Alone and hungry
left leg aches like a broken peg
in the mugginess of its left slipper.
Not a good day for fixing anything
but the sealed and over salted,
the quickly warmed and spooned
that can be mixed into a taste-less medley
with other sundry comestibles.
The pantry,
(a recessed place with shelf-space),
is a dimly lit store for long kept canned products,
a once carelessly gathered and undated harvest,,
a compulsive cartload
that should never have been bought
opened, and cooked
in any company but strictly my own.
In that larder molders a canned fodder;
here anemic asparagus stalks wrapped in tin
are jammed together with diced jalapenos,
or glossily illustrated kidney beans.
Tomato and noodle soups are haphazardly piled
atop of various loosely defined
stewed meat offerings, including canned Spam
naturally.
After the so-called cooking
(more a revealing of a much mushed-up
mixture of misnamed contents),
I sit down with the steaming plate
allowing the metallic aroma to entice
peckish yet suspicious taste buds.
Fed now with the quickly chewed-over
I’m both glad and grateful
that this ten minute feast
can be wolfed down in so much less time.
The legs of the tigress were the first to go;
torn from her in a single vicious bite,
then left, helpless, to watch the rabbit;
bop and boogie around the once fierce cat.
The lion met a similar grizzly fate;
head torn from body upon gleefully which
the monkey did his dance macabre
in front of audience of tailless sheep.
The elephant, and ram, sans legs, of course,
performed a rather rhythmic limbo dance
under a cunning arch of bison, bear, and fox.
Followed by a mystery shape, we'll call a dog.
The turtle and the owl went in one quick snap,
and missed the seal's famous party trick;
balancing a kangaroo, half-eaten,
on his nose while standing on a cow.
The camel eventually broke in two;
beneath the weight of two donkeys and a horse,
causing hyena to start its manic laugh,
but not for long; it, too, was swallowed, whole.
The toucan crumbled under rhino's charge
and fell beneath the hippo's headless feet.
Then just as things were warming up, I found, alas,
no more Animal Crackers left in the box.
a sea otter swimming on its back
bangs tightly-clutched mussel shell
against a fist-sized rock
atop its belly in rapid succession.
intense hunger pangs strikes!
on, and on, the sea otter bangs
with sheer determination.
hard work pays off, at last! mussel is wolfed down.
how's that for ingenuity?
a cute marine mammal with a human brain.
Forms I - Imagism- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date written: 03/10/2022
Parody of The Holly And The Ivy. I ran out of
steam after verse two, but I felt it still worked
*
The jolly man unwisely
for he was full grown
Of all the cheese that was in the fridge
Old Jolly wolfed it down
Then Mrs Clause said, ‘Santa
O how your breath does stink
If it’s a promise that you think you’re on
Then have another think’
Trophy Hunters eradicated lesser one-horned.
Traditional medicine was reasoned then killed.
The colonial era malignant apartheid seized.
Tragic wildlife ranches endangered.
Tremendous Javan Rhinos died.
Tied mud wallow was converted, the game started.
Trapped maggoting man heart wolfed.
It is not often realized
that between two opposite things
lies a razor's edge.
It could be love and hate,
faith and unbelief,
or happiness and sadness.
I was sick for a long time
thinking of your departure.
Sadness is a disease,
it leaves a bad taste,
a despair for better things.
A fever that burns the soul.
Then I decided to take a different path.
I found myself afar from lands forlorn
into a sunlit sacred valley.
I felt irrational happiness,
don't ask me why
it could have been
the sun coming out suddenly
out of dark rain filled clouds.
Or the smell of freshly baked
Italian lasagne my mother had prepared,
to be wolfed up
with a ruby spring scented wine.
In the end who cares why?
I am so happy now.
I love a radish in the springtime!
I love a radish in the fall!
I take my car and park it,
There at the farmer's market,
And buy out every radish stall!
If there’s kohlrabi, I’ll buy a few
A tasty turnip I will not eschew,
But I love a radish when the sun’s up,
And even more when it begins to set,
But at the stroke of midnight
There’s nothing else I will bite
Cept’ for all the radish I can get.
And as for parsnips, they make me larf;
And salsify? My gosh I just might barf!
But I love a radish on my waffles,
As filling in my chocolate radish cake,
Tho’ once, while in Calcutta,
I wolfed down radish butta,
and I never will forget the belly-ache!
Though in motion
Just like them
I am just a potion
To be mixed with a stem
To be concocted into some lotion
To cure their poverty problem
I am an albino
A PERSON with albinism
I am not a stray rhino
I have a HUMAN mechanism
I am NOT evil
Neither a charm for Satanism
Now my soul is a refugee
In my own insecure body
My government is like a bribed referee
Who enjoys the parts of my body
Being chopped off like a worthless tree
For greedy reporters to have a story
God of resurrection,
How will I resurrect?
When my head is in Liwonde
My two eyes are in Chiponde
And my remains that were buried in Lilongwe
Are being wolfed down in Mitole?
Since my death is not a serious case
God, was my birth a curse?
Why didn't you let me die in the hands of the nurse?
Now that my world has completely turned worse,
When my innocent life gets snatched from me like a purse
Would you kindly open your heavens widely for my soul to rest?
!
In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes
There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells
We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest
Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time
Mourning wolfed down whole
Forbidden hurt howls inside-
Hidden grief tongue-tied
02/O9/2017
Wolfgang Mozart wolfed in haste,
A poetic sonata serene,
Harmonizing in good taste—
Finally finishing in canteen,
For a fix of caffeine.
Wolfgang Mozart makes no bones,
The audience not realizing,
He painted harmonic tones,
Spellbinding, yet not surprising,
Tunes so mesmerizing.
THE CHILDREN
Their tiny legs run to find no place to hide,
The children cry again as dark moves in,
As the shadowy sneer, evil’s grin
The children’s untimely fate, of being plucked from mother’s side,
And the children tried to but they slipped, that’s when the children slide
To be wolfed down in a world that has given up, a world worn thin,
The empty playground now, no laughter coming from within,
As the children cower, smaller and smaller for somewhere to hide,
When their mothers search feeling for them in the dark,
Distraught, forlorn, their mothers are ripped, their mothers are torn,
Children of their womb, children so close to every beat of mother’s heart,
When the children cry, cries of regret at having been born,
Shredding of innocence - stories unbelievable - the gut-wrenching part,
Up, and out of the nightmare - and the children still can’t be found in the morn.
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Crumbling crinkly, cracker crumbs
into salty, seafood stew,
Mother made our midday meal.
Fast for favorite food we flew.
Gluttony Glenda gulped a glass
of Linda's lovely, lemon tea.
While Will wolfed down whole walnut meats,
carefully crunching kernels free.
"Savages", sister Susan said.
"Politeness, please," our papa pled.
7/4/14
For Dr. Mehta's contest
“I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.” -Dorothy Parker
“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone” -Dorothy Parker
Angels connecting
in real live
Thinking reflecting
and keeping us strive
'Say no to consensuality
that's your best quality
You've the audibility
so keep on your prosody'
Always on time
Mr/Miss/Ms/Mrs I'm...
'Shhhhhhh'
with an eye rhyme
"That heinous crime"
Jumping off the metrics
Holy sculls!
Writing isn't mathematics
Such as friendship
Do everything intensively on your trip
If you stumble in the footpath
It's just a turn on
High in raciness
No Life Span
In the wrath
I am You Sylvia Plath
Nightmares and Dreams
In your life
You were anarchical
one of a kind
my new heteronym
named Wolfed Golf
because is worth being Virginia Woolf
In my paintings: pastels oils pencils and markers Paranoia(s) converter(s)
In being a reporter
In my disorder
sometimes being dark and darker
I am you,
Mrs Dorothy Parker
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