pop
pop and ma
the small needle
the big darn.
Little shop of peddlers
first to be robbed,
accused of being
gougers.
Ma wants to move to Florida,
pa wants to expand
the jerky sticks shelving.
Locals know them,
they shop with Ma & Pop
because their near -
they sell beer.
First to go the way
of the dodo,
last to hang around
backs against the wall
old and shaky,
filling in the blanks
in our coloring books.
Here is a fisherman without rod or net.
His shadow swims beneath the water
yet he is warm and asleep
in a faraway bed.
Moonlight washes lake waves.
Here is a breath, there is a breath.
He sees the breathing water.
His daughter, long drowned,
surfaces to kiss his forehead.
He turns in the snug bed
and smiles.
The dreaming fisherman
sinks deeper into the darkling depths.
Forms rise through the heads
of those who cannot sleep.
Bodies of light and dark
struggle in the fathomless.
He whimpers. tosses and turns.
Ghosts fetch up on a shelving shore,
reach for him, beg him to remember
how it was
before the lake woke up
and saw itself afloat
in a heron's eye.
At times He shouts to clear his throat, AHEM!
We are the phlegm.
Puffs of dandelion dust,
ignoring life, allowing hearts to rust.
Each day we rush upon ourselves,
shelving more decisions,
piercings and incisions,
in the side of eyelids, nose, and tongue.
unknowing victims, of
what we know not from.
beaming like returning martyrs,
blown to Kingdom Come.
matter splattered, gut ache or remorse;
no age is better for it; no age worse.
it’s what we choose to look at now;
it is our Holy Cow.
maybe sin is in the looking,
maybe in the not,
eyes averted;
disaster flirted with,
Mr./ Mrs. Smith,
composite couple;
doubling our efforts
to keep up, win the cup;
get the bowl;
satisfy a never-filling hole.
Our procedure is to marry;
double-feature of our troubled futures;
sutures for the wounds inflicted
in a psyche so conflicted;
we sit for hours and hours
hours and hours, paying folks
to analyze the guiltiness of flowers.
We simply grow, didn’t you know;
afraid of what we have created.
Frankensteins,
so overrated, - tall,
but not so unrelated after all.
LORD Jesus, while on earth, was fully human - shelving His divinity by submitting His will to the Father's - without "discarding" His full deity. So on earth Jesus was born out of womb via birth canal, and probably got s slap on His back to gulp the first air outside Mary's womb. (LORD, help me with these next few lines, amen)
1. Whose sin did Jesus pay for with the first SLAP on the back He got from the attending "midwife or medical expert" in the day? Maybe the person who helped with the delivery, LOL!
2. What would the Disciples have said whenever Jesus would sneeze or FART - or pass gas?
BLESS US, LORD, or simply "More, LORD!"
(Jesus in His Eternity and Omniscience knew He died for my sins and words including these very human considerations and cogitations about Our LORD's humanity and KOINONIA, or fellowshipping, with the closest Disciples.
My cupboard would not be, by any standard held
considered neat or clean, nor free of crumb or dust.
But stores I keep abound, enough to nourish me
and keep me warm on nights, when hope is all but gone.
Across the hall there sits a basement door, unlocked
Where things that should not be await the darkened night
Their thrumming breath pulsates between the door and sill
And sunlight dances on the kitchen floor all day
My weary hands explore and blindly fish about
With each extended palm I strain to make a choice
The shelving seems to stretch as if to mock and scold
And I retreat and turn and kick that basement door
And when the sun has stretched itself from end to end
She’ll tiptoe from the scene and leave her stage deplete.
To let a chill set forth above the wooden berm
beneath the door unlatched, ajar, corrupt, contempt.
A stirring from behind the cupboard door escapes.
Subconscious brutes waylay the precious things I keep
as rations moan and shriek with horrors that don’t speak.
I’d sleep but I cannot for all that heinous noise.
A little ways north of Mill Creek
the beach runs round
to a single wide arcing swath
Where the tide stems landward in shattered segments
fast against the open mouth
of sea and sand and barnacle
There is also a cliff near the free stone rising
above the under-base of a million waves
throttling a darkened face
Somewhere out of sight
from landlocked eyes
salt water still churns
And churns for a million years
oblivious to the damage
inflicted on the crumbling mass
It's as if the big bass drum
of agonies from time immemorial
strums a one note dirge
And thereby summons the shelving mist
to curtail the pitiful death
from the tired eyes of a dumbfounded poet
Who loiters in the wet hiss
like a reporter in search of tragedy
and finding none, returns to home
She came in for some groceries
With cane and darkened glasses
Slow the pace and smiling
A Saturday event
Others rushed not knowing
Her need for human comfort
Simple talk and flesh-press
Would keep her smiling yet.
Apartment was a still place
With photos of the loves gone
Figurines of Doulton
Those treasures obsolete
Maidens bright on hilltop
And windswept their long dresses
Eyes that flashed a future
And oh so tiny feet.
But the feet now pained her
And memories came up sketchy
Products in this market
Confusing as of late
Then she saw me shelving
For dairy and for frozen
Felt that here was someone
To listen and relate.
Dangling edges
sharpening remarks
spewing anger
seething kettle
whistling tunes
chiming remorse
overflowing bath
steaming kettle
whining brewing
coffees aromatherapy
sweetening words
silencing librarys
cataloging books
shelving memories
reoccurring nightmares
unfolding pages
turning lies
waiting patiently
sitting under
currents churning
butter spreading
distasteful rumors
floating boats
sinking emotions
erupting fights
unsettling anger
surfacing tears
dropping arms
dealing cards
reading palm
trees rustling
breeze blowing
bubbles forming
habits repeating
cycles abusing
boundaries encircling
egos clashing
symbols ringing
meaningful sounds
exploding tempers
flaring igniting
fires burning
She walked into my universe
silently as her lovely smile.
Rarely such beauty is preserved
Bar, perhaps, a Grecian profile:
some alabaster sculptured head
Cold, soulless in a museum
Of a venerable Greek, long dead;
Or maybe an athenaeum
Where I have found her while reading
Looking down at me in the silence
from a vast book-laden shelving.
I overcame my ambivalence
When her face appeared before me
a visage, smiling demurely.
A store in New York City,
Selling “bargains” at top price,
Lures the locals and the tourists
Seeking upscale merchandise.
Yet their famous shoe department,
Always crowded and self-serve,
Is so customer-unfriendly,
It hits every single nerve.
From the samples set on shelving
Much too high for short folks’ eyes,
You choose shoes that are appealing
Then you try to find your size.
All the pairs reside in boxes,
Shelved below the model shoe;
If your size and style are waiting,
You’re among the lucky few.
You remove your shoes while standing
(Seats are scattered, never free),
Slip the new ones on your feet
And start to waddle, for, you see,
Every pair is linked together
With a sturdy plastic band;
And when both feet are ensconced,
It’s hard enough to even stand.
Look around to find a mirror
(Yes, they’re also short of glass);
Shuffle slowly, like a geisha,
Or you’ll fall flat on your ass.
Then repeat with all your choices
‘Til you finally decide;
Wait in line and start to wonder
If this treatment’s justified.
But of course, you’ll be returning
To repeat the same ordeal,
For deep down, you’re just delighted
That you really got a steal!
Here's another straight off the bat,
some people will construde this as rap.
but its much more than that...
Its a window of opportunity,
my own little immunity.
From the disease which is community.
The conformity is overwhelming,
catagorised like shelving.
We can be bought, I'm just delving...
Deeper into the conditioning,
Cos i heard!! ya wasn't listening.
even tho your just visiting.
Its a day to remember, this star is glistening.
you've been waiting for a supernova.
The death of me, its never over.
Here is where I leave my legacy.
Fear not my recipe,
If followed correctly ya won't worry about the mess that we...
have made.
A desired flavorsome taste
wanting a cure of a dried out mouth
leading to a mindlessness of waste
liquidly solving a quenching drought
Numbing a charisma of memories
longing for the hazy shades
wiping away loathed theories
a smoldering fetish that slowly fades
A quenched lurch of lust
beggars a sad lonely time
shelving the shell of trust
left only a bitter slice of lime
Muddled thoughts left dehydrated
sidelined by disgust
feelings abandoned and un-exhilarated
a film coated tasting of must.
Drenched and soaked to the bone
blurred eyed and bleary
a time not to be left alone
it's time to play for me, a memory.
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