Short Conk Poems

A Caveman on the Prowl

Grogg is not going out to hunt and gather
But to see if he can find a mate he’d rather
He doesn’t even need to think of some line
As a hard conk on the head will do just fine...

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Life blasting past; too hard to see
Almost web of insanity!

Try to be human - don't conk my brain
Oooh - to just imagine the pain!

To be worrried about a scream
Rather have some ice-cream!

Growing up... not quite sure how
Pat my back and give God a bow!...

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I was getting the wind but was myth
As he odium me was the real truth
Lone wolf I remained, solo from reality
And suffered the pain of libel..!!!

Conk-out he did and joined another chum
The truth kept me soothe
I shivered in the ail of conk-out and zest
And ebbed in this dark cosmos..!!!...

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“You’re not a spring chicken,”
My husband blurts out.
The truth in that statement’s
Beyond any doubt.

My running around’s 
Surely taken its toll,
As Nature reminds me
I’m not in control.

For age has its limits
And mine’s reached a peak.
What I do in a day
Should spread over a week.

I try for it all
But my body’s refused.
As I conk on the couch,
There’s my husband – amused!...

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It snowed last night
and spring’s nascent shades
were hidden under a sky of lead,
the cedars, green, cloaked
by a blanket of snow white
framed by tree trunks black.
The swollen stream ran brown not clear,
but the dogwood glistened shiny red
and the Red-winged Blackbird
flared his epaulets of scarlet and yellow
and with his conk-la-ree! loudly proclaimed
his territory in hopes of attracting
a frumpy female who yet malingers
in warmer climes....

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