Chickens
Much better things to use chickens for are:
waiters, school crossing
monitors, paper
weights, door
stoppers, getting us
soda cans, handing us
toilet paper, mowing the
lawns, changing channels on the
TV, washing cars, reading to
us before we go to
bed.
Cave Kellers and Dig Wellers
David J Walker
Christians that go to hell
will have one
Hell of a story to tell
In the
Nick of time but no place to
Dwell among tent dwellers the
Cave kellers the dig
Wellers the rhyme
Travelers the street
Sellers and day
Sailors the night
Failures the pay
Traders the flesh
Peddlers the time
Piddlers the mind
Benders the fence
Minders the prime
Lenders the crime
Numbers the prince
Paupers the door
Stoppers the bargain
Shoppers the grass
Hoppers old teeny
Boppers and hogg
Sloppers with chart
Toppers and good
Coppers and hoola-
Hoopers and party
Poopers and hot
Peppers and self
Checkers and fat
Backers with back
Packers of heart
Stoppers and flip
Floppers and hot
Flappers and splish
Splashers and party
Crashers and hot
es and bad
Bastards
Christians that go to hell
will have no one to blame
in the hottest of flame
But one hell of a story
to tell
Revival* drives spiritual quickening
Against apathy magnified by doubt
Amidst distressful skepticism-bout…
God --- I thank for timely awakening.
Propelling toward faithful stewardship
Revival fires up yielded commitment
Once promised with gracious empowerment
Christ --- I praise for His gearing leadership.
Challenging quack healers’ deceitful stand
As well as calamity-stoppers’ show
Along arrogant scene-stealers’ vain glow…
The Lord --- I worship for revival demand.
Unbroken revival covenant reigns
Ceaseless midst earnest reaching-out fervor
Possible as urged by loving favor…
The Holy Spirit --- I esteem for faith-gains.
*Isaiah 57:15 For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
November 15, 2021
5th place, " 'U' Contest, New Poems Only"
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 11/15/2021.
Rocky trail
Fallen trees
Fresh scent of pine leaves
Scattered acorns
Wild blooms
Thundering sounds of a graceful brook
Brightly red
Cylindrical Snow flowers
Show-stoppers for enthusiastic hikers
Chirpy Jays
Traces of wild foxes
Immensity of rocky mainstays
Spring storm
Shivery gales
Sprays of tiny snowflakes
Wood bridge
Nimble stream
Magic of a mountain climb
The havoc of poverty
Is the undisturbed terrain
Of the vain unqualified.
Who live in distress.
Sitting on the recliner
Speaking about the poor
With the glass of costly wine
And there is nothing to offer.
Only talk and talk about them
The one who lives in the lane
Sleeping on roadside poverty
Eating the dirt filth of variety.
The life of the poor
In the way never to prosper
For us who want to change
Run far away from garbage.
We are show stoppers
Of the change makers
Who wants the village
For a powerful image.
We curse the poverty
Do nothing for parity
It is our disgusting outrage
In the social media age.
-Rohan Dhabade
'Chork' isn't linked to ‘Cork’, the elastic tough outer tissue
of the cork oak used for stoppers or insulation; ‘Chork’ means
it's an act of making a typical sound your shoes make when you
are walking in them and they’re full of water, as done by teens.
~X~X~X~
time slides ever to the right,
neither scabrous skidding mark,
nor faint leavings of wisdom’s feast,
only gouged furrows, upturned days,
to love only ideas of love,
inane this hate of a cruel gentle kiss,
blackened hollow, sunken chest,
banal sacraments bless clamoring voices,
blown down a narthex like noisy wraiths,
screaming attention emotional ear stoppers,
when I'm here-
I'm there,
and when I'm there-
I'm here,
a self wound-ed pocketwatch missing a chain,
endlessly inward, the self-seeing eye,
germinated in murky hothouses,
stumbling over obligatory roots along blood red claybanks,
wine and honey, summertime of days,
flow past, rushing torrent of softer kisses unwetted,
aloof, removed, astrally projected,
the world perceived in gloomy mastication,
a demented ascetic in a cold mountain niche,
grown older in the dimlight, stranger to himself,
nary the wiser, sunblinded, threadworn,
stumbling towards an emptier ending of,
impure unsaid poetry,
coagulated prose,
clotted in the footprint,
trailing behind.
Clem Kadidlehopper had two whoppers,
Two burgers with the works may be stoppers,
Double meat, egg, beetroot, tomato and cheese,
For a burger connoisseur this could only please,
No problem for Clem and his great big choppers.
alternate last line: Clem woofed them down with his great big choppers.
A candle is not a candle
without that string that
runs inside it
An crystal earing is not
an earing
without the hooks
stoppers.
A school is not a school
without teachers or
students
All things are
complimentary.
False Spring
End of September is a strange interlude
in Algarve´s countryside.
Flowers suddenly bloom and yellow grass
turns green, for a few weeks it looks like
spring before sinking back to winter gloom.
The cork tree, dark and nude its dress has
has been turned into bottle stoppers and
and no leaves protect its misery.
Still it is looking inwards pretend not to be
there while waiting for spring, when
my almond three strews pink snow flakes
on the sandy lane and life begins again.
The sky will cover us tonight.
The town crackles beneath our feet
for your eyes' unsettling tilt
and your luminosity in yellows and reds.
Next to you, my bones shine pure white
through the veil of my skin.
Buildings flail in your presence
blanch, and turn the stale gray of concrete.
Your voice reaches out to stoplights and mailboxes,
they writhe in your radiance.
In one second, they are destroyed,
left in humps of twisted metal,
only to spring up to life once more,
plain from what they have seen.
Tonight, even the moon stoppers up her mouth,
flowing with history and folklore
at the heavy trod of your feet
against the bronzed stone.
Tonight the sky and earth will be silent,
the dusky hues of night our only company.
It's six o'clock,
but not for the birds,
for them, it's four-play.
God says,"Be there, or be square,"
because He's Lord of the times,
not Jehovah of old, knows
that slang and jargon,
keep the young in the fold.
Winter-white in a summer made
snowy, sea gulls assemble,
"aide memoire" who rules here.
They've mastered the moves,
but he's the conductor, and I, lady
of the lake have a season pass
for these Swan Lake show-stoppers,
their circles and dives, their "pas
de deux's", or sixes, or sevens, that
finish in the clouds in a curtain call
unfound by the married to ground.
God sends His ballet each day
where it belongs. Take Heart! He
says: My birds are words
beyond language, beyond
wings, beyond songs.
The tree frog
Sings really loud songs
It sticks with rubber
Stoppers on any surface
Around__sings the rain
Down onto the ground
When in large numbers
Their singing is a pain
It can disrupt sleep
And they can lie about the rain
Lay those eggs by the millions
On any water source
Winter is the last to the stage
The headlining act
Of a year almost gone
It has a few show stoppers up its sleeve
As Christmas and New Year
Prepare to put their best show on
Patiently waiting in the wings
Seeing Spring, Summer and Autumn
All take to the stage and perform
Its hard to follow in their footsteps
But winter hopes despite its coldness
To keep you happy and keep you warm
Happy Christmas
With love
For a new year soon to be
Have a wonderful time
This winter
With love from the heart of me....
before the key touched the door
and even before
the agent real-stated this, our home
i heard the rafters, door stoppers and shutters
rattle with our love
i saw
the garden you’d grow
that’d so
open my eyes
i came to see too
the me that came to know you
i caught sight of what we were going to be
before the key touched the door
and what’s more
i caught the sense of all who came into our dwell
and as I caught them, they did me as well
and oh, how they all knew
each and everyone
how well we had come
into this. . . our first home
Related Poems