Best Blubbering Poems
Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess,
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect,
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest.
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue
2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest
Categories:
blubbering, imagination, me,
Form:
Free verse
The smell would hit me like a slap in the face
My daddy was a patient in that place
I would find him sitting in his chair alone
I wished he didn’t live in a nursing home
How I longed to take him home with me
I couldn’t afford to stay with him, you see
He might wander off and I had to make a living
How I hated doing this for he had been so giving
He worked so hard, he had been a good Dad
Providing for the big family he and Mama had
Now Mama had gone on up to heaven
It was up to me, youngest of the seven
I would feel so guilty leaving him there
I was afraid he might think I didn’t care
His mind slipped away to some other place
Most days he didn’t even recognize my face
“I love you daddy,” I would always say
Hoping he would know me that day
He did recognize me one last time
It's a favorite little memory of mine
He looked at me with clear recognition
He patted my arm and asked this question
“Baby, are you still teaching school?”
I broke down and cried like a blubbering fool
On the day he died, I was there with him
I fed him ice and sang to him a favorite hymn
I wish he had known and had felt my touch
Daddy’s ‘baby girl’ misses him so much
Categories:
blubbering, daughter, family, me, me,
Form:
Couplet
Talking to Sara...
Why me
the world weighs heavily on our souls,
though we are encased in blubber,
our suffering life swiftly unfolds,
the book is balanced brother,
it seems unfair, for we aren't told,
the reason, pain an suffering,
but logic says, the reason is of old,
a curse endured with blubbering, (much crying)
man molded by the thought of God,
fine tuned by cause and effect,
we are little more than earthly clods,
brought here to earn respect!
seek the reason for your fall,
personality may tell?
see Saint Peter at the wall,
don't send me back to hell:(
Don Johnson
Categories:
blubbering, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
The night would steal his love away
across the bridge of the moon.
He knew that it might try one day,
But it has come that bit too soon.
It cut itself a creature,
From its own satanic cloth,
And a rider plucked from Hades
Did bestride this behemoth.
Oh hear the sound
Of pounded ground
Beneath its fissured hooves!
See the craven ravens
Seeking highest high-up havens!
And the dizzy weak-kneed witches
Hiding timidly in ditches.
The bats, the rats,
The mice, the owls,
The creatures that slink through the night;
The foxes and stoats
And blubbering toads,
My, how he puts them to flight!
Evil will fear greater evil,
more than it fears good;
And even the daemons and dusky elves
Risk refuge under the Church’s rood.
Oh hear the churning of crumbling earth,
The turning helpless ravaged turf,
The creaking croaking breaking trees,
The rivers sprinting to the sea,
The children crying,
The weakened dying,
And the distant hiss of burning hope.
My prince, my prince, wake up, wake up!
The gate is opened, the drawbridge down!
Where is your armour, where your sword?
The lady will give you just reward!
The night has stolen his love away
across the bridge of the moon.
He knew that it might try one day,
But it came that bit too soon.
Categories:
blubbering, adventure, angst, sadnight, love,
Form:
I feel the bubbling hate
rise from my chest to my face
When I remember the days
I would sit there, embracing it
you beating my ass in your basement
and don’t blame it
on your ex, cuz you were always complaining
and claiming your behavior’s not crazy
No I can’t have your baby
Used to promise that you’d save me but you lied and betrayed me on the daily
Yeah you played me
Staged it like you writing for payment
Enslaved, isolated
But I couldn’t stop chasing
It’s insane how you faked it
In my lap, blubbering like a baby
like you up for arraignment
After kicking my face in
You will never be my family, the past is where you’ll remain in
Four years of my life i spent wasting
So many nights spent debating
Fornicating, i always did what you made me
You would beg for the truth then stand there, just shaming
My heart I felt it breaking,
my small throat in your hands suffocating
My bruises have erased but the memories never fading
The scars you left never healing
So tell me, what was the reason?
You changed up like the seasons
Had me believing, fighting with reason
felt the loneliest when I had you beside in bed sleeping
You would look me in the eye, lie that you weren’t high tweaking
Bodily harm, I was bleeding
How many hours spent pleading?
I would tell you what I needed
You destroyed me for no reason
I know I saved my own life by saying fck it and leaving
Like a death, I was grieving
Had to accept you were cheating
Left and right, like a demon
You live your life with no meaning
Off the liquor stay geeking
You’re a freak and I mean it
Don’t hit my line when you leaning.
Categories:
blubbering, abuse, betrayal, boyfriend, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
sea lions crying loud
orcas don’t sleep very much ~
one blubbering mess
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
Sponsored by Brian strand
Syllable counter PS 5/7/5
02/05/22
Categories:
blubbering, allusion, sea, sleep,
Form:
Haiku
I do not know how men many we were
or how we went, what we saw on the way
nor do I know for what ungodly purport was ours
or what goaded us on into deeper uncharted territory
despite our tortured souls and aching bodies protesting to refrain .
I vaguely recollect through my befogged mind
some arcane words like Shoggoth and Mi- go and Dagon,
so much gibberish and blubbering babble of deranged minds
gone at once numb and addled with sights and sounds
forbidden to man in his wildest dreams and thoughts.
Through crenellated valleys grey misted in their troughs
and crests and covered with slime or ooze as from some
white-wormed denizens from unnamed and should-not-be-named
lairs in regions in deep damp grottoes of infernal charnel mounds
did I and my ill-fated team wander wild-eyed and unkempt.
Do not ask me what we saw when we reached our goal
for what my skulled orbs beheld or what my brain deciphered
I know nor remember not all semblance of sense and sensibilities
having fled with a volition not my own but driven by transfusions
of thought telepathically imposed from without from the miasma.
I know not whether to thank those who found me in the sorry state
that they did - a blathering caricature of the human form more ape,
nay, an ape has more intellect and dignity, than man- a creature more
fit to dwell in the mire and morass of a cess-pit than tread the same
hallowed soil or breathe the self-same vapors as civilized man.
It was far better still that the group of kindly souls, most rightfully,
had left me to my own contrivances and let me wander in my unknown
quest for unknown and mysterious things best known to myself once
but now lost to me forever.
I find myself in these padded and strait-jacketedand dreary halls of Arkham
standing at the edge of the precipice of an insurmountable mountain with
an abyss at the foot, both of interminable depth and dark as the devil's heart.
I have leaped from this vertiginous height perhaps a dozen times to end my misery
but having felt all the terror and thrill of finding absolution, I find myself here again,
and again.
Categories:
blubbering, dark, fantasy, horror, imagination,
Form:
Narrative
That was the partition of body that prepared to rejection
And its dance fascination which loaded with the blubbering
And the tremor of collision with clamor
And the affiliation of the others to their enemies
And the paleness of theirs shapes which sitting in the sight of evil , and replete of their death
That final Homeland , I see it filled with regret , Staring at the absence
Seeping along with the steps instinct , and the entity sin
and gaze at our souls paths .
Categories:
blubbering, cry, culture, dark, deep,
Form:
Free verse
On that day I first opened my eyes,
The fourth of June, the month you despise.
I saw the tears, your blubbering lies,
your hate-filled speech as you curse the skies.
I was your baby, innocent and pure,
You saw a demon and a need for cure.
So you yell and I plead,
You burn and I bleed.
Am I to blame for your lustless lives?
My birth not flowers, but a bed of knives?
You're in pain, I can see,
But please mom. Don't hurt me.
Categories:
blubbering, child, mom, pain,
Form:
Rhyme
Old Spencer, smelling of grippe, drugs, and death,
he couldn’t bend over to pick up chalk, magazines,
and failed acknowledgements of stupidity.
He certainly reveled in my foolishness.
“Modern science would still like to know what the secret ingredients were
that the Egyptians used when they wrapped up dead people.”
Funny, how people snub any disregard for my self-worth,
I could always smell a phony.
As if picking his nose allowed Spencer to hold his head high,
my presence was only preceded by three other competent institutions.
Success will overlook a booger.
Failure hones selective pride.
I felt it was important to know where park ducks went in winter.
Mayhap they occupied a posh New York hotel.
I left Elkton Hills for selfless reasons.
Attitudes make me cold.
There must be something grander than academia,
like being a good parent or having a large vocabulary.
It is easy to find reasons for disliking people.
They could be old and repetitive.
They could shake the wrong person’s hand.
They could be sarcastic,
exercising their passive aggressive skills after similar provocation.
It seems living can be a circle of depression.
Growing up is difficult if you’re not in the game.
Hot shots always make the rules.
They have an inside track on linear success,
always elated,
blubbering on about how good life is.
They lounge around in their warm homes dressed in bathrobes,
reading The Atlantic Monthly, drinking their hot chocolate.
You can hear them at the edge of your senses, concerned about your destiny,
hedging their own reputations and possible futures,
shouting in barely comprehensible tones from behind closed doors,
“Good Luck!”
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If you are intrigued by this work read and review G. D. Master’s book, “Interpretations,” free in PDF format on SmashWords.com. Simply enter “gd master” or “interpretations” in the search bar of SmashWords to find it.
Categories:
blubbering, angst, education, growing up,
Form:
Free verse
by Michaelw1two
Thought, how resounding it is,
now that everyone is thinking
mentation drums as mantra,
at once each considers linking
reason deemed illogical,
blessed now with national rethinking
purpose gathered within this storm,
save our lives from sinking.
Political misdirection's blind US,
to the nature of this assault
improprieties pervade the eye,
as it strengthens through default
weaken do the knees of all,
as guile and greed reign to a fault
freedom bled of denotation,
becomes a society’s burial vault.
Dedication to the sphere of peace,
abandons favor of our time
replacing is freedom's abdomen,
ruining goodwill whilst in its prime
boasting blubbering fuels the wind,
infuriating is its rapid climb
rhetoric barbs of poison fear,
drive weak minds to morbid crimes.
Echoes of peace, goodwill, morality,
vanish in this swirling beast
accrue does this wickedness,
as we are whipped until deceased
social clime succumbs to hate,
common people soon are fleeced
timorousness rules the moment,
result, the best become the least.
Asleep have become the masses,
as the few control life’s flow
living sliced to minimal pieces,
at once in chorus all say whoa!
condones in wild shrieking howls,
even life can’t clear escrow
extinction now approaching,
our doom delivered quid pro quo.
Jan 2010
Categories:
blubbering, political,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh no! Again she’s been hijacked!
Woe to me, for though her shell is the same:
Dainty and fair; she’s turned a raging maniac!
A blubbering bear and volatile flame
I let the anger subside and the angel come back
to enjoy another month of my dame.
**For the Quatret Contest**
Categories:
blubbering, humorous, husband, life, men,
Form:
Quatrain
Little brother, do stand up high
And reach for my hand
Whilst I wipe your tears
And guide you past my stumbling toys
Like a drunken sailor with a blubbering cold
You latch on tight, like an Octopus bite
And catch my eye with that naive smile
To push-on by and walk with pride
No need for hands
Just a mischievous smirk
As you wave bye-bye
With my favourite toy!
Categories:
blubbering, brother, child, childhood, cry,
Form:
Free verse
Lovers each parted their ways,
Tears cause misty sprays.
Colder grew them both,
Love amid them was now an old growth.
Lovers wear on their poignant face a pair of abysmal drenched brows,
Each parted brow one crumpled, other rumpled as twinge, sonorous it grows.
Their ways parted but for scores to come both would grieve,
Tears to obscure make believe a poker face for all to deceive.
Cause misty sprays now quench and quell the fervent fires of the raving heart,
Colder grew to icier but a dim flame of passion lies to be kindled although apart.
Them both a score later brought face to face by fate or fortune to meet,
Love amid them, wedged, now flickered and glinted, sneering smiles as they greet.
Was now at hand frozen silence and two tear blubbering faces,
An old growth of love renascence and regenerates.
Now the feelings cold erase and hate displace,
To make way for their searching love to take them to a higher place.
To melt intrepidly into each other’s arms and embrace,
Depose and oust with grace the long worn mask of the poker face.
Et cetera Poetry Contest
29/2/2012
Categories:
blubbering, imagination, life, loss, lost
Form:
Rhyme
Once a week, from six till seven,
Every Wednesday, in a room down town.
I go to a meeting for big strong men,
Wearing funny hats, big boots and a gown.
We all sit in a circle and have our say,
Sharing experiences throughout the week.
Talking about the words we had to confront,
About the poems we’ve had to critique.
You see, this group is for men fearing the verse,
Fear driving them to secretive tears.
Hiding from the works of poets of the day,
They’ve hidden from poems for years.
The stanzas and rhymes, the casual lines,
The acrostic and ballad and footle.
They freak us all down to a blubbering mess,
To us, poetry’s a rough, savage brutal.
Categories:
blubbering, fear, poetry,
Form:
Quatrain