Best Blithering Poems
To chocolate I pay my respects
Some folks say its better than sex
whether milk dark or white
Ev’ry bar I must bite
or I'll get a lack of choccy complex
I NEED chocolate it’s an unwritten rule
I'm a woman not a blithering fool
Give me a constant supply
On days that end with a Y
when choc’s smeared round my mouth it looks cool
BY JAN ALLISON
Most women love something that’s sweet
And chocolate it cannot be beat
Deny them and they’ll pout
Choc is all they think about
Many men think it's all that they'll eat.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She lustingly said to bring some to her room
off went my trousers in a vertical zoom
I gazed in her eyes
but to my surprise
I gave her the chocolate she gave me a broom
BY TIM SMITH
Give me the chocolate and forget the sex
But please don't send it through Fed Ex
It'll melt in the summer
And that's a real bummer
Now that's a problem to vex and perplex
BY LIN LANE
Chocolates make me feel great
I forget the part about weight
If I was a tad thinner
Would think chocolate ideal for dinner
Will settle for sex after eight
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Chocolate is all that she wishes
She loves anything that Swiss is
I brought her a box
She quick changed the locks
Guess I’ll just go sleep with the Mrs.
BY DEAN WOOD
One woman with sweet loving lips
ate nothing but dark chocolate chips.
Her husband's retort?
"To enter her port
is like docking between two battleships!"
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
Is Beethoven's ensemble fairer than nature's psalms?
Amidst a crowning sun: ears and eyes are drugged,
drenched with tender notes, orchestrated by greens,
inhale deep, the aromatic blossoms from the vine
with their lilting swell, brushed shades of fine wine.
Listen, listen to the sudden leap, the vibrato of bird song
or the raucous winds rubbing against house-corners
and the blithering brook carrying tales of who?
As you walk attuned to the crunch of the brown foliage.
When the cobalt skies turn to ash - gray mode,
hear heaven's vault lament, drizzling sobs to loud weeps
when day's face in angst pout or blush beside the beloved.
Feel your feet push or pull deluged by the liquid fingers
of the sea; in whites, they murmur ripples. They tremble
and stir, savor the flavor, a brief interlude:
Nature's power: tones, sharps, curls, pants. It slants
aiming to reach a rest upon blues of sky at its zenith,
The darting patterns curves, verves are diapered
wanting to delight, to wonder, to shock, to soothe.
Slams Destroyed Her Head
She was slammed by slam poetry, boo hoo!
Some folks wondered about the hullabaloo.
When bombarded with dread,
Sad thoughts destroyed her head.
Now, she thinks she’s a blithering cuckoo!
© July 17, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
To chocolate I pay my respects
Some folks say its better than sex
whether milk dark or white
Ev’ry bar I must bite
or I'll get a lack of choccy complex
I NEED chocolate it’s an unwritten rule
I'm a woman not a blithering fool
Give me a constant supply
On days that end with a Y
when choc’s smeared round my mouth it looks cool
Most women love something that’s sweet
And chocolate it cannot be beat
Deny them and they’ll pout
Choc is all they think about
Many men think it's all that they'll eat.
Collaboration with Dale Gregory Cozart
*** Dale posted the poem yesterday and it turned into a collaboration - please feel free to add your poem to his page ***
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/ode_to_chocolate_collaboration_923276
07-26-17
Ammmazing how many blithering idiots
sip silently while from their
purpled tongue
horrors regurgitate...
a ripe bachus regurgitation
soured by the tilt
of goblet and the howling
incessant banter of
bartender
Blithering idiots who the hell
what the heck
geez my glass in almost empty
HERE maitre DEE
fancy BOY!
MerrrrrrrrrrLOW pllllllleeease!
get the damn ice away from me
that’s real cheesy
You know NO FOOL puts
ice in red wine
Yeah yeah…git a bottle
gimmee that cork I wantta
sniff it
YOU
BOY!!!
Clink? Clink where? WHAT?
oh fork YOU
Buddy whatzit mean
when ya drop a fork?
Bill HERE!
Pen? pen WHAT?
I don't need no damn pen
can't ya see
I'm writting
wid one?
Listen to the wind:
it roars, it murmurs,
righteously chants --
In gusty breaths, exhales, rants,
tempestuously pants.
In tyrants it wails --
tearing sleeves
and billowing sails.
It reddens, it pales
the ruddy faces of non compliant seamen
and blithering, pompous beached whales.
Perhaps this poem, too hastily sown
Should have read the rules
before breeze and blown
and not so far from the guidelines would
this pen have wont to roam. But in hindsight,
wind stirs in many out of main focus ways
blossoms beyond bordered-grid of a well centered garden
in orphaned airs, for some, yet, may glisten their sways --
Yes….YOU…you thimble headed moron;
why do you think your realities SO unique?
What gives you a claim on rightness?
Rightness, righteousness, right, “OH MY!”
OZ was a much more clear-cut place to live.
At least the wizard there displayed
his over blown head.
Let the curtains fall open
revealing his
bulbous backside;
exposed the blithering well intentioned?
idiot behind the screen.
“Grow UP! There is no right, no wrong…
It’s situational, experiential, cultural….
GET a grip!
Before one of your right wing Cronies
Goes POSTAL.”
she is a blithering goat and obnoxiously grievous . urinalysis will prove her to be unsatiated
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
Limerick crochetés: Portrait of a Dead Brit Nazi, Lord of the Lollypoppians
Part One
Once an uppity man from Poland
Wed a stumpy wench from High Golan
Result: mangy mongrel
Was no way you could tell
His front from his toady tail-end
In Broughton raised as Mancunian
For his stature was Lilliputian
Sent up to hot Eton
To become smooth Briton
Of hoi polloi he nursed low opinion
There at the clubby institution
Three thorough-breds of noble distinction
Chased him in quadrangle
Stuck dildos up sockle
In his hock-filled mouth sans elocution
Lacking shining past in his pedigree
Made him mug up facts in history
Shot up into Oxford
Father grandeur afford
Marks and shillings through frilly lingérie
At New College what spoke most was money
Free drinks all around and clothes so horney
So things ran with his ilk
Reeking of mothers’ milk
Ere going down he rode high and pretty
Once down he was not down and out either
With free hand in till of his step-mother
In book trade old mongrel
The art of the scoundrel
He made much of his blithering litter
Dreamed day and night of the House of Lords
To rub knees with the Chancellor of Boards
Stuffed Labour coffers cash
Stood for Commons: whiplash
Injury by hoi polloi on records
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
By Cherbo Geeplay
It rains so much in Monrovia that a
day is like the bloated dough on a
grey earthly May, washing over October.
My love, the sun, hides in her bright den
refusing to be seen. Life comes to a slow
twiggy motion; the forest is breathing
with moisture, like a hut puffing smoke as
a pipe. While the creeks bridged their ledges,
there is a seismic run-down Waterside!
Enough, no more, the sewage can take!
She is in my arms, listening to the music
pounding the roof. Still, calm, reading
Ebony Dust, though, with lightning bolts
yelling to be heard.
The clatter is like
a rumble---tumbling falling rockets.
The sorry corrugated zinc holds her
seams, the bed is dry, but the room
is a puddle.
The city is
cramp and damp, like a soaked
sponge dripping with water. The
hustling contested old city in an
evening fog, the Mesurado in
a bulge, taking Fanti fishermen
to and fro,
to the edge of Westpoint.
To love in the midst of mists,
of raging thunder under your ears
and an air filled with blithering vermin,
is to drink a linctus in anger, cooped in
wretched penury. So when the wait,
cannot wait to be over, you my love
must endure, waiting to part with the
wrath the rains imposed, much needed
however, to calm the California wildfires,
gifted on these shores, for
free. Now: you
understand, then,
the irony of nature!
_____
Copyright 2018, Adelaide Literary Magazine, New York
Coocoo chacoo!
Well, you’d think a blithering idiot
got hold of my governor controls……..
You’d think Watt had never invented a throttle for my mouth
Of course, no one ever has, and doubts exists anyone could
ever muzzle me with a full head of righteous steam ready to blow.
Issues well, there are few civilization doesn’t seem in my mind
able to get a grip on without a damn good tongue lashing!
Like why does one faith think they’re “tapped” for heaven
and the rest of us peons are damned to hell?
How come some folks think skin color determines brain power
or sex determines ..any kind of power….oh yeah…
there’s a bit a steam coming out of my ears now!
The cogs in my cerebellum are spinning
like a pinwheel cracker on the fourth of July!
And how come there’s a surprise when kids raised
in a dictatorship school system come out
not being able to think for their self’s?
Yup, the lips are flappin’ and the eyes are buggin’ and
the soap box in Covent Gardens better watch out!
Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.
Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders.
Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.
By birth am an African
At death, I shall remain resolute and resilience to the African spirit
Strengthening the cords in the midst of turbulence beaconing
Blithering hope, when the lyrics of bloodshed is authored
Staging a holy war against scoffers of my skin
Fostering the lots of the black
Am proud to be black and blunt,
My aural is irresistible
Chaos and cure flow in my veins
Black is the colour of the universe
I do not seek your views in this
Come to think of it,
I am first an African
I shall remain in Africa
Even when the turbulence beacons
For this is my home.
awoh awoh
She stood at one corner,
Leaning on the rusted railings
Up the stairs..
Her tired eyes wandered in search of individuality,
Lazy she turned her head
To release the unholy smoke
As after every time she kissed the Marlboro...
The life inside is grotesque;
Immacular conception of the virtual world
Virgin Mary is silently raped everywhere.
Behind the false pretense,
Laid the truth of insecurity.
The rolling balls' fantasies,
And the blithering intoxication from the liquor's trench
Lured the obnoxious fools of today
Into the surreptitious brothel,
Where everybody wanted
Everybody else.
As the music beats..
The goblins of the night prepare to shed.
Morality hides behind
The heavy make-up
The peeping bra-straps
The accidental vile touch
With the fleeting apology..
Highlighted is : the dainty celebration of Lust.
The girl at the balcony
Drops the stick..
And turns her back to the perverted crowds of the night
The starry sky gladly greets her.
The blendig noise faded away
The blinding lights merged into the
Translucent hue of the obssessive type..
She strolled into the woods of the skyscrapers
Untill she found the moon
And ceased to see;
Underneath the streetlight of the deserted highway...
Oh, the blithering allies full of pests
rats! With their creeping paws and slimy nests
they screech and moan and scare
while dragging everything to their lair
nothing if not full of zest
are rats, the one major pest!
I met a rat a time ago
an ugly fat creature...Albino!
sweeping back it's hairless tail
it pointed at me with a greusome nail!
flashing teeth he crept away
and me not wanting to be led astray
tried and failed to stay on the path
(only not to invoke his ancient wrath)
followed him down his trail
while feeling like I was being led to jail
After a while, we had to stop
opening his mouth, he clucked his tongue with a pop
then pointed at himself and said
words with a tongue blood red
words! words! exactly three
"I'm ancient rat", said he
The rat smiled grimly and dragged me away
I did not all want to play
in the dark abyss shpaed like a door
so grabbing a stick, I hit him with a roar
It writhed! It writhed! with pain galore
I ran away so he could not give more
So what you have learned
hopefully where rats are concerned
is to never stray off a path
might as well invoke the wrath
the be led away by the ancient rat
where you will likely be sat
in a dark place you'd rather not
be kept down there to rot
alone! alone! with a rat
an albino and one that's fat!
so stay away from them and their nests
and most of all them the pests!
Oh dear! Oh rats!