A Crazy Wild Poem
... a challenge
Prompt: Use as many of the following words in a piece.
splat, wobble, squelch, bounce, dangle, plop, gurgle, shimmy, bonk, thwack,
sploosh, twiddle, flump, jiggle, honk, boing, squish, bloop, clatter, whomp,
skitter, flop, thunk, wiggle, sproing, fumble, schlep, plunk, smoosh, clunk,
waddle, rustle, squidgy, dribble, tumble, thwip, splurt, clonk, jangle, quiver.
open to anyone to try.
This was a challenge put out by Mark Crutchfield. It wasn’t easy, but it was certainly fun!
I like to wobble, shimmy, wiggle, waddle, and to bounce
My belly gurgles when it’s hungry, I fumble for some food
I splurt out words unprovoked and dribble while I spout
About how much I hate the day, sometimes I can be crude.
I love to step on squidgy things and watch them as they splat
A thwack, a whomp or good old bonk will give a thrip a smoosh
My face contorts, some water—Sploosh! I need to have a chat
About that need to squish things flat. My therapist says, “Shoosh!”
I fumble with the stuff I schlep and jiggle through the streets
Til someone honks, causing me to tumble, clatter, clunk
I try to squelch the pain I feel as the driver brings me treats
I walk away, the driver leaves, my phone falls with a clonk.
I find a seat on which to plop. I flump on someone’s stuff
A boing, a squish, a woman shreaks! “My flowers are now squashed!”
My fingers twiddle as her dangles jangle then she sits down in a huff
“Spring has sprung! I’ll get some flowers to replace the ones I crushed.”
A breeze, a rustle, I wait for a sign — a quivering smile, she nods
“Twas just a bloop, who would have thunk, you have a heart after all.”
I take my guitar and I start to plunk a song and suddenly she sobs
Standing she says, “Get rid of that thing! You’re music is truly a flop!”
Absolutely squishingly loved this Laura!
A thoroughly squidgy, plonking, shimmying wander through an imaginary - I should sprout- day in your perfectly flumping day!
New Mexico Ghost‑Town
Out in the desert dusk, the sky doing its slow wobble,
a coyote lands with a dusty splat beside the old windmill.
The water tank gives a tired gurgle,
and a sun‑bleached sign dangles by one rusted nail.
A jackrabbit skitters past with a boing,
kicks a stone that clatters into a barrel cactus
with a soft thunk and a prickly squish.
The cactus, offended, lets out a sploosh of stored rainwater
that dribbles down its ribs like a drunk trying to waddle home.
A vulture drops from the sky with a dusty whomp,
landing so hard the sand gives a little flump.
He tries to look dignified, but his wings shimmy
and his neck does a sad little wiggle.
Farther off, the old pump house rustles
with the sound of something trying to fumble its way out.
A desert spirit, maybe...
one of those creatures made of heat shimmer and bad decisions.
It gives the door a thwack, then a bonk,
then a frustrated clonk that echoes across the flats.
A tumbleweed rolls by with a dry twiddle,
hits a fence post, and plunks to the ground.
The post answers with a metallic jangle,
as if it’s laughing at the whole scene.
The spirit finally squeezes free with a smoosh,
lands in the dirt with a flop,
and lets out a honk that startles even the moon.
It tries to stand, does a full‑body jiggle,
then a heroic sproing that launches it straight into a mesquite tree.
The tree shakes, quivers,
and drops a branch with a dusty thwip.
The spirit sighs, gives the night a final splurt,
and schleps off toward the horizon,
muttering something about needing a better entrance.
And the desert, patient as ever,
just watches it all ...
every bloop, clunk, tumble, and skitter ...
like it’s seen stranger things
and isn’t impressed.
*******
🌙🌵 What the desert elders would say:
“If the desert makes a funny noise, don’t correct it.
Just listen.
It’s telling you a story.”
“A place with no silly sounds is a place with no spirit.”
Steve