"chomps" poems
Two people both alike in character
Of the opposite sexes
Sit across a candlelit dinner
In a lovely, fancy restaurant
The room is incandescently lit
With a dimness that balances between ever so bright and ever so dark
Allowing for a gold tinge to envelop the restaurant
But not gold enough to take away notice of the lit candle set upon the White table cloth
The waiter appears and asks the couple
What they would like for dinner
The couple order the food and drink
Much to the waiter's delight the food and drink is expensive
The waiter returns shortly
With a bottle of their finest Pinto Noir
And pours the blood-red wine slowly
Into each of the couple's glasses
And leaves the couple to sip upon their sweet sin delicately
The food is laid out
Triumphant in its debut
A vast smorgasbord of entries
Including frog legs, crab, and delicious ****** steak
The couple prepare their silverware for the battle that is eating
The man stabs his knife into the ****** steak
Cutting it open and spilling the juices all over his plate
He stabs the meat with the fork and guides it toward his mouth
And slowly but surely chomps upon it with the strength of his fine jaw
And swallows the meat into the unexposed mystery that is his stomach
The woman begins to mutilate the frog legs with her knife
Cutting into the once moveable limbs
And stabs the limbs with her fork and brings it to her mouth
And delicately bites the limbs and politely chews
And swallows it into her fine and precious insides
The couple then split the crab legs
Using their bear hands they split the shells open
And remove the meat or **** it right out of the shell
They swallow it whole and do nothing with the shell
Leaving the shell aside to be as still as a carcass
The waiter arrives and asks how the food was
The couple obliged him with their satisfaction
The bill is handed to them and the couple pay it
Leaving a hefty tip
They then leave the lovingly dimly lit restaurant
To enjoy the night that is ahead of them
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Depression tends to have a manipulating and controlling manner that spits and hisses from behind her snarled teeth,
Depression swallows the light.
And in doing so, depression gulps down yellow, drowning the sun and all his mighty.
Depression chomps on green, bits off grass and shrubble stuck to the inner corner of her lip.
Depression chews pink, each candy floss cloud tickling her taste buds.
Depression chugs blue, the ferocious waves sloshing down her throat with ease.
Depression regurgitates darkness, there is no colour when depression grabs my hands, looming shadows engulf my vision,
Depression’s feet start to move and I realise we are dancing to the dull thud of my heartbeat,
I dance with depression all through the dark, but it isn’t just dark, it’s the kind of dark with no moon, no stars or streetlights, it’s the kind of dark that creeps up on you until you cannot even see your nose.
The darkness slithers under my fingernails and slices back my skin, slipping beneath my flesh, it wears my hand like a glove,
It wanders upwards and claims my face simply as a mask,
As it seeps down, down, down, my legs now become stilts.
I am no longer dancing with depression, depression is dancing me, I am her puppet.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
My word, that's a gut wrenching cry
you have there, monsieur le coq
A piercing horn-of-plenty rant
that causes the stars to retreat
No wonder St Peter repented
Is that cackle-raising to rouse those
who give their all for ghosts in machines?
Or does that siren you summon
quicken earthbound worms
early bird fishers of men
are after?
Chef de partie stirs his cuppacino dreams
Bulging pajamas shapeshift
as he turns, chomps his jowels
and salivates *Long live Chicken a la King
Sharpen my knife*
Oct 12, 2009
Oct 12, 2009 at 9:19 AM UTC
Whose gun is at your head?
Tomorrow I graduate,
And feast on my heart; they're giving it back.
Only small parts though...
Freedom is not exactly free.
As I tick through a day that doesn't feel
R. E. A. L.
I'll remember a time when eating clocks
Was a delight
And night never came
Because time never sung.
But what will tomorrow bring?
The final burst of detrimental metaphors and acidic teachers egos,
Who depend on a pay package
"Not enough" for their knowledge.
They should've stayed human.
I wince as the cogs twist
And an ever continuing robotic system
Chomps down on thousands of more souls.
And I beg for new a freedom.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Fresh juice of naval
Beckoning within skin
Promising treacle
Orange and sweet
Bowl bursting, glows
Seatedon floor
Ready to devour
Baby walks in, spies
Stands firm
Hand outstretchged
Sure okay, share with you
Loves it, like Gran when a child
Delighted in sweet juice
Dripping on chest
But baby must stay dry
Clad in large apron wrap
Covering designer overalls
Chomps, tastes, smiles
Bursting brim to brim
Yes, naval juice!
Demands more and more
Oh, no!
Saturated right through
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 8:17 AM UTC
Clean
your
sooty
grime
stratified like a chopped tree.
Knitted into clothes for me.
Follow the wicked edge of
the yellow road,
Inclined to doze in the junction of my
doorway, carry with you dragonfly-brooch
wings to flutter.
Naked newborn to an age of
social settings
on max— to touch
me, to you.
Take the chomps,
lend me your spine,
joints,
match me.
Eat what I have to bear,
like a child of my purple-blushed
foulness.
A bucking ***** like a war-torn, skeletal femme,
used.
Here,
open up.
I'll lose a tiny hand.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
A steam hangs off the wet asphalt;
The fresh rain water
Seeps off the sticky ground
In low hazy mists. Beside the road
The trees hang down as if
Weighted by the humid air
And the reeds and undergrowth
Glare back a violent shade of arsenic green.
Above the earth wet electric lime
And vibrant cherry leaves
Hang over the slick black surface.
A forest
Choked with muddy and twisted
Vines and shrubs,
Dense and gritty mud,
Ferns from a prehistoric era otherwise forgotten,
And yammering birds that shriek
Upwards in the tangled branches
Stares back at a black cat,
Who sits and cleans herself nobly,
Occasionally munching on grass.
Her head bobs up and down
As she chomps the sour stalks
In her mouth, staring once in a while
At the ominous maw of the forest floor.
The grass is soaked against her paws,
And soon she trots
Into a quiet house at some distance.
Outside dusk has arrived like
The terrible bringer of some evil destiny,
Walking quietly upon soft yet inevitable footsteps.
Meanwhile the insects crawl forth from the mud
And pour out into the mauve and fleshy night air
Buzzing and biting.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
red jawed, aspirin(s)
waxy swollen gums
grinning white teeth,
grinding down to spiked nubs,
^^^^^^^^^
little points,
chewing up.
;'.',;.;';'.,';.','.';',.
all the better for spitting acid.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
No safer shelter than the trigger.
Training and trenches teach him: ****
Or get killed. So he masters the skill. He kills
Mosqitoes and cockroaches. He kills
Rats, cats, and chickens. One day he traps
A trembling pup. Gripping a dagger, he grabs
The dog’s nape and rips open its neck. Warm
And sweet as wine – the blood. And for blood
He craves. He strangles a suspected rebel before
His pregnant wife. Not a whimper escapes from her
Mouth. Her soul seethes as her eyes clasp the last gasp
Of a baby lying between her legs – six months
In her womb. He ends her anguish by feeding her
Bullets. He hacks the neck of the moribund
Husband. He hangs the head on a pole and displays it
To rot on the street. And for more blood his heart
Aches. He orders his men to burn the village of Las Navas
And shoots everyone that runs. He chomps off
The ear of a poet and cracks open her skull. Her brain,
His dip. And he feasts on his skill. Until one twilight
A wayward bullet snatches the trigger from his finger,
Finds its nest in his chest. He marvels at how deep
His blood darkens, how fast his blood clots, how tight
His blood clings to life. Then he hears faint footfalls coming,
Merging with the droning stream. Figures familiar to him,
Bare and brown as the earth weave a web of shadows
Over his body. And he waits for their hands to carry his own law
Down his skull. But something heavier befalls –
Gazing at the sky for the first time, stunned by the bleeding
Colors of the twilight, he glimpses a pair of cupped
Hands dripping life into his wound. Into his trembling lips.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.
Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.
In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.
A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.
Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
expand
in random places
and irregular
rhythms.
His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.
His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.
Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.
My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.
There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.
My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
That Tic Tac is a mismatch
Fitting inside a few teeth's gap,
Feeling left out when the real teeth
Get to stay there when it's got to leave;
Melting slowly and in agony
Its short life is ending quickly,
Then a few chomps til it's done
Now that Tic Tac sees no one.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Chewing-Gum Girl Waiting for the Sunset Limited
Long, long ago
In the station at Tucson we waited
Someone said the locomotive had burned in the desert
A girl with earphones chewed gum through the hours:
Roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP-CHOMP
Her eyes were closed, her music was her god
She clutched a leatherette case of tapes
Just as some clutch a Bible, and chewed:
Roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP-CHOMP
Her mechanical chomps could have been the rhythm
Of the passenger train that wasn’t there
My paperback novel never joined in:
Roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP-CHOMP
I don’t remember her boarding the train
That in the evening finally arrived
She might be in the Tucson station still:
Roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP, roundy-CHOMP-CHOMP
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 10:21 PM UTC
*though a young’un here,
wander, stumble through
old poems via crazy word
searches, and bumble~bump
into fabulous poets who have
not scribed in many ayear,
and the curiosity chomps me
big time, where do the poets*
go,
when they without trace,
they disappear,
disparu sans laisser de trace
**leaving behind poems that leave
me breaathless, eyes watery,
could not have all died,
but their spark that lit up skies
world over,
has been extinguished*
impossible
cannot be,
perhaps they graduated
to more serious employ,
though know nothing better
than scripture of scribbling
a beauteous insights,
a pithy phrase
that rings the heart strings
in ways that leave you
gasping!**
**how
can you lose the
need,
urging,
compulsing,
sensation
to create
great?
**how can it be,
late at night,
the kids put to bed,
the papers writ,
the bills paid
as best one can,
that the inner scream
becomes your
fingertips
to blow, spark, and drip
fulsome
words?
unheard,
requiring
witnesses,
Where?
is that ****
divine action,
when
so many have lost
that sparking
of
describing
the sparkling best
that life
provides?**
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 2:25 PM UTC
Easter bunnies coming, he's getting old and fat!
He's stolen all the chocolate, and ran back down the track!
He's chewed up all the cream eggs,
Maltesers, crunches, and mars!
And took all the children’s treats,
Including there magic stars!
He stores them down his burrow,
And chomps them all year round!
Until another Easter comes,
You'll shorly make him proud.
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 8:51 AM UTC
she smacks me
chomps down on me
with her smile
its casual
I stretch
her tongue pushes me
to the breaking point
but I'm stuck with her
we're fresh
I still taste new
until the flavor wears off
I'm nothing more
than the gum between her teeth
(and that girl has a whole pack to go through)
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
The country is a vicious dog
So feed it what it wants
De Pfeffel looks on gleefully
The mongrel slobbers as it chomps
The mutts were not to know
As they proudly wolfed It down
The chocolate lies now sickly
The dog has been put down
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
Greed is power, power to detain,
the weakened, the fallen,
the selfishly ways,
the egos the narcissist that love the endless appraise,
Greed is material, new sneakers, jewelry, clothes, houses, cars and money,
the things people emphasize even when their living situation is slummy,
priorities are backwards, that will cause a hazard, unconscious to life,
refrain from what you are inclined to entice,
and even when you cast your ballot to vote, that dictator is,
licking his chomps, as he patiently awaits his victory to be sudden atop,
now he can't be stopped.
Greed can be a wickedly evil thing, but that's the way life swings. ****
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC