"commodious" poems
If a tale need be tattled,
the snawky Snawk would arise.
With its snickley tongue of arsenic blue,
and loathsome gamboge eyes.
To the King of the stickley Snicklers,
the Snawk would spill his talk.
But scuttlebutt was all t'was,
for he was but a snawky Snawk.
Might you ask
who am I be?
I am a jawky Jawk
who talks incessantly
of the snawky Snawk,
with his snickley tongue,
and his breath of kyarn,
and Beelzebub dung.
You see I knows of him all too well
and well he knows of me.
Invidious brothers, one of the other,
same Mother both have we.
Now the snawky Snawk spins yarns
so dark and thick and odious.
One might find his fatuous canards
to be though flatulent, commodious.
But If ye be a gawky Gawk
of the snawky Snawk beware,
For his loathsome camboge eyes
can squinny a ribald stare.
To your knees his gaze will bring you,
you'll tell all the tales you know.
Then he'll tattle them to the Snickler King
and off to the headsman you will go.
That is, unless, you know the ballad
the Snawk is most offended by.
'bout the frowzy blowzy stable boy
with only just one eye.
He lost his eye in a snickering match
twixt The Snickley King and he.
But got the best of the old nabob,
for he could cachinnate you see.
He did cachinnate and aggravate,
till the old King did concede.
The stable boy was the better of the two,
his tongue cut like a snickersnee.
For the frowzy blowzy stable boy
was not able to tell a lie,
nor could he mince his words with honey,
of the truth he could not hide.
And if one day you find yourself
in the land of the quidnunc kith.
Shun the snickley Snicklers,
and their sniggering King forthwith.
But if ye meet up with the stable boy
though untidy he may be.
Dare not tattle of a soul,
he'll let fly his snickersnee.
And remember well, the ballad he sings,
of the King he did do down.
Drink in its waspy strain and keep it nigh,
lest the snawky Snawk cometh 'round.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
"A LIL SPACE."
Just spare me
a lil space in thy
heart. I swear
you wouldn't
know when I'd
occupy the whole
place, for I'd
spread my whole
love seeds all over
thy heart.
Cultivating various
numerous vine
that makes
life commodious.
Only just
you and I.
I'd make you
always feel like
yourself. By
yourself baby
it's all you
could making
mine yourself.
I know you'd
make a beautiful
world and it's
quite awesome
to live in
you as we lived
inon GOD.
You'd worship
mine God in
the alter.
We both did
say yes.
Your beautiful
mother shall
become mine mine
realist dad
did become your's.
And our love
will illuminate
the whole
world turned
into paradise,
till the last dying
days. Like
"The Dreamer
lad and the
dream lass"
or like
"Juliet and Romeo"
just you and I,
high on Cloud
cockoo land a
sphere of
reality because
my love is
true and real,
for its from
the bottom of
the heart
underneath my
soul poured
the water of
my love.
Streaming down
our hearts
forming one
ocean upon
which our
love--ship did
voyage through
lifetime on
that trip
earning our
dreams together.
#C9_fm
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 4:59 PM UTC
i found myself reading
the words of Bukowski
as he describes a series
of meaningless moments
aspects of a journey
seemingly trifling
prosaic and unremarkable
in the manner recounted
a bus stops at a cafe
in the hills
lightly touched by
a newly-falling snow
of food and coffee
he says both were good
the waitress rare
the cook effervescent
the dishwasher commodious
as the snow swirls
beyond the window
he describes the scene
as beautiful but curious
certain it will forever
be beautiful in that way
he wished to stay
yet returned to the bus
nonetheless
when the driver beckoned
the other passengers
spoke or read or
tried to sleep
and none had noticed
the beauty of that moment
that something could be
so poignant to one
while being mundane
to others
is worth remembering
i guess
Feb 7, 2024
Feb 7, 2024 at 8:36 AM UTC
Dontcha just hate trying to finish a poem?
It's always like there could be just a hint of this, a dash of that;
too much seasoning, not enough time spent simmering;
did you use the right amount of ingredients;
was it tablespoons or teaspoons?
Dontcha wish you could just pluck one out of the freezer:
One wrapped up in a neat little package?
Leaving it on the stove-top to thaw a little,
before heating it up at your timely convenience?
I wish I knew when these **** things were done;
Wish I could stick em in a microwave, clock in the allotted time for a work like that to be well-cooked and consumable--
Wait around zoning out to the droning tone of the toasting note,
then awake from my spell by the sweet dinging of completion.
I'd take that steamy sucker out of that commodious kiln
in such great haste I can barely hold it in my hands!
"Boy oh boy does this one look tasty!"
I'd sit down with my necessary utensils and have a go at it, chewing thoughtfully and enjoying this wonderful piece I have prepared by myself for myself--and without all the hassle and wasted time
spent slaving over books and pages and pens and inspirations!
But ****
Nobody likes poems cooked out of pre-made packages;
they're a little too rubbery, a little too mushy, a little too bland--
and worse off they were made by the assemblyman's hand! (or claw).
Nobody likes their poems coming out of pre-made packages;
They ain't nothing like the real thing.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
Harvest old love letters
Separate timid words like seeds
Save those for Spring planting
Passion's bulk pull out as meat
Provisional muscle is for roasting
Adjectives become good gravy
Stamps and envelopes licked
A dessert of dearest's DNA
This savoring of paper junctures
Recaptured affection, even agonies
Wooers of commodious cursive
Pen pushed to olden days
I relish reading your languid thriving
Though you are long gone
Reacquainting these letters habituates
Deliveries of your love
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
Confessions on the tip of my tongue
Words of truth, dismissed and swallowed
To sit in my stomach, and rotten my core
Paralyzed, I'm left to lie in my cell
Sickened and bloated by my own deceit
I ponder the cause and effect of this commodious defect
This isn't about affection
It's about the reflection
Venomous ardency
I am a prisoner of myself
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
The world combines
and also scatters
as leaves blow
and flowers wither.
The road
descends into countless paths
all leading to the same proverbial city.
what roads
and who walks on them?
The stone are ancient
and their cyphers
echoe at the press of footsteps.
The scruples
in my shoe
hurt as each foot
places itself before other
The way commodious
but the same direction.
the cobblestones
with cliqued mortar
for we believe
in our personnel goodness.
For the lamp
of your words do not
surround me
and in the darkness
my feet will stumble
my ways confuse themselves
in speaking.
No cup or sword
is given
though they are suggested
in the tongue.
Either a floating city
or a place i have dug
of endless passages
in dark labors
with the hands of my limitations
endless without exit
my thumbs pickle
for i am
a lost pilgrim
seeking providence.
as i pass
a red rose luminous
at the crossroads
may i like a prophet
find shelter in your petals
or solace
in your thorns.
I am too sophisticated
for such a plant
for I am not
a lotus eater.
Dim and dreary
a proverb is written
on the chalkboard of my eyes
“Do not mock for as you are
so shall you walk.”
I sing
some broken poems
then simply
return to the journey.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
The rhythm at which my blood flows
Through my veins
It doesn't reach at halts
Commodious valves open
Giving way
With each droplet
Encased is my love
For he who doesn't care
I feel absurd and doltish in so many ways
Ever since the day you've casted a spell on me
My mind plays tricks
Uncontrollable urges dwell in my soul
Wanting more from you
But you just don't want it all
Ignoring all the love you's
And leaving me alone
What is it that I have done
For you to hate me so much
But then again
I don't have the gut to ask you this question
Because like the love you's I've wasted on you
You will ignore this question
And exterminate this query out of your brain.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC