We Chews the News

Mr. Tum turned over in bed.
Mr. Tum sighed, and he said,
“Argh.”

Mr. Tum was waking up.
The sun shone on Mr. Tum’s head
As he tossed and he turned in his bed.
Morning had passed,
And noon was coming soon.

Noon meant food for the stomach,
And the stomach meant to have that food.
Mr. Tum had very little to say about it,
For get up he would.
His tossing and turning meant
That he was beginning to suspect his fate.

Poor Mr. Tum.
No control, Mr. Tum?
Think of the joy, Mr. Tum.
No worry, Mr. Tum.
The world is a happy place.
A happy place and a safe place, Mr. Tum.
Your eyelids twitched, Mr. Tum.
You’re losing the battle, Mr. Tum.

A baby-blue eye looked out at the world.
It saw
The sun.
It saw nothing but the sun!
It closed quickly.
Wrinkles spoke of pain for Mr. Tum.

Turn your head, Mr. Tum.
Mr. Tum turned his head.
Covers flew over that head.
Now he was hidden from the world.
And the sun.
But not from his stomach.

It growled.
The covers slipped down from his head.
Two blank, blue eyes looked up from the bed.
Who’s the boss, Mr. Tum?
Mr. Tum said, “God
Damn!”
His stomach mumbled something.
It must have had a wicked sting,
For Mr. Tum got up.

Two great big feet hit the floor.
Two soft, but vicious, curses hit the air.
The air trembled.
So did Mr. Tum.
His stomach was speaking again.

To the kitchen, Mr. Tum!
Obey your master, Mr. Tum!

And that is what he did. He dialed ham
And he dialed eggs.
He dialed coffee
And he dialed cream.
He dialed toast with lots and lots of butter.

It came at once.
And Mr. Tum could hear his stomach slaver in anticipation.
“But wait awhile!” said his smile, “We’ve yet to hear the news.”

He turned another dial.
His radio responded with warmth
as its lights lit up.
Words were seen.
They said, “Good News.”
Mr. Tum turned to it.

He never turned the dial to “Bad News.”
He wouldn’t even turn it to “Mixed News.”
After all, why should he?
It wasn’t any of it true.
It was based on fact – sometimes.
But no one ever knew.
It gave a person what he wanted to hear.
A little sorrow,
A little cheer.

“How wonderful,” thought Mr. Tum.
No greater idea ever was or ever will be.”
Maybe so, Mr. Tum.
But, Mr. Tum,
Let’s wait and see.

Memory of a Moment

You are green,
And your arms reach up
To touch the sky
Gently, gently,
How I love you

You are blue,
Soft and smiling,
Kissing cool a promise
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are red,
Drawing me to you
Burning hot
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are yellow,
Burning softly with your head
Upon my shoulder
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are black,
Restful soft as satin
Hands upon my chest
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are white,
Curving over hills and valleys
Distance blinding
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are brown,
Earth and growing things
Come to life within you
Gently, gently
How I love you

You are flesh
And next to me where I can touch you
From time to time
Gently, gently
How I love you

Trash

By PaulEdward Snyder
2004 A.C.E.

a garbage pail
black on a street of pastel
brimming with trash
and the leavings of trees
alone on a curb of shaven green grass

a sad lonely bucket
reminding the dusk
that others will come
clatter and clank
then silent and surly
sprouting like mushrooms
silhouettes in the night

just before dawn
clashing and clanging
first far away
grows louder
crescendo
descends into distance

silhouettes no longer
they’ve whisked out of sight
furtive
ashamed
exposed by the light

leaving the trash basket
unlidded and emptied
to again stand alone
and blemish perfection
inspiring this poem

meanwhile in Heaven a long way away
the One Who Creates
opens the gates
allowing to enter one single sinner
reminding the rest
that He is God
and they the blest

a choir somewhere singing lustful and loud
impresses that angelic crowd
with perfect precision and pitch
until one note falls flat
and God laughs

as the song goes on

Witness

Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“I am a figment of my own imagination.”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“I am here at this point in time and space. Who are you?”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“ I am the water running under the bridge on which you are standing.”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“I am looking back at you through this three dimensional mirror.”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“ I am the other you are looking through to see me.”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“I was here a moment ago, but now I am still here.”
Ask me who I am, and I will tell you,
“I will be gone, and you will still be here.”
Ask me where I am, and I will tell you,”You can see me. You can hear me. You can even touch me,
but you cannot come with me.”

Eve

God
God created
God created big time
God created so much big time
There was little time left
But there was enough little time left to matter
There was now matter that mattered
As well as matter that did not matter
There was matter and there was not matter
Matter scattered.

Matter flourished and it mattered more and more
Until it moved mountains
And ran into the sea
Where it began to see
And to hear
And to taste
And to smell
And to feel
And it looked at itself
And it heard itself
And it became aware
Of tasting
And of smelling
And of feeling
And it felt for itself.
It began to ask questions
And it began to answer its questions.

It began to think.

Matter had become aware of itself
And somewhere something said to itself,
“This is good.”
"This is really good!"
"Creation is unfolding."
"It is evolving."