Best Bleeping Poems
It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home!
“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied.
the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside
“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.
And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.
“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.
the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass
It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish.
Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014
He stands upon the salty,slippery deck,
Yelling yaargh matey ,
with a halfhearted pirate drawl.
He's not to impressed with himself,
not an eyepatch or wooden leg,
not even a hooked claw.
The parrot on his shoulder,
is a wannabee,
a sparrow that fell from the Crowsnest,
from high up above.
It has no quips ,or spikes,
or pirate quotes,
just nesting on his shoulder
with birdly kind of love.
Aye captain the crew responds,
snapping to their chores.
Tend the wheel ,lash the mainsail,
take the soundings
less we hit a reef.
The sea going life is not for every man,
walking the plank,storms and rickets.
Crabs in your knickers ,
really give you grief.
Aah but when the wind fills the sails to bursting,
yards of canvas strain to be free.
And the ropes play ,sea going music
of a tension melody.
A song that captures
every young buccaneers heart ,
and soul and fancy.
For the music of the wanderers life,
an endless expanse of blue,
bravehearts and fearless men find,
quite a bit too chancy.
Black Beard,Yellow Beard,
the famous Captain Blood,
were all fearless pirates of their day.
He truly knows that he can be,
a great one too.
If he could ever find that bleeping map,
and escape this landlocked bay.
Now I know that beach side picnics and sand
No matter how careful the planning go hand in hand
But it seems whether you sit or whether you stand
Nothing quite goes as you had planned
It doesn't really care where it goes
And I don't just mean between your toes
In your eyes and up your nose
And it doesn't smell like a bleeping rose!
In my shoes and down my shorts
I believe with demons this stuff consorts
To going naked I might resort
And I know I've swallowed at least a quart
When this picnic is over and back home I go
To the warm water of the showers flow
I'll wonder if your troubles are the same as mine
Do you have sand stuck where the sun doesn't shine?
©Donna Jones
It’s all of three feet long, in order it is not,
And then there’s all the other stuff she’s probably forgot,
The first thing on the list, it simply just says, ‘beans’,
Is that broad beans, baked beans, whatever does she mean?
Next is the marmalade, there’s a hundred in the store,
And if I get it wrong she’ll say, ‘it’s the one I had before!!’
There goes another ping, it’s the fifth message to date,
‘Don’t forget the milk’ it reads, ‘if you can accommodate?’
Next it is the bread - brown and white and crust,
With a helpful little note saying, ‘the thickness I’m not fussed!’
But the note that takes the biscuit states, ‘get something for tea!’
Now is that for the both of us or possibly just me?
Course the final item on the list takes me back to the first aisle,
It’s another lengthy trip, so far I’ve clocked a mile.
I reach the checkout desk and there goes another ping,
It says ‘tomato sauce, oxo cubes and a pack of chicken wings.’
The checkout girl senses, my frustration and dismay,
By honestly enquiring, if I’m having a good day,
But I look at all the stuff she is bleeping at the till
And wonder how, with three bags, I’ll ever fit it in!
At home comes the inquest of each item I have bought,
And all items not listed, I’m well and truly caught!
The marmalade is wrong, the butter isn’t light,
But think I’ve done quite well as it’s fifty percent right!
My Favorite Things comes to mind...
a random assortment, a jumble of words
a quotient of portions, quotidian served
quixotic strivings of the great deca-dense
obscured in meaning, eschewing all sense
visions and nightmares and hallucinations
erudite arguments, odd fascinations
old geezers fondling memories of things
most folk would not to mixed company bring
inchoate ramblings of damaged young minds
bubbled through water and cardboard box wine
audible groans from the web server host
these are the ones make me giggle the most
shouting in vacuums, a riotous void
pontificating, or mildly annoyed
grieving, believing, or weaving a string
virtuous outburst that don’t do a thing
rants about orange man and all his mean tweets
and, yes, “Let’s go, Brandon” to make things complete
guns, poo, abortion, yes, all are discussed
sometimes the thin-skinned bail out in disgust
side by side, posting, the sage and the fool
the wise in their youth and those starting to drool
bleeping our excrement down on the page
somehow it all seems to soften the rage
when the bard shouts
when the muse screams
‘bout covid or Vlad
we’re at a computer
with just poo to fling
and that makes me laugh a tad
You’re at the intersection in your car,
that damn device held pressed against your ear.
You’re unaware, but we know who you are:
the one away from whom we all will steer!
My class has barely started. Suddenly,
inside the room is heard the strangest sound.
You leave - or worse - you talk right over me.
Is there no place a cell phone can’t be found?
I’m at the movies. Bleep, bleep, bleeping bleep.
Another one. . . and music starts to play!
And then you start conversing? Why, you creep,
you’re begging just to “make somebody’s day.”
Just turn it off! You think we love your voice?
NO, Big Shot, we're just victims with no choice.
An oldie from July 31, 2011
A LEAPING ACQUAINTANCE
O ask me if a friend is mine for keeping
And I will scroll down her countenance in years
To show acquaintance that’s a target leaping
And I will tell you of the long nights’ weeping
Into the valley of the corrupted seers
That her acquaintance was a target, leaping
As if acts of confidence were seeping
Down the drainpipe like a burst of tears,
Asking if a friend is for safe keeping,
Secrets unravelled in the glare, bleeping
With the traffic of the times that hooked my peers
Just ask me if her friendship’s mine for keeping:
I say, a pox on their assiduous reaping
Their facts are gleaned where the bar sells beers
To show acquaintances like a target, leaping
On opportunity, grafting on chances, peeping
With trashy envious shades adrift in leers;
O ask me if this friend is worth the keeping,
I’ll show an acquaintance missed the target, leaping.
from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008)
My heart's chart is a one line
the machine screams and bleeps
A part of mine has gone
Apart it has torn even the spine
couldn't stand alone ,your breath is what keeps
my lungs inhale and even my cheekbone
is weary ,floods of blood my eye weeps
"I miss you" my heart whispers with a mourning tone
to the heart within that leaves
The machine makes a bleeping sign
"God bless you"my heart is a stone
on which your name sculptured ,in my heart alone
the bliss has gone with you ,I 'd forever sleep
Till you came back ,the ups and downs;on that chart
would again be shown
We have to be careful to please, not offend
distorting our language, amend or pretend
that words and expressions no longer exist
for sake of politics...you’re getting the gist?
Restraints keep increasing; how far will they reach?
They offer a hindrance to freedom of speech.
We are sacrificing tradition and song,
beliefs and ideals...that surely is wrong!
They curb celebrations and alter their name
for sake of politics we wallow in shame!
It isn’t a rumour but truly a fact
that mention of Christmas is now incorrect.
I fear that in future, avoiding a crime
will feature much bleeping and talking in mime.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
101 Contests in a row - 20
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
© 27th December 2016
(this is a little form I cooked up last year and called it 7/5 trochee. I like to use it for fun little tales. Saw this dog the other day!)
Little dog nearby my house,
cone around his neck.
Guess if he could talk, he’d bark:
What the bleeping heck?
What’s the mutt supposed to do
if he wants a bone,
with his head so tiny stuck
deep inside that cone?
Do his doggy buddies laugh,
seeing him like that?
He can’t even catch a break.
Sure won’t catch a cat!
Next I see him trying to
poke his scraggly head,
not with great success at all,
in a flower bed.
I should tell his owner that
cones look pretty lame.
Let the poor thing stay inside;
Save his hide from shame!
Anyway, the sight of him
made me come right home -
after a good chuckle - to
write this silly poem!
Poetry censor
Bleep bleepity bleep bleep bleep
Bleeping bleep bleep bleep
All quiet on the western front:
The rest, in bed, still sleeping.
Then, audibly, I hear a grunt;
The neck hairs start their creeping.
Then springing up from on the couch
To do a full room sweeping,
I stub a toe, a stifled ouch,
And words that need some bleeping.
And there beneath me, I can vouch,
The monitor is beeping.
It’s Vivian, no ogrish grouch,
Whose company I’m keeping.
What???...
To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)
(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.
We have hot oil in China,
Rising slowly from the ground
There is a deep dense fog hovering round
The air is smokey, so dense it seems green
The sun so hot it's making everyone lean
Curfews so early all think it's obscene
And the hot oil keeps rising, if you know what I mean
Hot oil keeps rising, it doesn't go down
It's been well over a month since it covered the ground
Machinery moves carelessly all through the night
I bothers us so much we boarded up the windows tight
I bought ear plugs but I gave them to my brother Mike
Bells keep bleeping on and off go the lights
So another pair of ear plugs I bought
School won't let me wear them, saying I'll rot
So I decided to grow my hair long
Hide my ear plugs under it all day long
But when I go home at night
And I cover up really tight
And I pray because theres nothing else we can do
Oh hear me Lord, don't let my mother find the ear plugs in my shoe
Spud's New Car, a tribute to my ever so lovely hamster Spud . . .
SPUD’S NEW CAR
My hammy has hit the wheel, but; doesn't seem to be getting very far
So I thought for Crimbo; I would buy him a new, battery-operated car
First, he gave it the eye-ball; and then he gave it a few indignant sniffs
Next thing he was running round in it; even asked me, if I wanted a lift
O’ for the life of Riley he was just having himself a right old flamin’ ball
Then he decides that he would give all of his other hammy mates a call
Wow smart motor Spud; what has happened did you lad win the pools
As all the other little hammy’s lined up; and, over his new car did drool
It's a Crimbo pressie off me Mammy says Spud; cheered me up no end
Now my bleeping of the car horn is silently driving her round the bend
The other little hammy’s then jumped in the car, each taking it in turns
Revving up the motor; making all the tyres squeal; and, in turn so burn
A Grand motor you have got there Spud; you must ever, so very proud
Aye, said Spud; as yet again, he bleeped his horn, as so very extra loud
Then it was gotta to go lads; for there is something special I have to do
Spud waved his good-byes; and, it was off in his brand new car, he flew
It was down to the local shops for some flowers and some sesame cake
Just like the ones, his Mommy; that just for him used to make and bake
Then Spud; raced back home again, for Mom he did not want to be late
Just to find his beloved Mommy; waiting just for him at the garden gate
It was a fabulous Crimbo really; and, Spud truly loved his brand new car
Mommy; got her thank-you flowers, and, Spud is now away, driving afar
"God Bless His Little Heart" Mom x x x
Indiana <--- Spuds proud Mom . . . : )