"chimp" poems
No accounting for taste.
What you dislike
and called a waste
is what I like.
You call cheese,honey
I called it bitter pill.
You prefer a monkey
while chimp makes me chill.
You like worshipping sun
I love worshipping God
It really fun
you called mine odd.
I lived in tradition
You lived in modernity
But in addition
I lived in christianity.
You urged me to study biology
I urged you to learn Shakespeare
You want me to live by astrology
Let poetry be your spear.
You prefer winter
that is your choice
Mine is summer
when I'll rejoice.
When you lay on your bunk,
you hear the music,rock
but I listen to punk
who should be given a sock?
You love a black lady
with long dark hair
I love a white baby
to be my heir.
You desire democracy
as system of your
government
I desire theocracy
it had the best management.
Let us be a union
Let there be chaste
Let's tolerate each
one's opinion
for no accounting
for taste.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
*** was transmitted from chimpanzees to humans,
Eating chimp meat in Africa they thrived,
Most not realizing the sanctity they destroyed,
And chimps got it from mangabey meat,
New SIV+SIV gave *** at the lethal end for humans.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
A squirrel has the capacity
To reclaim nuts from memory.
But they can't make
Peanut Butter
To smear themselves,
Or their nuts,
Like animals
For ***
The Bottlenose
Is self-aware,
We noted in
His glassy stare;
When put before
A carnival mirror,
So covex, concave,
Too complex,
We also note
A confusing quiver;
The water's not
What makes him shiver.
Pigs are said to be
As smart as me
When I was three.
Now I'm four.
A chimp can nail
Two boards together,
To make
A cross;
We pray they
Don't redress
Their loss.
Whale song is said
To carry on
Beneath the blue
For 1 00 miles.
Its got a beat.
Do they
Do the ****
Or slow
Whale dance.
Crows, you know,
Have studied us
For 10 000 years.
They're iconic,
Mythic tricksters
Cawing knowingly
Above our ears.
So much so
For 10 000 years.
10 000 more
Should we rot
So long.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
Now, what the hell has just happened to me?!,
I went to sleep and felt quite human,
Alarm goes off, opened my eyes to see,
Two mounds where my little chest should be.
My ****** armpits have just sprouted some fuzz,
There's some hair where my lady garden was,
My beautiful blonde hair is all goopy and limp,
And my face has a likeness to a spotty chimp.
When i went to bed last night, i loved my dear mother,
Now, the thought of a cuddle makes me run and take cover,
Ant lanky Jimmy Owens used to repulse me, no end,
But now all i want is to be his girlfriend?!,
I suppose i will need to start wearing a bra,
And i'll have to smile through the taunts from grandma,
And my father will watch every move that i make,
And i'll have to conform, for my sanity's sake.
Well, tonight, when i lay down my spotty wee head,
I'll lie here and wait for the morning, with dread,
All these transformations, all yuk and all grease,
O lord, will i make it through in one piece?!.
c eileen mcgreevy 2009
Nov 20, 2009
Nov 20, 2009 at 5:50 AM UTC
Ta-targaryen
Ta-ta-targaryen
Jonnnn the Targaryen
Cute but a wimp
His sisters Sansa and Arry
Are the Lady and the Chimp
His Mom and Dad were King and Queen of the land of Westeros
They were killed by Robert Barry
and now Cersei is the bosssss
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
Oh, the sensation, the media frenzy,
The spotlight, the fame, the hullabaloo,
When anti-evolution laws
Were challenged by the ACLU!
The year: 1925.
The place: Dayton, Tennessee.
To say it was an extravaganza
Wouldn't be hyperbole.
For many people it was hard
To find a way to reconcile
Biblical accounts with science,
So science found itself on trial.
A young teacher, John T. Scopes,
Was willing to face prosecution
For breaking a Tennessee law for having
Given a lesson on evolution.
The "Monkey Trial" it was called.
The challenge meant swimming upstream
For the feisty lawyer Clarence Darrow,
Who helped to lead the defense team.
A prosecutor was William Jennings
Bryan, who with no apology
Loved to stir up outrage against
Evolutionary biology.
Defendant Scopes quickly found
It wouldn't take long for him to know
What it was like to have a part
In a multimedia reality show.
The courthouse received a make-over:
Platforms for newsreel cameras were built;
Extra spectator seats were added.
They were playing the trial to the hilt.
Concession stands sold food and drinks;
Toy monkeys were on display;
A chimp was dressed in a suit and fedora;
The clergy also joined the fray.
The media and the public loved it!
The country watched the trial progress.
What would win: science or scripture?
The answer was probably easy to guess.
After an eight-day trial, the jury
Deliberated. Nine minutes later
They had their verdict: guilty! How
Could someone question THEIR creator?
Scopes had actually never given
The lesson. That's what he later said.
Strangely, five days after the trial,
Williams Jennings Bryan dropped dead.
Laws later changed, but even during
Current times, some people feel
That stories from the Bible should be
In science textbooks. Now THAT'S surreal!
-by Bob B (11-6-18)
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
The spiders have found the spot on your back you can’t reach
They grew into that monkey you can’t shake
But then you find The one.
There is she to identify that monkey
they all demand that piggyback ride your lower back can’t support
You thrash to frantic scramble then call them your own
We are a unit, let’s call it a family
We are now uncomfortable in our comfortability
Let’s call it love, call it what we know
Duct tape it together and say it’s fixed
Let’s call it love out of fear of the unknown
Smile for the photo, smile out of fear
Ham wasn’t happy, but we all saw his teeth.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
I'm struggling to comprehend this desire to be desired
The forces of nature and evolution in which we're mired
No matter how far we travel into space,
Or how many organs we manage to replace
We cannot transcend the basic instinct
To preserve the species from going extinct
The world keeps spinning at a whirlwind pace,
No time for contemplation, it's the human race
If you don't keep up you'll vanish without a trace
A terrible fate that we can't seem to face
Is to have ourselves and our lives erased
Is this all there is then?
For this great species of women and men
We've struggled, survived and conquered
But our genes are still our masters
We splice study and duplicate
And try to decipher the codes
But must make time to find a mate,
Before we're too old
We've been to the moon and travelled back
We've fought world wars and pandemic attacks
We've studied the brain and consciousness
We've challenged society's prejudices
But no matter what we achieve, build or transcend
We're haunted by the spectre of being barren
The ant, elephant and amoeba
Redwood, fungus and bacteria
The chimp, owl and lowly cockroach
May not have weighty subjects to broach
But for all our millennia of evolution
The name of the game's still reproduction
I wonder if we'll ever be
Even as evolved as sea anemones!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a chimp’s hands?
His were exactly like that.
Leathery Weathered Stained
From 50 years of farm work.
Today I see those hands
Moving chess pieces around the board
Masterfully
A moment of dissonance.
Like snow falling on the Visayas,
It was that strange to me.
Simple man, where did you
learn this sophisticated play?
In your tiny village on the remote Philippine island?
Knight to G-5, takes Bishop
He glances up and smiles.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
So, it’s three in the morning
and a man in a gorilla suit
is running across my lawn.
Quigley runs figure-eights—yapping, yelping.
The light in McKevitt’s window flickers
on then off—he doesn’t see this ****
stumbling and slopping about the dark yard,
pulling at the plush love handles
of his unwieldy suit—its zipper
just visible in blue moonlight.
He’s trying not to step on the little black dog nipping at his paw.
I pace at the window hoping he will leave.
I pace some more and fumble
at the nightstand for a cigarette.
I beat my chest to scare this thing away
and though I feel foolish, I grunt.
I grunt and expect him to listen to reason—
he doesn’t and collapses near the shed.
Quigley watches him—curiously cocking his head.
He licks the rubber face with his pink tongue
thinking this monkey’s me—not well at all
and sopped in booze. I get under the cold sheet.
I toss. I turn. I curse the ****** ape well into morning.
I hit snooze until I’m sure he’s gone.
This has been going on for weeks
I beat my chest and show my teeth.
I pace the dark room—smoking, grumbling.
I consider buying a bigger dog, a bigger gun.
I send him death threats, then love notes. Nothing works—
I can’t shake this monkey from my back.
So excuse me for calling at this odd hour
to howl about my primate problem—the chimp on my shoulder.
or maybe a bonobo?
(you know, the one that made life with me so hard.)
In any case, he’s my problem now
and tonight he’s knocking at the door
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:05 AM UTC
Take a group of chimpanzees
used to swinging through the trees,
and sit them down at keyboards in a row;
lots of paper, lots of ink,
lots and lots of time, I think,
and what the theory says I’m sure you know.
Yes, along with all the junk,
all the gibberish and bunk,
somewhere there’d be the full works of the Bard:
As You Like It, Cymbeline,
Richards 2 and 3, the Dream,
though Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, might be hard.
But I’m sure the little blighters
would get on fine with *Titus
Andronicus*, The Taming of the Shrew,
The Moor of Venice (that’s Othello),
the other Merchant fellow,
and Antony and Cleopatra too.
The Winter’s Tale would hold no terrors,
nor The Comedy of Errors,
and Verona’s Gentlemen would turn out right;
Love’s Labour might be Lost,
or it might be Tempest-tossed,
but All’s Well That Ends Well, even on Twelfth Night.
Lear, King John, and Much Ado,
Henry 4, parts 1 and 2,
Henry 5, and 6 (in three parts), Henry 8,
Troilus, Timon, Measure for Measure,
Pericles (a neglected treasure)
and how Romeo and Juliet met their fate;
all the Sonnets, and the ****
of Lucrece* (typed by an ape!)
and if they worked for ever and a day
they could fit in Julius Caesar,
that Coriolanus geezer,
the Wives of Windsor, and the Scottish play.
I grew more and more excited –
even thought I might be knighted
if I could be the one to make it work.
But to realise my dream
I had to try a pilot scheme,
to prove I wasn’t just a reckless berk.
I bought one chimp from the zoo -
didn't have the cash for two -
and gave him a typewriter, just to try
for a short while. Well, a fortnight
was the time-scale that I thought right.
You see, I’m quite an optimistic guy.
Now everyone who heard
of my project said, “Absurd!”
when I told them of my striking new departure.
“Get a chimpanzee to type
the works of Shakespeare? Oh, what tripe!”
Still … he did produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
I do not mourn long Mondays--
Wednesday is gone before I
blink back an astonished Tuesday, and
at twenty-four already
I see my mothers hands sliding
across the page
That same scrawl following tip
of the exigent pen
Nervous mind idly stroking
bitter torments
That which is aggravated swells
inflamed. Like a
canker sore deep in
the inner cheek
The tongue rolling and probing,
absorbed by each sour pain
Carefully plotting little volcanoes across
the slick terrain
They burst like purple pomegranates
pounding spattered cement
on mild fall evenings
So do people sometimes
Through tectonics of the brain
Those which could be minor psychological
blemishes roar to life. Shifting
vast emotional plates
behind a cool gaze
People hurl carelessness at on another
like schoolyard boys
chucking helpless frogs at
jagged stone walls
Ignorant of life's high price
And though horrified-- I
Can not look away.
Eyes bulging, blown out anuses spewing
pale intestines slick with blood-- I
can not look away.
Each giddy chimp, feces
Proudly flung-- I
do not look away.
My heart swollen hungering for
that emptiness called humanity
Mostly pretense, mostly solitude, mostly cruelty,
All personal gain!
Meanwhile, brothers and sisters,
have you considered the fate
of your everlasting soul?
I didn't think so
Glassy eyes stare
beseeching from bathroom mirrors
Tear-stained cheeks belie
a quizzical half-smile
I will meet that insecure gaze
promising to seek my own perfect
imperfection
No longer guilt ridden and ashamed
I will hold the reflected stare aloft
with my own true eyes
and I swear-- I
will not look away
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
Now, what the hell has just happened to me?
i went to sleep, and felt semi human,
alarm goes off, open my eyes to see,
two mounds where my wee chest should be....
My ****** armpits stink, and have sprouted fuzz,
and there,s hair where my lady garden was,
my beautiful blonde hair is all goopy and limp,
and my face bares a likeness to a spotty young chimp....
When i went up to bed, i loved my dear mother,
now, the thought of a cuddle makes me run and take cover,
and that lanky Josh Owens used to repulse me, no end,
but today all i want is to be his girlfriend....
I suppose i will have to start wearing a bra,
and i,ll have to smile through all the taunts from grandma,
and my father will watch every move that i make,
and i,ll have to conform, for my sanity's sake....
Well, tonight when i lay down my spotty wee head,
i will lie here and wait for the morning, with dread,
with all these transformations,sweaty armpits, hair all grease,
oh dear universe, please help me make it through in one piece !!
(c)[email protected] (re-edited)
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
i loath that educational poetry that's intended to address you with scold or searching for a higher tier of morality, there are poems like that out there (rudyard kipling e.g.), with educational / instructional overtones in the way they're written, i always wonder though: did the poet remember the idea of solipsism and writing the poem as if to himself, a note to self, rather than for others to peer into the poem and learn something?
that's the thing though,
i'm a child of immigrants...
actually an immigrant
myself... no, wait, let's do
what the higher tiers of society
call it: i'm an expatriate,
a child of expatriates -
and they still talk with an accent,
me? self-taught english
from the age of 8, retained my
mother tongue nonetheless,
speak none of the two tongues with
an accent, unless i want to,
a friend of mine introduced me
to a greek cypriot, lovingly ridiculed
me as posh... and let me tell you,
sounding posh in essex is hard to do,
i admit it would be harder in
scotland or east london, but essex
is still a hefty mountain to climb -
it's like that crass joke i heard in
the edinburgh comedy club i used to
haunt once a week...
a guy stands up and with a mighty grin
announced himself with over-stressed
elocution: 'you might recognise my accent
(i.e. denoting where he came from,
a great conversation starter on these
islands)... it's educated',
and that really crushed the hazelnut
in his **** -
well if it was a woman telling the same
joke, it would be a crushed hazelnut
between the legs - missionaries
in positions of ardent prayer
and christmas wrapping paper -
because a woman's strength in the leg department
is like the lips of oysters, or any over shellfish
for that matter - insects of the deep blue
(exoskeleton).
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
To step foot through the Realms of Reality,
and turn from the land of make-believe,
is to give yourself over to the wasteland of happily-never-after.
You'll find along the path of the yellow brick ruins,
A sleeping beauty, cast to the side not in sleep, but in death.
A witch shoves Mother Goose in an Iron Clad stove,
along with Hansel and Gretel and the gingerbread man.
The Mad Hatter sips from his blood filled teacup,
and a mermaid's tail hangs upon the fisherman's hook.
Somewhere in the distance, a pixie's light goes out for good,
and another flying chimp is stripped of its feathered wings.
Rapunzal's golden hair lies in ashes on the grave,
along with the remnants of a tattered flying carpet.
The lost boys wander aimlessly, trying to remember how to fly,
and slice their toes on the remaining shards of a magic mirror.
The scream of a toymaker echoes through the air
As he watches his wooden boy scorch in the flames before his eyes.
The sky grows darker as the second star to the right goes out,
and a dragon lies dying because Jackie Paper was ripped to shreds.
A genie slams the walls of his prison, suffocating inside his magic lamp,
and a child, no bigger then your thumb, is carried off by a jet black raven.
A half dead Briar Rabbit, steps over the carcass of a cow from the moon
and seven shaken dwarves waste away, mourning over their stone cold maiden.
A flying elephant is shot down dead, and drops from the blood red sky
And a thin lost sheep is snatched in the jaws of the big bad wolf.
A small, shaken child stumbles out of the mist and shadow,
wondering what became of his beloved Land of Make Believe..
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 9:53 AM UTC
This coffin
I inhabit
Floats along the nonexistence
Of space
And time
In such a way as to make me forget what comfort ever was
Days become eons
Trapped in a box reeking of death and lacking in emotion
I become nothing more than a trained chimp
Acting out "living" as I see actual humans do
all for a few measly peanuts
yes oh yes I wouldn't mind if this rolling coffin crashed and burned if for nothing more than to end this surreal nightmare of not existing
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
RESPECT
Mr C Penguin the head of the house
Wears a uniform and listens to Strauss.
Seals plonked by the door as a draught excluder.
Chimps are taking tea in the parlour Room.
Judging how many cakes they can consume.
“Get a brush Foxy and sweep up those crumbs,
I will be charging them double when the time comes”
Mr Badger making endless trays upon trays of cakes
For the ignorant posh chimps and the mess thy make.
“Bag the goose and send the felloe to me,
I will give the chimps something to do for free”
The penguin cracked his knuckles and gave a cough
He had told the chimps he had taken the day off.
“The goose is here” half smiling “the goose is here”
The chimps shook, gulped and felt a trifle queer.
The goose frog marched in and the chimp went limp
“Right you posh lot, eat nicely is that clear chimp”
“I’m not old fishy pengy” he snapped straightening his wing,
“no hanky panky on my watch, nothing, no anything.
“I run a tight ship chimp, my rules old chum.”
The chimps heard right and put an end to the fun.
“Respect, respect,” the goose patrolled his little space
The chimps now ashen with a worried look on their face.
It is all about respect
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Perfectly Imperfect
there are so few things that I do correct
hell I'm still learning how to stand *****
with my ape like qualities making strange sounds
the stupid words I utter could be measured in pounds
you know deep down inside I really do care
I have a ton of feelings that I will gladly share
but sometimes my thoughts get caught up in the word I
I won't stop talking until I make you cry
I miss the banner T says at the bottom of the page
I go from weeping chimp to a silverback in rage
trying to get a grip on my now empty heart
I wanna go back again go back to the start
why is it that sometimes you find out too late
that you should keep yourself in a cage or crate
until you learn and understand what smart really is
and no I'm not talking about a scientific wizz
I guess I'll continue writing self deprecating lines
until I learn more than just swinging on vines
I don't know how else to explain how my heart burns
hoping someday my sunflower returns
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC
Would I change a ******* thing,
yes I ******* would.
Can we start again,
eh, no chance.
You had the last dance
at the last chance saloon,
you broke my heart and hurt me so,
my soul was a million pices,
my mind was gone,
the hurt still goes on and on,
over you my first love.
You are at the bottom of my well of regrets,
these you will never kiss again,
and these eyes will never look at you again,
my last love, my lost baby,
baby blue, goodbye.
To those drunken happy crimson nights,
those hugs and cuddles, sweet whispers in chimp ears,
your touch a pleasure never beaten,
your tickle warm breath against my beating heart,
the tender trap that pulled me to your inviting chest,
the way you smile when I nibble on your engaging neck
and the way you bite my first love my last love, goodbye.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:38 PM UTC
*oh sure, they have their: preservation of the d.n.a. arguments...they have the chimps, and the zoos... me? what am i after? the ultiamte sleep, namely death... i just want sleeeeeeeeep... **** the dreaming bits... i alway found the act of dreaming to be exhausting when it came to drawing blanks... mortality is exhausting; at least in terms of "immortality" i can take a massive blank-slate yawn... and forget both man and chimp... i always think of an epitaph in terms: what's the last song i'll be listening to when i drop dead? grand comfort.*
and to think,
that so much
goes
into writing
so little,
and that only
the least
of all possibilities
ever
conjured,
makes-up
a novel
that serves
a 100 years...
as i was i testing
the idea...
fire-eyed...
"crying"...
when
in fact trying
to testify
some other
worth to also
claim origins
without
a clue regarding
tattoos...
that might
direct me
by a compass
bias...
to me it's still
the year 1997,
when diana died...
the crime?
economic migration...
father and mother
in handcuffs...
the home-office,
and me punching
the wall...
if
the greek hated
moral relativism...
then the modern
us
should abhor
historical relativism...
islam loves
historical relativism...
oh **** me,
sure as ****
islam loves
historical relativism
in the same way that
ancient greeks
hated
moral relativism.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
It’s true that sometime
bare limb and sprig can be beautiful,
that dun lands can show stark heart,
but for this diurnal chimp
the cough of leaves remembered,
a view engorged,
is deeply needed
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 7:25 AM UTC