The Soul Food of My Soul

by 2014 title holder Mike Bryant

You fell out of the pretty tree
and your face hit every branch on the way down
if creepiness was beauty
you'd be an evil clown

Like that one from Poltergeist
or Tim Curry in the movie "It"
What I'm trying to say here is,
you are the opposite of shit

Although the opposite of shit would be food
and you are not food
Even though you nourish my soul
The way food nourishes my body, which is good

So it's like you are food for my soul
You are my life's soul food
like grits or whatever
I've never tried grits

But they can't be as delicious as you
You are like a big ol' greasy hamburger
But without calories
OK, maybe some calories because with no calories I'd be buggered

What I'm saying is you are delicious
and you are healthy
but for real, not like commercials
where they say something is both delicious and healthy
but then you try it and it's not.

The History of Coaxial Cable

by F.J. Bergmann

It is a little-known fact that early in the morning
of science, an attempt was made to use frogs
to deliver electricity. The nickname “coax-ial,”
which stuck, given in homage to Aristophanes’
amphibious chorus: Βρεκεκεκὲξ κοὰξ κοάξ
After all the forays into galvanism, it was clear
that the tissue itself would allow the flow
of then-unknown electrons. Toads’ warty skins
made poor contact; tadpoles adhered better,
but frogs could grasp each others’ bodies
with their minute hands, forming an animate
daisy chain of flow, to coax the current along.

Evolution No. 9

by G.J.C. McKitrick

Well, I listen to the physicists
They study up the way things are
With radio electric telescopes
They watch the movements of the stars
Well, they measure up the galaxies
And read them like a code
They say several billion years ago
Something did explode

They say they’ve got the proof now
That God had got to go
Well, who banged the big bang baby?
That’s what I want to know.

Well, I listen to biologists
They study animals so well
They keep peeling back the layers
To see if they can tell
Just how life sort of happened
In some primordial stew
It started with the big bang
And ended with me and you

They say they’ve got the proof now
That God has got to go
Well, who banged the big bang baby?
That’s what I want to know.

Well, I listen to the atheists
They’ve got it all worked through
That God has never been here
There’s only me and you
We’re part of evolution
We’re part of the big explode
What blew up and where it came from
They don’t profess to know

They say they’ve got the proof now
That God had got to go
Well, who banged the big bang baby?
That’s what I want to know.

Shitty Poetry Month Round Two Voting

The winner of round two is "Oh the Coding We Shall Do" by Fiona Plunkett, and it will go forward to compete against the next weeks' champions.
Oh the Coding We Shall Do by Fiona Plunkett
83% (24 votes)
On contemplating the remains of hope and Ferdinand by Erik Buchanan
10% (3 votes)
Clickhole Configure by Simon McNeil
7% (2 votes)
Untitled by Colleen Anderson
0% (0 votes)
Murderer by Ben Peek
0% (0 votes)
Total votes: 29


My poem it entered the fray
and should have won the day
but it was like a piece of broken glass
it tasted more of ass
and so I have to work for pay

by Colleen Anderson


by Ben Peek

if you’d just written a monograph on the seven habits of highly effective butterflies I might love you.

if you just needed to find a press to bind it and print it in a limited edition of 300, I might sleep with you

but the Royal Society of Naturalists was ignoring your newfound scientific discoveries, and you did neither.

On contemplating the remains of hope and Ferdinand

by Erik Buchanan

There was a crunch! and Earnest kicked the bucket.

They had not meant to cause harm,
They didn’t go out for gold or for silver
They just wanted to go past the berm
To have of just a taste of life; a sliver.

There was a squish! and Liana was pushing up daisies.

They thought it would be fun, to travel through
The woods. They did not expect to see an angel,
But birds and plants, trees, bugs and animals, though
They hoped not in thorns to tangle.

There was a crack! and Sam bought the farm.

They came across a little beast that in a hollow did lie.
They thought to be friendly and feed it a flower bulb,
But it was carnivorous, and brought calamity
When its mother caught them playing with her cub.

There was a squelch! and Eustacia bit the dust.

At noon the earth was red with blood.
By seven o’clock, the sky above was orange,
At eleven the stench of evil was in the wood,
As the creature kept on with goring.

There was a crash! and Herbert went belly up.

They searched for the travellers many a day
They searched many a month
And when they found them, the poor search party
Saw only bloody bits of bone and froth.

Ferdinand died of grief, when he saw Eustacia.


by Simon McNeil

Upon my browser I doth see
Kittens staring back at me
Some are grumpy, others not
And raptors caught in pose of thought

And puppies, oh the puppies
Much cute, so meme and wow, but please
Too long have I suffered as I look
On memes, so turn I to face of book

An endless crawl of link and spam
A status update, food-porn, thank you ma’am
Buy my book, be my friend, read my blog they cry
An endless succession of eye-for-eye

Mutual self-marketing and that is just
The bookish ones, not those who must
Share opinions most unsolicited
On politics, every topic list-it-ed

Again puppies do appear, these ones sad
Oh no, I fear the net collapsing into spinning void
Of memes, book talk, authors, and the mad
And so I close my laptop screen, and think on how I was annoyed

Oh the Coding We Shall Do

by Fiona Plunkett

Would you, should you, code responsive design?
You surely must, or some might whine.
Devices now are of many size,
and so the site must be quite wise.
Mobile users see a tiny screen,
instead of wide, longer must be seen.
Many challenges there surely be,
like making sure that all can see.
Mobile users like to zoom,
and that makes a coder’s head kaboom.
Making pages fit to scale,
will unerringly make a coder wail.
The breakpoints needed for a media query,
can surely make a coder weary.
If these challenges run amok,
any coder will yell: What. The. F$%k?

Shitty Poetry Month Round One Voting

The winner of round one is "All-Staff" by Geoff Gander, and it will go forward to compete against the next weeks' champions.
All-Staff By Geoff Gander
42% (18 votes)
Sunlight Under the Snarwunkles by Karl Johanson
12% (5 votes)
The Foolish Ark By J. Y. T. Kennedy
35% (15 votes)
The Vampire's Soliloquy by James Dorr
9% (4 votes)
Nature Poems by Graeme Tennant
2% (1 vote)
Total votes: 43

Nature Poems

by Graeme Tennant

Poems about nature
have mountains, lakes
tree's in them
The kind of things
that most people
only see on television
haven't had the chance to destroy

The Vampire's Soliloquy

by James Dorr

To bite or not to bite, that was her choice,
whether it was better that she take
this man to be her date, or meal, to trade
the promise of a night's roll in the hay
for, metaphorically, her beau served in
a roll, her dinner on a plate, the choice
was hers. Slice, slice, damned bread! In other words
to see him as fast food, a nip in throat
or wrist, to bring his blood to well forth free
in bubbling redness, lap with tongue life's ebb,
or use that tongue instead to explore his,
to carry her seduction to its end
in bed or coffin. But might then his fear
see him unmanned, for her love's labor lost,
the night hours wasted and, next day, to sleep,
perchance to dream of emptied stomach's plight?
Aye, there's the nub, the hesitation's fault
when Nature should, within her, take the fore,
belie sweet words, sweet thoughts, take care instead
of business, do those things a vampire must
despite his protestations of love, lust,
her own enticements, for should not her teeth
by any other name still be as sharp?

The Foolish Ark

By J. Y. T. Kennedy

Slushy draping corncob rain
Came lightly, a catalyst again:
Throw last year's old rag on.
Build a wall: abyssal, I onward
Wade. Monk eyeballs wallow.
It drummed us all: prating, dogged,
Not engulfed in grim ice
To drench importance. This was no
Tsunami: not a urgent case, although
It may fly to summer rows naked.
Dormant, I core numb ears.
Yet I think I wish the crowd
Of fancy lopsided frocks
Might amaze brazen rodeo's prey.
Though it seem unlikely,
new olfactory colours arise:
Gray, tan. I, whatever else
the thaw kisses, have elation.
Do verify if I should
Think it. Sun erupts!

Sunlight Under the Snarwunkles

by Karl Johanson

The sun shown brownly through the snarwunkles,
all gribbly peep with their undersides sleek with wet drippy.
Moving grubblies played fiercely in the shade,
dodging the drips in the variable gravity and singing arbitrarily.
Seven years later, the rising tones of amber on wet rasps
slowly calmed the sense of foreboding that went with the scenario.
“Alas,” cried the overly rambunctious horde of slywhippers.
“Trochaic hexameter be damned!” replied the stamenfors, with great conviction.
Seemingly without effort, the sunlight changed, bluer now, without harshness.
“This doesn’t make any fucking SENSE!” Saluted those who chose not to see.


By Geoff Gander

I moan softly in frustrated sorrow,
Fidgeting in my hard, rough office chair
Like a lion in a cramped cage.
“Just a short meeting,” he said.
His tongue flattened and forked
As he spoke.

I wince and clutch my stomach,
Singed by a noxious brew
Of curdled milk and stale coffee.
“Sure, I’ll have another cup.
No sugar, though.
I’m cutting back.”

Shitty Poetry Month

Happy April Fool's Day everyone!

But now, the real news!

It's April and that means it's National Poetry Month! Except at ChiZine. Here, it's . . . yes . . . Shitty Poetry Month! Back by popular demand! You could be the winner of the Shitty Poetry Belt (TM)*! Can you take it away from the current title holder, last year's winner, Mike Bryant?


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