Birds Aren’t Real – A Poem

nature bird red wildlife

What are those creatures flying in the winds?
No other feathers bear, none else do dive.
They’re strange for a reason: The Man – he sends
These drones out to monitor our dull lives.

Yes – those eyes are cameras, watching you vent
While you eat, walk, play your video games,
Or plan to overthrow the government.
The birds, battery-powered bots, take aim.

Have you ever examined their “feathers”?
Clearly, they are just recycled plastic.
Feel them – are they scales, skin or leather?
They’re neither natural nor fantastic!

So while we wait indoors for Covid’s end,
Remember – their lithium batteries
Are charging now, then our lives they’ll attend
And tattle on our overdue book fees.

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This was written for Chelsea Owens’s first ever Weekly Hilarity Contest! This week, the theme was birds, and I was astonished because birds aren’t real.

The citation says:

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
But we all know it’s just a government-issued photo. 

An Ode to Giant Turds

the end text on tissue paper

This was written for the final Terrible Poetry Contest, a morbid lament about something long gone. I had to pull out something truly terrible that rhymed, and this – this is my final chance at victory!

Those who are faint of heart may turn away, but there is nothing truly offensive below. Just quite foul.

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Look how ye curl
Above the water’s surface
You big, sassy turd, source of my pride.

Rare is the whorl
Which rises enough to lance
Through soft, golden expanse, brave height.

But now, brown pearl,
I must take the flushing stance
And send you away, unforgotten but affright.

Thou doth swirl
In a porcelain water-dance
Amidst ribbons and twills of white.

Gone! Flushed, hurled!
My mind is blown, in a trance,
That I couldn’t share your largess and might.

The joy of my innards
When you escaped by chance
During a bowel movement after midnight!

I’ll never unfurl
Our secret toilet stance
That created you, the biggest turd of my life.

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Yes, this was about the sadness one feels when flushing a turd so big you kind of feel proud.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Earth’s Maiden #TankaTuesday #Etheree

elf forest tanka tuesday grass redwood tree

I’ve
never
seen her here
before this day,
but she acts as if
I’m the one to invade.
“Good heavens,” I say, “Who’re you?”
Soft-voiced says she, “What is a name
but manacles holding the soul hostage?
The trees have not names, so why must I stoop
to this human, imprisoning game?”
I thought. “I suppose you should not.”
“I’m now visible because
you matured enough to
understand me.
Listen, learn,
become
free.”

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This week, Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #174 is a photoprompt. To me, this is one of those pictures begging a story, so I had to take the longer form – a double etheree – to get that out.

Rebirth – #TankaTuesday #Cinquain

close up environment flora ground plant budding

Budding
From withered shoots,
New plants remember those
Which died before and and take their
Mantles.

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This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #171, write a cinquain. Today, as we sit in hushed houses and watch our gardens grow in the back, I chose to limit my words and put everything into as small a bite as I could.

This one is dedicated to my raspberry briers which recently decided they weren’t dead.

Photo by David Alberto Carmona Coto on Pexels.com

Hatteras – #Tanka #TankaTuesday

hatteras lighthouse

Clouds hide midnight sky –
Do stars still shine under there?
The moon glistens through
Fog like a lighthouse guiding
Lost souls through rocky waters

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This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #170, “The Night Sky”. I decided to write about what happens to the night sky on a cloudy night since we mostly think about clear, starry skies. Hatteras is the most famous lighthouse in North Carolina, guarding the Graveyard of the Atlantic.

Image by George Stephens from Pixabay

Fiasco #haibun #senryu #tankatuesday


The sky sparkles with starlight, but the night is dark. Your face barely shimmers in the pale of a waning moon, but I still worry you can see my cheeks flush with each sip of Moscato. The evening kisses stolen, the warmth of summer instilled in our breasts, we pick up the bottles in their fiaschi and bring them home. I hang them over the doorway.

Whisp’ring reminders
Of alcohol enhanced nights,
Of joy in your kiss.

This haibun was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #169. This was a photoprompt based on the image at the top of the post. The picture was provided by Padre’s Ramblings.

Bug Out Bags

black and gray metal machine inside a room

*Warning for Terrible Poetry Followers: This poem is PG-13 at best

With a P-51 and a stash of old food,
One can hold out in style, lighten the mood.
But you’ll still feel alone
With no one to bone,
So be sure to bring tissues and lube.

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This was written in response to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, wherein the prompt was a limerick about stockpiling for the end of the world. You can find the original prompt post here.

What’s a P-51? Watch this prepper video to find out!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Nest – #Haiku #TankaTuesday

bird-nest-eggs-blue-158734.jpeg

Used nest
Scrapped for new –
Homey

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This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #168, Comfort and Worn. I decided to do a 2/3/2 haiku because it was hard to get the synonyms for those words to fit together in such a tight space with a nature theme. I think I did it, but wow! What a challenge!

This was inspired by a birds nest in the maple tree in my backyard. This spring, when the blackbirds returned, they ripped apart the old nest and built a new one in my neighbor’s back yard. The traitors.

The Death Machine

bloom blooming blur brick wall

Some new thoughts
are scary-
they’ll ruin our
ways.

So we’ll fight,
kill to choose
the future’s
course.

Why must the
death machine
precede a new
epoch?

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #146, Epoch, in 27 words.