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S M Chen Dec 2016
In deserts like the Sahare,
Times people starve is quite rare.
     The reason, I've heard
     (Though it may be absurd):
Because of the sandwiches there.
216 · Dec 2016
And across the pond
S M Chen Dec 2016
The ***** of a gent from Kent
Was angled like the roof of a tent.
     When his good wife Nell
     Began to swell,
He said, "Why, I've a creative bent."
213 · Dec 2016
Subatomic particles
S M Chen Dec 2016
A young physics major cried, "Hark!
Methinks I've discovered a quark.
     If I can now carry on
     And locate a baryon,
I'll have in this field made my mark."
213 · Dec 2016
Somnambulism
S M Chen Dec 2016
A lean, young peripatetic
Thinks slimness may be genetic.
     Both father and son
     Find sleepwalking fun,
Despite a pace that's frenetic.
212 · Apr 2017
If Looks Could Kill
S M Chen Apr 2017
When does ire
become hate?
Or desire
something more,
which we late-
r may regret?
Might we abet
what we abhor?

That fine line
(not in sand nor red,
but in heart and head)
flutters, like vine
or leaf in breeze.
As a restive boat,
it may bob and float.
But we forget with ease.

         *

So can looks ****?
Not only as man
(but that, too),
I assure you
they sure can.
They may; they will.
Based on a broader interpretation of Commandments VI and VII.
209 · Apr 2017
Recipe for Disaster
S M Chen Apr 2017
“Learn from the mistakes of others.  You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.”

-  Eleanor Roosevelt (1884-1962), longest serving FLOTUS



Start with one comely young man of great promise:
He rescues lamb from jaws of bear.
Rescues sheep from clutches of lion.  
Slays giant Philistine with stone and sling.  
Forms deep friendship with prince, son of king.  
Becomes king himself.
Marries daughter of prior king – a princess.

Add a heaping teaspoonful of lust of eye - perhaps both eyes.
Stir in ****** – more than a pinch (is ****** ever less than a pinch?)

Let simmer; boiling over may be unpreventable, even if *** is uncovered and fire is low.
Clean up overflow.
Rinse cleanup cloth, but keep handy; more cleanup may be needed later.
Replenish fire as needed.
Keep plenty of wood; this fire will burn awhile.

Let plot thicken.
No need for additive; it will thicken of own accord.
Add a dash of sleepless nights.



Do not taste; mixture is bitter.
If proof needed, insert fingertip (not more) into stew.
Run cool water over fingertip.
Avoid four-letter words.
Rinse mouth.
Resolve to believe recipe in future.

*

Protagonist is castigated by prophet.
Marries widow of innocent man killed in battle.
With multiple wives, has multiple children; never a good idea.

       *

Son of one wife grows up to, like his father (like father, like son?), succumb to temptation – for his half sister.
Despite her plea, he forces himself on her.
She grieves.

*

Remove lid; handle potholders with care.
Mix in half a cup of tears.
Probably no need for salt; tears may be salty enough.
Stir ever so gently.

*

Her brother learns of her grief, is determined to wreak vengeance upon perpetrator, his half brother.
Which he does at a subsequent banquet.
Blood flows, some into ***.

                               *

No need for yeast.  
This mixture has enough ingredients to rise on its own.
Also, no need for spice.

      


A comely man in his own right, avenger decides to usurp throne.
Once (and future) king flees.
In subsequent combat, usurper flees by mule.
His mane catches in low-hanging branches of an oak (every yang has its yin), and he is killed.
More blood is shed.

*

Blood is salty, and has a flavor all its own.
More will trickle into ***; it cannot be helped.

*

Add cup of gall.
Little to no stirring needed; gall will disperse on its own, and tends to dominate whatever it is commingled with.

*

The king has epiphany, writes psalms – 150 of them.
Despite all above, the Almighty calls king ‘a man after His own heart.’
‘Where sin doth abound, grace doth much more abound.’ – Rom. 5:20.

*

Cooking is done.
Extinguish the fire.
Let *** sit.

*

Contemplate follies of man.
‘What fools these mortals be’ -  Shakespeare, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” – Walt Kelly, ‘Pogo’ comic strip.

*

Final stew is less bitter, but also less sweet, than it might have been.
Once put in the *** of life, ingredients cannot be removed.
They can only be tempered by more ingredients.

Choose wisely.
204 · Dec 2016
6 AA?
S M Chen Dec 2016
A lisping shoe salesman was wise
To keep his defect in disguise.
     He'd the back luck to say
     To a lady, one day,
"Thit down while I look up your thize."
201 · Apr 2017
Hard By 75
S M Chen Apr 2017
The good health that was visited on you
When you were young, and maybe from your birth,
Has made your life the richer, and your worth
Is measured by the things you love to do.

It seems that few of any age can keep
Up the daunting pace for yourself you’ve set.
Your energy exceeds that most have met
And so they watch, they marvel and they weep.

Whether it be on the slopes or maybe
Links, or ballroom floor, or choir of church,
You seem to find fulfillment in your search
For what it is that makes up destiny.

So, at this time, this very special time
When milestone passes, that won’t come again,
May of all things you have the best, and when
The day comes (and it will) you’re past your prime

Memories of a better time will keep
A Giaconda smile upon your face.
While your mind may be in another place,
May smile remain as you drift into sleep.
200 · Dec 2016
Some have it good
S M Chen Dec 2016
Lucky's the beast called the kudu,
Which has very little tu du
     But sleep, eat and drink,
     And that's why, I think
It has much less stress than yu du.
198 · Dec 2016
I prefer Bactrians
S M Chen Dec 2016
The camel, with two humps or one,
Is built to withstand sand and sun.
     I don't know about you,
     But, re humps, I like two;
To fall off is really no fun.
197 · Jan 2017
On the road
S M Chen Jan 2017
A young man who loathed to be last
Most often would drive very fast.
He also tailgated
Which was ill-fated.
He's now in a full-body cast.
197 · Dec 2016
Pockets
S M Chen Dec 2016
Pockets are a wonderful thing.

They hold a little piece of string

And little ***** and little jacks

(They’re not so good for shiny tacks

And other sharp things like small nails

Or slimy things like little snails).

*

Pockets are good to have in pants,

Shirts and jackets.  If you put ants

Inside a pocket, they won’t stay;

They will crawl out that very day.

So you should not put bugs and such

In pockets; they don’t like it much.

You put in something that’s alive

It’s dark in there; it may not thrive.

And if you put in something wet

Your mom is sure to be upset.

And she really does not much care

For toads or frogs to be in there.

*

What else goes into a pocket?

Perhaps a small Davy Crockett,

Faded photo in a locket,

Or tiny car, boat, or rocket.

A little stone, a card or two,

A stick of gum for you to chew.

Piece of paper on which you wrote

A secret code, or teacher’s note.

*

But what goes in there has to fit.

In pants, too much and you can’t sit.

In shirts it seems to matter less,

Although too much still makes a mess.

*

Pockets hold some coins and money.

So much stuff it isn’t funny.

Sunglasses, or maybe cell phone.

Likely the phone won’t be alone.

Something to write with, like a pen.

You never know you might write when.

*

Different kinds of sweets and candy.

To hold, pockets are most handy.

They let both of your hands be free

As hands should almost always be.

And let you carry around stuff;

(It seems you never have enough).

*

While some are big and some are small.

Some are barely pockets at all.

In different shape they sometimes come;

More useful than others are some.

Some are narrow and some are wide.

Wide ones allow more stuff inside.

Some are shallow and some are deep.

Deep ones permit more things to keep.

*

So when you buy a pants or shirt

Do look for pockets, which won’t hurt

To have, for I think it is wise

(And this should come as no surprise)

To have a pocket for which you

Might have no need (or think you do);

Like the spare tire that may be new.

*

Do I love pockets?  I sure do.
for a grandson
194 · Dec 2016
1.618
S M Chen Dec 2016
A Fibonacci poem, in which the # of syllables per line = the sum of the # of syllables in the 2 preceding lines.

-----

Who

would

have thought

that one man

would be inspired to

come up with a numerical

sequence that depicts so many things found in nature

such as leaf arrangement in plants, pattern of florets of a flower, bracts of
pinecones,

spirals of seashells and whorls of galaxies and hurricanes?  This Golden Ratio, symbol for which is ‘phi,’ one point six one eight, is a

fundamental characteristic of the universe.  Can one, by searching, find the divine?  The question vexed Job, but Fibonacci, if he did not, may have come close, for has it not been said that nature is God’s second book?
188 · Dec 2016
Who knew?
S M Chen Dec 2016
When NATO was formed, it appears
Not a few Eskimos were in tears.
     Said they, "What?  Not include us?
     How could you exclude us?
We've had IC BMs for years."
186 · Dec 2016
Marital bliss is this?
S M Chen Dec 2016
A housewife didn't think it a treat
When, at night, he peed on the seat.
     The next time he did
      She'd put down the lid.
Who says that revenge isn't sweet?
185 · Dec 2016
Consider Trees
S M Chen Dec 2016
A tree, like man, is born to toil,
As leafage falls, lies for a time
In dormancy, then makes the climb
To start a life, through crust of soil.

If nature's kind (at least is fair),
The sapling usually will thrive;
Takes what it needs to stay alive
From earth and water, sun and air.

Through countless seasons, start to end,
The searing heat and bitter cold,
The wind and blight that make it old,
And topple many a fellow friend;

Despite the years of overuse,
Put upon by man and beast,
The tree complains not in the least,
Nor asks for respite from abuse.

Day by day, it seems to know
The One who made it, made us all;
So, when it feels the final call
To leave its place in earth and go,

It yields itself for greater good.
In dying, gives itself to man,
Providing, in what ways it can,
Warmth and shelter with its wood.

                            *

Sage advice is sometimes free.
The message of this simple verse
Is:  we could do a little worse
Than take a lesson from the tree.
S M Chen Jan 2017
A couple who lived in the West
Led a life decidedly blest.
He only would let her
Give others his better,
Reserving for her all his best.
180 · Dec 2016
Eve's Lament
S M Chen Dec 2016
Our garden was always open
To any who would come;
The flowers ever fragrant
And held in awe by some.

Tulips, lilacs, and daffodils,
Roses of red and white,
Peonies for my enchantment;
All made for our delight.

-----

You asked to see our garden,
And so I let you in.
Flattered by your interest,
I showed what grew within.

It was there you tempted me;
Said I would not surely die.
Tempted me with lovely fruit;
Twisted truth into lie.

You said my eyes would open,
I’d know both evil and good.
This you failed to tell me: could
I know but good, I should.

So I took the fruit you proffered,
Bit it and ate thereof.
And though it happened in silence,
That’s how hate supplanted love.

There’s something that I’d like to say:
I was beguiled; not so my mate.
Though horrified, he loved me so,
He ate the fruit and shared my fate.

Might this not have happened
Had I not strayed from Adam’s side?
He might have stopped my folly.
Perhaps you can decide.

-----

The light that cloaked us disappeared;
Vanished like the stars at day.
Our eyes opened, but what we saw
Brought foreboding and dismay.

We made clothing with leaves of fig.
Covered up to hide our shame
And guilt for having disobeyed;
But did nothing to hide blame.

Adam blamed me; I blamed you.
No self-responsibility.
Had we nothing else to blame
We might have blamed the Tree.

God listened, then pronounced His curse.
Our hearts were filled with woe
Despite our ignorance of how
Hard the winds of fate can blow.

-----

The garden blooms as once it did
But I’m no longer there.
What then was bliss, now is this:
A life I can barely bear.

-----

But yet there’s hope for me, for us.
God told of the master plan
(That we might live forever)
To save the race of man.

-----

The bluebells whisper now to me
I shouldn’t have ventured near the Tree.
All that I had may never be
Except in distant memory.
172 · Dec 2016
Now You Know
S M Chen Dec 2016
Limerick writing's no cinch.
At times one gets in a pinch.
     It's still rather fun
     To unearth a pun
And try the 5th line to clinch.
164 · Dec 2016
Mountain High
S M Chen Dec 2016
When I fail to think of You
(And, sad to say, times more than few)
Because of all I need to do
(Or think I do - that may be true)

I hie me to the clear, cold air
At heights where oxygen is rare
Bluer skies and brighter sun; where
One can discard life’s every care.

And on the mountaintop I see
My life with greater clarity.
I feel unfettered; now am free
To be the man I strive to be.

Why to the mountains do I go?
Whether there be snow or no?
Although the reasons may not show
I’m moved by mountains; this I know.
164 · Dec 2016
A fish by any other name
S M Chen Dec 2016
A fortunate fish is the cod,
Who owes it mostly to God
     And a little good luck
     That it isn't stuck
All its life with a name like the scrod.
159 · Dec 2016
Why Is This?
S M Chen Dec 2016
One interesting thing seems quite clear:
the number of cookbooks appear-
     ing for people to buy
     seems equalled by di-
eting books, year after year.
155 · Dec 2016
Parting the Veil
S M Chen Dec 2016
thoughts on seeing a veiled woman sitting in a shop in a town in Afghanistan, 1960s


What is it lies behind the eyes?
What could it be she’s thinking of?
Might it be children?  Perhaps love?
Or maybe truth, and maybe lies.

What hopes and dreams within her lie?
What music in her may be found?
In her did they find fertile ground
Or did they go there just to die?

Her look takes in so many things.
What is it that she’s searching for?
Perhaps (or not) she seeks for more
Or is content with what life brings.

What thoughts run through the mind of her –
This woman from an ancient land?
This harsh forbidding land of sand
Some have tried but none could conquer.

It may be that she’s past her prime;
I cannot guess her age in years.
She’s lived a life of fear and tears;
They make one old before one’s time.

The veil enshrouds identity,
But those who hide behind a veil
Hide but awhile, to no avail;
Time grinds to dust what some might see.

                                  *

She gazes out, but I gaze in
Beyond the veil, the face, the eyes.
It comes to me as no surprise
(And that is why I sympathize):
I find a place where I have been.
154 · Dec 2016
And the winner is...
S M Chen Dec 2016
Many females wear a B-bra;
Others are proud of their C-bra.
     But were there a prize
     For purely grade size,
It'd doubtless go to the zebra.
152 · Jan 2017
Not Entirely True
S M Chen Jan 2017
A doctor of x-rays named Park
Begat more offspring than a shark.
When asked as to why,
He was heard to reply:
"I do my best work in the dark."
142 · Dec 2016
There Are People Like This
S M Chen Dec 2016
An atopic young lass used to sing,
"I'm allergic to 'most everything.
     When my skin isn't itching,
     My nostrils are twitching.
I can't wait for new pollens this spring."
141 · Dec 2016
Bad luck
S M Chen Dec 2016
A lioness a hunter spied
And decided to go for a ride.
     The lion awoke
     And ate the poor bloke,
Thinking he'd injured his pride.
139 · Dec 2016
Best things
S M Chen Dec 2016
A woman returned from a spree
Of shopping that brought her much glee.
     When her husband espied
     All she'd bought, he just sighed,
"The best things of wife are not free."
137 · Dec 2016
How It All Began
S M Chen Dec 2016
The older I get,
The better you seem.
You may have died,
But not your dream
For all of us -
Your offspring.
So on this day
Your praise I sing.

For compared with
Some of the rest,
I was fortunate;
You were the best.

On this, your day,
I think of you
And miss you quite;
That much is true.
For even though
You’ve been long gone,
Our memories
Live on and on.

Though you could not
Give many ‘things,’
You gave me roots;
You gave me wings
To be the man
I hoped to be.
To start my own
Family tree.
to my deceased father on Fathers Day.  2016
115 · Dec 2016
Treefall
S M Chen Dec 2016
One winter day he felt it;
an ache (a hurt from wrongs
of long ago?) deep within
the substance of his pulp.

How long itʼd been there
he couldnʼt say. A day,
a week, or maybe longer.
Who knows when termites
in the quiet night
begin to gnaw?

But when they had him split
as for a sacrifice, they found
the founding of their fears.
They had to close him up
to face the worst of nature
on its terms.

So he went home,
knowing that the thing
inside him would not rest
till it had sapped him
dry; only then, would it,
like him, cease its labor.

The anorexia and the inability
to eat, the pain that bored
and bored, and wouldnʼt remit,
the weakness and the loss
of will (this most of all)
to live, to fight
the fight of one who knows
heʼs going to lose
(how do you make a fight
like that look good?) -
we saw him suffer these
and so much more,
yet were as helpless,
though less hopeless.

Through all of this
the one who suffered most
next to him was the one
who shared his ground.
She shed the tears
he could not shed
(but how he wept inside)
and smiled if he was able to
keep down a meal, or two.
Always by his side,
what little energy she had
flowed ever to him,
a flickering light
in his darkness.

We watched him wither,
leaves drop one by one
at first, then in clusters,
ever faster, and when,
roots rotted by the blight,
the trunk toppled and lay still
in final rest, we,
branches of that tree,
all died a little.
103 · Dec 2016
Stonethrowers
S M Chen Dec 2016
See her stagger
as they drag her
through the city street.
Hear them twitter,
watch them stare
as they set her,
without care,
at the Master's feet.

See her cower
as they query
what to do with her.
Watch Him, weary
of evil games,
take stick in hand,
write in sand
secret sins and names.

Now all are gone
save two alone.
He wipes her tears,
dispels her fears;
does not condemn
her more than them.

*

Many a stone
I have thrown;
yet, had I thought
(as well I ought)
a bit more love,
I should have known
glass is what
my house is made of.

— The End —