Best Blurting Poems
Wet Blurting
80 year Ole Francisco, yes he said,
off the blinking top of his head,
A bowel fix here today!
Ya know cheese blocks you up instead,
Don’t blurt in diss-aray,
Old people drop one, an go ooooh,
Some feathers in the fluff,
Sand Goannasa drowning in the stew,
Could fill ya pants plum duff,
So listen when I say,
Cheese slab every day,
You wont be farting other stuff,
No blinking bloody blanking way!
So figure out the dose to eat,
Explosive liquid aint so neat,
Constipation on ya creeps,
Cut back on cheese today,
No explosions in the hay,
Eat cheese ya bugger, sweet,
Fun blurting hey hay hey…
Don Johnson
Hey fever don’t like cheese, tuff ticky, adapt to a cheese diet…it bloody works!
Categories:
blurting, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
A world of hurting
loud voices blurting
truth often denied
humans deified
stresses abounding.
Fake news astounds
rumors make rounds
hard to conceive
who to believe?
Damnation,
frustration
what to do?
Stay cool
No fool!
Hope
Categories:
blurting, america, angst, anxiety, conflict,
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse
An owl sat on our tree outside, and Dragon was completely mesmerized.
So Dragon ask what was his name, and Who was all that he devised.
Dragon said YOU, you silly bird; it’s YOUR name, which I want to know.
And again he got the answer… It was Who… Now, wouldn’t you know?
Now Dragon’s not a patient sort, so said… WHAT do you think of that!
Humpf!… If he won’t tell me his name, then I think I’ll call him Kersplat!
Who, said the owl again! Now, Dragon had began to become steamed.
Silly ninny! I named you the perfect name, ‘Kerslpat’, and he beamed!
Now, here Dragon realized that perhaps he needed to be, a bit more nice.
His words seemed limited, perhaps it wasn’t meant, as a mean device.
Now a crow came to the branch, and sat by the owl with a decisive bow.
The crow spouted, What? And Dragon ask: Are you here to help me Now?
What! came the answer from the crow, as the owl added another WHO.
Honestly, said Dragon! All I wanted, was to know your names, it’s true!
The crow’s hard of hearing, thought Dragon, as he suddenly realized…
Not everyone’s as fortunate as he, so he shouted loudly, as he theorized…
What’s YOUR name, he shouted! I’m tired of getting, NO good reply.
So he would call the crow What, and the crow squawked What! Oh my!.
Then little Whip Poor Will came and sat beside them, very, close and such.
When asked, he said Whip poor Will, so Dragon thanked him, very much!
Your name is Poor Will, but I won’t whip you, you deserve a gentle touch.
A Mocking Bird stopped by and Dragon introduced all his friends, as such.
The owl’s ‘Kersplat’, ‘What’ can’t hear, and ‘Poor Will’ are all my friends.
What’s your name little bird? For I’m Dragon, and you, I would befriend.
At that moment, I left the house saying Hello to Dragon and all those about.
The Mocking Bird sang: Dragon’s to Whip Poor Will, Mocks What can’t hear,
And wants to Kersplat Who! Blurting it out!
I dislike violence, so I sent Dragon to a timeout, in quick response, no doubt!
And I heard Dragon mutter, as he walked away, I now know what the term…
Bird Brain is all about!
Categories:
blurting, fantasy, fun, funny, hilarious,
Form:
Light Verse
Hostages, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Otages* by T. Wignesan
This blood will never dry up on our land
and those felled will lie there exposed.
We’ll keep grinding our teeth for fear of blurting out
we’ll not cry over these crosses upturned.
But we’ll remember these laid low devoid of memory
we’ll keep count of our dead as hours were numbered.
They who weigh heavy as a scourge upon history
tomorrow one’ll spurn them low will they be surprised.
And those who kept quiet for fear of being caught
their silence too will not be pardoned.
Those who stood up to argue and to pretend
even the less pious will have them condemned.
These deaths these wanton deaths are all our heritage
their poor bleeding bodies will not be separated.
We will not let our recall of their faces lie fallow
orchards will bloom on meadows lush green covered.
May they lie exposed naked under the sky like our land
and may their blood be mixed with our origins cherishcd.
The wild rose bush will cover them with the roses of ire
with their blood fierce spring seasons will be enlivened.
May these spring seasons be so cool beyond all words
songs of birds and children trundling paths be they filled.
And like a forest surrounding them heaves a sigh
a great people pray in subdued tones with arms raised.
Rhyme scheme of the original quatrains : abab, cbcb, dbdb, ebeb, abab, fgfg
( La liberté guide nos pas, O.C., t. I, p. 420)
*First published in the review Traits, in January 1942, and again in L’Honneur des poètes, in 1943. According to Anne-Sophie CONSTANT, the editor of Anthologie Poétique, « Hostages » evokes the execution of hostages in the Chateaubriant Camp on October 22, 1941.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 18, 2014
Categories:
blurting, death, patriotic,
Form:
Elegy
Once,
About ten minutes ago in the year
2006 or
2549, depending upon which avatar or
Messiah is consulted, I
Tumbled out of my bed to the
Untranslatable
Predawn
Cackle of
Frantic voices
Descending.
So, with urgency
Rarely experienced since the
Evacuation of my spirit
From the Land of
Possession Addiction, I was called to summon previously
Unknown prowess
Chancing traffic choked streets
Of Nakhorn (used to mean “New City” 700 years ago but not sure now)
Chiang Mai.
So there I was
Aboard my mostly pint-sized for a European descendent Kawasaki 112,
Red-blooded American head
Protruding
turret-like out of an
Undersized helmet that,
If nothing else,
Officially pronounced me foreign
Blazing a jutted path around
Decrepit trishaws,
Ubiquitously red baht busses and,
Not the least, a motorcycle with a sidecar bandaged to its
Aching side just in time to witness a
Spit-shined just out of the wrapper BMW
Brusque aside a
Sardine packed dump truck
Loaded,
Not with dirt, but five dollar a day
Laborers.
All this and more
Just moments before
Mounting the silted Ping and
Stampeding city gates, I glimpsed
Censored Snippets of TV reports blurting something unintelligible like
“Bangkok coup”,
“Corruption”,
“A King”
And
Somewhere,
Quite uncensored, of a not so pleased
Laozi,
Lotus splayed in
Meditation
Kneading the Eastern soil one
Daoist grain at a time,
Before ancient city walls
Rose up,
Monolithic in my path.
And then the recall that
Centuries before,
Burmese raiders
Resplendent in warrior garb
Plundered the palace and soul
Of the kingdom Thai before stealthily
Creeping back to their lairs,
Buddha-fat with riches.
That leaves the Siamese of 1935
And me, to wonder
Where is freedom
When we travel so far
Pell mell and
Peril, only to discover
In a fleeting brief moment the road to
Iniquity marked, rather
Erroneously, with the signpost to
Promises?
Categories:
blurting, political,
Form:
Free verse
Waiting word,
to form.
Blurting sounds,
and syllables.
The writing,
language.
The characters,
in motion.
Flowing together,
in sentence.
Add to it;
the Poet!
Categories:
blurting, art, confidence, i am,
Form:
Free verse
I was eleven years old
When I watched, from the shag carpeted floor,
Roots – the series proclaiming
Injustice beyond my comprehension
Prejudice that would prevent me
From ever blurting that horrible word
Despite all of my sins
The darkness that drowned out my hopes
Somedays making me feel like I deserved
The worst there is, the cell…
Where prisoners slept – the cross…
Where Jesus met death,
I didn’t say that word, the one starting with “n”
There was one girl in my class that year
She was black and she was my friend
I felt the need to share my heart with her
As we stood in a lunch line,
Waiting for the scoops of mashed potatoes and dumplings
The carton of milk that accompanied them
“I watched Roots…” I hesitated,
Watching her dark eyes fade gray
Before I could tell her that I felt ashamed
Of the whites who had been my ancestors
My forefathers, my relatives…
She turned away and didn’t look back
I never had the opportunity to say anything else
About Roots or my shame or the fact that
I wanted her to know I didn’t claim to understand
How she felt.. No, I wasn’t black
But I knew she was good and kind and I loved her
And, I absolutely wouldn’t ever say that word
The one that started with “n”, the one that taught me
That the darkness inside those called Master
Was a bigger darkness than the black skin of the slave
Categories:
blurting, 5th grade, black african
Form:
Free verse
I cannot say that I’ve grown wise
through all my passing years.
Yet one can surely win apprise
with open eyes and ears.
I see ego garbed as majesty
blurting nonsense called opinion
and hapless pawns of travesty,
misled by such dominion.
Then pride, that common drivel,
pours like rain into my ears.
Heralding the frivol—
playing on my fears.
Wise and precious minds
soar higher than the rest.
Overlooked, disparaged and maligned,
shame they’re oft suppressed.
By wise enthralled and fools appalled,
these two of diverse kind.
How is it then they’ll be recalled?
By what they leave behind.
Categories:
blurting, wisdom,
Form:
Quatrain
Hello friends and future friends. I hope my
choice of my poetic form is totally absurd.
I don't even know what an Epithalamium is;
so if you are looking for this form, I'm sorry
to disappoint. I haven't posted in awhile, and
perhaps it may be a bit instead of me just
blurting out my mind through my mouth.
I just got vack from a recent trip to
Cartagena, Colombia and have been
writing a collection.
I am going to title it "poems from a broard";
the broad in this case is mi Musa Melissa.
(Maureen, Melissa said you are beautiful
and kept saying "weeeeee" [your last comment]
Presently I am trying to organize poems that
I wrote on my trip as well as a lot written in the
airport waiting to reluctantly leave Cartagena.
Please por favor keep in mind that I would like
to present this as if a book; but know only 10
poems for a period of 24 hours.; so hang in
there with me and I will start to share.
Thanks to all the folks I have met here,
and the folks I hope to meet. Blessings!!!
Categories:
blurting, muse,
Form:
Epithalamium
Fighting the quickness
I can't shake this sickness
My ribs sore from the lies
I want to cut these ties
I cough them up with phlem
I wish I had not met him
The blood staining the rag
I feel like a miserable hag
Cut these ribbons, they're hurting
These secrets I couldn't stop blurting
The blood dripping down the strips
My hands hanging at my hips
My eyes close and I cry aloud
Wouldn't my mother be proud?
I hate this numb feeling
I feel the cheer peeling
Like a leaf from its tree
I'm broken, can't you see?
I feel the rain falling
I hear its soft calling
Its drops mix with tears
I want to share my fears
Please, be the one to say yes
Take a rag and clean this mess
I need you like you'll never know
You'll never see the pretty bow
The one tied around my neck
No blood on it, not a speck
Nevermind, I can't bare the pain
I've made my decision in vain
I clench the ends of my pretty bow
My crying eyes downcasting slow
I think of your smile, your brown eyes
You'd never wade through all the lies
I'm not worth it, but neither is she
But that's something you'll never see
The ends are tied, the rain stops
I smile and I put away the props
I feel relief as I lift this ugly mask
I set it aside and begin my task
My toes balancing on brittle wood
I'll never be known or understood
I look to the heavens and I see you
I will never know whether it was true
I tremble knowing how I am posed
I bite my lip, naked and exposed
I cover my bow and take my leap
No more will they make me weep
You will never know how I feel
My ribbon snaps and seals the deal
Categories:
blurting, angst, death, depression, loss,
Form:
Blank verse
When trying to understand women
Mr. Spock is my role model
An eyebrow raised in curiosity
Just waiting to hear something illogical (i choose poorly with women :)
But even Mr. Spock
Sometimes gets a wild hair
Like that time he breathed those spores
Then smelling something else in the air
His hair as black as coal
His blue shirt calmly reassuring
But there was definitely something odd
About the way his ears were pointing
Casting aside the advice of friends
Letting a flower’s scent cock his head
But when he started acting like Tom Jones
It caused a state of dread
Fist pumps into the air
Busting a move to ‘Lady’s Night’
Even a hound like Kirk was appalled
When Spock thought he was Napoleon Dynamite
Say What?
As electrifying as a disco ball
Churning lights, sparkling gems
Like Marty Feldman on happy pills
Blurting out, “I’m in LOOOVE, Jim!!!”
So if a sweet smell hits my nose
I’ll remember I’m emotionally impaired
“A man has got to know his limitations”
And next time I’ll take a cold shower
Categories:
blurting, funnytime,
Form:
We arrived at a desolate stage
Where a number other than age
Defines who we are and what we mean
And ruins our mood, previously serene
Whether it is too high or too low
Mentioning it deals a heavy blow
Because people’s mindless talk and chatter
Renders us slaves to this silly matter
Regardless how much we love ourselves
Another’s rudeness, in us, delves
Plunging us in a state of depression
Which brings us back to the matter in question
Who cares how much, on the scales, you weight?
Do they even know how much, this, you hate?
Some people gain it out of nothing
While others crave it above everything
But it’s as if it’s the greatest sin
And people start just butting in
Blurting rude comments under the guise of care
While all they want is to compare
They know that this is what brings you down
And they’ll parade it all around
But they know not – or maybe they do
How much their words are hurting you
But the truth is and has always been
Regardless of the body you’re in
What truly matters is your wonderful soul
And who says otherwise is just an a**hole!
Categories:
blurting, self, sexy, women,
Form:
Rhyme
Potential I Presume More Limericks
Big and tremendous come to mind.
Tremendous, stupendous, upend us.
Gargantuan, passion, trashing.
Immensive, aggressive, sensitive.
Ultimate Utmost, out grossed, horrible host.
Pittance, sentence, repentance.
In effect essential, provocative, potential, quite intentional.
Necessity, complexity, anxiety.
Court Municipal, Peter Principle, always apprehensible.
Concerting, blurting, hurting.
Infinitesimal, decimal, inexcusable.
Horribly huge, difficult deluge, shady subterfuge.
Passion, mansion, ration.
Explanation, creation, prevarication.
Expedient, concillient, what he meant
Congenial, menial, essential.
Validate, marinate, create. (For you cooks out there.)
Ballad, salad, valid.
Repudiated, humiliated, regimented.
Surgical, liturgical, hysterical, historical.
Urgence of resurgence of common sense.
To endure, become obscure for sure.
As of late would be great if they negotiate.
Kept at bay until miles away so Standish did say.
Had to humiliate to rehabilitate then consummate.
Were reassured could have occurred if enough endured.
My patience was tried then cried and cried after he had lied and lied so Bonny could be bona fide.
What part of the ocean had Bonnie been laid over at anyway? It must have been some perfect excuse
to go on a cruise and of course if you snooze will definitely loose.
Love could have occurred after I was assured no more lying will be endured.
If totally transparent, it could be inherent was apparent both were probably a potential parent.
What to we did allude, the became unglued in the middle of a family feud.
Embarrassed we became when he was up to his old game of seeking more fortune and fame.
Guess who and am sure you knew when bailed out the whole crew.
Patiently particular, was a homicide which was vehicular deduced by a diverticular.
Beside the sea with idea would wrestle should nestle under a trestle out of rain to wait for next vessel.
On Trump it finally dawned, if he would wave his magical want another witch would respond.
Instead of Grinch he would be the Witch Who Stole Christmas among other things.
Jim Horn
Categories:
blurting, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Limerick
My Pilsbury baker.
Bold rumpshaker.
Peppermint fizz. You tell it like it is.
Confronting people hiding who owes you money.
Knocking on doors at 2 A.M. That's your biz.
Blurting out shocking announcements like an unexpecting quiz.
Your whole entire being from head to toe is soft.
And your innocent sweetness instantly melts everyone's heart.
We love you Gatopap, our big yellow marshmallow.
Categories:
blurting, family
Form:
The Christmas Pies
His manner was crusty and grouchy, hunched over, he looked very slouchy
Instead of good cheer he was happy when someone would cry
He hated each time it was snowing and some chubby elf ho ho hoing
And wished that the reindeer he owned never learned how to fly
No tinsel and light for adoring, he found it incredibly boring
And presents with ribbons and bows he would just never buy
Then one day when he was out walking, complaining inside, steady squawking
Up there on a window sill something real sweet he did spy
He figured it would be quite funny, and that’s where this poem gets punny
He reached up and ran off with some little kid’s Christmas pie
He ate till his stomach was hurting and all that he ate came out blurting
Now rolling in pain he cried out that he wished he could die
When up strolled the little kid playing and seeing what he was displaying
He wanted to help him he knew that he just had to try
He helped him up, showed he was caring, the old man just constantly staring
He couldn’t believe that a tear slowly formed in his eye
“I know that you heard I was yelping, but I can’t believe you are helping
A man who has stolen a treat that you’ve come to rely”
He answered his voice was so mellow, to this quite unfortunate fellow
That lending a hand to the needy, the season was nigh
So off to the bakery strolling, while church bells in steeples were tolling
He pointed and picked every flavor that he could surmise
Then to this young boy he delivered, a smile on his face it now quivered
A dozen or more wrapped in bows, freshly baked Christmas pies
Written for Michelle Faulkner’s Punny Holiday Pies Poetry Contest.
The title I chose was "The Pie who stole Christmas"
However, I could not keep it in the confines of the 20 line limit in the contest.
So, I thought I’d share it with you anyway. No sense wasting a poem.
Categories:
blurting, fun,
Form:
Rhyme