Best Babble Poems
My cousin and I were dismayed
By the kids who were in her third grade
They had no answers to tell
Though they spoke very well
And knew how impressions were made!
They earned an A+ for endurance
For displaying remarkable effluence
They could babble all night
With no fact in sight
Nor any sign of congruence!
Oh, how wise we thought that we were
We could see their minds were a blur!
But now, mid-elections
And selfie confections
We see why they were so sure.
BUBBLES OF BABBLE
A father sees his small children babbling and
Blowing insignificant bubbles in the wind.
One child's lips blow a lot; another blows only very few.
Yet these few are precious to the father.
The multitudes which peel effortlessly
Off the soap-frame in the hands of another child
Mean little individually - shining spherical pearls before swine,
Blowing randomly in the wind.
And prayers, too, fall sometimes too easily from the holy lips
Of people kneeling in groups each day: and each babbling
Repeated mantra or Hail Mary has individually little significance:
And God is showered with bubbles of babble of all sizes and colours,
Some in clusters inside one another, with bits of extra soap dripping off
Carelessly-formed sloppy glassy balls.
Some of them expire before even reaching his throne,
So little effort was put into them,
So little intention of ever following their path upward.
But a lone figure lost, abandoned, in some black
Perilous sea of troubles who, pitched headlong into a moment
Of last helpless desperation, screams at the top of his soul
To his God, and at that moment is certain
That only the Almighty can right his troubled boat,
That he has exhausted all his own puny powers,
And recognizes the insignificance of his babble -
Such a prayer is a precious gem, perfectly-formed and rising,
Fast-track, directly thronewards, as it should.. . . . .
A pearl of great price.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Wild little brook in such a hurry
Lifting your face to the sun
Tumbling over the hours and days
Chatting along as you run
Hundreds of tiny glass sail boats
Blinking and glittering by
Before crafty cumulus scoops them away
To moorings way up in the sky
Babble on little brook unrelenting
Casting your watery spells
Murmuring muttering mumbles
The peel of your bubble bells
A flurry of pink blossom petals
Whipped high by a southerly gust
Showers your face in confetti
To alter your pace as it must
Hush now little brook, are you listening?
And can you hear yourself think?
With the dragonflies darting and zipping
Magically gone in a blink
Babble on little brook while we’re sleeping
Determine your course in the dark
And we will awaken tomorrow
To the flute of the meadowlark
The spring brook
ran through the sun dappled woods
like a child at recess,
tumbling pebbles and tossing sticks.
The brook babbles of up coming May,
as it roars past the roots
of skunk cabbage, and barren birches.
Blue jays and robins drink at its edge
singing with the nectar, the run off,
the rebirth of ice, to pure water.
Brutal barren breach,
Blasphemous beastly backbites,
Bruising blog babble.
~~
it is haiku but did it in alliteration..
Apples anger Abby
because baffled buffalo's
caught cool colored colds
down by Donald's dead
farm fed foreigners
Goats gathered goo going to
hot houses harboring hornets happily
into inner illness inside.
keeping Kelp koe caught by ken
jumping joyful jolted
leaping laughing learning
making more money
not knowing nothing
only ovens Open on
putting pudding powder
quickly quietly quenching
really red rough robots
sitting soundly softly
together talking totally
unrelenting ugly useless
very vain violent verses
excellent x=rays exiting
wide white window
yapping yodeling Yeeeees
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
1.31.2011 es
**** Note this is an alliteration with an ABC twist. es
The orchestra was playing as Titanic was sinking as did Nero while Rome was busy burning and the priest whispered in the ear of the dying farmer that happiness is a choice and Beethoven was deaf when he composed the ninth.
They made the farmer watch as they continually raped his wife cooked and ate his testicles this is life you say as you walk around like the living dead all is well there is nothing amiss decomposing the ninth singing psycho babble songs heading straight for the abyss
This
Psycho
matic
Babble
Drama
fueling
Trauma
Is
Loosening
mind
Screwy
By
Mending
amist
Rending
Right
Into The
Tightness
Of An
Ending
Old age hasn't turned out the way I imagined
Thought I'd be surrounded by young fillies, what happened?
In the old folks home
They just babble and moan
Instead of “ride 'em cowboy” methinks they've come unfastened
“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”
~William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act V, Scene I
I weep by a stardust shore where the seraphs sing
Tangerine tears rain despair 'neath a velveteen veil
My melancholic muse, muslin-wrapped in ice-cold caskets
Slain by ruinous romance swirled in absinthe abstractions
Despondent sloughs bespoke the depths of my soul
Saffron scars scream sonnets through metaphorical mists
Oh, how morose melodies paint scabs over pastiche strophe
Pregnant pause, so precious, submerged in lurid lament
But then it whispered, a voice unvarnished by purple plumes
A verse, it bloomed, untainted by thesaurus bleeds
Sculpting off silken scaffolds pasted upon profligate poetry
Leaving a profounder palate for plainer prosody
Fools thought wisdom speak in sequin-laced soliloquy
But wise men abrades from calligraphic charade
BIBLE’S BABEL BABBLE
(or: Language’s Chapter 11)
The incident at Babel was a gift
and not the punishment
it seemed at first.
It gave the human spirit a great lift.
Despite our brief confusion,
we’re not cursed.
A plethora of languages
expands our concept of the world
in which we live
and spurs our desire
to understand new paradigms.
To receive and to give translations
from other times and nations
means that we must reach approximations,
make allowance for interpretations,
even extrapolate new creations.
Though humbling,
it is good to know
that we cannot express,
in one tongue,
all we see.
LET THEM CLAIM THE BLAME
I could blame it on befriending a bastardized crowd
The raucous, rambunctious, rowdy and the loud
I could invent and explain excuses exquisite in exactitude and fact
But they may all be ones I’d be forced one day to redact
I could recite by chapter and verse why I am what I am
And from where all my vices and errors may stem
I might, for instance, instantaneously infer
That all my problems are due to him or to her
I might find people foolish enough to trust in me
And buy into the falsehoods which I doth decree
Sympathy could be a response I’d like to receive
And it wouldst be wondrous if they’d all believe
I may swear by the universe the lies I might tell
And how I came to live in a living hell
However one day I’d have to defend myself with hurdles to vault
Because if the truth be known my addiction is only my fault
© 2011.….Phreepoetree
The soft soothing light
Slowly starts to fade
And the grip on my sanity
Begins to degrade
My spirit sinks slowly
Back into the black sea
As I realize normalcy and happiness
Was not meant to be
Devoured once again
By my ravenous psychosis
As Insanity takes hold
Death of my spirit is my final prognosis
The demons start appear
As paranoia starts to set in
And the eerie unsettling voices
Start to begin
As I now wander lost
Within my sickened mind
Escape from schizophrenia
I know I shall never find
"The way of a man with a maid"
Is never quite like the girl prayed
Just one little prick
And she calls in sick
(its more fun to get laid than paid)
Have we rebuilt the tower of Babel
With weary words of wireless babble?
Do somnolent thoughts surf synapses
On tidal waves of vacuous verbs?
So tasteless, as baseless, and faceless
Secret voices clamor, “I am here”
In clusters of blabbing barnacles
Encrusted, agape, to the Internet.
Watchers, spectators doing little,
Chasing minutia ever fresh.
Turned into products; privacy shed
In a passive world of dungeon dead.
Endlessly griping over offense!
A cacophony of words intense.
If brevity is the soul of wit
How many tweets will create a twit?