Best Groveling Poems
Slipping into my silver-gray SUV
Nicknamed " Sly Buster Cruiser”
I speed off down the rocky, off-highway road.
Twisting and reeling like my wired mind,
windows down, sunroof open,
(Annie Lennox groveling on the CD player),
reckless noon rays on my chin,
wind on ticklish, naked nape ...
Damn, who cares? I am 19 again?
Shuffling into the 7-Eleven Store
beside the Shell gas station
(With a free wind shield clean-up),
I draw out some bucks for a Philip Morris pack
and a two bottles of beer, plus a Dorito
( the barbecue flavor , please)…
Ain’t a drinker; a smoker on occasion,
but I feel like being reckless and
slightly rebellious ;
I lock the door prepping up for an untamed ride.
Grabbing a spray of cologne mist
and red-violet lipstick from the tote,
my irises roll from the lane to the side mirror,
as I slowly dunk the beer, icy and bubbly
zooming away with hands laughing on the wheels.
Nobody knows me in this place; my ribs shout silently:
This is just all for me; just now, I’ll be.
This is just between me and the edge of a free road.
This is about my navel breathing fire and ice,
It’s about touching danger fast without reason or fuzz
Because later, all this smooth craziness will soon pass.
Back to the same home trail, I rip the cigarette sticks,
slide the unused bottle in my bag
before wiping the red on lips with the Dorito foil…
“ Mommy, Mommy… where have you been?”
I smile as if my skin had chased a tornado…
Dumping the beer on the back porch,
My hand is cleansed by some kind of holy water,
And I start to hug my mischievous girl...
Then off I start to roll the plates on the sinking sink.
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Celebrating My Faves Contest
For Andrea Dietrich--Faved by Sponsor
Reposted 4/24/2016
Categories:
groveling, adventure,
Form:
Free verse
Who'll speak for the children?
I see the images
emaciated bodies
skin on bones
hopeless eyes
ravaged souls
Who'll speak for the children?
while super powers play
the death toll speeds ahead
nobody speaks
third world souls
not so important
mass shootings are grieved
as they should be
as they should be
but...a soul is a soul
who'll speaks for the children of Yemen?
who speaks for those poor children
are third world souls less valuable
than first world ones?
Who'll speak for the children of Yemen
suffering for the sake of politics
dirty dirty word
dirty dirty world
dirty dirty propoganda
my soul weeps
but who am I?
I sit cocooned in my room
fattened by my good life
enjoying my wealth and status
It's easy to weep
in some far off country
It's easy to bemoan the plight
that's not my child
that's not me groveling for food
that's not me willing to sell my soul
to buy medicine for my family
to stay death
that's not me
that's not you
Who'll speak out for the children of Yemen?
Our silence will accuse us
when judgement day comes round
when that trumpet will sound
there will not be silence
Who will speak out for the children?
Who will help the children?
Who will love the children?
Who will die for the children?
Will YOU?
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
groveling, war,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
When we first met, I was
caring
sharing
loving
to you
After awhile together, you were
abusing
bruising
confusing
to me
Now that I'm alone, I am
groveling
cowering
cringing
to everyone
Blows that bruise the face
can heal without a trace
But words keep their ugly embrace
that time can never erase
Feeling worthless is a place
that takes real strength to ever out race.
Categories:
groveling, recovery from...
Form:
Sweep then across the flowing sea of time
to stand unseen amid a stinking horde
and there behold the rich who turn away
or groveling poor that vaguely beckon—
surveying misery's grimy bounds of each.
Wretched feeble ones of withered limb
and clouded eye—ladies in their rags—
ignored by ones who might have paused and bent
but never did, to burden beggars' bowls,
nudging them from darkness into light.
Categories:
groveling, poverty,
Form:
Blank verse
I'm tired of you ladies, up in my face!
Screaming for justice, it's such a disgrace!
You whine then you wiggle,
You wag and you wail,
I think any day now you'll put me in jail!
Is there anything less than a groveling fool,
That can keep you contented, keep you just cool?
I've worked every day,
No, really I did!
And now I'm a piker, a user, a kid!
Do the wheels on you auto go left and go right?
Do you see in the evening with magical light?
The gold in your earrings,
The gems on your hands,
I dug them for you, my beautiful friends!
With sweat on my brow
And pain in my back,
My deeds have been righteous.
Damn;
Why do you attack!
Someday you'll wise up and see with an eye
That will not judge fellas and make us all cry!
Your blessings are many,
Your gifts are sublime,
So now can we cuddle, I brought you some wine.
Categories:
groveling, anti bullying, friendship, funny
Form:
Rhyme
~I don't need, In case you haven't heard~
I don't need to strip for no crown, unless you desire large breast
Casarah, there's no need to be deluded by money hungry psychics,
Reading leaves from a tea cup, a misguided fortune of bribes
Can't you see satin gold already streams through my veins
It's not about wanting it bad or how low I would go
I don't need to threaten you or order dominoes
Never would I clean or do your chores,
Rather, I bet you look good dressed as a French Maid
Cleaning and writing around the beauty of everything
Forget the honorable mention, I want first place
This is your week, blank out the pretenders, fakers and haters
They will never have your back once the contest close
As for me, you've been on my dinner plate, since day one
I don't need a grammar base pen, rhyme pattern to win
What I got is hotter, by far the best rates on everything
I don't need Jan to be my friend, Andrea, to address me with a hello
What I have is satisfaction and loyalty everywhere I go.
I got flaws hotter than the sun, strutting my stuff just for you
No need to scratch my back, what we need is a back massage for two
Calgon will give us the youth Greek Gods can't top in 60 seconds
Unwrap yourself from Broken vines, it's time you deal with--
a moon as gold as every word you ever poured from your pen
Let's enjoy the Groveling moon, together we can enslave and take control
You don't need a genie lamp, you are worth more than diamonds and pearls
Together we can toss that lamp back into the Silent of the shadows
Before, greed becomes a misery --- Casarah darling
I got to admit 1,000.000.000 dollars sounds decent
Too bad, Michael's check bounced before it had a chance
Together let's take these sweet little bribes and make the world of it
Flip the bird, burn down all abandon houses
Built another strong community, wait, something is amiss!
Someone owes a gambling debt, coming to you with casino chips
Casarah, I'm not trying to please your mind, or give voice to my bride
I don't NEED to give what you already earn in your honest way
What I want is to win, no attorney needed - I rest my case
Love the Poet Destroyer
Categories:
groveling, crazy, creation, dedication, desire,
Form:
Alliteration
Kinky boots ...
kicking naked truth
Stripped bare
down to the nightshade roots
Temptress gaze ...
collecting laundered money
off the dirty parquet
Her pay-for-play
get the tilted short cups
ice cubes rattling
See the lecherous throats
swallow the fermented, lewd offering
Let ‘em feel the venom sting:
Allow the paid, slow death foreplay
to snake swamp drain into their pee brain
Seduction Fay Wray eyes
swinging ‘round a metal pole
Medusa headdress affixed at the top
Turning men’s lusty ape bones
into limp chimp stones
Got a Cleopatra guillotine bed,
ready to give
scissor heads a mean Herodian lop
Liquor urging lip gallows to put
a tip squeeze between the bust
And a little rump jiggle
have ‘em groveling in the dust
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she-devil
of such enormous bosom beauty
Daughter of Baal,
Arch duchess of hell
Quenching taboo thirst
with another flesh set of sleaze
Shakedown the pockets
of the bottom feeders
with flimsy lingerie leggy tease
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she of buxom royalty
Vixen kitty, who shows no pity
Feline daughter of the first unveiled dancer,
who STD burned
every lost soul guest
at Hades inaugural purge orgy
Categories:
groveling, allegory, sexy, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Burlesque
Bony knuckles raking gloomy halls
Chambers echoing fate’s footfalls
Slumping shoulders and deathly grins
Recounting on fingers, countless sins
Shuddering, shivering in godless fears
Admonishing my guilt, the end, it nears
Cowering in silence, holding my breath
Smelling foul odors of impending death
Grasping and groveling a final chance
Embracing, mating, in fatal romance
Facing my fears in a sorrowful stare
Fingertips gracing my tendrils of hair
Ghastly screams erupt pouting lip
Into the darkness my soul does slip
Categories:
groveling, dark, death, destiny, fate,
Form:
Rhyme
Disgusting could be a weaker word to express the scene,
Nauseating and stomach-churning the locus has been;
Sliding, slithering, groveling, crouching, crawling, creeping,
Filling, feeling, and falling they were seeping and sleeping...!
Crab, lynx, silk, orb, ogre... varieties were within,
Specimen of many species, yet, resembled akin;
Weaving webs and entwining each other they pulled, and pushed,
Weighing and wheeling their bodies across they looked ambushed...!
Shooting silk out of their abdomen, they preyed on insects,
Powerful they all seemed as though with venomous effects;
The patience and persistence they practice can be adored,
Midst their ugliness their role in the world can't be ignored...!!!
03 June 2023
Bag of Spiders Poetry Contest
Bag of Spiders Poetry Contest
Categories:
groveling, insect, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
I want to be me, but I want us too.
I am not me unless you are part of me.
I deserve one more chance.
Everybody does actually.
One mistake does not make a relationship
So why should it break one?
Especially a good one.
We are part of each other, for life.
You cannot discard me. Disrespect me, sure.
Maybe I deserve a bit of that, but we are linked for life.
We are blood; you cannot deny that.
I want to be me, but I want us too.
I am not me unless you are part of me
So forgive me. I am begging you.
I know I am not perfect, but I am your imperfect person.
Whatever I have to do, I will do. Please just ask. The answer is yes.
Categories:
groveling, marriage,
Form:
Free verse
A. W. Nutter
Monotonous music assaults my ears
The beat, becoming a hypnotic tone
To half clad men as nighttime nears
Dancing around their prayer stone
Worshiping the ancient engravings
A Lycan, portrayed as the master
The human reduced to groveling
Begging for mercy from his captor
The music increases in intensity
Chanting from the dancers begins
Working themselves into a frenzy
Ready to release the beast within
Random killing, is not their mission
The Trinities plan must be defiled
To destroy mans hope of salvation
The pack, seeks Bethlehem's child
As soon as transformation begins
The right hand of God will fall
Saving the son from demons sins
Gods warriors, answering the call
The mens faces begin distorting
Howls of pain, fills the night air
Signal given, warriors descending
Lycans trapped within our snare
Swords are drawn, blood is spilled
The head Lycan, begging for mercy
Raising my sword prophesy fulfilled
Last of the breed killed for his heresy
Categories:
groveling, adventure, imaginationmusic, prayer, music,
Form:
Rhyme
I seek a place that leaves no trace
Of venomous blood and tainted heart
I seek a place that holds only grace
Of righteous hearts and caring thoughts
I seek a place that broods not on hate
But of a tranquilized soul and an intellectual eye
I seek a place that is haven to a guilt-filled heart
Let it not, Oh! Wretched Passionate heart!!
Let me not succumb to such ardency
Let me not, dear god! Yield in to such tyranny
To extract such murky ardor is all I ask
I dine with seething lassitude brought forth by such a task
Dear nature where has it gone, my obliged gratitude
From you, I have averted a heart
That comes to you now seeking! Asking! Groveling! For pardon
Almighty nature, which once has soothed a brute within me
Please! Dear god! I beg thee do not forsake
I come to you humbly meekly seeking an unfeasible amnesty
For I drown in to the abyss of thirst of farfetched enlightenment
And only now I know“how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how
much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who
aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.”
*Inspired by Frankenstein’s tormented conscious *
~M.M.M
Categories:
groveling, depression, inspirational, loss, nature,
Form:
Lyric
I found myself
Wandering across
A dreamscape
That was not my own;
And wondering
About the many
Dreamscapes of
The wanderers,
Suddenly seeing
That I was wandering
The dreamscape of
The wonderers of
The wanderers
That still wonder;—
A dreamscape
All my own and
Still not mine.
I found myself
Moseying with
The meanderers;
Found we were
Bound by an
Identical path,
One of us being
Leisurely, the
Other clueless.
Me, moseying,
Smelled the rose
Of the meanderer,
Who, meandering,
Saw me moseying
And assumed
I simply walked
Slowly; he also
Failed to see
That he held
A flower in his
Unmindful hand.
I found myself
Sleepwalking
Amongst the
Somnambulists,
Questioning their
Dreamscapes,
Why wandering
Them apparently
Was pleasing.
And they cursed
Me, declaring,
"What can a
"Sleepwalker
"Know about
"Somnambulism?"
So I found myself
Sleepwalking
Amongst the
Somnambulists,
The somnambulists
somnambulating
Over us
Sleepwalkers'
Heads, demanding
We succumb
To the greater
Mindful power.
I found myself
Graveled by
The grovelers—
Irritated by
The peasants.
The grovelers,
They grovel for
Me not to be
Graveled at
Their mistakes.
Yet the mistake
Is the groveling
At the graveled;
And how graveled
At the grovelers
I am. It is a circular
Conversation—
The grovelers
Shall die in
The dungeons
Of the graveled,
Trapped in
Perpetuation.
Categories:
groveling, humor, words,
Form:
Alliteration
The Moby Dick Reunion
One hundred fifty nine years have passed
Since Melville published his novel.
Seven hundred twenty pages in length
Some say it was much too nautical.
All of the characters have gathered.
They’re going to have a reunion.
Rumor has it, they say, that Herman himself
Is making a huge revelation.
Ishmael is the first to arrive,
And it’s he who was telling the story.
That’s only right, in the book he survived,
He deserves to get all the glory.
Fedallah and Moby were next in line,
Just in from the Dr. Phil Show.
Their friendship had grown a lot lately.
The harpooner was psychic you know!
When he and Phil studied the big fishes mind,
They found out his reason for anger.
The fact that he was albino
Had burned in his mind like a canker.
Ahab, it seems, was equally mean,
And caused a lot of his stress.
He’d cornered the whale with harpoon boats,
And offered no way for egress.
Moby’s life has been changed forever.
He’s hitched to a really cute killer.
She’s working part time at Sea World,
Seems they needed a sub for their “killer”.
The pub where they met was named Starbucks,
In honor of the owner.
The first mate was rich as a pirate.
He could even afford to buy toner.
Then through the door entered Ahab,
With a prosthesis and brand new pipe.
He finally learned to be happy,
And enjoyed a simpler life.
With him was Herman Melville,
A screenplay under his arm.
One thousand pages he’d written,
About whalers who lived on a farm?
The crew didn’t give their attention.
By now, they were tanked up on rum.
He said he was going to Hollywood,
And if they were smart they would come.
But Ahab and Moby were sobbing.
Tears falling into their mugs.
After all of their trials they found friendship
In the bottom of a jug.
Herman begged them to go make the movie.
But, their lives were happier now.
They all had families to care for,
And no urge for taking a bow.
It seems that while Melville was groveling,
Pip and Ishmael had stolen the play.
They put it in Queequey’s coffin,
And watched it float slowly away.
That was the end of the reunion.
They all went home that night,
Happy with the realization,
That their lives were all just right!
Categories:
groveling, parody
Form:
Verse
Desert Peace
Man's desire to live apart
savage and unruly.
Hiding out among misfits;
kindred spirits.
Entwining allegiances
bask softly in the desert sun,
desperate to find a peace.
Peace that blooms in every soul,
each one at his own pace.
Growling and groveling until havoc is wracked
and there is nothing more left to bleed.
Summon strength from the hearts weakness.
Commit thyself doubly,
as you would a passion pursuit.
A lonely soul is one whose direction is misspent.
Live as the lizards and mice and hawks do.
Quiet, peaceful-obedient to self.
Categories:
groveling, america, environment, friendship, happiness,
Form:
Prose Poetry