Short Mushed Poems

First you take a little child the younger ones are best
Sit them in a dark cold house, remove all signs of zest
Pack them full of stories all about the world outside 
Add a little fear and then you take away their pride
With individuality well and truly crushed
A few more years of mixing and their brains are truly mushed...

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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....

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the beat rushes
rushes through
through my body

it has 
         power
                   strength
                                stability.

all mushed together
forms a catchy
melody,
maybe harmony.

it disguises the 
true feeling 
inside

sometimes,
and only sometimes,
that feeling
is fully exposed;
naked

you can understand 
exactly
what
the
artist
is
             feeling....

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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...

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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...

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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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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.
...

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