Best Grout Poems
Yer briny whore
akin to boar
wit' mangy hide 'n scurvy-pocked
chomped 'n chewed
me black 'n blue
wit' carnassial chompers as of croc
Be curs'd, yer nit
me ample bits
equated ter yer own be nowt
yerz be carnivorous
scaly 'n scabrous
yer plaque be axed ter beef up grout
Uncomely wench
yer skunky stench
blunted me hook 'n scorched me beard
me peepers stung
me hornpipe hung
shorn ter th' bone 'n shrivelled 'n seared
Comely 'n curvy
riddled wit' scurvy
th' cap'n's whore-maid tooken yer whole
yer rat o' th' sea
holed and *****
yer fired yer cannon in a rottin' port'ole
Blow me down, lover!! I love it when we talk dirty.
(Hahahaha. I see the Soup powers-that-be deleted my word. I swear it's not used as a swearword. The word rhymes with "hussy". lol)
Sticky smears on the table top.
on the couch spilled soda pop
one chewed up shoe and one flip-flop
I’m doomed to clean this mess non-stop
Greasy dog bones gone astray
found buried in the rug today
the hamster made a getaway
where he’s gone it’s hard to say.
The shower drain is plugged, I swear
the tub has grout and needs repair
dirty laundry everywhere.
it really is a mess out there.
Under beds dust bunnies show
all closets are on overflow
the fridge is packed with things that grow
dishes clog the sink, I know.
Spaghetti sauce dumped on the floor
12 eggs broke, need I say more
fingerprints on every door
this place, a never-ending chore
Just when I think things can’t get worse
the leaking fish tank cracked and burst
40 gallons was dispersed
I think this house is cursed.
In every corner, ledge and groove
dirt and grim must be removed
there’s one solution I approve
pack your things, we’re going to move!
Liz Relly – 3/06/2012
“Cobwebs and Dust” Contest (new start)
Lenny was 30 and still living with his old cheese, everyone called, Lenny’s mum.
She was always on his Cadbury Snack to go find a trouble and strife for a chum.
“Geez, leave off mum, I’ve been looking down at the Punchbowl rubbity Dub”.
“Well Lenny, go to the grab a granny at the Rissole, Fridý night will ya luv”.
Friday came, Lenny put on his best bag of fruit and fired up his old VS Dunny Door.
With his pay in his sky rocket as he hit the frog and toad with the peddle to the floor.
Mum put some of dad’s old brill cream in his Fred Astaire before he left the house.
“Be good Lenny, me little china plate, if ya need a lift home give me a Wally Grout”.
Jenny was on the rock ‘n’ roll so she saved up her oxford scholars for a big night out.
She wasn’t flash to look at, with her bifocal monkey’s arses but she had a good jam tart.
She walked into the Rissole, tilting her leg as she let rip a decent Royce Hart.
Her dad would’ve said, “A bit more choke and it would’ve made you start”.
Jenny met Lenny at the near ‘n far, knowing he was giving her the old Captain Cook.
Introductions made and Lenny thought she was a bit of alright, as he had a second look.
They hit it off after Jenny’s Third vodka and Lenny’s fifth schooner of pigs ear.
Feasting on bar snacks of party dogs eyes, Jenny dripping the dead horse in Lenny’s beer.
A couple of young blokes walk up to Jenny and tried to give her Reg Grundies a flick.
Jenny started throwing cut lunches, smashing him on the Lionel Rose, then gave him a kick.
Lenny intervened, saying, “We don’t want any froth and bubble.” Before thing got nasty.
He took Jenny outside screaming, “He’s got a face like a half eaten pasty”.
And that’s how Lenny and Jenny met, Lenny’s mum was happy seeing Lenny with stars in his mud pies.
They got cash ‘n carried, had a couple of billy lids, that loved to eat burgers and fries.
It’s not at all romantic, but that’s how most Aussie love stories go.
Lenny and Jenny together forever, They’re mates most of us will know.
If I could only maneuver about
Or manipulate this stone
Then perhaps, by chance
I'd loosen the grout
This mountain, I would hone
Maybe I could toggle a bit
Molding my world of clay
Evaluate and calculate
Every inch of every day
If luck would have it
I'd be dealt a pleasing hand
If smart enough to grab it
I could answer the game's demands
But experience whispers
Reminders from the past
Struck down by spurs
Unfinished tasks
Just a thought that I've been thinking
An idea I've bounced around
Proceeding ideas that resulted in sinking
Inevitably we all will drown
So I become quiet, calm and still
The evil voices subside
I fall to my knees, before God, I kneel
Surrendering worldly pride
I hear a verse, I've heard before
It lingers and rolls off my tongue
I can do all things through Christ
Once I open the door
I recall the cross where he hung
My charred motivation begins to spark
Before long, my fire, restored
For that moment my vision is razor sharp
It belongs to me once more
I know that there will come a season
Floods of frustration will take my breath again
A chill of doubt will leave me freezing
If I am quite enough, I'll hear God's voice through the wind
walls crawling
inside out
Escher etching
fingernail grout
staring at stares
plaid throughout
plied and played
guts splayed out
wailing away
in bars in stout
To the legendary teacher I pay tribute
For imparting live voices to the mute
You paid gratitude
To the multitude
On the mountain top you stood
And all the heads understood
You never said ‘Never’
As admired in Geneva;
Tremendous work for real
Remains in me a thrill!
You explored the world
Left in me a living word
Instilled sight onto my mind
In place of being blind.
Domesticated me where I went wild
I lost you – I remain worried
Your education
Was a dedication
For my emancipation
Through marked participation
Hot springs of wits gush out of turgid mazards
Thus; unleashing veracity poses no hazards
From the famous profit and loss account
To how elasticity of demand is paramount
The art of blending species of flora in the gardens,
Merging ideas to console those carrying burdens
Powders mixed to thwart the woes of gout
For chemical blending of dust into ceramic tiles and grout
Artistic laying of tiles with no doubt,
Farmers add granules of compounds to combat drought
Mixing small grains into carling draught
Or into flour and oil for palatable dishes and crust
Spinning of the ginnery, linen craft
Crafting aprons which the chefs trust
Perpendicular tors of triumph echo from Arithmetic
Beneficiaries seducing lasses with cosmetics.
Rhyming rhythms of iambic pentameter;
With 13 amps flowing – records the ammeter,
Or 6 000 amps of the high voltage arc
Fusing rival elements into the Ark
Compelling hard cores of high resistance
Leaving them for complete ‘non-existence’.
We had signed the Teacher concession;
Of study, participation and concentration,
That was the ‘Moyo Treaty’.
Though the exam is always tricky
Finally we dilute the concentrate
Textbook to notes - our carbohydrate.
I recalled my teacher through secondary
That he knew no boundary
He taught to set apart
What had been one part
He taught negative effects of Mainstay,
But God has the main stay
That death has a long stay!
Water is enough to stay!
In that his last essay
He scribbled a lot I can’t say
Keys of wisdom I surrender
We can’t be put asunder
Teacher – pupil
Your words I fulfill
I can now feel
A gap I can’t fill!
Zorora murugare, Lala ngokuthula!
rip me open, inside out
straddler feeling, he came out
drag me along, make me bleed
fake your love, I don't feed
screams for help , I, the silent grout
“Kafka Disordered”
Kafka disordered
never complete
in himself
burning stories
fuel for Nero
dreams of you
reading him
wrapt under
the covers
of his last pages
tattooing his voice
on your tongue
lips pass keys
legs entwined
love notes
never run
Metamorphosis
the trial
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Mirror Forever" / Weyes Blood
https://youtu.be/tQ1CH2_Arws
"Andromeda" / Weyes Blood
https://youtu.be/Aki1Xn36eJ8
“Every thing you love
is very likely to be lost,
but in the end,
love will return
in a different way.”
Franz Kafka
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Kafka
https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/gladiators/nero.html
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_macguffin_1054682
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MacGuffin
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizoid_personality_disorder
A child in the shopping Mall, wearing Superman kit,
leaps up with one arm in the air and tries to fly a bit.
With dreams of being bulletproof and lifting heavy things,
and all the other powers being a superhero brings.
Such innocent exuberance he'll find, as time goes on
will be replaced with other things that he will wish upon.
As years go by, no wish to fly, such talents would not be missed
so here I state the humble gifts I'd have on such a list.
To put my socks on, standing up, not falling on the bed,
remember that the doorway's low when in my garden shed.
To bend and pick things off the floor without giving off a groan
put up and close the ironing board, and do it all alone
read what's in a tin of soup without using a microscope
when shopping, use self-service tills and not look such a dope.
Mix a pack of custard that don't look like tiling grout
and thread a needle first time without my tongue hanging out.
All necessary talents as quickly the time flies
and- hang on...I've mislaid my keys-
can I have x-ray eyes?
Life is hard, tough, rough, like a brilo-pad
Growing up, street smart was all I had
I had no choice but to turn to the hood
It's difficult trying to change for the good
What do you do when there's nowhere to turn?
Before you decide, look back, what did you learn?
Try to survive, I'm gon' do the same
Stuck in this world, heart full of pain
Money cover evil, trying to stay sane
Cash keeps flowing, like blood to the brain
Rappin' ain't like hustling, it's a whole different game
came through a struggle, my ankle got a sprain
Haters don't care, nobody gon' look out
Everybody's grillin', but this ain't a cookout
Bullets keep flyin', that's what the scare's about
Life's rough, like the stuff between tile, grout
The hood's full of hate, what happened to love
Too many little misfits, like a tiny glove
Put haters in dirt, that's what I call gardenin'
My heart's colder than water, when it starts hardenin'
Call me care-free, I ain't got no worries
Life don't always end well, like fairy-tale stories
Homey eyes of peasant stew
A cozy-colored mossy mew
Stony cottage, snowcheeks bleu
The forest fins for frosted fruits.
The warmest thought speaks crumbly bread
A partridge purr puffs through my head
That grants the grunkest grue a ‘Get!’
To packrat out the paquerettes.
Don’t see the speech I say with sneer
As something to be had with beer
Don’t bucker bricks of buttered bleers
And sift strunk talk through quandarous weirs.
The clothes and shelter of your mouth
Has cleaned my frame as cold as south
For queeks are quay, oh when you quoth
And yokel twirls are yaws of youth.
Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.
Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt with you with bread and jam
Is all I am, is all I am…
A blanket for the rawest nerve
A babe beyond the laws of earth
A smile sways the swooping surf
And gifts sweet goods of grinning girths.
Your hair? An electric guitar!
With sprinkles of suburban stars
Might smell of smelting lemon bars
Each strand a sacred seminar.
That hark the realms of Everfar!
And halt the helms of Neverare!
That licks the lich that leavens scars!
Screams “Non septimo, sempris quar!”
I believe you’re Good, I mean you’re blessed
With holy elks that guard your breast
Whose rumps remain on royal chests
And watch for wendigos out West.
A soul of Greyhound bus views darkly
Hushed in cornfields crumps so starkly
With windmills waning wicks so barky
Olive Garden oligarchies.
Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.
Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt and jibe with you with bread and jam,
Is all I am, is all I am.
Rub-a-dub-dub
Three men in a tub
What were they doing there?
A grout guy, a plumber
Not sure who was dumber
The third guy to open the beer!
Subjects queue for choices less seldom
sewn seeds ready to sprout,
fleeting moments of freedom,
governments consumed in filth and grout.
Primordial resistance prepares,
soldiers wait and scout,
democratic fulfillment dares,
shattered peoples, voices shout.
Tortured by feelings of trust
fortunes for elitists to flout.
Contrariety of notions reflect,
streets abandoned, emptied of clout,
misdealt and sorrowful hearts misled,
fallen foes, voices pout.
(fledgling nations, North Africa)
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
For all who suffer Arthritic pain
they know when it’s going to rain
aches in joints, won’t go away
just got to get through another day
We all have it to some degree
I know you feel it more than me
I try to support you when I can
and do some jobs, but I’m just a man
Can’t do the wash the way you like
I think it’s only in your psych
blacks and whites don’t wash together
hang things out, but watch the weather
That can fade, hang inside out
that will need three pegs no doubt
hang by the top, to keep it straight
coat hanger there, to take the weight
cooking needs a whole new plan
I used to cook as a single man
but eggs and bacon wont suit her needs
something fancy, full of seeds
Steak Dianne, that sounds real nice
Worcester sauce and oven fries
thickened cream and parsley fine
a dash of Brandy, or maybe wine
I really wish that I could do it
people say there’s nothing to it
if that’s what she wants, then all I say
you can make it, when your better eh.
Housekeeping is where I really shine
vacuum, dusting, it all looks fine
don’t move the armchairs, don’t look behind
‘cause if you do, then dust you’ll find
Then into the bathroom, that’s a lovely place
scrub the grout and tiles, till you can see your face
all the glass and mirrors, must be bright and clean
and finish with the toilet bowl, polished to a sparkling sheen.
I proudly say “I’m Finished” (it’s taken me 2 days)
and now comes the inspection, to learn the error of my ways
that’s nice she says, its saved me time, and I’m feeling better too
and the rain may clear tomorrow, so thanks a lot to you.
(she’s nice)
the tattoo on her eyebrow frowned
at the sight of yesteryear’s cutlass
the well-rounded blade had become
blunt dull and worn down from overuse
and yet straight to the point of salvation
the pain cut unceremoniously deep
like a double-edged sword that
protracted the kill in anticipation
of slicing from a lacerated mind
saw teeth serenaded an ode to demise
one more incision and the blood flow
would take her across the river of tears
lacerated dreams punctured and carved into
her epitaph a forgone pleasant conclusion
the point of no return loomed un-capriciously
her wounds had festered in purulent beauty
and she appealed to her inner resolve
why prolong the inevitable release
and she was calm with no tremor
as she faced the extinction of terror
her glance fell upon the scalpel
next to the toothbrush and lather
and the mirror liked what it saw
cracked glass a few shards missing
a borrowed fantasy and reflection
of a bloody life unwanted as she
pondered upon what message
to inscribe on her tombstone
the shower curtain ready for a last splash
cheered her on ‘don’t you worry’
‘I’m easy to clean the mess will abide’
grout bleach and tiles lured a whitewash
and the toilet brush smiled in applause
cacophonous bristles caked in foul smell
took her closer to the crappy memories
which had darkened a life not worthy
of living and she let out a flatulent moan
ultimate and terminal the fizz pounced
and she gripped the rapier with
surgical precision and intricate joy
then Occam’s razor pleaded for parsimony
and she went back to self-laceration
prolonged suicide suited agony’s hurt
much better than a knife in her heart
17th May 2021
Knife’s Edge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh