Best Lisps Poems
it comes in rapid progression
parting reality with subtle lisps. brown eyes
a forest floor of fern
ever changing with the seasons
(a smile, a smirk)
preying hands collapsing
across sable skin too soft to wear. desire
wanting nothing more than
a moment prescribed as birds fly northeast
( a touch as noticeable)
just a sidewalk untraveled. saturated
by the wishful wisp of morning
softness of dew fingertips, thrust of a pulse
wanting nothing more than to be inhaled
(breath chasing the calm)
sensation measuring the lazy waltz
of the second hand,
time calculating reflections. frozen
in the simplest seldom fleeting look
(walking while talking)
our embrace mimic the trees
arm in arm--stride in stride
you have become myself. scent
of winter chanting a glance mirrored by deflection
(welcome the bundle of fire)
twisting our words imitating sounds
nearby vultures at a feast. carnivores
circling our mouths with no purpose
wanting to say what we know
(speechless sleep)
awkward postures resembling
Greek gods bathing in spilled nectar. measurement
of mathematical equations
melding together thoughts through
(a passing glimpse)
Categories:
lisps, love, passion, time
Form:
Free verse
Our house is abuzz
With Me, Bella and Jess
And Mummy is all delight
“Dad’s coming home tonight! “
The Cake has been made
The table has been laid
Candles are alight
Dad will be home tonight!
Mum’s wearing polka dots
Dress, Dad had bought
She looks pretty, so bright!
Dad will be home tonight.
Jess was only two
When dad had to go
He still remembers him, right?
Can’t wait for Dad tonight!
Bella’s dream is a soprano
And so deft with the piano
She will make it a musical nite
When daddy’s home tonight!!
But me? I am a bit too shy
So I did this song on the sly
Plan to place it under his desk-light
Hope Dad will read it tonight!
Dad may have stories from afar
Of his travels and the war
Tales of nobility and military might
At the dinner table tonight.
Just imagine him at the door
Big smile, Open arms for us four
His loving grasp will be tight
When he comes home tonight.
There is a knock on the door!
We all cheer and roar!!
Mum is there on a flight,
Jess lisps, “is it already tonight?”
Four soldiers stand at our gates,
They must be his work mates,
Mum’s voice is soft in fright
“Is he coming home tonight?”
Voices drown as the men depart
Mum is back, her hand on heart
Slowly her legs yield to her weight
“Daddy won’t be coming home tonight!”
Categories:
lisps, 10th grade, 8th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
A threadbare sigh relentlessly lisps
while he begs with twilight
for inner calm;
Dear life...he is just a young man,
wobbly feet wanting to run away
from unknown ground which reeks of
territorial conquest, of violence inhumane
as spitting bang of bullets explodes:
Just like one nameless label
of life's bloody route ,
he turns into a fetal shape on the road
leading to nowhere; not even hell--
till grunts of combat lamentations
echo upon the breeze;
crushed grains hurling a lone figure
half alive, half lifeless
with rosary beads on his neck...
amidst purgatory of eve.
Categories:
lisps, angst, poverty, war,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Beneath the arc of crumbling dusk,
Lisps down the petals of the rose
To crimson-kiss the fountain bowls
Where the champagne faucet flows.
The guests in boarding houses
Felt the smoulder of their bones
Balding walls restricting transit
Behind the mortar work and stones.
And we cried and smiled and cheered
When the anaesthetic rushed,
As the opiate of media
Camouflaged the broke and crushed.
Oh, tomorrow they are married,
And the next day we will wake,
To our debts and thoughts of dying
In a world we didn’t make.
Yet today in celebration
We salute the future King,
Feed us pomp and circumstance,
We’ll bow and kiss your ring.
Categories:
lisps, political, social, wedding
Form:
Rhyme
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.
Categories:
lisps, fruit, language, love, nature,
Form:
Verse
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
Categories:
lisps, childhood, fantasy, childrenchild, child,
Form:
Narrative
in the rusty tide animating bones
of deluded gods reaching for the lie
etched on eroded steles in dead lisps
licking flames of seers tossing guts
filled with blue and red fascists
infecting the hands of the curious
willing to taste microscopic spiders
gulping their blood pumping poisonous
chants of starlit fevers soaking doubts
in baptismal orgasms growing fingers
measuring spirits down to the remnants
of angels sleeping in cellars drinking
emotions of residents disheveling linen
drenched fear perspiring throughout eye
movements of broken nightmares straining
to be painted in fixed oil imbued with lead
thoughts cracking in corridors hallucinating
dripping madmen sharpening revolts smearing
screeching phrases fed intravenously milking
the life of beasts for ravenous wisdom awaits
cold to the heart thuds of silence defy adages
preaching surrender to the surgeon’s pride
flashing silver pain pooling mercury bulges
of phallic power parading atrocity elements
churning in the metabolic circumference of Gaia
digesting busts of Caesars forgetting Romana
as peace basks in the annihilation of metabolism
directing the jet-streams crossing sunrise
and sunset like catholic rites glossy and gilt
flat personages etched by bright children
bending down to surrender to the priests
speechless in empty piety moaning high-
ways returning in internal engines conbusting
beside Masonic erections adorned with devils
sliding between walls where innocence lived
yellowed pages of periodicals recall fabrications
stitched into the screens of televisions changing
until the entire hymn of Satan rests in every palm
Categories:
lisps, art, christian, dark, deep,
Form:
Free verse
Hobbies are for losers, and habits are hobbies for the poor,
But hopping into heaping piles of rubbish is haute couture.
What’s in, ladies and gentlemen, is what we want thrown out,
But not to own it but instead to be it is what it’s all about.
I doubt the likes of the uncultured swine who read are sure to know,
How to throw yourself in the garbage so here’s a do it yourself below.
First we listen to the radio, turn up that Taylor Swift,
And sing along as if, like her, you think you have a gift.
Then we watch the television to watch the newest episode of the View,
And listen to the hens upchuck their clucks on vomit’s gurgled cue.
Next we watch the nightly news with Lester the Mind Molester,
Whose stroke-like Fester face spits lisps like pussies named Sylvester.
So then we reflect on what we’ve seen and heard in the pot that’s hardly stirred,
And realize that what we prefer is to be free from the jaded herd.
Yet, the only way out is through the trash,
Since we need the herd to earn the cash,
To pay for before we’re buried or ash,
So just jump in the dump with a sassy splash.
Categories:
lisps, america,
Form:
Couplet
Listen to the wind.....
as she sings in her quiet lisps,
and sighs the past and gusts
with earnest need;
Listen to the tenets of the seasons
with their lovelies and tempests ----
and torrents and great rains
become blizzards,
then hushed and bequeathed sings the morrow;
and buds the leaf and the harvests
shall feed all in need
Listen to the tenuous hum and drum of mortal bars
crying out 'neath thy starry night....
when the world is weary in the City of Lights;
and the last dog has barked before bed.....
and the crickets with Godspeed ascend their chatter
in the last tumult of the day,
(Listen.....)
Categories:
lisps, change, life, metaphor, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
December susurrations mingle
in this lissome isthmus
and our wispy Vespers,
these suspired planets
gossip along misty vistas
of silvery insinuations
and hushed hints.
The fractured lisps
of elusive revelations
curl in the breeze,
a gypsy veil
between shivering lips
in the cusp
of our trysting breaths.
Ascending daystars converse
in this lexis of secrets
and draw us a scroll to Venus
with each breathless ellipsis
between whispers.
Categories:
lisps, love
Form:
Free verse
Why it is so hard to be understood or is it just to blind to see, maybe it is just the
way to be, why is it so hard to be understood, can u tell me why? Is the reason
the color of my skin, did god make us for that reason, no, but i bet i still get judge
but the color of my skin, is it because i'm black or white, why is it so hard to be
understood, it is because i'm disorder or is it because i'm not like the rest of the
planet, why it is hard to be understood? is it because I talk different or talk with a
lisps why is it hard to be understood?
Categories:
lisps, black african american, funny,
Form:
Light Verse
I
Sweat hours are eternities in your smile a spirit is born clear to the clothed heart cold
wind coughs through the window slathered white poetry adorns the stars with night
cancer is a promise exploding black and white stones in a marble phrase
She is ending…
Space lost in her voice…
Images clog blooming star showers
Signals from numbers
Broken brittle paper
Ripped in burnt screams
Messiahs and demons crying
Melodies blank with psalms
II
The first vision is the leader
He guides with thin fingers
Bony eyes form a procession
Behind his anointed lies
III
No phone rings silence is the weeping valley ever broken from shadows falling in rocks
of prophecy bowls of soup painting praying white hands bearded in broken hope
modern sexy latex phrases pulled debt over our hands wearing lisps of rage
In
Drips
Revelation
lyrics spit milky hues
upon a dream sunflow
-ers and winter queens lilt
dragging their for
-tunes in a nocturnal waltz…
Categories:
lisps, spiritual, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
cataract both eyes, grandpa could not read news,
grand daughter six, offered to read him the Times,
she not only read but also gave her views,
her lisps of names and events were so sublime,
end of her reading, grandpa gave her a kiss,
”I never knew the world was as good as this!”
2nd placement
Written 13/11/2021
Line Gauthier sponsored
Bite Size poems no 26 poetry contest
6 lines, 11 syllables each line
Categories:
lisps, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Stay little Flower
Open your petal to the air
Find me with your Sweet tiny Perfume
Allow the light that I have into your little Room
Do not Wilt away
Live inside with Me in your own Heartfelt way
The Sun would Shine
Heaven would take back her Rain of Mine
Stormy weather to pause until another space do time
YOU SEE ME
I NEED YOU
An auteur of Poetry such as I
Needs to love in your Garden
One More kiss before my lisps say goodbye
Share it with Me
The Air that you breathe
and a Song that continues
Her verses never really leave
Hold on together
When at last,we will float away like a Feather
Into the Cloud and Black Hole without
holding on to the last piece of tether
FAREWELL
MY ETERNAL BRETHREN and Sisters
Categories:
lisps, death, life, loss, lost
Form:
The way I see it
the world’s gone wrong
I have had this notion
Since the day I was born!
I move about
on my fours
And mum has to
do all my chores!
From where I crawl
It is my view
The world is wrong,
I can see it all!
Dad’s always busy
But mum is home
We cuddle cozy,
after bath and foam!
Baby talk I talk to her
In signs, shrieks and lisps
She’ll nod and answer
Carrying me on her hips
The cat comes to play
Every morning with me
I ask him to stay
As he rubs across my knee!
I have lots of lovely toys
All on the floor
Spoilt I am for choice
Want more and more
Life is so beautiful
All sweet and nice
Calm and peaceful
If one really tries!
All the grown up Men
look so sad
They can’t have fun
Must be so bad!
I hear them shout
Often in fight
I have no doubt
They are not right
They are working late
They are never home,
They are in a state
When finally home!
Why can’t they all
Stay home like I do
Play till night fall
And do what I do?
‘Your Best New poem’Contest
Categories:
lisps, 10th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme