Chewers by Masticadores5 Poems by Carl Bernard Schwartz
LAST LAMENT
The days and nights in prison cells steal souls.
It’s very clear where each wall stands in place.
The floor is filled with doubts and guilt galore.
Abysmal mood defines the range of hope.
The hint of rehab does not stand a chance.
Your lawyer takes some precious time away
From counting money each and every day,
To fashion pleas and keep your hopes alive.
The walls stand close, their shadows deep and glum.
Your plea’s denied. There is no other plan,
Except an appeal which could do the trick.
You’re tired of waiting, frozen stone cold.
The dark of night and dark of day are one.
There’s no path of light for you to follow.
~~
CARING
Mama Mayfly warned
her offspring that too much screen
time was bad for them
~~
TWO OLD MEN
Each with a very serious game face, sitting
on opposite sides of an elaborate chessboard,
both deadly sure that they were the divinely
chosen one to guide the chessmen across the
board. Pawns were, of course, as dispensable
as entry-level wage earners. Queens assumed
the same personalities as any of the women
the two old men had ever encountered. Kings
were mostly for show, shunning battle. Bishops
brought in rules for every move imaginable;
Knights rode atop their steeds like Census
takers, recording property rights across the
board. and the Rooks stood silently like those
obedient white flags marking holes on the golf
course. A timer was engaged to ensure a level
playing field for each player. When time had
elapsed, a buzzer or bell would sound, and both
old men would quickly rise up, shout RECESS!
then turn their backs to the board and strut
haltingly outside to play child games.
~~
PAPA FOUND HIS FAVORITE MUG
I had a successful fishing expedition and decided
to make my early arrival home a delightful surprise.
Slipped in a back way and stashed the fish in the
freezer, thought I’d wait till dawn to actually appear.
Mother Nature had other plans, and before I could
catch one wink of sleep, she flung torrential storms
causing widespread damage and destruction. Our old
house that had stood proudly through other severe
storms, didn’t have quite enough strength to endure
this one. I felt like one small nail under a barrage of a
thousand hammers, The compression of the wind
reduced normal furniture and fixtures in the house to
museum relics, like dinosaur bones, each with its own
display cabinet not quite fitting with anything else.
Papa found his favorite mug, then basically stopped
looking. He didn’t know I was there, trapped in my
own web that I had woven. It was too early to yell or
scream, as part of the storm’s massive footprint was a
collection of its own screams, and other high-decibel
remarks as it tore down the house. Oh, how I wanted
to be that found mug! But all I could do was wait until
the storm passed and then try all the tricks in the book.
~~
DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR?
My local professional basketball team
used to function like a fine-tuned, top
brand 10-speed derailleur bicycle, with
all the best parts in all the right places.
Then, management would sell or trade
players to other teams, where they fit in
quite well, thank you, but my local team
soon fell from the top rankings and then
wondered why. It was as if they had
gotten rid of the derailleur device, and
combined the 2 chains into one much
longer chain, and then just couldn’t ever
get what was left of that bike into gear.
Copyright © 2026 Carl Bernard Schwartz
All Rights Reserved
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