Best Dribbled Poems
Eternal Breath
Hardly could I see you through my watery eyes
Holding you in my arms never to let you go
As your existence dribbled to the ground
There was no light, no air and no sound
What all could I see, was just you.
A death rattle took your last breath
At very moment, without dying, I was dead.
I see you in every facet of a single crystal
In a single flower I see you in each petal
I change my stance to see you in each tree
With outstretched arms of the branches
In all life I find you hiding and thriving
I have lost myself to the fading dreams
As snowflake melts in the summer sun
I am nothing but a stranger in my own house
+++++
Date : 10-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place Win
Contest: Eternal Breath by Gail Angel Doyle
Written for Jan Allison, who then decided I should share it for poop verse afficionados.
True story, by the way.....
There are some jobs where heeding worker's safety is required
and during operations must be suitably attired
environmental hazards mean that everyone conforms
and wearing full length protection has now become the norm.
In this case, paper snowman suit with hood and full length zip
a sturdy piece of clothing and is not inclined to rip.
Whilst clearing out some premises a worker got caught short
and knew he'd never make it to the toilet, so he thought
and made a break for the nearest hedge with a newspaper he'd bought.
Just in time he squatted down, the time lag all too brief
as out in one loud massive jet his bottom got relief.
The job now done he zipped back up and dressed just where he stood
not realising, squatting, that he'd done it in his hood.
It soon became apparent, as his headwear pulled in place
as fly attracting runny doo doo dribbled down his face
His workmates doubled up in laughter, just making it worse
as he stormed off in anger like an Oreo in reverse.
So since time immemorial, the moral's been the same
that when you go, then please do so, but
just you watch your aim.
For Jan, with love 'n hugs and trembly bits, Viv x
Initially, it appears
Jackson Pollock's interspatial painting
"Ocean - Tribute,"
overtly oversteps the boundaries of abstract art.
And the eye struggles
to validate its bewildering beauty,
hidden amongst the dribbled droplets of paint!
But then, seemingly spontaneously,
the blobs and dapples of color
intermingle in purpose.
And you see a kaleidoscope of shapes
and forms merge and disperse
into limitless shifting patterns;
as your imagination
gains access to the artist's dream.
Unique to the beholder:
interpretations tap into the imagination,
to abstractly convey cemetery and fluid motion
in the natural cadence of chaos.
Beyond beautiful; it's breathtaking!
A pancake dribbled in syrup
With cream and cherries
Chocolate lightly sprinkled over
With exotic fruits
Ooh and a tight thong
Now girls eat
Me!
I’ve not written to you for many years
Santa, I’m quite different from my peers
Not fancy or frilly like girly girls
And I don’t hanker for diamonds and pearls
Today I got the most terrible news
My muse abandoned me. She's on a cruise!!!
She’ll be sailing around the world for years
I'm bereft and can’t stem my salty tears
Oh Santa dear, please take pity on me
I need a skilled muse to write poetry
I’m heartbroken without her by my side
Could you bring one to me on this Yuletide
It would be the most perfect Christmas gift
Please tell me that this year I won't get stiffed!
~ ~ ~ ~
You may not have my name at this address
But Santa, it’s time for me to confess
I've been on your naughty list all this year
I'm the one who put Ex Lax in your beer
And I thought while you were stuck in my loo
I'd try to tempt you in my basque of blue
But you clutched your tummy. You looked quite sick
With loo roll in hand, you ran out so quick
You chastised me as you dribbled brown gloop
Said you’d seen my name at Poetry Soup!
You'd read my poems and you wouldn't be hard
With my dire style, I’m no threat to the Bard
Last Christmas was such a catastrophe
I apologise, will you forgive me?
~ ~ ~ ~
I’ve divulged to all how I’ve misbehaved
and beg the laxative mishap be waived
(You’ve not visited since I was a child
when my behaviour ran totally wild!)
I’ve taken my punishment on the chin
Bitter medicine swallowed for my sin
If you can find forgiveness in your heart
I will try my best to make a fresh start
Santa, please deliver just one present...
A new muse would make my life more pleasant
My old one left and she might not return
My pen is poised; for witty words I yearn
A contest win with Phillip Garcia
Would rekindle my poetic career!
From My Lips To Santa's Ears Contest
Sponsored by Phillip Garcia
10 syllables per line checked with How many Syllables
12-05-17
Howling winds flung me into the sea
waves lashed kelp ropes around me
my belligerence grew when I was seized
anger brewed the tighter they squeezed
With fists raised and teeth clenched
I resisted the harder they wrenched
voice rang out in acrimonious scream
my face contorted, wild eyes agleam
spittle dribbled from cracked lips
I neared the verge of sanity's eclipse
Man is but an elfin grain of sand
a mortal never has the upper hand
when wrangling with a sea of thunder
I was punished and plowed asunder
beneath coral reefs to ocean's floor
I cursed until I could no more
My swearing wails echoed my destiny
retched was my body from an angry sea
briny foam spit me on the rocky shore
done with me like an oft beaten whore
My crime was that I'd chosen wrong
the one I loved became my swan song
Piercing needles of torrential rain
burning injections increased the pain
Such bitter tea the cruel sea can steep
and I, a crumpet, tossed in restless sleep
Howling winds flung me into the sea
waves lashed kelp ropes around me
my belligerence grew when I was seized
anger brewed the tighter they squeezed
With fists raised and teeth clenched
I resisted the harder they wrenched
voice rang out in acrimonious scream
my face contorted, wild eyes agleam
spittle dribbled from cracked lips
I neared the verge of sanity's eclipse
Man is but an elfin grain of sand
a mortal never has the upper hand
when wrangling with a sea of thunder
I was punished and plowed asunder
beneath coral reefs to ocean's floor
I cursed until I could no more
My swearing wails echoed my destiny
retched was my body from an angry sea
briny foam spit me on the rocky shore
done with me like an oft beaten whore
My crime was that I'd chosen wrong
the one I loved became my swan song
Piercing needles of torrential rain
burning injections increased the pain
such bitter tea, the cruel sea can steep
I, a crumpet, tossed in restless sleep
When fearful voices in the night began to cry,
Roaring from countless dreams behind the scream,
Dribbled eyes gazing into darkness at the vast sky,
This darksome turn, down into a wet pool of frown.
Perhaps the living of everyday hurts so much
Being stuck in this world always fooling around,
Dredged with pain and despair of being watch,
Drowning with whatever pleasure can be found.
But I feel far away from the depressed bridge
Hearing echoes of merry din sounds in the distance,
Lapping floating charge, cleared and cheered the barge.
Sent in the midst, to bring glorious untwist deliverance.
Into space where stars reside in overwhelming glory,
There is only thing in life more radiant and beautiful
As the reflections beaming from an infinite galaxy,
It is a sultry truth that slides down far into our soul.
The jewels of love shines brightest in the human heart,
With universal temptations from acres of diamonds,
Shining brightly in the vast atmosphere of perfect light
Filling all the void of emptiness with unique demands.
Let love break down the walls that surround the region,
With the Eternal Light selected source of happiness,
And move belief to fill our days with deeper expectation,
By discovering love, the smoothest jewel of bliss.
(Preterition = the act of passing by or over; omission; disregard, in this case, charity)
Who can accuse him of lacking charity?
He felt the rain, cold and dank, too many people
without shelter, poorly dressed, wet and shivering.
I’d rather not talk about it. I’m like everyone else.
No one smelt the squalor of a place forgotten by mankind.
So he retired to his beautiful warm mansion.
Who can accuse him of lacking charity?
He knew well enough what charity meant.
A woman, beautiful and sick trembled in front of his house.
Inadequate clothes covered her body thin. She coughed.
Some drops of blood dribbled down her cheeks.
I'm cold she murmured. But cruelly he turned away.
Merciless night saw her wane as she lay exposed to the storm.
Don’t talk to me about charity. I know what it is.
I’d rather talk about beautiful things.
Morning came and found her dead.
They buried her outside the town in a forgotten grave.
Stop talking to me about charity. Tell me where I failed?
Alas, no bells tolled her demise.
They left her to the numb unfeeling cold
And slowly turned back to town leaving her to the merciless sleet.
Ashamed he felt that he should pray. May she rest in peace.
You see, he knew what charity means.
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
The sky, heavy-laden with curdled black clouds,
Burst wide open, and all night long it rained.
It pitter-pattered on the panes,
And rattling on the slanting roofs.
It churned the dry soil to a pulp,
Overflowed the dusty gutters.
It drove the people from the streets,
And moaned amongst the houses.
'Twas but a fluke, a summer storm
Lightning snaked the sky
Thunder rumbled and crashed
Instilling fear and panic in passers-by.
Soon it abated to a drizzle,
A thin mist shrouded the square.
And as the town clock struck the sixth hour
Ghostly figures ventured forth again.
Yet during all this precipitation
He trudged alone along the streets,
Rain dribbled through his matted hair
And wetted stubble on his dirty face.
It cleansed his external demeanour
From the grime of past lazy days,
It could do nothing to eradicate
The heaviness that filled his inner self.
The air was warm, and strange enough
He felt little discomfort from the rain.
The vault of heavy clouds ascended,
The breeze was gentle and fresh.
He went back to his favourite place,
The bakery shop has not yet opened,
From its cellars hot dry air
Surged up, surrounded by his whole being,
Warming him from the wet chill.
He soaked up the fragrant smell
And yearning for freshly baked bread,
A luxury he could ill afford.
And so he continued on his journey,
Alone, atoning for his past.
Hungry and desolate and chained,
Externally cleansed by the drenching rain
Until the day he'd die.
the dogs were happy
did not have to dig deep
in bomb craters and
makeshift graves
they licked at pulverized bones
and liquefied brains
slurped up the proceeds of war
and roamed the street
sluggish and flatulent
saliva dribbled as well
from the industrial military complex
fused joy with sore fingers
from counting the money
Dmitri wondered
what had become of his folks
and where the flowers had gone
before he pegged his rag doll
to a skull bone that floated
in a sewer of lost hope
his young soul was confused
with reality and fake news
and yet his scarred mind
was never far from revenge
as he waded through carnage and destruction
he found remains of his pet
and smeared a bloody reminder
on his feverish forehead
picked up a land mine
and bode farewell to one of his arms
because the weapon exploded
never one to cease with belligerent ease
[To the tune of Ghost Riders In The Sky (loosely)]
*
Heaven’s almost everywhere but mainly upon high
Santa Claus delivers there cos he’s that kind of guy
The lack of any lavatory almost made him cry
He tried to keep his legs crossed but he dribbled from the sky
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
The holy choir tinkles as they travel on their way
Sprinkling golden showers ’cross the moonlit sky today
They have no private place to pee which fills them with dismay
For there’s no public toilets... in the Milky Way
Gabriel is struggling cos he’s been out on the beer
His guts are throwing tantrums and he tries to plug his rear
He knows he’s gonna poop his pants that fact is fairly clear
For there’s no public toilets... in the upper atmosphere
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Saint Peter has some turbulence and says a little prayer
He needs to poop and piddle but there’s nowhere private there
He’s sure he gonna throw up and become a vomit sprayer
For there’s no public toilets... in the ozone layer
Satan’s uncle pooped himself, how will he show his face
Public humiliation, he’s in permanent disgrace
He couldn’t hold it in although he found no private place
For there’s no public toilets... on the edge of space
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Grim, the reaper belched and burped, his tummy grumbled loud
His fart was wet but silent, he was glad because he’s proud
Grim is really trying not to throw up over crowds
For there’s no public toilets... high above the clouds
The angel doubled up and squirted out a putrid spray
Santa Claus got splattered as the reindeer pulled away
All kinds of hell will rain upon a Yuletide Earth this year
For there’s no public toilets... in the stratosphere
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
7 October 2021
Contest: The Throne In Heaven
Sponsor: Jack Webster
And
Contest: Change The Record
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
Ringleted and pink cheeked, the girl child sat,
Upon the bench next to her Da and his cronies.
The Goliaths munched greasy burgers and string fries.
Dirt smudged her upturned face.
Like the remnants of the grime covering Da's overalls.
Baseball caps and factory-embroidered jackets;
Spoke of tractor pulls and manure piles ripe for the garden.
A bunch of salt laced potatoes dangled from her mitt.
Droplets of gooey ketchup dribbled from the corner of her lip.
Uncles surrounded in a girth of love so large
And as her tiny paten leather feet touched the floor
Her hand reached for Da's and the blankie.
All was right with the world.
Sleepless, the body becomes
a mind map strung out on a bed,
color coded in degrees of pain.
Each movement sends an update,
a glowing patch of deepening red
or a lava line of heat solidifying
into a poker branding plunge
with a white hot X.
Staying still is only a temporary
reprieve, a lull for nerves to reset
and crank up for the next assault.
Inhabited space pressurizes
to send throbs pounding
on the walls of each weary cell
accompanied by waves
of relentless ache.
Thoughts clamber upwards
looking for a way out
but fall back into a dark
gravity, consumed by
that agonizingly slow countdown
when the next dose of oblivion
can be dribbled out of a pill
which, with any luck,
should get you through
until morning creeps across
your bed
with another installment.