Best Blotch Poems
Farcical, extravagant
My birthmark is a scar
A speckled blotch ...
A spot of pox
An icon from afar
I'm an upstart, I'm an eyesore
Ranting with a flair
In a tempest, I'm a rabid bird
Setting fire to the air
As dauntless as a hellhag
Unmoved by love or care
I can hold up in a cyclone
Feasting on your fear
I'm your last hope
As a laughingstock
I'm your courage in a dare
As audacious as a terrorist
With death-defying hair
When it's time to play the tragic fool
I'm as flagrant as a glare
Seething with a vengeance
In a tantrum of despair
Written by © Raven Drake
The people cast their ballots;
And hopes are very high;
But the looks upon the Christian man;
Shows some worry in their eyes.
The donkey has majority.
And hopes to bring the fame
But the skeptics look to clouds above;
For fear there could be rain.
At the wheel of colors;
The paint won’t match the blotch
And the ones who paint the pictures;
They can only paint a splotch.
The wife is picking curtains;
And the man is on the phone.
The kids want decorations;
And they’ll never be alone.
Some people are ecstatic;
Some are now in fear.
Many never will accept;
The time for change is here.
Sing a song of good times;
We’re not on our own;
Sweep away decaying leaves;
Up ahead is home.
Up ahead is home Lord;
Can the time be near?
Will the rider on his painted horse;
Bring with him what some fear?
My dear incredible pen,
you are the pinnacle of writing instruments! Looking refined with your elegant ebony shaft and gold-filagree trim, you are a true technological wonder to behold and a master calligrapher.
I am amazed at your ability to ink my thoughts onto paper without a single smear, skip or blotch. You fit my hand like we were custom crafted as one, allowing me to gently glide your easy-flow tip over a blank canvas and create literary art.
Oh, my dearest, most reliable pen,
I am enthralled by your ability to interpret my scribbled thoughts into meaningful, coherent sentences. You are my inspiration, confidant, and protagonist; I would be lost without your profound influence and companionship.
You have established an almost intimate psychic connection with my muse, and together, we three create poetry. I love the feel of you in my hand; you give me the confidence to explore fantasy while at the same time anchoring me to reality.
My most beloved, exquisite pen,
the mere thought of holding you sends shivers down my spine, for I know you are eager to take me to faraway places we've never been as we explore the deceptions and truths of humanity. You come from a proud line of writing instruments, including cuneiform sticks, quills, and fountain pens, to the ubiquitous ballpoint pens of today. May your ink never dry up, and your contribution to literary works be recognized and appreciated, for you deserve no less.
(Ode)
03/03/2023
Write an Ode Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
To make a phrase numismatic, it was
A day of days. My darling ran
Under the boughs of covert loss
Until God made his presence scan,
Like a metre of bright wave, the sin
Of our hearts, and I could count each blotch
Of love as I gazed upward through the din
In my breath hiding from His scotch -
But He had kind words rain on me
And the sun came out and healed the welts and hurt
Till my sadness slipped down the vast tree-
Trunks, and fell like stockings on the dirt
And slaps of time, and grubby days when He
Was absent. My son says He lives in every tree.
The ink blot can BLINK
Hurrah! TODAY I think
Now a SPLOTCH is in the sink
With water I did not drink
If I spot this BLOTCH I'll scream
Bringing a crowd to this scene
Calming them all with CREAM
BUT this shock may never be
If I can wash it away with
Aqueous fluid indeed it will
Spill into the drain and glide
Onto infinite PARALLEL PLAINS
THE BLOTCH of SPLOTCH never
To be seen AGAIN. HURRAH!
There is a monster in Loch Ness
Which has been seen, more or less
And tourists flock with cameras zoomed
To be quite expensively roomed
And even if the photo shows a grey, grained blotch
At least the bar sells a lot of Scotch.
My condolences can’t ease the pain,
That you have come to feel.
Nor fill the void in your heart,
That often seems unreal.
But it lets your heart know,
That you are in my prayers.
And when sorrow digs its heels,
There is someone here who cares.
I offer healing words of comfort,
And many hugs for sympathy.
When sorrowful clouds blotch your sky,
You can always depend on me.
Near small Rapid City,
a man came up to me,
said,”Hey, I’ll show you a good time.”
I thought that meant girls,
turns out, as things unfurled,
the man had something else in mind.
We went to a garage,
a rusty, grease-stained blotch,
type of place you’d see a drug deal,
not sure I could trust him,
but then as we stepped in,
I saw a crowd, excitement real.
Just judging by the sight,
it looked like a cockfight,
roosters with spurs, green money flew,
people from everywhere
were all jammed into there,
jostling for a better view.
But then when I got close,
no chickens, don’t you know,
just a small man inside the ring,
not even three-feet tall,
the smallest of them all,
just perched in there, calmly waiting.
I scratched my head and stared,
what was he doing there?
Why did this whole thing feel so strange?
What had I stumbled in?
Fighting midgets seems wrong?
It struck me as a bit deranged.
Then came the weirdest bit,
rooster thrown in the pit,
the midget pulled a handkerchief,
It was paisley and red,
at him the chicken sped,
lashing out with two claw-spurred feet.
That midget spun around,
the rooster did go down,
and all the crowd cried out,”Ole!”
This little man was fast,
poor poultry couldn’t last,
he spun around it like at play.
Then a man at my side
told me there’d been a time,
when the midget had wanted bulls.
Size had precluded him,
his fate would’ve been grim,
but without it he’d not feel full.
He’d found another path,
and I was watching that,
matadoring the fighting cocks,
Then that rooster he faced,
sought out a resting place,
and the whole warehouse soon did rock.
Never thought I would see
such a strange victory,
they raised a cheer and paid out bets.
Matador got his share,
and I got out of there,
some fresh air I needed to get.
Guess my timing was good,
’cause right then guess who should
choose that fine moment to arrive?
Cops dressed in riot gear,
dressed to inspire fear,
they smashed the door and rushed inside.
So what else can I say,
I quickly slipped away,
and to the city I did go.
That was my strangest ‘fun,’
until I rode a bison
right through a small town rodeo…
Slaughter in here, ethnics
Butchery in there ,politics
Souls from various creeks
For Charon to cross the styx
As cold as ice
Deadly storms won’t cease
Sweeping Tsunamis increase
Forest fires destroy Greece
Why not ask Nature for peace?
As cold as ice
Manmade four-wheeled slayers
On roads merciless killers
Toys for hit and run drivers
Highways innocents’ manglers
As cold as ice
Stand and watch
Human feelings do scotch
This is but a small blotch
Your heart door forever do latch.
I was haulin' a heavy load
Up the frog an' toad,
When down poured the pleasure an' pain
To my dismay.
Once home I received an' invitation
To a good ol' gay an' hearty!
I was promised plenty o' laughs,
Box o' toys an' lots of give an' take.
An' this was to last
Til day's a dawning!
What will I take?
Can't go empty handed!
I Know,
I'll take pimple an' blotch.
Yeah!
But my friend told me this,
"Take this lump of ice...
If a bottle an' stopper should pass you by,
Tilt your head an' pretend to cry.
Tell him, "It's appalling to poor army an' navy
All over your borrow an' beg!"
It's a penny come quick!
He'll think your crazy!
He'll roll his eyes an' send you on your way.
What d'ya think?
Are you yet to be?"
"Absolutely!" I replied
Laughing imagining such fun.
This certainly cheered me up no end.
Then, out came the ol' currant bun!
You where the breath of my joy and heaven,
now you are my curse, blotch, and you delete the rainbow of my smile
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the fountain and rose of my heart,
now you’re the thrones that grow on the hills of my rose
and make my rose look like a mountain of pain.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the highly skilled love miracle maker that turned my tears to wine
and give my cry special effects,
because when I am crying and I think of you, I suddenly start laughing.
But now, you turn my smile to clay and my tears to a red river of agony, and you roll my cry with your temper of hate down the mountain of darkness.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the pure guide that guided all our belongings with your cloud of kindness,
and you never did without showering your waters of affection on me.
But now, you scatter all that belongs to us in the deepest pit of unkindness, and you bleed away what we felt for each other through your rain of anguish.
You always said to me,
that theirs no such thing as heartbreak,
because you will never ever leave the path of our purple love, and you shall always be there for me like the stars that set on the eyes of skies.
But now, you boldly crush and pond my heart in your mortar of anguish and walk away leaving my skies blind.
Why so, woman of mud?
*Sobbing*
You where the light that lighted up the candle of my soul when I was damp and hollow and this made me glow intensively. You also always told me the darkest secrets I could not even tell you.
But now you blow so hard to wind away the light of my soul, flushing me dip down into the land of isolated slaves, where I hear your gossips about me.
Why so, woman of mud?
You were my brightest sunset and you never did without hugging and holding my hands, for you always saw me as your palace of refuge in times of traffic danger.
But now, you’ll rather become hell, just to see me cry and burn, and you’ll rather also just walk gently into death, so as not to call me your hero.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where my law of pleasant admiration and I could never carry on without you by my life, because you where my dramatic wonder of love.
But now, you are my flaws of unpleasant admiration and I have no choice nor muddle but to move on in my soberest mood, without you woman of mud, because you are now my thunder of hate,
Woman of mud!
Behold the bounty
Of berserking bugs,
Whilst Barely not blinded
By the their bustled busts.
I, Bringer of Beatles,
Biting abroad,
Burrowing deep,
Biting a broad,
Bolder than brave,
But braver than most,
Have been this way long,
But no need to boast,
I am the scurrying,
blurring blank line
That will band the bugs
With all of mankind.
I am the blackest,
Most burnt, but my bite
Will bid you a seething
Most blatant of blights.
Bring now your bosom,
Bend when I bark,
Then I will chew some;
Now bleed from your arc.
Bringer of beatles,
Bestower of feasts,
I am the bender,
Bartender of beasts.
Bringer of blankness,
Be still while I blotch
All of your memories,
Render you lost.
It is my duty,
This beauty of steeples,
All being brought down
By bounties of beatles.
I hate salt for the sake of my cake
That is sodium-rich by the baker's mistake
And the syrup I poured
That I never ignored
Is more salty still
Then a fish with a sword
I like sugar and spice and everything sweet
For the sake of a snack or the lack of a treat
But I struggle and fight
With a big appetite
For a cherry cheesecake
And a bottle of Sprite
Yes I really hate salt by the savor I taste
That is bigger than big by the size of my waist
And the water I hold
That is bigger than bold
Is a day at the beach
In a battleship mold
If the salt I consume is the fault of my doom
Then I might as well vault to the back of my room
But I’m heavy as heck
With an iron neck
And a big Mack truck
In a miserable wreck
But if salt is to blame for the blotch in my fame
Then I might hopscotch to a different game
Where a sodium fix
In a bag of tricks
Is a sugar high
With some different kicks
If you still chase rats by the look of your hats
Then you might as well race to the Utah Salt Flats
Where the salt lick alone
Is more dry than a bone
And your new conversation
Is a drop in your phone.
It was New Year Eve night,
and although kids were up
the only sound to be made was the drinking of cups.
They were filled with the hopes
that fireworks might start,
so they could see that big beautiful spark.
All through the night they sat just to watch
and the fireworks would start with a blotch.
After the fireworks were done
the kids ran on home,
to their beds where they slept cozily inside their dome.
By the time it was midnight the kids were all sleeping
only to miss the big ball that was beeping.
The ball hit the top of that very long pole
and the parents ran outside to go hit a bowl.
So as they years went on,
all those children who used to yawn
were all staying up to watch,
that big huge firework blotch.
Here I was when you were born
With tears in her heart, she bore you.
And now you became the black sheep,
The rotten egg hard to crack.
You made pains in her heart
Accusation fingers dare point on her face
Blotch in her heart becomes visible in the dark night.
And her smile became disgusting
When it rains she found it hard to hide.
I was here when you smuggled into the house
Smelt the footsteps and the dark night howled
Next was crying of innocent blood
Sprawling on the bare floor, in the room beneath
And the money gone, gone with the wind.
I was here when the executors came
I saw when you smuggled out.
Their bright snow light couldn’t fetch you
Up you run, faster than the cheetah.
But you forgot that unknown eyes were on you.
Men trembled in fears at the sight of you.
Lord of the night, heartless, you are.
Rendering most people fatherless at the breath of anger
A lot you pushed into poverty smiling
Reaping where you didn’t sow
Remember the falconer cometh soon
And the universe has it judgment
Power lies not in the bullet jammed in the barrel of the gun you hold.
I remembered her advice to you
She warned you against crime
But the ears was too hard to heard
Because it taste to be perished.
Your maker seek your soul
But it was too far to heed
I, your creator cry loud sorrowfully
How be it that the falcon disobey the falconer.
Now is the time
The deed is done
You were caught by the law
And all the quarters you tormented by a sign of relief
Soon you would be among the weepers
Down there in the pit of hell, .
(JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT)