Best Messy Poems
Life is a mess and needs constant cleaning
Soap Opera glasses and bodies acquire meaning
She said this; He said that
Bureaucracy is getting fat, fat, fat
Life is a mess with no sanitizing
Half empty or half full is agonizing
Media talk; on the job gossip
Interacting with people considered Drama Prophets
Life is a mess and will stay as such
Many humans seem to lack the connective touch
Work harder, longer, faster, be perfect!
For some, this is equal to a creative reject
Life is really messy for the next generation
Faster, better, longer; utter frustration
Stress that will taunt and even hurt them
A messy loss of an antiseptic brain stem
It gets kind of crazy living with 3 young boys, there’s always a mess and there’s constant noise.
Their mouths constantly running, their little legs too; they rough-house like tiny wrestlers, off the couch they just flew.
They never get old, those silly fart jokes; and the noise and clanking of those bicycle spokes.
They change costumes every minute from football to Batman; next it’s baseball then it’s on to Spider-Man.
You better watch where you step when you come through our door, there’s legos and Nerf bullets covering the floor.
They’re covered in mud, they’re covered in dirt; there’s ketchup and Cheetos all over their shirts.
They argue, they fight, they cry and pout; then they giggle and laugh after they hug it out.
Living with boys you never know what’s next, you better watch what you say, they’ll change the context.
Their imagination totally rocks; they can make anything out of a box.
Just give them some scissors and a glue stick; that box transforms into a Batmobile real quick.
They’re wearing their breakfast, there’s mud in their hair; it’s an act of congress to get them to share.
Their diet is subpar, all they want to eat is junk; and with three sweaty boys, you can imagine the funk.
We’ve turned into detectives, constantly looking for lost toys; we’re also mechanics trying to fix whatever they’ve destroyed.
Although these boys can cause us some undue stress; I wouldn’t change a thing to prevent their mess.
The house can be clean when they’re grown and they’ve moved out; so for now I’ll sit back and see what life’s all about.
I’ll enjoy all the noise and the mess on the floor; I’ll pray my feet are protected from the legos galore.
I’ll wash their clothes and clean them up; and be thankful I can fill all our cups.
Thank you God for my three sons, we’re thankful and blessed, and we love them tons.
Youngin Greg found an egg
Struck it with his mummy's peg,
Only taking one baby stroke
Out came the gooey yolk
Running down his leg.
Nietzsche got it wrong
And though I’ve often heard it said
I think I’m sure of it myself
Yes - I know I am not dead
I never died, nor was I born
I am older than the Earth
And as for all the stars around
I oversaw their birth
I am ancient. Modern. Wise
Sager than the sage
Though not as great as once I was
But I put that down to age
I remember when I started
On a creative cuisine quest
I had a lot of great ideas
I did what I do best
I put everything together
Stirred it all in one big pan
Left it on the kitchen stove
And returned to a big bang
The house was in pure turmoil
Matter spread everywhere
I went up to have a shower
(Well, I had to wash my hair)
On returning through the dining room
I found a small blue orb
A beautiful little watery rock
And my attention was absorbed
So I did a bit of dabbling
Gave it life, with cunning stealth
And having spent some time on that
I left it on a shelf
Then I got a little peckish
Needed to eat and breathe and stop
I was disarray, what can I say...
I went down to the shop
But unlike my other projects
(those where I cook and bake)
This one got away from me;
Leaving the house was a mistake
On my return, I was to learn
That everything had spread
The kitchen was now 5 miles wide
Geography hurt my head
I thought I’d spotted a hint of blue
In the corner of my eye
But as I moved towards it
It rolled to who knows where or why
Since then, the house just onward grew
Meanwhile, I get ever old
I wonder how that rock is getting on
Out there in the cold
Now and then, I’ll hear a bit
Crackling through my radio
And though some seem to think that I’m long gone
It’s still there - that’s good to know
I do keep looking for it
It’s what I have to do
I’m forever hunting for that magic globe
But next time, I’ll just make stew
How arrogant is your jaundiced eye!
Let's humble it with a slap of pie!
Written on 11/22/2015
Written about all there is to write about
Covered all the important issues
Except one, haven't written about a birdhouse
Or the bird poop that always ensues
Don't these guys have any class at all
No appreciation for what we do
Providing a home through all kinds of weather
Come on, show some tact or adieu
Your kind are not welcome round this place
Find some other birdhouse to mess
This abode is for clean freak birdies only
So mosey along with the rest
It's almost like I think they understand me
Well I pretty sure some do
Coz when I told one to take a hike
It pooped on my fancy dress shoe
Well there you go that's something different
Pretty sure that's a first time for me
Writing about birdies and their pooping habits
Wish they'd stay up in the trees
© Jack Ellison 2014
a messy matron
polishes the silver--
the teapot whistles
I once had a buddy named Bob
He was an unbearable slob
I pressed him a suit
And dressed him up cute
He dirtied it quickly, the knob.
Bessie, out hiking, had to pee,
She glanced about, choosing a tree;
To her distress
She made a mess:
Windward, she’d squatted, not alee.
messy with a capital P
That to me is creativity
persnickety muse showing mean to me
being the best grizzly bear I can be
I am in love with creativity
May has dawned
with wind and whiskey
and sideways glances
a rendered heart
and maybe a start
with an eye for details
i would love to see your
entrails up close
if they were spilt and split
with a sigh from the hilt
they would smile with a
turn from my hand
I see the closet door and I hear the theme song to Shark.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
The one they used to play on Saturday Night Live in the eighties.
You know the one.
I opened it once to take a photo.
Which I sent to my twin sister.
We were bemoaning our messy spots.
So we decided to have a little contest.
I took photos of this closet, and six hoarder piles in one bedroom.
Believe it or not, she sent me eight photos and hers were better.
Or worse depending on which way you are going competition wise.
Thanks Daddy, we both said. He loved keeping everything.
Whereas Mom was a minimalist. She had a rule.
Bring one new thing in, toss one old thing out.
She had no messes anywhere in the house
Except Daddy’s area. She could not control that.
Maybe it’s Mom’s fault, I think to myself.
She is the one that never let us have a mess.
Maybe we are still rebelling.
Anyway, I cannot face this closet yet.
This is the third year in a row it has been un-faceable
It would be nice to use a closet, just not this one.
I turn and take another peek. Is it still there?
Unfortunately yes. Who knows what lives inside.
Easter eggs and rabbit's feet
Are quite easy to be found
Nice to find an Easter treat
When the bunny comes around
Children laugh and children sing
When they find some colored eggs
Messy faces- bunny brings
With chocolate bods and legs
*(A, B, A, B) - (7 syllable count)
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3/27/2023
Washing coffee-stained cups, greasy frying pans and big pots is a very simple chore;
leaving a pile when turning the faucet on may clog the sink and cause a messy gore!
Just because I've got messy hair doesn't make me a bad person
Imagine if I ran around reciting Skakespeare t'would surely be worsen
The general public isn't ready
Would make most unsteady
Kiddies would cry, old people would turn to perversion