The Darn Sock Connection, a parody

Why are there so many
Socks in the dish pan?
I think that the boys have lied.

Socks aren’t a weapon;
Aren’t doilies or dishes.
They shouldn’t be balled up or tied.
So boys’ve been scolded; I doubt they
Were list’ning.
Their feet will be cold, wait and see.

One day I’ll miss it:
The clothes never flying;
And dishes, instead of hos’ery.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Little Things

They say you miss the little things
when love leaves you behind.

They say you hear a voice, a laugh
an echo of a smile.

They say you feel an emptiness
where warm-tight arms would hold.

They say you wake a night or two
in bed, alone and cold.

What they don’t say is just how long
the little things are missed.

What they don’t know is is just how much
your everything persists.

What they don’t feel is where you were
before we came apart.

What they don’t live is half a life
with empty soul and heart.

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Photo Credit: Stefan Spassov

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

A Tribute to Frank Prem

Today I highlight the work of poet Frank Prem. I’ve enjoyed Frank’s poetry since my first days of blogging and have been inspired to write responses twice.

He possesses the unique gift of speaking in the voice of the objects he writes about; in movement and poignancy.

The following is my paltry attempt at mimicry, so you might all experience his style:

rain (in season)

I am a piece
of gray
a mist
a cloud

evaporate

I am a drip
a tear
from North Wind’s eye

don’t go
he cries

don’t
go

I am
the autumn rain

deluged

oh please
don’t go

©2019 Chelsea Owens

A Thoughtful Poem

What have wishing words giv’n me
Besides a wand’ring mind
What have whirling words giv’n me
Besides the need to rhyme;

Would I sit; soliloquy
If I had never known
Would I stare; tranquility
Whilst others study phones;

Am I the higher, better one
To wander, rhyme, and muse
Am I the thoughtful, ‘lightened one
Or am I just amused?

The Strangest Pregnant Animal Ever, a poem

From curly hair to larger feet
And drooling, dozing, sniffling snores;

From skin tags, spots, and extra heat
And sudden change to teenage pores;

From stomach smashed and bladder squished
And nausea any time awake;

From snacks on which one must subsist
And baths that one must never take;

From ever-spreading stretch mark lines
And complications ev’ry term;

From husband flirts one must decline…

 

You wish you’d never seen That Sperm!

Frilled Shark, a terrible poem

Come with me
To the sea
Where it’s very cold
And wet
And blue
And also deep, fathomless, really dark, dark, black, maybe deep blue, some people say it’s green, others with no color perception call the water purple, and deep
Oh, and it’s cold
So
That is why
I’d die
So high
If I were
A frilled shark

Also I’d die because they carry their babies for 3.5 years.

Frilled Shark

Photo from Wikipedia Commons, ©OpenCage

 

That’s pretty much it.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

My Mantis, a slightly terrible poem

Have you eaten, my love?
Are you certain?
Don’t mean to be impert’en
But while I’m …erm, squirtin’
I’d rather
Neither
Of us
Lost

Our heads.

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Scientists long believed that female mantises engaged in sexual cannibalism. After the males mounted their partner, deposited their essence, and dismounted; most females then literally bit the male’s head off.

Recent studies of less-invasive means prove that female mantises rarely attack and eat their Baby Daddies in their normal homes nor in their natural surroundings. There is still some debate as to whether the female’s nutritional deficiencies at the time affect things.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

From Baby Giraffe, a terrible poem

Mummy dear and tall:

I know you love me,

But why did I fall?

Why did I walk once dumped from six feet off the ground

Within the sixty minutes of my entry to this Earth that’s brown and round but not very sound?

(Because I hadn’t walked for 453 to 464 days.)

Yes, that’s why the ground was not very sound;

Though I made a sound when I landed on the dirt

‘ Cause it hurt.

Next time I thank

I’d rather have a doctor’s spank.

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Giraffes have a gestation period of about 15 months, then the baby giraffe falls from his standing mother’s birth canal. It’s a drop of five or six feet. This helps break the umbilical cord and amniotic sac, plus avoid being sat upon by a long-limbed mother.

The babies recover quickly and are ready to walk by the time an hour’s passed.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Octopussy, a terrible poem

My darling, sumptuous, suctioned
Model of a mop head mother
Take my arm
No, not that one
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor -wait! There’s the one;
Take it, my Hun,
Hardly knowing how much I love you
My dear
It’s clear
You’ll store the future like a forty-day fridge,
Including my present; though, of me, it’s just a smidge.
Then, hang our darling hybrids round the rocks
It’s Christmas in our summer sea!
Just you and me –
Except, not me.
For, you see
It cannot be.
It’s not you, it’s m- the babies!

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The male octopus uses a special arm to remove his sperm packet, then place it inside the female octopus. After storing the eggs and sperm for a while (forty days for one species), she hangs the eggs from rocks and crevices and wipes them with her mate’s present.

For some reason, the male dies within 3 days of reproducing. The female dies a month after delivering her babies.

Photo Credit:
Masaaki Komori

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens