Throwback Thursday: The Ballad of the Garbage Truck

From June 29, 2017, an epic poem I’m stinkin’ proud of:

Oh, hark! -and hear my tale of old –
‘Tis true in ev’ry way:
The ballad of the garbage truck,
A loud, machine-drawn dray.

The daylight barely paints the East,
The weary man just waked;
A stirring in the quiet air,
A song of metal brakes.

How now, my lads? What sings this sound?
What draws attentive eyes,
A-pressed against the window panes,
Or gathered round outside?

Oh, feel: the porch, the walk, the lane!
Oh, see: the living things!
They shake and dart in worried dance
Of what the daybreak brings.

The song exults effulgently
As it comes round the turn:
Vehicular efficiency
As refuse is o’erturned.

Majestic rolls the garbage truck;
Ungainly -yes, but true.
A dutiful collectioner
Of everyone’s snafu.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Capture a Critter #1: Monkey Buffet Festival

Excuse me, sir, but could you spare

A pineapple (we have no pears) —

Here, in this place

Of grandeur, grace

…And about 3,000 monkeys?

Image result for thailand monkey buffet festival

Poemed for Deb Whittam‘s new writing prompt: Capture a Critter. I wrote in response to the Monkey Buffet Festival, an annual tradition of setting out a feast for the local monkeys in Lopburi, Thailand. This year’s event, held on November 24, will be their 31st year.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Scampy Mouse

Scampy mouse looked ’round his house,

But all that he could see

Were must and rust and cheese crumb dust,

And a cobweb; maybe three.

 

“I must have flask or wig or mask;

Or robes, or vampire teeth.”

Yet, high and low and to and fro —

“No costume,” Scampy squeaked.

 

Then, start’ling him, a *quack* *ring* *knock*;

He jumped. “Who could that be?”

He opened up to Tammy Duck,

Who asked him, “Trick or treat?”

 

She held a wand, a potion, bag;

Plus extra, long, white sheet.

“You wanna be a scary ghost,

For this year’s Halloween?”

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Photo Credit: Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

 

Created for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Halloweensie Contest.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

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!