My
CLONE walked up to me on the street. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m the
SASSY version of you.’ This surprised me: I’m about as sassy as a
SKUNK. I said, ‘Surely clones are perfect copies,’ and abruptly
SWEPT her illusions up with a simple dustpan and brush.
Category: contributors
Cat-ching Up
BUDGE the budgie? I think not. He’ll only start to
CHIRP fit to burst if you try to touch him. He has the
CYNIC bird’s view of life: every hand that comes near
DAUNTs him – he fears his last avian moment has arrived.
HONEYed words won’t change his view; calmly watching him
PREEN his feathers without interruption leaves a nagging doubt. A
SNARE is how he sees it, an attempt to snatch his tiny
TRACT of space on the planet, and replace him with a cat.
Tractati
TRACT: in black and white, beliefs simplified to black and white.
PREEN, proclaim a perspicacity possessed by none.
BUDGE? Never. The self is the self’s proclamation, a self heedless of
SNARE posed by opinion bent into worship.
Words and Thoughts
HONEYed words and
CYNIC’s thoughts
DAUNT: is there good faith? Or is it all the
CHIRP, the social payload, barbed wire between us and our neighbors.
Crossword
The
CRYPTic crossword’s clues, enigmatic in form, too intricate for a
DUNCE like me who thinks he has to reinvent the
WHEEL at every turn, proved uncomplicated for my
NOBLE friend, who showed me where my cement brain went
wrong.
[This form of the Quordle poem is known as the Bumped Beginning and Hanging Stump style…]
Dunce
CRYPTic visions as he stands in corner,
DUNCE capped, and held of no account:
WHEEL will turn. One day. He will be known as
NOBLE. Except in this town, to these classmates.
Divine Simplicity, the Wrong Kind
PRINT. What he said, the
VICAR, that God has laws, is portrayed as a
GAFFE. He had also said that God is loving. but laws do not s’il leur
PLAIT. God is only permitted to be one thing.
Anodyne
My Pinot Noir is the very central PIVOT
of my evening slurp in my penthouse CONDO,
when I cease to chomp poetry and MUNCH
on the less tooth-wrenching pizza of PROSE.
Too Much
PUSHY–I grow more so.
GRIPEs–I have more than before.
BLOAT–it besets me. The more my
ASSETs grow, the less content I am.
Missing out on the Tooth Fairy
With a
BRISK flick of the string tied round my
TOOTH it comes sailing out, goes off
SLOSH into the bushes, causing me to
SKULK around in the dirt trying to find it again.
