Smoke on the water

Smoke on the water

Fires in the Canadian sky

Smoke on the water

I can smell burning

Smoke on the water

They say the air is bad

Smoke on the water

Not safe to exercise outside

Smoke on the water

My throat is irritated

Smoke on the water

Stay inside and watch TV

Smoke on the water

The news is all smokey

Smoke on the water

Its all fake smoke news

Smoke on the water

Or is it smake folk news

Smoke on the water

Political smokescreen 

Smoke on the water

Global warming publicity stunt

Smoke on the water

Too smokey to see the mirrors 

Smoke on the water

Perfect conditions for Chinese balloons

Smoke on the water

Fake weather balloon spying smoke generators

how many chocolates in your box

Life is like a box of chocolates

Its a gift filled with sweet moments that quickly disappear

Its fun to share with others who appreciate it

Some people pick the same chocolate every time

Be a daring adventurer and try something new

If your box of chocolates is almost empty

Go out and buy two more

Indulge yourself and make a surprise gift with the other

Its not over while there are still things to enjoy

Try to save your last chocolate for those who follow you

Nobody wants to leave an empty box legacy

Eggs and potatoes

Eggs are soft inside with a fragile shell

potatoes are firm with a thin skin

Something strange happens when you boil them

Eggs become hard inside

Potatoes go soft and mushy

Of course there is a scientific reason

The proteins in the egg bind together under heat

The starch in the potato absorbs water and breaks down

It still remains fascinating to me

How different they react

To the same exposure

People are just the same

When faced with adversity

If you get into hot water

Do you crumble and let your resistance dissolve

Or do you stand firm and rigid

Are you an egg or a potato

I think I am a mixture

Sometimes I can be stubborn and resist almost anything

Other times I prefer to give in to end the conflict

I suppose that makes me a potato and egg salad

A poetic apology

Guru Nanak Prophet and poet

What is the difference between a poet and a prophet

If you ask a wise man he might say

Poets have special powers of imagination and expression

Prophets utter divinely inspired revelations

Poets might give you this kind of answer 

Prophets minus phrs equals poet

Phrs is the Icelandic word for fart

So if you fart on a Icelandic poet he becomes a prophet

When a prophet makes a prediction

You may be inclined to take it seriously

The predictions of a poet however

Are nothing more than pure fantasy

Those of you who already googled the word phrs are probably feeling deflated

I am sorry if my poetry is not prophetic enough for you

I truly have no credentials to make divine revelations

Have a very poetic day

I had a dream

I had a dream last night

blue skies and green fields

fluffy white clouds painted in the sky

long hot summer days with cool nights

butterflies dancing over flowers

birds singing and soaring in the breeze

live music filled my ears

drinking a never ending long cold beverage

laughing and joking with friends

it was a good dream

I woke up to see blue skies fluffy white clouds and green fields

dreams are a welcome reflection when you live in one

in the twilight zone

She was in the twilight zone

Neither fully awake or asleep

Partially aware of her thoughts

Unable to distinguish reality from imagination

She was calm and not at all anxious

Curious and inquisitive

Wondering what door would next open in her mind

Her mother appeared and spoke to her

They had a long conversation

Her mother was very reassuring

Telling her that everything was going to be fine

Giving her very specific instructions

On how to resolve current problems in her life

She appreciated the motherly advice

And promised she would follow it exactly

Her mother embraced her then promptly vanished

A loud noise jolted her from the twilight zone

Her phone was ringing

It was the hospital calling

Saying her mother had just passed away

She tried desperately to get back into the twilight zone

Reality had those doors firmly locked now

She was alone with her sadness

Yet eternally grateful that her mother came to see her

She kept the promise she had made to her mother

Longing to meet her again sometime

In the twilight zone

Be careful what you imagine

He wanted his imagination to run free

Have it entertain him and surprise him

But it just sat there lifeless

Behaving like a loyal soldier

Waiting for his commands

Not the freedom fighting rebel he wanted 

He felt cheated

He decided to ignore his imagination

He went back to logical thinking 

Considered that perhaps there was no such thing as imagination

We all control our thoughts as if we are movie directors inside our minds

Our stream of consciousness is influenced by our surroundings

And by all the things we witnessed in the past

He questioned if it was truly possible to have an original creative thought

He felt he was just regurgitating the thoughts he gleamed from others

As he wrestled with those ideas he became deeply depressed

He decided to stop thinking altogether 

Deny any thoughts the opportunity to depress him further

His mind went blank

All went quiet for a brief moment

Until he could hear a distinct knocking on a door

Deep inside the back of his mind

He reached back to open it

There stood his imagination dressed in full paramilitary freedom fighter gear

There was a brief silence before his imagination spoke to him

Now you are going to get the imagination you always wanted

He tried to slam the door shut

But it was too late

His imagination was too fast for him and slipped inside

All hell broke loose inside his mind

His imagination was running riot 

Scratch poetry

I am trying to figure out

How to make poetry scratch cards

Sort of like lottery tickets

Except with writing under the silver paint

Buy a card and win a poem every time

More fun than reading numbers

That tell you you just lost again

It would have to be a short piece of prose

Nobody wants to scratch a novel sized poem

Even better would be a multi layer card

Scratch off the top layer for the first poem

Then scratch that away to reveal another poem

The poetic equivalent of the Russian doll

That has a doll inside every doll

The final scratch reveals a blank page

So you can write your own poem

Then you can paint over it

Give it as a gift to somebody special

What a great way to surprise folks

With witty two liners

Hidden under the scratch paint

You did not win the lottery

But you won my heart

…………………………………..

Thank you for scratching me

It itched a lot

…………………………………..

I dare you to resist scratching the second line

I knew you would do it

…………………………………………..

This message will self destruct

Fifteen seconds after scratching

………………………………….

If you scratch mine

I will scratch yours

………………………………….

I think I am falling in love with y….

Scratch that

the reunion

Photo by KoolShooters on Pexels.com

His mother had passed away

The funeral was comforting

A gathering of family and friends

It was over too quickly

Now he was all alone

Clearing out her house

Going through her possessions

Opening boxes of papers

She amassed a lot of stuff over the years

His school reports brought back bad memories

Must try harder

He has difficulty concentrating

Could do better

He recalled those painful years

Being judged by his teachers

Being pressured by his peers

Being bullied because he did not fit in with the crowd

He was not happy back in those days

The boxes of family photographs seemed endless

Faded black and white images of a baby

He knew it must be him

As he was an only child

But it seemed like another lifetime

He picked up the dusty guitar case

His old guitar was still inside

He spent hours as a boy playing that guitar

It was his way of dealing with all the bullying taunts

The therapy that kept him going through those difficult times

He had stopped playing it when he left school

Forty years later it was still waiting for him

He took the guitar home

Cleaned it and fitted new strings

He struggled to remember the chords

His fingers moved too slowly at first

Then the music just flowed

Bringing back incredible feelings

Of being totally engrossed in the music

Losing himself in the rhythm

Closing his eyes to escape deeper into the notes

He was reluctant to open his eyes 

Not wanting to be jettisoned back again in his troubled youth times

He kept playing late into the night

He slept soundly with his guitar next to the bed

They would never be separated again

HAPPY CHEEKY MONKEY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Cheeky Monkey Poetry is two years old!

The Cheeky Monkey has posted 675 poems and attracted 250 followers

Its been a fun second year posting something (almost) every day

A big thank you to Addison and Abby for creating and maintaining the website

Many thanks for all your comments and feedback, they mean a lot

The Cheeky Monkey has decided to keep up the challenge of posting daily for another year

Stay Cheeky!