"chunked" poems
Bloodshot eyes and a case of laughter,
a Waffle House fix is what we are after.
Find a booth and all pile in,
waitress comes up and the mayhem begins.
Oh but she is a pro,
done this a time or two,
pretty soon here comes our food.
Scraping of the forks and clatter of the plates,
we look like it's been weeks since we ate.
We got scattered, chunked, covered and diced,
heartburn on a plate and don't even think twice.
Well no more thumping head and eyes cleared up a bit,
all we needed was a Waffle House fix!
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 10:26 AM UTC
sent forth on a path of destruction,
the prince of war is parading
through orange tides of
burning torches—
the funeral rites of
the dead king.
the engine of entropy spits out little
agents of chaos like bees from a hive.
they will sow
in time for the harvest
and when the sun rises to adorn
their naked, furry bodies
with golden dew,
they will shiver
in the remnants
of every dead star
before this one ends again.
a banshee from the ages
arrives as a missile of
determined suffering
set to detonate in close
proximity to the loose reins
of my forgotten destiny.
she wears a crown of roses
and embraces me with
her thorns
in the realm of Nature’s
loveless fawn—
a birthed, forgotten creature
gilded in silver linings
only to melt at
the feet of
God’s love.
I have cried rivers of tears
for people that have left
and all it does is drown
the land in a flood
of never memories
that keep me
isolated in stagnancy.
the wet magic in my
blood is vaporizing from
my fingertips now,
the crackle of split
lightning spins through
my skyless eyes.
abbreviated life spans
chunked into pieces
of lives I never wanted to
live, yet helped form
me.
I see violence in the periphery—
muted and out of
focus.
oil-spitting broken android
smashing through houses
looking for his heart
before powering
down.
“I am clipped,”
she whispers.
*“my wings don't lift me
anymore.
I am a trophy in a
cage.
I am atrophy in a
cage.
singing about the world
beyond these bars.
set me free—
I see the
window!
my flight feathers
will grow back
and I will leave you—
yes,
but I might return
and sing
to you about
that world beyond
the window.
I am not yours
to keep—
set me free!”*
she commanded my heart,
so I did—
I set her free.
and she flew away
into the world
and left me
with a parting gift—
an open window
and a devastating song of silence
that echoes in my ribcage forever.
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 9:49 AM UTC
not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____________
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Hey Mom,
I just wanted to tell you about the amazing day I am having. First, I woke up to water dripping on me, as if the leaky roof were trying to improve the lumpy bed by giving it a good soak- when the brochure said I “would feel closer to nature more than ever,” I didn't think it meant so literal. After salvaging some semi-dry clothes, I went outside to realize my car window had been broken into. It was dumb of me for leaving my laptop bag in the car when I got in last night, I was just so exhausted from the drive. Well, you know how I get when I get upset, so I chunked my phone, as if it was the one causing my great morning. It landed in some bushes, and after wrestling with the branches for a bit, I finally saw him. Not even ten feet away from my phone did I see the most beautiful pelican. Something about his simple eyes, looking at me with some mixture of boredom and apathy, made me realize where I was. The cool air filled my lungs, leaving smell of salt in my nose. The sand I was sitting in was warm from the sun, feeling like that cozy quilt grandma made for me years ago.
So yeah, today was an amazing day.
With Love,
Chris
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC
Marmalade,
Tangy orange heaven.
Chunked to the max
Smothers toast.
A bite, a crunch.
That citrus burst.
A sigh,
A slurp of coffee.
Ready to tackle the day.
© Nick Strong 2014
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
No more broken within feelings
Lacking empathy for others
Able to look in the mirror and say looking good
Im proud of mt efforts others might try to kick me down but im not staying down
Im smiling because the world ***** but im awesome
I laugh because I have a sense of humor others dont appreciate
Im glad to have an honest grandma shes so honest it hilarious ive never laughed so hard in my life
Hanging with my cousin his parents threw him out hes an outcast like me thats we get along so well.
Not dating because its not for me I love women but they dont love themselves so they dont have time for me since they are figuring it out
Im enjoying my books its fresh perspective hoping to find my writing style I feel something is missing
The gym is my escape Im getting my body back I chunked up working on my gut and soft core
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Clouds of white March mornings
Surf inside this smokechamber I call a brain.
I was twelve and you were thirteen
Both separate rigid crystals growing
In the back of Mom’s awful red minivan.
We stained our fingers with Oxnard cherries
And got high on orange and eucalyptus.
Sand behaved like molasses.
My Walkman was full of ants
Who hated Third Eye Blind with a vengeance.
I had a pimple on my chin
Which I tried to hide with makeup
And I really hoped you’d notice
My cotton candy body splash
I got it because you like
Juicy Fruit gum and
That smells like cotton candy to me.
I chunked down short white shanks
On the red crabbed beach towel
Hoping you wouldn’t notice the ricotta billows
Developing on the upper thighs
Between slushy rivers of purple lightning stretch marks.
I couldn’t deal after ten minutes so I got in the water.
I laid myself across submerged tidal-pool boulders
Near-floating on the frigid little water-pyre
Congealing my skin like vanilla pudding
Bogging me down like a sea sloth.
It took me a halflife to figure out
That while I miss those mornings,
I do not miss you.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
There's ***** on the train ride home
and I'm sitting next to it.
It's not on purpose, of course.
Mind you though, I cannot say,
for sure, that it isn't mine.
Putrid, 2am wetness
rises into my nostrils.
From floor, this airborne form
lacks the blacked-out, bile-wine color,
but the stench more than makes up for it.
I'm in and out of consciousness.
"I'm just tired," I swear to the ticket-ticker,
"and my memory mind haunts me."
That's why I truly do not know
whose what this belongs to.
I should bag it and take it home.
With cooled hand on warm, glass cup,
gulp it down and let it simmer.
Chunked broth, swished bitter,
headached pieces puddled on the floor.
I'm not home yet, I've got an hour to go.
Seat reeks, I smell. Hands tremble and a girl laughs.
The train begins moving and I without it.
Can you taste the sickness?
I still do, my mouth fills out with it.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
With dull brown eyes the color of death
He grins a grin,
My grin,
The grin reserved for me.
I half expect the soft tissue of my heart
To be chunked between his ivory teeth,
It's blood and love guts
Splattering.
Popping.
Like a strawberry gusher.
He reaches out a hand.
A claw.
I grab it tight,
Gripping the cactus that he is,
Welcoming the force of his tiny needles
Because I can't resist the pleasure pain.
He drags me in.
Kisses me, warm and colorful and sharp.
I taste blood.
His or mine?
I hope both.
Destruction should always come in pairs.
He smells of adventure.
He smells of heartbreak.
I want to **** him.
Strangle him.
Squeeze my small frame into his rotting carcass
And bathe in his guts and soul.
I grab his neck, dig my nails in.
His teeth ravage into my swollen flesh.
He wants to eat me.
Absorb me.
I will let him.
We're just limbs of flesh,
Bones grinding against bones.
Hair pulled so hard it burns so good,
Fine strands floating away,
Orphaned.
Our souls scream and scream and scream.
Love.
Hate.
One in the same.
Primal.
An all consuming violation of the body and soul.
More more more.
We can never get enough.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
dirt clods, actually
there were few stones
in the creek that separated
their apartments from ours
a creek, and income gap even we,
barely double digits old, could see
as clearly as the stream
between our worlds
in our battles, I missed
on purpose, as did most
of the Manor marines--never
did a clod hit me
our general, Rex, connected often
inviting obscenities from our opponents
but never did they cross the creek
if they had, it would have been
for naught, for we had won the war
before the skirmishes began
our pool, tennis courts, and club
were the arsenals that gave us the edge
and the Stuart Manor soldiers knew this
but chunked the dirt valiantly
all the same
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
i love your versatility
you pair as charitably as a free agent
i want your bold bits and knobby
ends on my tongue mid-conversation
i like you soft or solidly
jealous green or dark hibernation
I admire your growth's autonomy
with capacity for toleration
i always cook it sloppily
blinded by the destination
i like to go for quantity
when i'm feeling most impatient
i know that it's an oddity
to get off on steamed inflation
i have considered that possibly
it's just about my own temptation
it's not worth the vagrant comedy
to divulge that hot equation
i'll cycle back to ecology
since i don't want medication
i can believe in botany
and your scents of motivation
i can't explain it audibly
just that it's instant gratification
i'm lucky that gastronomy
is so easy with your engagement
i think your critics are a monstrosity
to the spirit of entertainment
i don't think you need a recipe
you're good fuzzy, chunked or shaven
i'm a hungry wanton holly
firmly stalked in imagination
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
Then comes the day...
cracks thrown across, my gaunt old face;
and strength gives way...
these bones are tired, cannot keep pace.
What's that you say?
"How much time here?" "How did you place?"
I couldn't say...
but won't be long, finished this race.
And chunked to clay...
marble stone laid, runes carved on base;
then all will say...
I was called home, by the Lord's grace.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 2:05 AM UTC
Warm liquid running down my ribs
Down to my legs where my flesh is chunked in gibs
I waste my last potassium on a final lib
Tire do I of being society's *****
Time between hugs will be measured in years no more
Clocks matter not, neither do I
Silence the speaker of the meek and shy
No longer will I be kissed with a knuckle
Nor will anyone else have control of my belt buckle
Taken so much from this dying earth
Robbing it blind since my errant birth
Give back or give up is a relative term
The wording can be selected by the feeding worm
Celebrate what you find and catch my fleeting dream
May it spark you to travel up stream
Never again will you spot me on the shore
Forever yours aquatically, he who is no longer yours
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Cinder block chunked
Load it on paper weighted
Sobbing erodes all
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
I used to remember in images,
Movies, flipbooks, flying across my eyes,
But then I saw haze,
And the foggy screens became thicker,
So the grime and dust became darkness,
And through the darkness became words,
Disconnected, discolored, disjointed
Streams of words,
And so all my memories lost
Vision, became nothing but recalled statements,
So I could tell you yes it happened,
But how or why or what was sifted through a blender,
Chunked into a garbage disposal, and lost somewhere,
yes, the memory exists as a statement,
A declaration it occurred but oh so loosely,
You can’t be sure of it.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
And just like that, it's over -
like it didn't even happen.
Traded the rest of his life
for a half a gram - went out
noddin' like he was nappin'..
My heart cries for the family,
Aaron, I miss you, fam.
And, if I could, you know I'd
buy you back for that half a gram.
Just like that, gone forever..
Like he was never here,
a sudden change of weather
we often see this time of year.
My heart cries for your kid,
I'll never forget you, man.
Why men would rather ****
than build, I'll never understand..
Just like that, forgotten..
The girl had gotten sober
Bought some birthday
presents and ******
and just like that - its over.
My heart cries for your baby
Carrie's never coming back.
I wonder if she wore the
bracelet I gave her when
she faded into black.
Just like that, we're praying..
for God to heal our hurt..
a few words about his life and
then we chunked him in the dirt..
I tried to tell you, Bill David..
That girl would get you killed..
Look to God to do the healing
You just be the one who's healed.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC