"grumbled" poems
Mrs. Claus was at the door
Making sure that Santa knew
He had to see the doctor
He must be there by two
Santa gruffed and grumbled
Said there's too much to be done
"You know I hate the doctor"
"The doctor's just no fun"
Mrs. Claus held fast and said
"You do this every year"
"and you always have a new excuse"
"when the appointment time is near"
Santa, said he'd do it
Although, it was done under duress
He could run an elven workshop
But the doctor, was more stress
He made it to the office
At two, precisely on the nose
The first thing the nurse said was
"Santa, take off all your clothes"
"You know we have to weigh you"
"It's in the contract that you signed"
"A little extra weight shift"
"Could get the sleigh all misaligned"
The scale said way past jolly
He was twenty pounds past plump
He was just below horrendous
Santa Claus was one fat lump
The doctor read the clipboard
And made a tsk tsk tsking sound
He said "Santa, you're much bigger"
"You're almost 5 full feet around"
"I have with me a letter"
"That the vet asked me to read"
"It says unless you drop some blubber"
"Four more reindeer you will need"
"Now, every story book out there"
"Names eight reindeer in line"
"And since you hired Rudolph"
"A lot have you with nine"
"But the vet now says you need thirteen"
"To get up in the sky"
"You've got to change your diet"
"Santa, please lay off the pie"
"I'm not saying all at once"
"But, you've got to drop some weight"
"Or, you'll be dropping gifts by plane"
"And you'll still be over weight"
Santa tried a little laugh,
Not a full out ** ** **
Truth be told, he'd lose his breath
He knew the weight would have to go
He got down off the table
Put on his hat, and Santa Suit
He looked as red as ever
When he tried to reach his boot
The doctor said "Good God Man"
"You can't go up like that"
Santa said "I'm fine doc"
"The kids want a Santa that is fat"
"There's a difference between jolly"
"Like the elf you're supposed to be"
"But Santa, count your chins man,"
"I lose count at twenty three"
"The elves are under orders"
"Not to load the magic sleigh"
"Until you commit to weight loss"
"And you promise right away"
"I know that you are Santa"
"And for this I may get coal"
"But, your wife, Santa...she scares me"
"She said she'd put me in a hole"
"Santa, lose some poundage"
"Give it just a little try"
"It's not right...thirteen reindeer"
"Flying through the Christmas sky"
"I know it's confidential"
"what has happened here today"
"But, Santa...I will tell her"
"If you don't...and right away"
Santa, said he'd try to
He said "just tell me what to do"
"Truth be told there doctor"
"The woman scares me too!!!"
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
they'll paint white walls over your thoughts
because they think simplicity looks better than polka dots.
they will strip you down to nothing
because bare is better than bare minimum.
they say your body is your canvas,
then why are they scribbling
on her canvas?
they’ll doodle words,
perhaps phrases of flatter
like "You're pretty"
teaching her that that's all that matters.
They'll hang up a **** model picture
because her body should look like this, you know?
Richer.
They'll say her body is a temple
“she's eating all that for lunch?”
they'll say her body is a temple
but her body
is the house
she grew up in
and yet you have the audacity to try and burn it down?
Oh
I forgot to mention
the white paint that they used to paint over her?
yeah ... slight misunderstanding
It's permanent.
what could they expect?
it's their fault actually,
it said everything on the label
but they were too busy you see.
Too busy to see what it was really made out of, too busy to read what made it the way it was.
Because one glance is enough, right?
One glance is enough to ask her "what did you eat today?"
And as her stomach grumbled
and her blood ate her alive,
she would answer "oh plenty!"
And you would look happy with her answer because
she is treating her body like a house she doesn't even recognize.
And you would look happy with her answer because
she let her body become your canvas
And you would look happy with her answer because
Your white paint was worth your money after all.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”
(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
*“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”*
(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”
Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?
Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…
Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances
(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated
Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
i was wrenched from a bed
that was not my own to begin with.
into the sunlight, they dragged me,
hands yanking at my long hair.
i clutched my body.
jaw set, i silently vowed not to cry, to take it
like a woman should – to look them in the eye,
to stand unashamedly in front of my neighbors,
my mother, and my sisters. to stand in front of the town,
and face the inevitable.
the Pharisees threw me to the ground, gave a swift kick
to my side – gentle, compared with what would come.
the women, eyes glossed with icy detest, spat in my face.
*so the ***** has been caught*, they hissed.
But i refused to give them the satisfaction.
i wouldn’t close my eyes during it.
couldn’t.
Jesus, they barked, *we caught her sleeping
with a man she doesn’t belong to*.
you know what to do.
the little children and the rabbi and the mothers
and the sons, they felt the ground
for smooth, heavy rocks.
i bowed my head slightly, as fingers trembled over
new, prune-colored bruises
on my ribs, my stomach.
i unlocked my knees and lifted my chin,
met his eyes.
he paused for a moment, nodded his head slowly.
If you are without sin, please, cast the first stone.
i bit my lip, waited and watched,
squinting in the sunrise.
the Pharisees grumbled, the townspeople eyed me, but said
nothing, until they left, one
by one.
that Jesus, they mumbled,
He’s always finding loopholes.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
So an age ended, and its last deliverer died
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of a giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across their lawns outside.
They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath:
A kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.
Only the scupltors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad
To be invisible and free; without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed in their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.
3.9k
Words without
Unspoken truths
Cut in neat pieces
Sharp like knives
Plunged deep into yesterday’s drivers seat
Intoxicated
The sweetness of wine
Time took hold
Tastes grew old
Drank straight with ice
A barrel aged whiskey with bite
Involuntarily, my body shakes
Like it was trying to run away from the feeling
“I didn’t know you would make me so drunk”
Stumbling and fumbling with my keys
Scratched drivers side door
Attempts to unlock what shouldn’t be
It left chips in the paint
“F*ck” murmured beneath my breath
The engines low rumble grumbled and sang
A stereo left on too loud came alive when I turned the key
Busted eardrums, slow trickle, ears that bleed
Silence spoke the loudest after that
The nights drive turned sideways
Cherry red lights matched with blue
I could outrun them if I tried
Pressed petals in between pages
Pushed gingerly to the floor
The speedometer creeped to new heights
That annoying flashing brightness followed me
Threat to freedom and a refusal to give in
Twist and turns
The chase ensues
I finally feel like I’m gaining distance
Little was known, encroaching on a dead end
Blew past a warning sign
Wrapped my car around a tree
Crimson red soaked shirt
“Why is my face wet?”
A steady stream of life giving fluid pumped through a **** in my forehead
Dizzy, it made me dizzy.
I sat and waited, not for help
But for time to be taken away
I understood that sometimes a mistake is made, and I can pay the price with iron clad bracelets and a night spent on a bench for a bed.
You taste like wine and then bit like whiskey, when all I wanted was coffee black on a crisp summer morning with the sun rising up to meet a lovers lust in my eyes.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 1:33 PM UTC
And the age ended, and the last deliverer died.
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of the giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across the lawn outside.
They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath;
The kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.
Only the sculptors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad
To be invisible and free: without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.
2.2k
I was playing, jumping up and
Down, I was cartwheeling
Right side up
To
Upside down,
I heard a noise, I heard a grumble
Was it thunder
The sky Is blue??
Where did that noise come from
Was it you.
I walked along, and heard it again
I looked under my jumper
There it goes again.
Are you
Shouting,
Rumbling,
Talking
To me, what do want, speak up
"Gruummmbbblle"
"Raaaaarrrrrr"
I don't speak belly?
I do feel hungry though,
"Grumbleeeeee"
Is it that what you want,
Is that which you need.
"Ok"
Home we go, moving fast,
Still talking each louder than the last.
"I need you MUMMY"
"I need you DADDY"
My belly has been talking
Its telling me its hungry,
Like thunder a rumbling rolls
Around my empty tum,
"Goodness me"
"Goodness you"
I'll make you both a sandwich
Make both you happy.
"Thanks mummy"
"Tummy said thanks too"
Grumble went my tum
As both of us were filled with
Peanut,
Jelly,
Toast
It was good tasting,
And filled my taste buds as
Well as a friend that
Grumbled,
Rumbled,
Talked
Of his need to be filled up too.
"Each chew"
"Each swallow"
"Quieter than the last"
I had eaten my sandwich
Crusts and all. My belly vibrated, I think
It was a sleep, I felt much better now I had something
To eat. Empty plate that's good to see,
How are you both?
"Mummy we are very happy"
With a grin I rubbed my tummy,
"MMmm"
My belly just spoke
My belly has a need
"What is that little man"
Grinning ear to ear,
"CHOCLATE MUMMY"
Is that you talking or tummy rumbling again,
My belly just likes to be full for me to eat.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I had an Indian Fakir come
To stay, from Uttar Pradesh,
I was doing a friend a favour,
I don’t, as a rule, have guests,
I couldn’t make out a single word
He said, and so my friend
Provided a written commentary
To guide me, in the end.
It seems he was naming my furniture
It’s something that they do,
In places that are incongruous
Like the depths of Kalamazoo,
And he wanted to give them English names
So he asked my friend’s advice,
In case I couldn’t pronounce them,
Well, at least the thought was nice.
My armchair became Albert
And my settee Gunga Din,
I suppose he thought it would be okay
As it was from Kipling.
The tallboy was called Gerald
And the wardrobe, simply Joe,
The polished table Cheryl
And the kitchen one was Flo.
I’m glad that he wrote them down because
I can’t remember names,
Just that the bed was Susan
And the kitchen sink was James,
Some of them were portentous like
Ignatius, for the desk,
While each of the kitchen chairs was given
A name that ends with -este.
Celeste, Impreste, Doneste and Geste
And then of course, Ingeste,
I couldn’t remember which was which,
My friend was not impressed.
We bade farewell to the Fakir
And the Wardrobe flapped its doors,
And rumbled out a ‘Goodbye my friend’
From between its mighty jaws.
Then voices rose in a chorus from
Each part of my tidy home,
The names had given them each a voice,
It was rowdier than Rome,
The voices were accusatory
Trying to lay some guilt,
And Susan said of the Wardrobe, Joe,
‘He’s looking up my quilt!’
‘How could I help it,’ Joe replied,
‘I’m at the foot of the bed,
You’re flashing me with your silken sheets,
It’s doing in my head!’
While Albert grumbled in voice so deep,
‘Do I have to be a chair?
Each time you plonk on my tender seat
I’m gasping out for air!’
Then the kitchen chairs were out of place
And James was choked with suds,
The carpet, name of Emily
Was sick of traipsing mud.
It seemed that the polished table top
Was scratched, and she was mad,
The desk disliked my keyboard so
To each, I answered ‘Sad!’
‘You’re going to have to get along
I won’t put up with this,
Until that Fakir came along
This house was perfect bliss.’
I did away with their English names,
Replaced them with Chinese,
But they couldn’t speak a word of it
So I brought them to their knees!
And peace returned to Grissom Place
Just as I thought it would,
I made it plain to Wardrobe Joe
‘You’re just a lump of wood.’
While Susan smooths her quilt right down
And tucks her sheets right in,
And James just blubs, he’s full of suds
As I nap on Gunga Din!
David Lewis Paget
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
For a week straight, I avoided going to the supermarket, even when my stomach grumbled and the fridge stayed empty and lonely. And instead, I looked through my binoculars from the tree house my dad had built with a few planks of wood, nails, and a rusty hammer. A place he’d built before I was put into my mother’s arms and put into a bright blue cradle. Blue as the shirt Abigail was wearing, the same day the cops busted her for giving head to my best friend Isaac in my Toyota Camry. Right in the middle of the parking lot of the supermarket, as I bought pancake batter and cage-free eggs for breakfast.
And Abigail never ate that meal after she spent a week wasting away in a cell block, reading JD Salinger stories over and over, as though his words could heal her marks and bruises.
Today, I made pancakes and eggs for breakfast. I waited for the TV to load a Netflix show, hoping Abigail had learned from her mistakes. She passed me the salt and pepper shakers, as I lit a cigarette, sat in a chair, and smoldered.
Abigail put her face in her hands, cried for a bit, even reached for the ***** bottle.
We went to the supermarket later, walked down one aisle, and picked up meat and potatoes. As we headed for the self-checkout line, I passed the breakfast section and saw the pancake batter and the eggs. Abigail crumbled to the floor, said, “I’m so sorry.”
After that, we never touched breakfast.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
I see a monster
It is eating spaghetti
It is a good thing
I'm glad that it does
Not eat me or my brother
He likes spaghetti
We asked him his name
And he grumbled intensely,
"I'm Mr. Monster!"
He always came in
After a quarter past ten
And raided our fridge.
Frederiksburgville Town
Didn't usually have monsters
But they had pasta
And so the monster
Told the little children things
About from where it came
And it sang a song
That was very short and long
And it went like this:
Gobbledegook gobbledeedee
Fricasha bulungo tirimasu wings!
The children sat stunned
It was a horrible song
You can't sing along.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
I’m just a lanky lass from Wycheproof
Born on the right side of the tracks
Law degree and a stint at Racing Vic
I’ve risen well above the backroom hacks
I’m revered
and I’m feared
I’m Tony’s confidante
I scream, I shout, I rant
Back benchers quake
Ministers shake
I’m an armoured tank
You know I outrank
any one in Coo-ee
of super-strong me
Chief of Staff to the PM
I’m the ultimate femme
Murdoch grumbled, tried to call me to heel
I’m never humbled, I’m totally real
I am the ‘she’ who must be obeyed
I am the piper who must be paid
I’m the gate-keeper
I’m the scythe-reaper
Tony knows who makes and butters his bread
I keep him happy, I keep him well fed
I am Salome, when I call for a head
a platter it’s given, my enemy dead.
I was top of my game and top of the list
of Helen McCabe’s ‘Women of Power’
I’ve never cowered, brown-nosed or arse-kissed
I stand tall, over midgets I tower
Natural-born killer exudes from my pores
I suffer no fools, I banish the bores
I mark my territory, a ******* dog
Clear dry is my vision, no room for fog
Some say I influence all decisions
I’m an enforcer of rigid divisions
There is only ‘us’ in the battle of wills
Ride on my side, for the endless high thrills
Of course I agree I’ve had an impact
It’s true without me, poor Tony can’t act
But sad to tell you, it’s still more than that
I’m in charge of the ball and even the bat
I know there are some who cannot like me
Though I control the national psyche
So come Malcolm, Julie and sad sack Joe
I will decide when it’s my time to go
No-one can challenge Abbot, my hero
I’ll zap them to ashes, to dust, to zero
I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow their House down
Forever secure and wearing my crown
So don’t mess with me, you miserable crew
Just you crawl away in case I say, “Boo!”
I’m beautiful fearless, utterly bold
Remember, I serve revenge icy cold.
© M.L.Emmett
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
I eyed three carnations
that I'd pulled from a bin,
and tied together with a rubber band,
so they wouldn't separate in the car
like his parents did a short month before
the funeral.
My engine grumbled on fittingly
towards a short-term patient
whose death bed
was shaped like a race car.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
The wind blew out and the sea rolled in
By the cliffs and the curving beach,
A lonely stretch, they were kith and kin
And had never heard human speech,
A cottage grew by the shore one day
There were figures of surly men,
The sea had muttered, ‘They’re in my bay,’
And the wind replied, ‘Amen!’
The men had left but the cottage stayed
Like a wound to the ocean’s pride,
It split the wind at the valley floor
As it passed there, either side,
The sea said ‘blow it away my friend,
For it grieves my heart to see,
The works of man where I lap the sand,’
And the wind said, ‘Leave it to me!’
It soughed and soared at the eventime
And it scored with sand from the beach,
It struggled to topple the chimney pots
As it surged at one and each,
It lost its puff as the sun came up
When the tide was on the ebb,
‘I couldn’t move it a jot,’ it sighed,
‘And the roof, it felt like lead.’
‘We’ll wait for the winter tides,’ my friend,
‘I’ll surge and wash it away,
I’ll undermine its foundations, then
I’ll sweep it out in the bay.’
But then a flickering candle lit
From a window, facing the shore,
‘There’s something a-move, for a shadow flit
Last night through the cottage door!’
The sea had grumbled, ‘We’ll wait and see
What lingers there in the light,’
The wind peered in at the window pane
And sighed at the wondrous sight,
‘A creature there with its golden hair
And its eyes, a deep sea blue,
That set me quivering in their stare,
So what will they do to you?’
The morning saw at the cottage door
A woman all dressed in white,
She wandered along the empty shore
And the sea had gulped, ‘You’re right!’
He lapped his waters around her feet
As she waded in for a swim,
And said to the wind, ‘She’s warm and sweet,
And it’s sad, but you can’t come in!’
Back on the beach, a gentle breeze
Had whispered the woman dry,
Then flitted, scurrying out to sea,
‘You’ve changed your tune, but why?’
‘I think we needed that cottage there,
In reflection, let it stand.’
The wind just capered along the shore
As the door of the cottage slammed.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
My roommates are all up and about. It’s finals week and everyone is hustling about. Lisa came in from an early exam, it was snowing lightly, she looked right at home.
“How’d it go?” I quizzed.
“E-Z,” she replied, shedding her long navy coat and mango cashmere beanie. After dumping it all on her bed she joined us in the common room. “Blue State (coffee) is closing,” She announced.
Leong gasped, “What?”
“Three of the four Blue State locations are closing,” Lisa confirmed, “not Orange Street.”
“Why?” Leong moaned.
“What are you why? Lisa queried.
“They’re so popular!” Leong exclaimed, “There’s always SO many people in there.”
“That’s real,” I chimed in, “those places are packed and noisy.”
“They got bought out,” Lisa attested.
“By whom?” Leong wondered.
“By another coffee company.. maybe,” Lisa guessed soothingly.
“Oh, I hope so.” Leong stated, sounding depressed.
“You know what? Lisa added, “rumors were thick that Book Trader would close too.”
“No!” Leong bemoaned.
“I’m happy to announce that they’re not.” Lisa assured, “That’s something to celebrate.”
“I love studying at Book Trader.” I professed.
“And their bagels..” Leong mentioned dreamily.
“Oh, yeah,” Lisa agreed, “so good, so cheap.”
“Change is ineluctable,” Anna sighed.
“WHAT?” Leong replied, looking confused.
“Inevitable,” Lisa told her, “change is inevitable.”
“Then just say that.” Leong grumbled at Anna, who shrugged.
“I need to go support my favorite coffee shop soon,” I declared.
“Which is?” Leong inquired.
“Coffee with a K,” Lisa and I blurted out, both at once. “It has an intimate, date spot vibe,” I explained, “and the chairs that are perfect for putting an arm around someone.”
“The Benjamin and Acorn (two on campus coffee shops) are going to be so crowded.” Sunny stated, joining the conversation as she started putting on her shoes to go out.
“True THAT.” I agreed.
“Common Grounds Cafe,” Sophie revealed, coming from her room, drying her hair with a towel, “bought out Blue State,” she confirmed. “it was in the Yale News.”
“OK,” I pronounced, satisfied. “Perfect.” Lisa declared. “Thank God.” Leong agreed.
“Coffee’s important.” Sunny proclaimed, picking up her coffee cup and book bag. “See ya!” she waved to the room absently, with her coffee cup, as she opened the door and stepped out.
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
little yellow flowers in her ears
and they trundled along the gravel path,
when their bellies grumbled
from a day spent lying atop
a small hill near the golf course
radiance from the setting
rays of sunlight shown
a haunting sordid undertone
that a young boy in love
just never would have known.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
It was in a musky instrument shop
that I found myself hungry, so hungry.
I didn't know any Russian.
I told the old cashier,
a small woman with a brown bun-top,
that I'd really like some food.
She cocked her head,
shook off the dust, and jarbled back at me.
"Please," said I, as dough-eyed as one could muster.
She pointed to the door.
My belly grumbled.
I fell away sideways, walking out all lowly-like.
I began through the doorway
and the shopkeeper woman screeched.
I heard a moan come from above me.
There stood a 9-foot-tall, Slavic boy,
plagued with acne, hooked nose, and sallow cheeks,
with a metal clamp around his neck, right next to the door frame.
I thought he was drapes, ragged window drapes,
but he existed there and then with hands the size of cantaloupes.
The shop keeper whined and pointed at the boy.
I looked up at him,
and he, down at me.
She spat into a tissue and then shooed me again.
I grabbed his chain off its hook
and stoically proceeded out the door.
The boy dragged his feet behind me, begging and crying.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
i walked along a strange and darkened place
the citizens of which abused themselves
a man who chewed his lip and ate his face
then laid inside a coffin's wooden shelves
aside his neighbors' corpses and their pets
and sang his song long after all his bones
were eaten clean, aligned in metric sets
beside the graveyard's glistened stones
the humid air, pneumonia in lungs
leaked out from nostrils as i ran away
slow motion through molasses climbing rungs
my fear of here and sanity left frayed
a woman over-hunched, upon my "hi",
like pill-bug touched had curled into herself
her head in **** and hissed her grumbled sigh
accused that I had killed the mighty elf
a girl who stabbed her migraine with a knife,
whose teeth were aspirins, dripped from bleeding gums
and claimed her husband was her lawful wife
was following his trail of stale breadcrumbs
town criers cried for Argentina, sobbed
"Evita was evicted from our hearts!"
then rushed upon me these un-living mobs
to eat my chest in torn and ****** parts
chihuahua babies swarmed my ankles hard
and bit with rubber teeth and razor gums
i fell and crushed them like a house of cards
they barked like children yelping in their slums
i bled to death from gaping hollow wounds
and flowed my soul into a sewer grate
under the darkened place's shining moon
an angry molten lava stream of hate.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I found a man of great Tilly stock,
And asked him for a frilly walk,
Unto which he said he’ll tell
The way to Heaven and the way to Hell.
“Pimply weaves of basket bread,
And a golden goose upon the head;
Let it squawk with plumpy feathers
With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.”
Frowned up in loofy days,
“Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!”
I loosed and cried; simply confused
“Worry not my sun and moon your muse!
For water is a half-penny to a tree,
And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free.
Yet if you must know of my tale,
Then sit there yonder and make a trail.”
However Sir, I am not meek
I have no cunning for the week.
“Your tale I do not wish to know,
Simply tell me which way to go!”
Crimpets high and yellow traps,
“You’ll lose yourself with the bats.
Go up; go down with nickle fritz,
Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz
For in rush and haste there in gleeb,
Wear ignorance for the trancy steed.
I let loose of many brumble yunk,
To sail for seas I never thunk
Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do,
And loose bracknees in multitude.
Traverse tall grass and shundy groves
And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.”
“My oh my old man I sigh,
For those things be near nor nigh.”
And with that I give my sullen reply
And turned and a bid a fair goodbye.
Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye,
And whim my eye not to cry.
For in the tall tale of thy,
Taught I was to live; not die.
Question not a method sly.
But he mumbled and grumbled,
Though he never stumbled.
Living for him he never frumbled.
Many days he spent catching geese,
Upon a head knit with fleece.
OH! I should have let him talk; not cease
For to iron a book you can use yeast.
Heaven to Hell dived by two,
Heed the old man and crux with yew.
And ewe and ewe will catch the flu
Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Rudolph woke up to have a red nose
He said That's weird because yesterday I didn’t have one of those.
Rudolph told Santa, My nose can now light the way
Santa said, Don’t be silly, you have a cold, stay home today!
But they made a song about me leading the reindeer with a nose so shiny.
So sing the song, Santa said, and Rudolph tried but his voice was whiny
Santa said See your nose is stuffed, it is best to stay home behind.
So Rudolph went back and Santa wondered who he could find.
He remembered there was a Frosty the Snowman.
But how will he lead a sleigh with no hands?
That’s easy, they could put the reins around his waist
Frosty the Snowman came in and asked about the place
Why are you so concerned, Santa asked, There cannot be coal.
Because it might catch on fire and this heat will eat my soul.
Santa grumbled, So I would have to give every child a present?!
Yup, and could we not go to the warmer Earth regions.
It is called the winter season, and if I go, winter would be seasoned.
The sun will melt me like butter and the whole sleigh will fall.
Santa muttered, You are ruining Christmas, and Frosty said, It’s your call.
All right, all right, Santa said, and Frosty said I got this.
Frosty led the sleigh around Earth and not a house he missed.
But on the way back he got lost, and went to the South Pole.
A polar bear saw them, and was about to eat them with his mouth whole.
Suddenly a figure came by with a sled, and said Get back they belong to me!
It was Santa Clause decked out in his robes and majesty.
He brought them to the North Pole, and everything was good.
Because Christmas was celebrated the way that it should.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
She brushed a kiss she felt on her cheek
Felt a gentle hand given to squeeze
She found herself surprised by the
Sudden unexpectedness of the gesture
"Your a surviver" a soft voice called
Then she knew how afraid she was
Tears that had waited a long time to
Escape were finally released under
The dark veil of torrential rain
Big fat teardrops downpoured hurt
The sky above grumbled ominously
Then turned to light spectacular
Windchimes clattered with madness
Noises amplified by howling winds
She knew the storm was on its way
She would not surrender but maintain
Her inner strength and dignity
Her vitality was the food for her soul
Her love was boundless and eternal
Natures diversity and hers together
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Packed in the back seat of
your cramped Chevy Lumina,
and parked on the frontage road
behind the conifers
in your backyard—
the moon is low, a jaundice yellow,
the car is stalled, the heater grumbled;
you pull me in to warm me up,
my glasses fog,
you steal my smile—
[Your father, for his Sunday sermon,
packed the house—Leviticus:
“’Their blood shall be upon them,’ and
all God’s children said?”
“Amen.”]
Our breath condensed, whisper-white,
traced our initials on the window—
in after-laughing afterglow,
you swallow, nervous,
before you kiss me.
We don’t let go, till cabin lights
illuminate your father’s form—
the verse, full force, the wrath of God,
a hurricane—
a Horrible.
I never saw you afterward,
poor pastor’s son, where have you gone?
Like Pyramus, at the sight of blood
on Thisbe’s veil—
we don’t prevail.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
-
Yesterday at school,
as I was walking through the halls,
a girl, (who I do not know the name of for sure, but that's not important right now) before walking past me looked up and into my eyes as they were already intent on her.
She was beautiful,
you must understand.
And her eyes pierced through the fog that the melancholy environment of the school had left upon the halls.
And when she smiled, I swear all else around me stopped,
all things inside me rapidly expanded,
filling my body with an awkwardly warm feeling.
When I smiled back to her without meaning to I remembered looking into the mirror that morning and seeing my face, with it's too large nose and it's skin invaded with acne and a few scars and even fewer whiskers.
All these vain trifles of mine own face quickly evaporated from my mind as her eyes made their way back in.
I looked down at the ground around her feet and noticed nothing but her feet.
Covered with black China flats which were covering black tights that wove their way up her calves and thighs where they disappeared under a brown backed floral dress which again, stood under a denim jacket.
God **** my short casket of knowledge when it comes to women's clothing
but God ****** if I don't know a stunning girl when I see one. If I see one, and I saw one.
My eyesight slowly wandered up again to her eyes
and thinking back on it now I am wondering how I had enough time to take such a clear mental picture and save it in my smoke filled brain.
And as I looked up I found her eyes again, looking back at me.
She continued smiling and said hi.
I continued smiling and more or less grumbled hi.
We each continued walking in our own, opposite directions.
I don't know her name.
And I have a friend named Fiona who played a tree in our school's production of Wizard and Oz.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Now listen to the tale of Lila LaRue
A tale that taught us
to think before you do.
A plump gal she was, weighed three hundred and three
She had a strange love for berries, you see?
She hopped down Yale Trail,
And sat on stump
Plop! Right next to Edward the grump.
Edward was old, his memory fading
and didn’t appreciate Lila’s space invading.
“Lila,” he grumbled
“what do you need?”
“I’m looking for the old Yale Berry Tree!”
He sighed and humphed and grumped and thought,
“Kids these days.”
The adventures they sought!
He pointed to the left,
and said ”follow the trail.”
How Lila couldn’t wait to fill her pail!
Lila ****** to her side,
And broke into a run;
She had to get berries
‘Fore the day was done.
But then Edward shouted
something she couldn’t make out
so she lifted her head to see what it was about.
But she tripped on a root
And fell into a tree
“Its old Yale!”
Lila thought with great glee.
She plucked off a berry,
with a strange looking skin
But what was stranger
Was what lied within.
The juice is too ****
she thought much too late.
Then the grump found her,
in her lifeless state.
“Such a fool, that Lila LaRue.
never read the sign, like I told her to do.”
“Poisonous Berries, please do not eat.”
The sign read, freshly painted and neat.
Always listen to Edward
for he is old and wise.
“Never let a careless mistake
become your demise.”
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC