Get Your Premium Membership

Best Can Of Worms Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Can Of Worms poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of can of worms poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Can Of Worms poems, articles about Can Of Worms poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Can Of Worms poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

View all new Can Of Worms Poems

The Best Can Of Worms Poems

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

OMG, That's So Cliche

It's raining cats and dogs on a dark and stormy night -
with such a stroke of genius, a poet starts to write.
Inane clichés he's banging out to beat the band,
a booby trap as big as life to bite the poet's hand.

It opens up a can of worms to catch the early birds
but with no bird in hand he'll have to eat his words.
The tropes are fresh as daisies, with infinite supplies
of broken-hearted lovers, and rainbow butterflies.

Garbage in and garbage out, it's fun and games for all,
to sell you down the river and drive you up the wall.
For if it's true a pen is more mighty than a sword,
then we're as good as dead, for to death we will be bored.

Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2016

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Bridge to Nowhere

There are so many things I've said and done
And many more I've never....
I should not have crossed that bridge that spans
The raging, angry river
What can be done to cool one's pride?
Ten brittle digits standing in a line
Should we not count....  and bide our time
And wait until we have calmed the mind?
When words build up as raging storms
Unleashing blame, creating pain
When we open up a can of worms
Such a heavy weight can't be erased
Perhaps her deeds were seeds of sadness
If I had seen beyond the cloud
If I had smiled, expressed a kindness
Would the hiss of silence be so loud?

If angry words would leisurely fall
Quietly into submission to the ground
Smoothing the edges, sharp and tall
Until the landing makes no sound
I wish my words had been like pebbles
Lying in a quiet pool
Where flowing waters smooth and cool
Until the pain they caused would make no sound
For if I had waited, taken on another guise
And looked upon who has offended
Bridged the span and been more wise
Crossed the bridge where hurt is mended
Perhaps our friendship would not have ended

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Going Fishing on a Summer Day (Nonet Trilogy)

          Going fishing with a cane pole and
            a can of worms and hooks and a
             bobber too Down at the fish-
             ing hole there stand a might-
               y oak the best place to
                   fish and lie in
                     the shade of
                        the big

          Down at the old fishing hole that dad
              and grandpa fished at before
              me is the best place on earth
                   Specially on a hot
                   summers day to fish
                    and swim and lie
                      in the shade
                         of the

          Summer is the time for fun Playing
           with friends going swimming and
            fishing at the best place in
             the world is the old swim-
               ming and fishing hole
                It has been there
                   for a hun-
                   dred years

Copyright © Betty Lane | Year Posted 2005

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ain't An Ornery Yahoo - Colloquialisms

Ain't An Ornery Yahoo Old widow lady of ninety-two Lives by herself with nothing else to do Except sit in her chair next to the window And stare out for hours with dreams of her past woe I reckon she ain't ornery yahoo With a few bricks short of a load Doing nothing but fuss and talk for ever and tells tall tales Ain't no telling of those tall tales are true Whaddya think? She sits in her chair next to the window And stares out for hours with dreams of her past woe Seasons have come and gone with the flowers, Grass and trees changing colors She's ran off all her children, family, and friends Doing nothing but fuss and talk for ever and tells tall tales With a ruckus if you don't agree and resist She gets riled up lifts up her clenched dukes and Lands an uppercut to the mug she’s kissed Whaddya think? Y’all want to stay out of her crosshairs if ya can’t resist Cause y’all open a can of worms if you persist She carries a small pearl handle chrome plated Stup nose 22 pistol in her purse © 7/22/2015
Contest Name: Colloquialisms Sponsor: Laura Leiser

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

duck's plea

There is a fly 
in the oinkment 
Someone ate pork chops , 
the duck is in 
a plucking bad mood, 
threats of assassination 
and shooting him 
Leave me alone 
you vile monsters, 
talking of making 
curry out of duck 
dead remains 
Scrambling the eggs and allsorts, 
please anyone 
with a heart shelter me 
I am an old duck 

Going grey in the feathers, 
this all gives me such bad blood 
at my age 
We live in such a hostile world, 
I have such a good family 
They have protected me for years, 
in the sanctuary 
of beautiful hills 
Always had peace and quiet, 
no interference 
from the out side world 
Until now this carry on 

demonic snuff videos 
sent to duck , 
just wish 
they could see my little heart 
Have always been a good duck, 
wouldn't hurt anyone 
accept flies 
My little eyes 
cry tears of fear, 
my life is being threatened 
As I wipe the tears 
with my wings, 
now they are stuck 
to my sides with so much fear 

If only I could stretch my wings 
In happiness 
towards the sky, 
like in my sheltered years 
My wings always 
opened for a hug, 
why do you want me 
to have such a cruel end, 

like the pig pork chops 
Beware of the wolf 
in sheep's clothing 
My dad taught me this, 
he always made me feel 3 foot high 
Hiding in the corn, 
probing for intelligence, 
a non smoking serial killer 
Sent pictures of dead fellow ducks 
on a plate, 

had such beautiful adventures, 
planning them in my mind, 
now distorted with threats 
You opened 
a big can of worms 
Threatening the life of this duck 
Sending snuff videos 
Of duck killers , 
help me find the killers 
As they ain,t seen 
crazy duck yet

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Sex Sensation

I was told that sex stimulates mutual emotion,
out of curiousity, I decided to quiz a whore
she told me sex is a business and she craves more.
''Do you love your clients?'' was my last question.

Someone whispered ''sex is all about sharing pleasure''.
Immersed in doubt, I inquired from a rape victim,
all she told me was that ''sex was my darkest dream,''
''you love rapist?'' I asked... she hates them beyond measure.

I was told that sex makes relationship longer and deeper,
I went to the heartbroken, she explained better,
she simply said ''sex is a game that could make life bitter''
''I was used and dumped'' she ended  up cheaper... 

The pornstar opened a can of worms, ''sex is a fiction''
she said, it does not make the artists become intimate
sex and love are two different feelings...with different fate.
Love is more of a strong devotion than emotion.

I think sex is one of the sweetest sensation on earth,
it is a pure feeling when share at the right time.
Sex with a wrong person is now a common crime
that causes emotional trauma, heartbreak and ill health.

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Me & Little Sister Fishin'

Pigtails, cowboy belts and new summer jeans.
A long ride to the lake. I can't wait to get fishin'!
I have to take Sis? Mooom . . . how mean!
Hurry up little sister, there's no time to lose.
Cut a new pole, dig a can of worms,
Run out on the dock and find your own place. 

Pleading, with nose twisted,
A worm gingerly pinched between two fingers,
I finally agree to bait my pathetic sister's hook. 

The day wears on and on, hot and quiet.
Shh, Sis, or you'll scare 'em away.
No, Sis, we can't go back, we haven't caught a fish yet.
Little sister just doesn't understand the fine art of fishing. 

I said a little longer.
"But I'm hungry."
Just a little bit longer.
"But I have to gooo . . ."                                                              
Sis, please, it won't be long . . . 

YES!  . . . I caught one. Now you see! 

Angry and tired and not impressed with my catch, she pulled in her worm,
And with a quick flick of the wrist, off the hook she did pluck it.
With hands on her hips, looking me square in the eye she declared,
Anyone, who would sit out here all day for that, is dumb enough to fish in a bucket!

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer | Year Posted 2009

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

talk to the hand - for contest

y'all know me-     I'm in the poem biz     
and it is a no brainer     when I need a fix(I come to the main drag)of
       this poetry site

this my security blanket     my safe harbor    my home away from home
    it has taken me years to learn the
                 set up(its a long way to poet)gonna take a journey 

listen I don't consider my poems hot stuff 
nor do I have hang ups             but the bare bones is this    
    I go bananas for contests                I won't bamboozle you    
 I just wanna win (win and win)

but getting a poem selected    is an uncertain crapshoot      
     its a tricky business
            when the theme is announced    
                    I need to give it a good think (think)

and sometimes I write a lemon                (a real stinker)        
      oh when I lose(so blue)oh so near  when I win   bees knees happy

sometimes I put on my war paint       and make my way
    to the shooting gallery        (I mean the blogs)
        don't wanna open a can of worms    but
            a poet needs guts to make a comment there

oh yessiree    your words can be turned to smoke
sometimes its all snoggling       and sometimes its just aggro
      the blogger asks for an opinion      then the fun begins
get out the boom box     say what           talk to the hand

bring me the funny wagon     gotta get outa there
before I go nuts   gotta chill out         take my peepers to a poem                  
            like it when its mellow yellow in blog world

y'all know me-     I'm in the poem biz
and it is a no brainer       when I need a fix(I come to the main drag)of
         this poetry site

July 1, 2015

Free Verse

For the contest, Colloquialisms, sponsor, Laura Leiser

Fourth Place

Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2015

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

4 lines License

In the silence of dawn and fishing license in hand Poles, line, and can of worms the boys dispatch To the lake with big hopes of full days catch Fish fry, fried fritters for five with fun friends 12/17/2015
First line anagram. Silence - License Second/third line: Couplet Fourth line: Alliteration Poetry Contest: 4 lines Sponsored by: Silent One

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Michael and Carolyn came home again
Their busy lives disrupted by death's end
Not knowing they'd encounter love unrestrained
By coming home for mom's funeral to attend
Life has some changes for which to contend
Michael and Carolyn were shocked to learn
Their mother wanted cremation as her end
No way was his mother going to be burned
That is not the way of the people here
The attorney handling her will added more
Your mother made her request crystal clear
Her ashes at Roseman's Bridge to be poured  
Michael could not believe what his ears heard
Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words

Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words
Daddy had bought two cemetery plots 
Mother to be buried facing eastwards
Richard planned ahead not instant on the spot
Michael so upset about how this was going
So attorney said let's open safe deposit box now
We'll discuss this when settled is the knowing
But a can of worms this box will open somehow
As the attorney opens the large box
Michael and Carolyn gather around
The lawyer pulls out a paper from tenderbox
He says bill of sales for equipment found
Carolyn picks up a manilla envelope
She looks at contents as through a microscope

She looks at contents as through a microscope
Pictures of her mother who somehow looks different
Then Michael's wife takes one to slowly scope
Sis calls Michael to come look at pictures that flaunt
Carolyn leaves the room after she pulls out more
She starts to read a paper with questioning eyes
A paper from the 1965 dated envelope tore
She comes back to the door calls Michael with quiet sighs
Michael comes back into the room followed 
by sis, he announces that they will look over papers
and get in touch, what's in the papers now shadowed
The letter contained words nothing to do with farm acres
The sting of shock of the letter within the papers
Michael and sis will learn whole story later

Michael and sis will learn whole story later
As they read the letter written by Kincaid
How his love for their mother is greater
Than an ordinary love, a love that didn't fade
Carolyn and Michael read Kincaid's  letter
Learned how Kincaid was cremated and ashes spread
At Roseman Bride, Michael said this man influence her
He was leading our mom and confusing her head
Michael asked is there anything else in the envelope
Carolyn takes it and turns upside down
A key falls out, Carolyn lights up with hope
At what the key might fit smiles out of frown
The discovery of their mom's short affair
The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares

The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares
Carolyn takes the key to a chest in mom's room
Opens, finds mom's letter that tells of love that was theirs
Until death a love that remained in full bloom
Their mother in a letter tries to explain
She wants her children to understand her
And what happened years ago, her reasons to remain
She had written three journals about the affair and lover
One journal for each glorious love filled day
She starts by telling them when it happened
The year Carolyn showed her prize steer away
at the Illinois State Fair, 1965, way back then
From letters to journals the affair's revealed
A side of their mom that couldn't be real

A side of their mom that couldn't be real
Mom wrote, Robert Kincaid came down the lane Monday late
He asked for directions to Roseman's Bridge with appeal
With Italian accented English directions tried to dictate
Failing to convey the directions off hand
She said, "I can take you or tell you the way"
He said, "I don't want to take you from work's demands"
She said, " Let me get my shoes, he watched as she walked away"
As they drove away to find Roseman Bridge neither knew
An affair began that stayed with them their lifetime
There was chitchat on the way as appeal began to brew
Appeal that led to a lovestory sublime
Later they a meal shared as night fell
Each was drawn into the other's swell

Each was drawn into the other's swell
Now Michael and Carolyn are learning of their mother's love
A mother that they thought they knew well
Thinking that they and dad were mom's only doves
Now brought home to attend to mom's dying wish
And settle legal affairs of the estate
Not deal with an affair needing under rug to swish
Grown children whom mom wanted to illuminate
Maybe Michael and Carolyn would understand
Her desire to be cremated and ashes strown
at Roseman Bridge to mingle with Robert's ashes their holy land
For in those four days their love was crowned
To a sad, so shocking, learning occasion then
Michael and Carolyn came home again

Finis' April 10, 2014
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillian
Contest:Mov(i)e Me With A Contemporary Crown Sonnet
First try at this form>>>

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I Knowed It Was Summer When

I have many fond memories growin' up on the farm as a boy.
Such simple pleasures in times more sublime brought me great joy!
I knowed it was summer when in June Dad bought me a straw hat,
And in the pasture we'd form a diamond to swing ball and bat!

I knowed it was summer when I could go barefoot sheddin' my shoes,
And wade in the 'crick' and let the warm mud through my toes ooze!
I knowed it was summer 'cause I had to attend Vacation Bible School,
When I'd rather be feeshin' than learnin' to live by the Golden Rule!

My dog Spooks trailed me as I ambled to my favorite feeshin' hole,
With a can of worms, safety pin fer a hook and willow branch fer a pole!
I knowed it was summer when upon a lofty oak limb I'd stretch,
Gazin' at driftin' clouds and, Oh!, the many boyhood dreams I'd sketch!

I knowed it was summer when I saw the steam tractor comin' down the road,
With the threshin' machine in tow to reap the grains that my Father sowed!
I knowed it was summer when I picked wild blackberries as big as yer thumb,
And ate so much homemade ice cream until my poor brain was froze numb!

I knowed it was summer when in the gloamin' I'd catch fireflies in a jar,
And listen fer the hauntin' wail of freight trains travelin' from afar!
I knowed it was summer when relaxin' on the front porch at end of day,
Fightin' mus-skeeters, sippin' iced tea and savorin' scented new-mown hay!

I knowed it was summer when hoein' taters 'neath the hot Hoosier sun,
And pitchin' hay and swattin' sweatbees, neither of which was fun!
I knowed it was summer when lightnin' lit the sky like the Fourth of July,
Followed by rollin' thunder and rain as 'neath covers in terror I'd lie!

I knowed it was summer when Mom made preserves, jams and jellies,
That along with her homemade breads and biscuits would sate our bellies!
I have many fond memories growin' up on the farm as a boy!
Such simple pleasures in times more sublime brought me great joy!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

An Old Man Fishing

I watched the old man mosey to his favorite fishing spot.
Ahead of him his faithful dog capered at a lively trot.
No fancy fishing lures for him, just a simple bamboo pole,
And a can of worms as content he seemed in heart and soul!

Settling in the welcome shade of a spreading oak,
He lit his pipe for a pleasurable afternoon smoke.
His old dog lay contentedly at the old man's feet.
What a life!  How could it be any more complete!

At fishing the old fellow was extremely deft.
Why, he was pulling them in right and left!
With all the expensive lures that I had at hand,
Not one consarned fish did I ever land!

As the sun waned he lay back and took off his shoes,
To savor his usual afternoon snooze.
Imagine my dismay as his bobber danced about!
(Why can't I reel in some of those wily trout?)

As the sun settled in the west he called it a day.
(Alas, I still hadn't had a nibble, I must say!)
He waved asking, "How's your fishin' luck been?"
"Not a bite" I replied, much to my chagrin!

Placed No. 1 in Paula Swanson's "The Allure Of A Lure Is Alluring" Contest - Apr 2012

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Controlling energy

Voices of the silent whispers echo deeply disturbing fact 
debates hold principle those with brains tear down structures 
human rights ignored opening up a can of worms within morals 
where truth is hidden away questions agenda 
envelope of forgotten yesterdays sealed fate 

Honour amongst thieves new world order social control 
handshakes grasp secret societies revealing dark shades 
cover ups underneath the veil careless actions endanger security 
desert storm powered by the central bank hidden secrets leak oil 
Where the so called elite are born without sin lawless diamonds 
with their silver spoons attached empty vessels without moral right 
classifies perfection untouchable agents of death 
In the heart of a free man looking at the system 
creating slavery cutting wages spying imprisoning freedom of choice 

Applying pressure drones killing families 
within a cloud of dust or inside evidence to support such horror actions 
criminal murderers sitting in their offices should be banged to rights 
leaving no place for hope or a just democracy strikes issues flawed  
To fatten their purses behind the revolving doors open guess
Suffering begins with espionage
 loveless pride exposing sheltered acts 
dragging your heals security council protecting the vulnerable's need  
instead liberal intelligence with your reductions clearly speak volumes  
threatening the poorer field positions you without care 

Royalty who profit from others pain hidden agendas lie 
conspiracy theories can carry truth to the button 
because something is hidden away under dressing why 
we ask ourselves those not brainwashed 
dirty arms deals laundering ill got money gains 
The heads of states 
they are clearly breaking the law
justice is so corrupt fact 
every Joe soap knows 
they only give us the partial truth 
optic nerve cell centre brings up a live wire 
They do not give a rats **** 
who use uranium tipped enriched missals 
poisoning the earth's crust stringing us along as peace keepers 
arming terrorists is an act of war against peace makers 
countless innocent have died at the hands of murderers 

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.



To reach into a can of worms feeling for the biggest to thread on the hook.
All done with eyes closed to try to make the time more real
The fish will not be seen until they're caught
and later when I'm older, maybe seven or even nine
I'll  be able to say I can do it with my eyes closed

Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2009

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Win- Lose or Place--Colloquialisms

Writing for contests, is often a crapshoot! Some may be teasers, and others no brainers. Results often open a new can of worms, though sponsors with backbones, will stick to their guns! Plagued by the screams of dissatisfied rhymers whose dreams of a win may have gone up in smoke! But a poet's class act, is to take it in stride. Don't be hung up, keep your eye on prize ! Wearing war-paint is a taint on the pride Don't have a fit, ... be quick to decide Stoked by the turn-on of writing excitement We are caught in the cross-hairs of P. S. enchantment !! Write with a zest that will stick to the ribs Write for yourself, and find joy in the race There is no disgrace if you handle with grace Hold up your head, whether win, lose or place!
____________________________________ 7/15/15 For the contest "Colloquialisms" sponsored by Laura Leiser

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.


When the clouds appear so calm,
Glaring golden like glazing metal,
The world sees much less than nothing,
Understanding far less than the paranormal;
Begotten by the surest knowledge
Creeping into the mind with ease,
Ease fathered by urgent desperation,
Borne from torments that trail all paths!

How perfectly can it be shielded?
Dark light is continuously cast on it,
Seeking to hide its helpless hopelessness
Firm as a teenage virgin’s breast to the touch;
It leaves a dark, tenacious trail behind;
Impenetrable by the brightest of lights,
‘Uncrushable’ by the heaviest of weight,
Yet appearing so tenderly bright all the same!

So dashing a darling he appears,
Breaking facades with his thrilling smile.
Like one responding to loud cheers;
He smiles, hiding his dull, dark being;
Drooping like a fragile centenarian within,
Swinging like an old woman’s naked breast,
Holding firmly to him like a long lost lover,
Twirling a heated dagger in his heart!

When at last the heat’s force hits,
And the clouds can no longer collect,
The ball of fire disintegrates
Like a disturbed file of soldier ant,
Or hornets smoked out of their hideout,
Undressing his pains and agony
And from him, all begin to shrink
‘Cos it’s a can of worms beyond his clouds!

Placed 9th in Poet Destroyer A's Perfect Title Perfect Verse Contest.

Copyright © Alozor Michael Ikechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.


It's not easy being homeless, have nothing to put into your yawning feeding entrance
Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, but how do you do it!
Just keep up with the same '****' in the mean time and later you'll clean it all neat.

Sideways, back and forth, you are hit with all sort of staff that aren't spiced with honey but lemon
you and we wait for the sunshine so we stay indoors, for how long are we going to hide under our blankets while we can wake up, walk straight, pick a sword and bring a muscular, brooding presence to the can of worms!

I might sound crazy coz I've been going back and forth on life
but don't you think that we're dreading on what we can't fight and that's why we feel the storm tearing and cutting like knife!
you walk and if there is a bump on your way, you fuzz and break on the ground
It's our time to stand and walk (frown)

Not all will sign in present in your times of struggle and success; Never mind!!
make today your better day by picking from it, beat it and joining it; well that makes sense!
life can be so cruel, in just a second it can run you down. there's no much we can do than to work with what we have to reach our crown and gown
It's up to you how you take it, cherish you don't break it, you'll find a way
It's either you stand tall and firm or with it you'll sway
but if you know you can beat it, then why don't you join it! in this you'll be working with faith because faith is when a fisherman believes a carpenter to show/ teach him how to fish.

Copyright © LEE REUBENS | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Grandma's House

My grandma on my daddy's side
Was poor as ol' Job's dog
She had 9 kids, at 10 bells chime
They stacked like firewood logs
Them feather beds, which they slept on
Would cave in t'wards the middle
And every day 'round 'bout the dawn
She'd yell, "Come get these vittles"
A can of worms, tied in a knot
They'd squirm to get undone
The first one got the you know what
Then each would "go and run"
Gather 'round the family trough
To catch what she was slingin'
No sound was heard not nar' a cough
Complaints just left heads ringin'
Sisters and brothers shared alike
Back then, them days was hard
And just like dogs and cats would fight
The peckin' order carved
Then each grew up and went their way
But still talked on the phone
Once they all left, they'd visit days 
Poor grandma was alone
At special times would all come back
First liar had no chance
Sometimes my grandma'd give a smack
Backside of their pants
Respect was shown, regardless age
There was no otherwise
Them lessons learned back in them days
Served each 'til end of time

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Who Dunnit

I'm squirming in a chair of oak,
with narrow arms.  My buttocks numb,
and all the while the clock ticks on.

While folks are grim, with furrowed brows,
'We're all lined up in two long rows
of growing thirst, and restless legs
and hunger for a breath of air

Like sardines in a can of worms,
we are strange, unlikely shipmates, torn
between one lawyer's  limped  plea --
the other shark who disagrees

Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt.
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuades a few with his hot air
The penguin in the cheap black suit
has spewed a lengthy declaration, 
(a quite contrary explanation)).

Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope!

We're hanging by thin rope  for days
and word has spread, the judge has spoken 

He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls.  We are excused!
Declares a mistrial........what a joke!

The accused is sitting, poker faced
I think I saw a guilty trace?
(Or innocence,....a tell-tale trace?)

We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
The task was more than I could gnaw
A stale-mate!  Since the case was flawed!

As we file out,  our task is done
I spy the guy....,     Should I be blunt?
The one accused, lights up a smoke. 
Am I a nut, to simply ask ?
I'll just be frank, my last hurrah.....

               "Pardon me, did you break the law????" 

Contest: "Pardon me, but did you just.....??"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Merry-Go-Round Inside

I hand you an apple, and you are off
on a delightful spin of possibilities.
The first thought is identification,
the next, perhaps, one of degree.
Do you wish to eat it now , or might it better
adorn the fruit bowl on your table
--but those are only two.  My generosity 
is processed, the nature of that, 
and then the apple's history,
it's shape, our relationship, your gratitude,
indeed, the sound of your reply!

Suddenly the sleepy head of consciousness
awakes and if we think of that
the carousels within our heads
begin to speed, and we
have only just begun.

Hey, it was just an apple, but
it takes us prisoner, for now
it is the catalyst of endless searching.
We may be here all night
and emerge, sleepyheads ourselves,
no wiser.  This cursed carousel
races stubbornly, our horses
stolid, indefatigable. To exit
is surrender.

Our villain--and our dearest friend
is consciousness--
and soul
and psyche dueling it out
on other little wooden horses next to us
yet really just another can of worms 
to place in line of thought...
or did they wriggle from that apple?
My apologies.

I guess all this points up
the dual possibilities of choice
endangering the speculative flights
a universalist like me will take.
Aristotelians decry us; Platanists,
more forgiving, learn to hop
both on and off the merry-go-round
and disregard its pace.

Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Tainted wits... blurred in 
a madman's coronation... our 
country's plight. 
atlas, we are home, choked in 
another to our last 51, the 
journey's so far. 
can we break the walls? 

This imagination, a shattering 
when city's celebrate a 
thousand birth-years, 
then we recollect another 
52 million heads in 52 dying 
what a shame! 

My country of birth 
civilized cannibals, through 
kingdoms of ancient gods 
to masquerades in 
government house...our 
golden gates. 
BOKO HARAM? lies. 
another lie, 

Can of worms... debris at the 
golden gates, 
At 27,I look older than my 
country's age 
what years of tears had done 
to my teenly skin, 
my skipping heart would have 
been younger in Queensland. 

Another death rate 
on our golden birth...52? 
decades of misuse... reckless 
while the slim pigs eats 
fattening to unconsciousness in 
American clinics 
once parading as good 
Shepherds, we are all gone, 
pocketted in their fat pockets. 
52 years of ferocious reigns, 
when he's gone.. 
yet another one 
Olusegu..abach, babangi, 
jona... No calling names, 
Yet they all wear the same 
Maggots at the golden 
gates...snakes at the states 
traditional money-bags... 
nothing is left to cry for. 
we are finished dry... 
the tears are all gone... 
though not fools, we only 

Copyright © NDIMAEME DAVID K | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Babe with the Power

* you remind me of the babe  *
* what babe?                         *
* the babe with the power       *
* what power?                        *
* the power of voo-doo           *
* who do?                              *
* you do                                *
* do what?                             *
* remind me of the babe         *
************************** (from The Labyrinth)

The oubliette you've dug, Kell,
is deep, the walls are thick,
I wish I had noticed as
you built it, brick by brick.

Your dungeon is unique because
there's only one way out.
For years we've thrown you lifelines:
I'm sure you heard our shouts.

But you just keep on digging,
deaf to all our pleas,
our rescue ropes can't reach you,
blood's running from our knees.

You hoard your accusations,
a can of worms upon your shelf,
but now you can get rid of it
because I blame myself.

It's time to stop digging,
build a ladder now, instead,
get off the drugs and alcohol,
let reality clear your head.

I'm waiting at the top, Kell,
my hands and arms out-stretched,
my tears run down the walls of
your self-made oubliette.

©Danielle White

Pronunciation: \?ü-ble-'et\
Function: noun 
Etymology: French, from Middle French, from oublier to forget, from Old French oblier, from 
Vulgar Latin *oblitare, frequentative of Latin oblivisci to forget.

Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Can of Worms

Oh no’ I’ve really opened a can of worms!
An expression used by many that brings mystery some cans not the norm.
In life things, just little things sometimes surprise us!
Like the time I finally found God the Father, the “Word” His name was Jesus.

It’s such a vast universe, stars, suns, moons, planets, asteroids, and of course even black holes.
A can of worms?  When I knocked, searching, asking for the door to be opened and I finally found a spiritual whole. 
To be in communion with the “Word” to able to live by His every word, no matter what; knowing He is with us.
All the universe and gravity put together spectacularly in unison by the Father, and of course Jesus.

The Holy Bible God’s map for humanity, His spiritual light given to mankind so we can be a part of the God family.
Humans of course aren’t packed worms with no thoughts, we are made in the Father’s image, and we need only God’s Spirituality.
Not carnal’ Spiritual’ this is the key, using the wisdom that God chooses for some of “us” to see and be faithful.
The entire universe, Spiritual beings like God, who are His children for this, man’s love for Him should be grateful.

Copyright © Robert Ball | Year Posted 2013

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Unpleasant Situation

Unpleasant Situation

dormant volcano 
earthen cylindrical stir
can of worms open

connie pachecho


Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017

Details | Can Of Worms Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Newly Hired

Ended up in trouble and can't be denied;
Was only opening up from deep inside
Expressing what my opinion had been
Which ended up being a mortal sin.

As you read a poem you start to think
Should it be thrown the kitchen sink;
What had been applied forced rhyme;
Some people try to do it all the time.

Out several things had started to scope;
Should never be giving out false hope
And to me it always is very essential
Poor performance when no potential.

Had gotten in trouble on occasion before
End result was making some people sore
What they asked everyone what we thought
Into a trap and net I had been caught.

Why are poetry people willing to gamble
When together words surely seem to scramble
And merely much attention trying to obtain
Ending up driving us precariously insane.

It might sound like either off cuff or in cup
But can a can of worms soon be opening up
That maybe should have remained closed
And what was assumed, we also supposed.

Good God, why try to take people for granted;
Many perfectly potent pills may be planted
And through each poem, I will start to browse
Maybe more around I should start to carouse.

Another thing is required that I want to mention
Ranks are unruly when there is much dissension
Put poem in any washer then out have wrung
And check out guy to see if horrendously hung.

Then I really started putting my mind to task;
Wondered what now should I begin to ask;
To improve a Super Souper what is required?
Thought provoking questions by someone newly hired.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2014