Best Moister Poems
NUN FUN IN THE SUN
There was in hot Tashkent in the orient
A religious uprising - a convent dissent.
Army was ordered in with gunnery,
The soldiers targeted the nunnery.
Here are the events in vista:
One lovely sista was forbidden a mista,
But a certain young soldier kissed her
Unaware of the portents
For the jewel of the convent’s contents.
In her cell he wanted his love to foister.
(She had made his cloister moister.)
His inclination was to osculate ;
The incident threatened to escalate.
Her kiss made him forget his gun,
Which overheated in the sun.
The magazine cooked until done,
Then bang, their love was gone.
Categories:
moister, beauty, desire, myth,
Form:
Footle
In the corruption of the mental state,
Everyone's body is packed in a crate.
Torn to pieces and thrown away,
No, this is part of everyday.
Shadows creeping closer,
Your eyes getting moister.
Don't try to cry,
You'll all eventually DIE.
In the corruption of my mind,
You all think I'm very kind.
It's a mistake to try and hurt me,
This is everything I wanted to be.
Rotting in my insanity,
Don't pull me out, let me be.
This is the best,
Better than all my rest.
Categories:
moister, horror, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
I've got a dish of killifish
I wish to eat that silly fish
Baked, or fried in peanut oil
Roasted, dried, or let to boil.
Make me a star-gazy pie
Take me to the Catfish Fry
Lead me to the China Sea
Feed me hermit crabs and brie.
Help me out with rainbow trout
Salt and thyme and wedge of lime
Filet of sole, or snapper red,
Served up whole, or just the head.
Meals of eels caught on reels
You're the star with caviar
Butter clams served with yams
Can't say no to salmon roe.
Tuna eyes baked in pies
Oh so daring pickled herring
In the lurch for snails and perch
Ring the bells for cockle shells.
Canned sardines on toast with greens
Sturgeon, sprat, and stuff like that
Grouper, pike, that's what I like
Smelt and bream that make me dream.
Cajun shrimp for my new pimp
Lutefisk and lobster bisque
Flying squid and yellowfin
Silver carp and capelin.
Give to me a plate of oyster
Eat them raw, that way they're moister
Tilapia and tiger prawn
Eat them 'til my hunger's gone.
Hake or krill would be a thrill
Bass and shad will make me glad
Tasty crappie makes happy
Give a nod to Greenland cod
Oo! I'd like a northern pike
Barramundi served on Sunday
Grouper, alligator gar,
Halibut or no cigar.
Amberjack atop hardtack
Pan-fried kipper for the skipper
Mackerel, tasty as hell,
Lox and mullet down the gullet.
Kokanee or marlin blue
Arowana, bowfin too
Bring to me your soups and stews
Sing for me the dogfish blues.
Categories:
moister, animal, fish, fishing, food,
Form:
Rhyme
In days of old when men were bold
And they didn’t use moisturiser....
They shaved with a sword,
slapped whisky on their chin
And didn’t use aftershave in an atomiser
The scraped the dirt off with a shell, they reeked a good manly smell
They combed their hair with the jaw bone of an ass...
Not now oh no, their hairdryer is so big
You need a drying license to use it
there’s even an exam you have to pass
They broke their nails with hard work
A beer or two they do not shirk
But now it’s a wine bar and a manicure...
Oh where are the days when a man was a man
And not a female male that’s for sure
We woman must share the blame
We wanted equality
But then we took it too far...
Now we’re down the pub while they cook the tea
And we are the ones having a jar
There was nothing as nice as a man opening the door
To let a lady walk though
Not today’s man we find,
we have to stand behind
And open and hold the door for them to pass too...
When men were the ones we looked to for help
They always came through for us girls
No now I’m afraid,
they are busy at home
Baking cup cakes and tying ribbons for little girls...
In days of old when me were bold
And didn’t use a consealer
Proud to show off their scars
And not refuse a date,
To use their face mask and their skin peeler...
Girls we must shoulder some of the responsibility
We wanted to be more equal to our men
Now we get the tattoos,
Drink pints and pints of booze
Wear jack boots, party till dawn and even then...
Bring me back a real man,
I’ll do all that I can
To keep him happy in his manliness...
I’ll work at it hard and teach him well
Even if I have to I’ll pick out his dress…
© ~GG~ 28/12/2012
Please do not be upset all you men out there I was cleaning my bathroom, I have to grown sons and a husband. I was moving all the products while I cleaned the shelves and out of 15 different bottles and potions I found three were mine and one of those was my toothbrush. I borrowed my son’s hairdryer to dry some moister because I wanted to re-grout behind the sink. I had to ask him how to use it because it was digital…………….dah xx
Categories:
moister, funny, men, old, me,
Form:
Limerick
Those drapes of snow, which out my window dance,
like thy white arms, that my warm heart surround,
are ghostly visions false, heav’nly rants,
deceiving my mind, of no substance found,
replacing grey fact with hard diamant,
enjewelling e’en mud with improper grace,
painting most pure what proves of beauty scant,
giving unto sin fair virtue’s clean face.
They swim in billowed air exposed to gust
like dreams upon a too-convincing stage,
and when the earth dooms these to that cruel must,
and when that fond myth is proven a mirage,
mine eyes shall swim in moister element;
for tricks are fouler which are heaven-sent.
Categories:
moister, december, love, senses, sorrow,
Form:
Sonnet
Josh’s drinking days were long behind him. The three beers he drank before ordering his meal; the two beers he drank during his meal; and, the two Bailey’s he consumed after his meal had taken their effect on the middle-aged man. He talked incessantly to the bartenders, bothered the two young ladies who sat at the bar a few stools away and staggered back and forth to the men’s room a dozen times.
Finally, reluctantly, after many hours had passed, Josh paid his tab, leaving a generous, alcohol influenced tip and wobbled out the door. Not sure which direction to go to return to his hotel, Josh simply started off down the street, still thinking about his wife.
How much time passed is unclear, but he was many blocks away when he suddenly realized he was not wearing his fedora. Josh did an about-face and tried to retrace his steps to the bar and bar stool where he knew his hit sat waiting for him. Josh walked into and out of a number of bars he mistook for the one he dined in. Although he was fooled by the outside facades, once he stepped in, he knew it was the wrong bar.
When Josh finally stumbled upon the bar that he recognized as the one he had dined in, it was closed and the doors were locked. It was 3:00 am.
Tears came to Josh’s eyes. Josh felt as if losing the hat his wife had given him was a harbinger of the end and he was not ready to reach that point. Josh simply had to retrieve that hat. He had to get his wife back. Somewhere, deep down in his drunken soul, Josh mustered up the strength to lift the city trash can from the corner of the street and smash it through the large glass window in front of the bar – he was oblivious to the alarms that started blaring.
Josh managed to crawl into the bar through the broken window unaware of the glass shards cutting his wrists, stomach and throat. The moister from the blood simply mixed with the moister from his sweat. The numbness and anesthetic nature of the abundance of alcohol he was not used to masked the extent of his injuries.
When the police arrived on the scene, Josh was found in the darkness, clutching his fedora at the foot of the stool where he had eaten his dinner.
Josh’s wife received the phone call later that morning announcing his passing.
He was buried with the fedora.
Categories:
moister, life, wife,
Form:
Narrative
Clouds floating on the wings of air
Wandering over hills, valleys and deserts
Swinging, dancing and thundering
Raining over fields, rivers and seas
Unmindful of the throes of barren lands and deserts
Ignoring their plea, begging and laments
Giving nothing not even a sprinkle or two
The tale of your impartiality isn’t true
Your benevolence is a myth
No robing the rich and paying the poor
Alas! You are not Hatim Tayi or Robin Hood
Thirsty barren lands are crying for moister
But there isn’t even a drop for them in your reservoir
These thunders and drumming of your benevolence
Are only to terrify and no solace for the craving souls.
They are all ears for the symphony of tip taps
They are longing for sprouting of Lilies and roses from their laps.
Mohammad Yamin
Sintra, Portugal, 28 Sept. 2016
Categories:
moister, analogy, caregiving, pride,
Form:
Free verse
Shall the truth sprout from my tongue!
That had lied too many,
But I ain't lying to you, my love
For your death, my tears, will compete with the rains,
That fills the oceans, to its full, to its brim,
And the flowers that filled your odor,
Shall not be blown with any of those of the heavens,
I am, with you, in the world of the dead,
Wandering heavily, in search of the odor,
That lighted my nose, my eyes, my heart,
In the world, where the alive, we were.
Oh my flower, shall you sprout again,
I shall never be the winds that make your petals shake,
I shall never be the bee that bite you and steal your nectar,
I shall never be the thorn that hurt you and makes you bleed…,
Oh my love, I will be your dew drops,
That touches your mind to your body,
Drop by drop, make you alive; fill your heart with a gentle chill,
Kiss you, a thousand kiss, make you smoother,
Fill your nectar with the honey, that no bee ever tasted,
Then I will dance with you, and make love to you,
To your entire petals, till I fall and take my last breath.
I wasn't a traitor, my love,
I wasn't a liar, my love,
But I cared for you as the light, the sunlight,
That watched you from a distance, from a very long distance
From the spaces, as the sun, as its light,
But couldn't touch, couldn't lay my hands on you,
On your heart, on your mind and couldn't know your pain,
Those made your petals shrink, tired, and fell one by one
Till you fell off in the search of moister, for air,
And took your last breath in front of me and died.
©Anees Rahman
Categories:
moister, emotions, funeral, heaven, pain,
Form:
Free verse
Have you ever been told that you want your cake and to eat it to.
Well of course, I do.
A Tres Leche cake…you would too.
A moister cake…there is none.
This cake is creamy, dreamy, and fun.
This cake almost melts on your tongue.
Three kinds of milk are soaked in this sponge.
Fruit and, whipped icing, blankets the top…
If my mouth could dance, it would be-bop.
Categories:
moister, food,
Form:
Rhyme
And if poverty whips,
largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of
withering grievance.
I shall be the one,
mannered by Earth's dog-
wetness,
To garner my broken
possession, murk and bins,
Writhe, clamber steep nigh
moister Earth
From foot of lazy deities,
pick the sacred mound,
Muzzle it deep against my
leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened
helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of
preserving ardour
From deities' bossom
As trambled Kola lobe and
marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in
rushing footfalls,
Prickled, insatiate in the
belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam
wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting
'adogan'
I shall be the racketeering
prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's
meaning play,
Washed- out by riches'
maze
I shall be the mocking
haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived
redemption.
Categories:
moister, angst
Form:
ABC
One night as I was trying to fall asleep,
getting all comfy underneath the cotton sheets,
all's I could hear was the ticking of my clock,
everyone asleep except for me in my pajama frock,
Tossing and turning was the usual routine,
like a dog going in circles till he runs out of energy,
my pillow getting the usual pounding and fluffing,
hearing a distant sound that was rather muffled,
It was like a distant sound that was animated,
like a soft rustling part of my blanket was getting invaded,
hearing the sound of little marching feet getting closer,
I could feel my heart pounding and my forehead getting moister,
But then the marching was too close and I didn't have a choice,
so I turned on the light to see what was making the noise,
staring at horror at the three inch centipede on my blanket,
it was a situation where I didn't want to end up being a banquet,
So I bravely threw the centipede across my room,
not sure where it landed and wishing I had a broom,
searching high and low for its carcass,
looking at every square inch in my carpet,
To this day I don't know where the little bugger went,
but the rest of that night I thought possibly the floor vent,
which I closed up just in case he decided to come back,
not sleeping a wink becoming a sentry in my sack.
2-22-17
Categories:
moister, insect,
Form:
Light Verse
Darkness coiled in the depths of the night.
Where shadows try to hide from your view.
The moon is a mirror reaching for the light.
Rattling on the doors grappling with the dew.
Cigarette rims on window ledges stub out edges.
The marred ghosts of fear misty file foul pass.
The well-known places on wrinkle old folks faces.
When your mind sees and grieves with the ashes.
Moister paint the shadow of your face in the sky.
And night continues impenetrable at a lively pace.
Unawares of the rage consigned conspicuous cry.
This hoary claim might charm all the living race.
Perils bring the way that rides the waves of death.
Turned all ends of pleasure into a darker season.
Freely flying thin into the dying fading breath.
Risky living dreaming of another set of reasons.
Deadly steer rides the night with spavined grey.
Journeying without remorse to throw the woes.
And try to catch a glimpse of the fleeting day.
That wishes to defeat time with all their prowess.
Darkness running along far flung into the night.
Black clouds filled the whole dome of the sky.
Grasp muffle decaying voices along the street.
Water nectar rain, wash, rinse, and balm the eye.
The Voltaire of space stars on a voyage in the clouds
Rival unquiet air shivers with unheeding tremor.
The changed atmosphere invites sleep into the crowds.
Binaries cover the city to make stragglers scatter.
The long night closes with a kiss in the frost.
Pale and fear as dear vintage sauvignon saint.
When the drink is in the wit, we see the rein of cost.
That holds the kingly feast of a mysterious variant.
From the porter’s view drink, is a jewel of the night.
Each keeps its way separate in the flames of desire.
And oozes away in the morning behind the sunlight.
In greater sanctity with dreadful eyes smiling in a fire.
When the dust of morning rises in the grassy skies.
The glint in your eyes, you dare not raise too high.
And risk the manor for how your honor applies.
When your mind likely knows, it holds a deeper sigh.
Categories:
moister, dark, death, drink, fear,
Form:
Free verse
Loving Myself
I miss him playing with my toys.
I’m alone now in my bed looking
out my window at the silver stars.
My hand stroking them while my mind is
remembering, remembering.
He used to teased by kissing
them.
He knew their secret places.
He would talk to them while our bodies
Glistening with moister ready, ready.
I with anticipation waiting, waiting.
My toy’s hair moist with oils of love,
thinking how he used his mouth.
Cleaning matted hair “tasting the sea’s bounty”,
As he used to say.
Feeling him inside my juguete and the
Tingling, the itch please hurry.
Wanting him deeper, deeper oh heaven above!
Now bitting them, Yesssss, he’s almost
here.
Fingers deep rocking and twisting until erupting
with waves upon waves soaking his bounty.
Red golden stream flowing from my volcano
releasing stored hot magma just for him.
I fall asleep knowing he will return whenever I
want.
Categories:
moister, analogy, lost love, lust,
Form:
Free verse
From the skeleton's remains
I say goodbye
To a broken heart
cold and lonely
You never heard me cry
In the whispering clouds
Where dreams are blown away
in broken promises
that were made
I never saw it coming
Moister runs down as teardrops glisten
Thunder and lightning
strikes the final chord
You brought on the storm howling
falling raindrops of hurt
You upon the ground crash
shattering remains of you
This part of me cries love
The last of you I found
From the remains
this heart will blossom
Ditching this skeleton aside
Drawing a new start
No more tears
Just regrets
Wasted years
I say good bye
Categories:
moister, goodbye,
Form:
Free verse
Black heart shriveled by pain
a world to lose a God to gain
Sour raisin repent and be replenished
before last moister squeezed it is finished
Categories:
moister, allegory, faith,
Form:
Rhyme