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jonchius Sep 2015
checking potent aftershock
observing seismic anniversary
checking another tremor
resuming constrained writing

annexing hidebound constituents
hugging incoming eschatologies
fighting pervasive insomnia
battling invasive fatigue

damning incompetent fools
awaiting furtive escape
abandoning corporate wasteland
summoning celestial syzygy

detesting spaghetti code
protruding riparian dolphin
establishing unilinear escritoire
glowing cybernetic cynosure

avoiding eternal invisibility
supporting valued customer
performing lexical gymnastics
scrooping notification sounds

restoring usual happiness
glorifying darkwave fanfares
collapsing old relationships
raising ambient awareness

defining wolf people
propagating yesteryear's spectre
achieving hemispheric virality
testing weekend legerity
installing iron curtain

propagating today's spectre

developing niche audiences
transmitting abstract propaganda
disappearing thought experiments
overusing various condiments

double-checking hyper-real emotions
rubbernecking celestial explosions
observing splendid holiday
exploding volcano day

erupting bucolic mountain
disrupting hectic shouting
perfecting suggestive triptychs
checking festive pyrotechnics

drifting across multiverse
regifting glossy paperwork
writing six-lined hexagrams
liking two-toned instagrams

recalling pygmalion sculptures
brawling tatterdemalion cultures
"rambling corporate shill
rattling rapid prosody"
"battling hamburger hill
ambling hundredth library"
"sensing ideological schism
pending guttural neologism"

glowing verdant background
foreshadowing palmyra takedown
developing geopolitical mess
geminating quasi-couplet stress

"hugging cultural diversity
shrugging irrational adversity"

distancing spooky raindrops
avoiding potential burnout
implementing lexical databank
approaching crash-scene sudser

becoming increasingly selective
escaping tyrannical bureaucracy
perpetuating cut-throat capitalism
purchasing contrived happiness
incorporating chance elements
relaxing rigid structures
reheating your retweet

holding theoretical design
smiling beach life
scrutinizing eternal simulation
rushing artificial apothegm
annexing facetious document
freaking creepy centipedes

writing neural structure
congratulating yestreen's warriors
encouraging seatbelt usage
boosting abstract setting
sensing frivolous ochlocracy

keeping hypothetical metropolis
blurring metaphorical æsthetic
scrutinizing computational festival
memorializing towel day

raising six-fingered paw
eternizing fragment schedule
liking subtextual repository
quoting quintessential quidnunc

finding ideological style
disregarding their slovenliness
planning spatial factoid
spinning glacial ellipsoids

enjoying eternal spreadsheet
deleting repetitive tweet
awaiting festival lineup
gainsaying unethical startups

observing turgid experiment
contemplating conniving contrivances
enjoying dynamic project
dropping two-toned simulation
finding harmonic space
finalizing warring cavaliers

detecting enigmatic apathy
retrieving potential exchange
meddling middling muddling
baking hypnagogic pizza

spinning galactic dinosaur
building trans-pacific partnership
finishing theoretical mission
giggling agog googlers

crashing atypical tessellation
cherishing precious hexagons
proliferating western lottery
cretaceousing funkaholic skeletor

blurring turgid gallery
cancelling tsunami warnings
extemporizing incoherent neologisms
transmitting harmonic rave

gliding black hawks
hiding quacked ducks
archiving animated light
googling moonbow imagery

ignoring relatable messages
observing unfinished world
generating optional content
continuing exponential growth
May 2015
Maria Mitea Aug 2020
I

Once upon a time, on a Monday morning sun,
There was a blue wind in the west Cucabaga Country,
Blowing on a forest road, where the White Horse Girl
And the Blue Wind Boy met holding space for unfurling
Mysteries, everything happening as it has to happen,

II

The White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy lived
In the same neighborhood, he told her all about the winds
and how parallel roads meet on Elephant Hill,
The early morning wind remembered their faces, and
The mailbox waited for the time of delivery.

III

It was a cold day on a mud road, the birds still cheering,
The blue morning wind was the king of the forest,
Running on lovers' hearts like on white horses,
Each holding a song, afraid of turning it on
And listening to it loud, dancing and singing it loud,
So afraid. Instead,
The blue greedy wind took over their feelings.
Wearing winter gloves in September.
Blowing away shoulder stiffness,
Ready to fight with the invisible enemy,
It gave him airs of mystery in disguise.
He loved the early morning wind, and
The White Horse Girl loved him.

IV

Hair blown by the wind, ready to share his song, he arrived,
The weak heart sent him back to his home, and prayed: 'Please,
God, please, help him change his mind and not return.
Look how much madness it is in the air, and the leaves are falling,
This is not a nice day for a romantic walk, not even for a talk,
The strong wind has no mercy, it will break my heart.'
That was the first voice, while the second voice took the lead:
' Oh, God give him the strength not to change his mind,
Take everything and everyone out of his way,
Make his steps fast and light, like feathers flying into the sky,
Bring him back on the white horse. He is my Blue Wind Boy.
It can be windy, and it can rain hard.
There won't be another day.'

V
The dog barked. The back door opened
His spirit walked through The Blue Wind. He returned
With a heroic look on his face, light steps.
My friendly voice whispered: ' He is very brave.
He is your hero ' While the scolding one:
'There isn't any place left for thinking.
You are weak and lost if you let his eyes meet yours.
No one can save you. Don't rely on your dog. '

I felt warm waves moving through my legs,
Imploring 'lift up your gaze from the ground, '
When cold waves shrink my head pushing down
The fighting in my heart, I feel leaning into someone,
A wall or a tree. Forest trees kept looking at me,
  Moving their branches: 'come, darling, come, ...'
VI

It was cold, and wet, on that forest road
We walked side by side searching carefully
For words that haven't been invented.
The wind was the king playing with my skirt,
Holding it tight with both hands wrapped on my legs,
Urging to stay steel and not listen to what I feel;
Love in disguise lures my heart.
I wished that I had another two pairs of arms,
Holding the blouse when the dramatic wind
Pulled out the button. I kept him busy with talking,
About how beautiful it was living in the forest.

VII

Spirits were getting high only walking side by side,
Up, the elephant hill was waiting to swallow our desire.
I showed him a sacred space, where the sun touched my face
When I prayed every day. Up elephant hill,
Lovers were coming in secret at night and burned the fire of love.
He looked at the remnant ashes ' some lovers met here last night '
While I too looked at the aches and answered, ' anything could be possible.'

On the right side, wild ducks started to gossip,
In the little pond frogs quaking, letting us know
They were watching every step and listening to every sound,
' It is a windy day today, and it's cold.'
My voice softened while moving deeper inside,
Hiding behind a sober look. Oh, God,
Help me take down the elation.

VIII

I never was surrendered by so much readiness.
The singing of the birds was sharper than the blue wind,
The leaves danced and cheered in the air,
Everyone was ready for the spectacle to begin,
It was intimidating; leaves had eyes,
Flowers started talking with each other,
My feelings were greedy like squirrels eating now
And storing for later, for the winter, and any bad weather;
My heart was hungry like a wolf, wishful devouring the prey.

I could feel he was looking at me,
I could hear his long face saying,
'I dream of playing with your hair.'
The wind was getting mad, and fearless.
Like a forest fighter, he was ready to protect the garden
And destroy the misbehaving eyes caressing my hair.
He pulled those gloves in.

IX

Shortly the rain came putting on us a calm shy breeze,
I was prepared for a rainy day, he was ready for the winter snow,
I feel a boothole, on the left side,
'Boothole' was the word I learned from him,
I was happy when he asked, ' is your foot wet.' So naive,
With every careful step, we take time, holding on to every breath
Soon the sun smiled again at the end of the road,
No trees standing on our way, me and him,
With no words waiting on the lips,
With sudden humility soft grass flattened on the ground,
When the earth was running high, and hearts flew into the clouds,
He implored: 'Look into my eyes
The thunderlight started.

X

A warm rain walked us back to the house.

Faster steps took us down the hill. When passing by the little pond,
Daffodils opened their eyes, and the ducks quacked in disappointment:
'What a waste of time.'
We entered the bright forest meadow.
'Come, I'll show you where ducks live, swim, make love,
And quack all day long' The little pond was waiting for us.
Naive delight. Like a thief, he wrapped his arms around me,
Stealing a kiss.
I run away. He comes. Tears come. It was cold.
The blue wind grows furious and strong.
He pulled out his gloves.  We hold hands. Tears come
In our eyes. Tears fall on his burned hand. Hands touch.
Our hands kissed in the rain.
Our hands kissed in the rain, and the rain kissed back our hands.

(Suddenly I think: 'He can't burn twice. I don't want to burn.
I don't want to burn.')  
'I am cold. Let's go inside the house. I'll make a tea.'
I felt for mundane noise and no more mystery.

XI

We walked quietly, and soon entered the house that was waiting
for the two lost kids returning from 'where the white horses come from
and where the blue winds begin.' The home was friendly and warm,
embracing the blue morning wind, the song, and the kiss of the two lost kids …

'You have a beautifully clean house. Yes, It seems beautiful'
Answering fast while holding tight on stainless steel ***.
He leaned on the kitchen wood, crossing his arms.
Ready for an adult conversation. I busy myself as if I can't find the sugar.
I think. What if I poured too much water.  I found the honey.
It felt as if boiling two cups of water took forever.

We sat at the table. Two cups of tea and the white tablecloth looking at me.
Looking at him.Taking turns listening to words coming slow.
Carefully not disturbing the shinning floor, me crossing my feet
Under my seat, sitting together, and talking to each other he said:
'That's where the blue winds begin,
It would take years and years to ride them on the blue waters'
She listened and said: ' I See! The white horses also come from far away.
So far away, farther than the blue waters and the blue sky.'

XII

Everything happened as it had to happen,
The early morning wind believed and remembered,
Where the White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy met
and lived as neighbours, he told her all about the early morning wind,
and the night sky wind, and the wind of the dusk between,
the wind that asked him questions and told him to wait.

The house walls interrupted the conversation: 'It is late,
He has to go home' He looked into my eyes and asked:
'Runaway with me.' 'It is late, you have to go'
Our heavy bodies stand up slowly from the table
And the cups implored me to go. I opened the back door.
The strong wind was taking him. The door closed fast.
I burst into tears of despair. I cried and hugged my knees.
I know this morning has no return.

XIII

I received so many messages the day before
The night before, and the morning before,
Even more, signs of delusion appearing at every corner:
The spirits were hiding in the forest,
Sunshine dance and every smiling flower,
Witnessing our first meeting on the blue loonies lake,
Where loons perpetuate their offspring every new spring.
'We were not the only one darling,
Was this nature's complot or spirits desire
For loons to meet and dance in the blue wind fire
And sing their song of calling love on the blue waters,
Sun shining so bright fooling us into delude,
Despair running on white horses? '

XIV

I run outside. I saw his back and heavy walk.
'I want to go with him where the blue winds begin,
and where the white horses come from.' The mailbox moves
And gives me the letter, I read: ' To My sweetheart,
You have to wait now for the night sky blue wind, and the blue wind in the dusk, when it is neither night nor day. They will understand.
Keep your heart for us while I am gone.

With love the Blue Wind Boy

XV

It's been a while since the White Horse Girl has been waiting for the Night Sky Blue Wind and The Blue Wind in the Dusk to come, …
It came last night.
...

(Va Continue)
Mitchell Sep 2011
Sit with me
Here right close to me
Whisper me your secrets
Felt tip Rembrandts
The ones your grandma touched
The ones you felt
With a soul ill and in crutch
Granite corner stores
Marble ****** bores
Cone stuck n' lucky
I remember rabbit and ducky
The way they hopped and quacked
No one else
Could ever call them fat
Cruise for me now do not drowse
Music is pouring
My grandmas dead but not snoring
Storming red cloud triple seductively
The Gods will their way
You fight
You may be blessed to stay
Look forward from here
Look far to the future
Loaded lily lies yellow foreground poses
Models of ancient molds
Pictographs in ancient like snaps
Marble statue marble sneeze
Marble meanings underneath they are still dreaming
K n yellow way you are leaving from me tomorrow and today
Today was yesterday last month was tomorrow but who can say?
Poetry is dead
Poetry is not learned
So instead
We have this dribble
To read
Olivia Kent Dec 2013
By the river I meandered .
Ducks quacked their racket.
Accompanied in harmony by female child.
The sound in tune with nature's perfect bloom.
Moorhen drifted over water.
Dipped his head then he was gone.
Dogs ran in unison together.
Different breeds as one.
Having so much fun.
Dogs spread their bark all over the park.
As bark flakes off from the trees.

The willows crudely wept their tears.
And the Poplars only trembled more.

Got to the spot of our dragon fly.
Nobody's here.
All that's here are memories.
River's still not got much of a flow.
Her water's flowing mud and silt.

Fishers still stand on the Sunday bank.
Depositing nothing but lines.

And here am I stood on the spot.
Where this poem first began.
Where for a brief moment.
I was your woman
For another brief moment.
You were my man.

In eloquent silence I stand.
Watching the world go by.
Conversing with the naked trees.
Bare and exposed like me.

There's a chill here in this place.
It's felt in my words as they kiss my face.

Sat on the fence as I muse.
As me, myself, and I amuse.
The litter of displaced leaves on the ground.
Memories lost.
Memories found.
Too chilly to rest by the stream.
With a heart so chilled indeed.
And now the pub calls and I'm going for dinner.

Eaten now.
I stopped and bade our spot goodbye.
Homeward bound with a tear in my eye,
Watching two ducks having a row.
Perhaps those ducks were you and I!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Ron Gavalik Jul 2017
Along the shore of the Allegheny River in Pittsburgh
a little girl of about seven, dressed in a track suit
threw chunks of bread to nearby ducks and geese.
The geese, twice the size of their mallard brethren,
aggressively pushed between the ducks
to gobble up each morsel.
The girl placed her hands on her hips
and scolded the winged despots for their greed.
A few of the ducks joined in the protest,
and quacked in solidarity, for justice.
The geese remained undeterred in their conquest.
Clearly frustrated, the little girl gave up.
She handed the bag of bread to her mother
and then ran off to join a group of older children
playing frisbee in a nearby grass field.
The ruling geese and the victimized ducks
continued to swim near the shore,
hungry and confused,
and without that reliable food source.
Observation
Terry Collett Apr 2015
Yehudit sat on the grass by the pond Benny sat beside her she was looking at the ducks and dragonflies hovering and taking off in a long flight he was thinking of the death of Marilyn Monroe announced on the radio that morning and how he had kissed the photograph he had of her on his wall a small photo he had got through some club it was in black and white and he adored looking at her standing there cant believe shes dead Benny said who? whos dead? Yehudit asked looking around at him Marilyn Monroe on the radio news this morning he said how did she die? they think suicide overdose or something he said she looked away why did she do that? she asked no idea he said Yehudit lay back on the grass put her hands behind her head come lay beside me for a while she said he lay back beside her then turned to face her sideways on he took in her eye looking up at the blue sky blue as blue on blue he thought the flush of her cheek her nose her lips parted just so as to see teeth her ear covered by her brown hair she turned towards him so that both eyes were on him now blue on hazel we can if you want to she said studying him intensely can we? if you want to she said should we? he said and thought of the first time that time in the school gym once midday when the gym was empty and theyd gone in for a quick kiss and well one thing led to another and even though they were risking it they did and even though she had tried to be quiet she let out the moans under her breath and he momentarily on high had uttered yes yes yes and they had only just rearranged clothing when a teacher came in and said you ought not to be in here what were you doing? and Benny said showing her my press-ups and the teacher said they best leave and so they did Yehudit put her hand on his cheek and rubbed it gently and said of course we must if Marilyn can go like that we must take each given moment we have to fulfil our lives and he thought of Marilyn lying on her bed dead and the beauty still there but the spirit fled he leaned in and kissed Yehudit on the lips and she touched him on his thigh and their lips sealed and tongues engaged and moved and his hand felt along her thigh moving it up and down slowly and she closed her eyes and moved towards him and he felt upwards and upwards and touched and began to unbutton then voices came male voices from over the way by the pond-lake Yehudit called it- they broke apart looked around and sat up two men appeared with fishing gear over their shoulders one with a cap the other older balding pushing their way through the bushes on the other side engaged in conversation Yehudit and Benny made their way into the tall grass and lay flat looking through at the approaching men who stood opposite sorting out their fishing gear what they here for? Yehudit asked fishing Benny said I know that but why here why our lake? maybe they dont know its our lake Benny said they watched the two men unload and unpack their rods and seats and nets and then sit down typical Yehudit said now what? Benny reached through the grass and touched her hand we can touch and feel he said she felt his hand in her hand his fingers wrap around hers she moved through the grass and kissed his cheek can they see us? she asked shouldnt think so Benny said we are in the tall grass she turned him around to face her she breathed on him warm and **** and he kissed her and lay his hand on her leg then her high thigh she sighed and breathed warmly out I could have you now she said he lay back taking her in her eyes soft blue her parted lips her tongue risky Benny said what if they see movement of grass from over there? her hands began to unbutton his jeans and search within he stiffened looked at her lips her eyes he moved his hand moved upwards and felt her and closed his eyes cast it further a voice said maybe get something then another voice said do my best caught a good one here last week Yehudit held and rubbed Benny said shall we find some other place? Yehudit released and withdrew her hand why and where? too risky here cant focus he said she buttoned him up and lay on her back he lay beside her the sky was a bright blue birds flew overhead a dragonfly swept over the tall grass a butterfly swooped by voices again loud and deep nearly had one then be patient takes time the other replied Yehudit moved in the tall grass Benny watched as she took off her underwear and lay there got to be patient the man said she said softly Benny moved to her and next to her and felt her and unbuttoned and nearly there one mans voice said bit deeper the other said and laughed Yehudit sighed a shudder a movement an ease a bird flew off over the pond a blackbird sang got a bite a man said pull it slow now the other said Yehudits hands were on Bennys **** Bennys hands were holding her waist and bring it in now the man said steady steady Benny kissed her lips her cheek her eyes Yehudit saw birds in flight a woodpecker peck a duck quacked Benny opened his eyes and o a mouth and rode through a storm she lay there watching a rook in flight over head she was alive and Marilyn was dead.
A BOYA ND GIRL MAKE OUT BY A POND IN AUGUST 1962
ThatSynGirl Feb 2016
"Hey!" I call out.
But of course it's unheard.
She flits back and fourth,
Like an uncertain bird.

She's tearing up piles,
Clothes flying behind.
She's frantically looked
In each region, but mine.

"*******!"
She yells to the sky.
"Of all things to lose,
This one goes in my eye."

I snicker. It's true.
A conundrum, she's got.
In the bathroom she speaks "Are you here??"
I am not.

She always sees through me,
What a wonderful girl
She brings me out with her
And I show her the world

Her life became clear,
The day I was hers.
Life before me, she recounts,
Was a blur.

She loves me, and I her.
You could say that I'm quacked.
She speaks through a sigh
"I hate you, Contact."
I wrote this for a class. The prompt was: "Write a poem that speaks from the point of view of a lost or misplaced item that used to belong to you."
Bryce Jun 2018
Keep it simple, stupid
Water your squash
groom your ****

clean your hair
make your bed
go to work
rest when you're dead

the mountain's majesty is dis-communicated on the
chaotic explosion of 680
where soccer moms and angry dads
fed direct from the tide
explode inside their cars
nobody can hear them
'till five o clock with a beer in their hand

Kids at school
learning spectra
of color and light and soul and love
so zoomed out
must be
ADHD

SOMEBODY GET THIS DELINQUENT
SOME ******* VIVANCE,
PUHLEEzE!

Cartoon T.V
hey kids! remember not to talk to strangers!
quacked out in the head
they'll duck you inside their candy van
and you'll never be seen again

instill fear of the other
wait, why do they hate us?
why are they afraid?
they're supposed to love everyone
(and gays)

God is dead
we're floating through space
a rock going nowhere,
there is no place

No up or down,
just live and be gay,
there's nothing too queer,
there's no need for fear

just pay your taxes
in time to the state

Now i'm supposed to use big words
and relate somehow
deeply to a concept
we can't understand
but I've tripped far enough
and seen my heels
to know
it doesn't matter how you feel
or what you say

people are gonna keep dreaming anyways.
Bob B Oct 2016
Did you hear of the chicken
Who wanted to be a duck?
You have to admit that the chicken
Had a great deal of pluck.
 
Scrutinizing her duck friends,
She sought out the best model,
But despite weeks of practice,
She still couldn’t waddle.
 
“This clucking,” she said, “won’t cut it.
I need to learn how to quack.”
But the only sounds she emitted
Were still not a “quack” but a “clack.”
 
“I prefer to eat duck food,”
She boasted, and with that
She gobbled up all she could
And ended up getting too fat.
 
“Ducks are good at flying,
So it makes perfect sense
For me to try it,” she said—
Barely reaching the fence.
 
“That’s it!” she finally exclaimed.
“For swimming ducks are renowned.”
She dashed into the lake,
Flapped her wings, and drowned.
 
The ducks sighed in sadness.
Poor chicken—she just couldn’t see
THAT THINGS AREN’T NECESSARILY
ALL THEY’RE QUACKED UP TO BE.

-by Bob B
Tabatha Cromer Dec 2019
You don't decide who you love
But what is love to be had
False hope for the ******
Restless exictment to pass on
Replaced with  sickness of the gut and quacked chest
For one is always truer then it's predecessor
One always more intertwined in the art
I have but love for one man
But will falsely give to one more deserving
For this man I love deserves none
He does not deserve to feel my touch
For he replaced it
With the smooth feel of hops running down his throat
He does not deserve the sound of air leaving my lungs , neither of speach nor hum
For he replaced the sound of my breathing along his pillow side
With strangers moans and nights of ******* highs
He deserves not to see the tears lick my cheeks
For what a reward that would be
To remind him of what power he has over me
For what joy he finds in such wicked ways
The shadow of the man whom now stands today
Uma natarajan Nov 2018
It was an evening
Almost glistening
Thoughts were brightened up
Boys were driving up
The ducks from the river
Rain water made them shiver
All herded quacked
And the environment racked
Hoarse throated raised their voices
None could resist noises
Their voice more powerful than the frogs
Rain made them enjoy sitting in the logs
Their sound was incessant
Turned irritant
Rain and wind created havoc
Ducks moved with raucous sound adhoc
Jennifer McCurry Dec 2021
Nation part 1

He was hound dawged  
Sweated  
Mud in his eye  
But red, similar the color of cherries  
  
His  load  
Delusions of grandeur -carried in a burlap sack  
eclipsed the threshold a Moon before his person  
  
Lumbering  
  
And foul  
  
Grunt and whiskeyed breath  
Enough to make a small one dizzy ...
  
Enough to clear the front of house with only a hint of his mood  
  
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Mud like lava caked his expression  
  
The man had seen War  
But not enough  
  
Not enough  
  
Only a little..
A promise incomplete  
  
His War had been a nursery rhyme
Full of..  
  
Barnyard animals  
****** with anthropomorphism  
Machete held  by pigs paw  
Rebel yells that quacked  
  
And so he entered the threshold  
(Sanctuary actually)  
Hulk and mass inescapable  
And indescribable in regards to appetite  
(Though I will try)  
  
As said ..
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Exposing the ancestry beneath his skin Monks hood  
  
I think ..
Something lovely  
And deadly  
  
And I certainly feel..  
worthwhile
Ron Gavalik Apr 2018
A flock of ducks on the riverbank
strolled through the grass, scrounging
for bugs and crumbs with their silly duck bills.
The birds mindlessly walked around
following each other, quacking and nibbling
the way ducks do.
There was this one colorful duck
who didn’t seem concerned with the flock.
His truth led him away
to find dinner elsewhere.
A few of the other ducks quacked at him
for flaunting his responsibility
to do what was expected.
That colorful duck ignored them all,
as if their opinions meant nothing.
He did his own scrounging, in style
while the orange sun skimmed the skyscrapers
before it set for the evening.
An inert tarn


In the pond of pleasant memories, a duckling paddled
like an unwanted thought a spring wedding in Brussel.
Flat stones skipped on the pond in the night, quacked
refused to spit out half chewed toothpicks forgotten.
Expel the duck send it abroad to the Saragossa Sea
to a shadowy barren island in the stream
where the monster Amnesia lives; you must be warned
keep away if the ogre gets hold of you, it will not eat
the unwanted, but also the memory of those you loved.
A funny duck with feathers so bright
A lovely little duck to watch
And splash water in pure delight and he
Would quack in the morning sunlight
And with a quack and a splash and
He quacked and laughed
Splashing all through the night and
He'd brighten my day with such
A cheerful and charming little sight.
A Duck 🦆
Night Of The Living Quack!

It was obviously difficult
At first
To distinguish
Betwixt a normal duck
And a zombie duck
Until they quacked
And their waddle
Gave them the appearance
Of an inebriated duck
And their quack
Sounded more like a quark
On their own
They were fairly harmless
But if surrounded by these beastly entities
A gang of zombie ducks
All quarking loudly
You could be in mortal danger
Of seemingly being squashed
By an insane eiderdown
Unless you were quick enough
To avoid the quaik
And duck down
Then you may simply
Quack up
The only known defense
Is to throw oranges at them
They have a mortal fear of oranges!
the end
fin

by Jemia
Otherwise titled deep into my fiftieth year of passive aggressive rebellious puberty.

Yes, I chickened out getting a haircut yesterday August twenty seventh two thousand and twenty four as stated in a previous poem before undergoing cataract surgery cause mine deux (mind you) ponytail donation of at least by donating at least eight inches of these straggly tresses to a facility that repurposes cut hair for Children with Hair Loss after getting golden – more specifically brunette imponderable locks lopped off, would still cost me thirty five dollars namely at Salon Nova (situated at west Ridge Pike, Suite A, Royersford, Pennsylvania, 19468) not including a tip, which extra bonus, (would most likely top off the total cost close to fifty dollars, but yours truly best ask this question ahead of time, which monetary fait accompli with scissors might best set my sights until speedy recovery videre licet post cataract surgery.

Sacrilegious transgression against deeply rooted obsessive compulsive disorder impossible mission to forcibly eject from out my psyche, until drastic measure of prefrontal lobotomy or Electroconvulsive therapy employed courtesy a thirteen year old.

Siege warfare (trumpeting)
average joe biden his time
linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today August 27th, 2024,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.

Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard
upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.

Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
plus sense and sensibility
to confront head on
after trimming back the tresses
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.

Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.

Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.

Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha
allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.

I generally mean mine mien mental state
moost occasions heavily marinated stupor
long established as external trait
psychologically time tested trooper
impossible mission to kickstart sanity
doppelgänger regularly revisits his soul asylum
hellbent antimatter he cannot vitiate
despite therapeutic laxative merely exhausts
well bred literate smoking doobie brother
eliminating aforementioned pablum
witnessed courtesy one floundering grouper
among plenty of fish schooled
hyphenated (high finned haggled)
burn hushed scaled poem
courtesy one unionised rebellious party pooper.

Spellbound with colossal mental grippe
(i.e. all-consuming figurative cerebral
obsessive compulsive forced membership)
magnetic resonance imaging
indicated jagged blip
and/or nsync microscopy
showed telltale genetic authorship
regarding above stated mental health crisis,
whereby Sigmund Freud analyst did flip
lid freeing leeches imported courtesy Philip
Hansel and Gretel a mere slip
o' lass, whose nose she always did turnip.
Siege warfare linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today December 5th, 2020,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.

Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard

upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.

Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
to confront head on
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.

Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.

Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.

Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha

allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.

I generally mean mine mien mental state
moost occasions heavily marinated stupor
long established as external trait
psychologically time tested trooper
impossible mission to kickstart sanity
doppelgänger regularly revisits his soul asylum
hellbent antimatter he cannot vitiate
despite therapeutic laxative merely exhausts

well bred literate smoking doobie brother
eliminating aforementioned pablum
witnessed courtesy one floundering grouper
among plenty of fish schooled
hyphenated (high finned haggled)
burn hushed scaled poem
courtesy one unionised rebellious party pooper.

Spellbound with colossal mental grippe
(i.e. all-consuming figurative cerebral
obsessive compulsive forced membership)
magnetic resonance imagine indicated jagged blip
and/or nsync microscopy
showed telltale genetic authorship

regarding above stated mental health crisis,
whereby Sigmund Freud analyst did flip
lid freeing leeches imported courtesy Philip
Hansel and Gretel a mere slip
o' lass whose nose she always did turnip.
Malcolm May 22
you said maybe like it meant yes
in a language only I bled fluently.

you blinked
and i fell into
a duck pond of maybe tomorrows
while you dried off
in someone else’s sun.

i guess it waddled.
i guess it quacked.
and you laughed like that proved
you never promised me a thing.

but the feathers
still choke.
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
May 2025
If it walks like a duck 🦆

— The End —