Best Slobber Poems
Friendship
Up the road, from where we lived, two children came to stay
My parents knew their grandma well, they talked 'most every day
A happy boy, a little odd, but always was so kind
I never was ashamed to say, he was a friend of mine
His sister was my brother's age, the boy younger than me
Products of a broken home, back then a rarity
His drool was always running down, he couldn't make it stop
The other kids poked fun at him, they called him Slobber Slop
I never saw him fight no one, I never saw him cry
His sister did
My brother did
And sadly so did I
Two years went by, their dad came back, time for them to fly
His eyes teared at my house that day, as he hugged us all goodbye
I lived my life, I took a wife, we bought a brand new home
Out of the blue, one day a knock, my how he had grown
Six foot three, two twenty five, a mountain of a man
His drool had stopped
His tears had not
He reached and took my hand
He'd never forgot the kindness shown
Though we were miles apart
The love we shared as boyhood friends
Still lived within our hearts.
Daniel Turner
Puppy Love at 55
When I am wise, I’ll turn to puppy love
With generous doses of truth and innocence, almost no shame …
“Her be my gal!” Or “Me gonna marry him, so you jus’ shove!”
Sound adorable. Singing, “He is mine. I am his. Gonna get married, take his name.”
Gone the days of horse and carriage … some sensuous songs, also silent …
At this moment I am not wise, merely older, aged fifty-five;
I make amends, enjoy each tomado-love and each new accent;
Aware of so much pain, woundings, the living-but-barely-alive
So I recall how puppy love felt like fresh air, sunshine, pure
We thought the best of belle or beau
Time never existed. No bills, diapers, nothing to insure
Slobbery kisses on ears, eyes, but unashamed, secure …
When I turned a certain age; not so young and not so pure
I thought marriage was right: seemed the way to secure
Each other in love’s embrace for children, a better future …
No regrets! But I gaze at a happy marriage in old pics now.
So I say this to all poets, painters, quaint artists, saints and sinners:
Start early with puppy love, and never give up on it;
Why discuss doubling household incomes, becoming millionaires
For such talk puts dollar signs where love was beautifully reflected!
The children may yet teach us the ways of innocence
But that is the hardest job today: among adult gadgets, to remain puppies
That lick, slobber, miss the lips and kiss the eyes or chins
And yet without shame, forgetting forbidden fruit, unblinking eyes -
(Asking questions about hair, skin, color … hugs galore, even for the different)
But as to whether I advocate divorce, May I plead the Fifth Amendment?
LIMERICKS NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST
Men will slobber and drool when at the beach
Cuz bikinied women are out of reach
So eat your hearts out, men
For those girls you will yen
Fine women would consider you a leech
Men are enticed by girls with flat tummies
Though theirs are obese from eating yummies
They can keep dreaming
With beady eyes gleaming
Some of the male gender are such dummies
Men think of untying bikini strings
Of Victoria Secret girls with wings
They'd like to touch their tush
or better yet their.... shush!
Men want to do so many wicked things
Ogling girls clad in skimpy bikinis
Wishing they had three wishes from genies
Each one would be the same
Trying to UP their game
With enlargements for their teeny weenies
Turn about's always considered fair play
Many women would be glad for a lay
With a well muscled stud
Who would heat up her blood
Spendin' a lil time rollin' in the hay
Scrubbing dishes in a cold kitchen,
on a tabletop rats nibble
through a leather bible cover.
She turns,
a lock of sweat matted hair over one eye,
shakes a red knuckle at a wailing child
sat on the floor by the door.
When Mary, in washed-out despair,
leaves, she leaves a bible, the rats
and a child there.
Mary drying his feet with her hair.
Mary at the temple calling for him.
Mary full of sperm on a street corner.
Mary full of a Grace,
a face that makes her invisible
to rabid dogs and drinking men.
I want to put all of Her together
old and young,
fat Mary on roller skates,
sweet Mary sucking candy,
badly handled and shady Mary,
to speak now for all the wet and dry virgins
slobber some words from a beaten heart,
for all the mother’s, all the worshiping foot washers;
a patchwork Mary, a working Mary.
Let us adore her from an upstairs room
where the cockroaches scuttle near
having no fear. if we don’t,
she might one day castrate us with a steely smile.
Today I walked for Mary,
the sky was a blue egg, robed with light.
I ate a chicken sandwich, lips slick with grease.
In the Chick-fil-A a family was praying over their fast food.
The joint was hopping
kids scooting in and out of seats.
A dozen Mary’s were trying to corral them,
get then to be nice like Christ.
Later I spoke to her at the foot of a crucifix,
told her all my s..t,
felt better, a kind of peace,
knowing she knew all the things I do in the dark
when she comes to me for forgiveness and rest.
I make the sign of the cross,
I make the sign of the cross.
I mean why not?
Both of our baby girls wear a black mask.
They try listen to do what my wife asks.
These gentle giants far outweigh my wife.
The two girls are a large part of her life.
Shelby is the watcher by my wife’s side.
She has been with us since she first cried.
Molly is always there looking up for attention.
She is quick to defend without any mention.
For me, these girls are a blessing, I adore.
They slobber, pass gas, and they even snore.
Both these girls get me off the ol' hook.
We love them for they give more than a look.
Without trying a dog will fill your heart.
A friend and bond until death do you part.
Edward J. Ebbs - November 23, 2014
Written for a Contest, Pets
. *DOGGY STYLE*
Tonight! Tonight! I must display.
About my man's doggy style way.
Once he comes home he acts like I'm his "DOGGY BAG."
"It’s DOGGING ME!" The way he starts to nag.
He came from the bar with his "DOG BREATH!"
Calling me by the name of Beth.
When he settles down he starts acting like he's the "TOP DOG!"
"DOGGONE IT!" doesn't he know I'm adding this bone to my blog.
Now he's drunk acting "MEAN LIKE a JUNK YARD DOG!"
I taunt him by calling him a pig and a hog.
We "FIGHT LIKE CATS and DOGS," this really must be love?
"It's a DOG eat DOG WORLD" when push comes to shove!
Once again he will sleep "IN THE DOG HOUSE!"
This time for ripping my favorite blouse.
It's too bad "YOU CAN'T TEACH an OLD DOG NEW TRICKS!"
I wish he was a real dog, he needs to be neutered and fixed.
I think I will laugh and kiss him good night.
Anyways "HIS BARK is WORSE THAN HIS BITE!"
By morning he will be "SICK AS A DOG" and scary like a mouse.
I'm still waiting to be "Happy as a FLEA in a DOG HOUSE!"
"HE IS NOTHING BUT A HOUND DOG" thinking it's doggy style all the time!
In his rabies case his desires keeps getting worse than slobber and slime.
.Should I tell my man that his actions are what I call humans love torch?
With the reaction "IF you can’t run with the BIG DOG's PUPPY, STAY on the porch!"
By; smiles
Babies crying in an orange,
Evening breeze.
Instead of hot dogs I get slobber.
Nudging branches away from the soft and sweet head,
Geraniums droop into view while we climb.
Her elbows folds tight against my body, safe from the forest chill.
Unknown shrieks are heard somewhere deep in the verdant, carpet of trees.
Mila chucks her nook in response, complete, blind confidence in herself.
Ascending to the dirt road troubles ease as we flatten out.
Never had we a care, never had we a worry.
My dog likes the decorations from the Christmas tree,
He can eat them without any guilt because they are fat free.
He knows which stocking belongs to him and he checks it every day,
He checks it by chewing it up, it’s a game he likes to play.
Sometimes in the candy dish I will find a suspect slobber mark,
I know that he’s been sampling both the milk chocolates and the dark.
He ate a whole roll of wrapping paper the kind with shinny foil,
Then for dessert he had a bow and some curly ribbon from the coil.
He helps us to remember the good times when Christmas time has gone,
When the snow melts in the spring and we find spangles on the lawn.
As lovers walk hand in hand, with each step their world becomes smaller under the moonlight
Cocooned in their embrace, lips on lips trace, as passion takes hold, under the moonlight
At midnight, the tormented soul begins his pain the full moon sees his change
grisly slobber drips off mange, his deeds of horror will unfold under the moonlight
The nightingale sings, high in the serenity of darkened branches, for his mate pursued
he sings in his solitude, so sweetly and invitingly to offer his love untold under the moonlight
In a velvet sky, the unknown sends comets gliding, now make a wish, for whoever sees,
these fiery tails have dreamed of happiness to appease and to behold, under the moonlight
Darkness shrouds the night, evil lurks in dank corners of lampless minds, choosing not to
keep the light they own, but sit beside the devils thrown where souls are sold under the
moonlight
Outside I walk to clear my head, thoughts of what, in this ghazal should be said, to have a
chance of a prize, to hopefully hypnotize, times running out and its cold under the moonlight
For JP's Ghazal contest
The way to a man's heart is through his heart
Contrary to how the old saying goes
After all my years this is what I've discovered
It's an axiom most people don't know
The “through his belly” quote wasn't accurate
As far as this old guy's concerned
If you could know me now you'd know for sure
The name “sentimental slob” is earned
Hate to admit it, I slobber at sad movies
Are real men supposed to blubber
Or is that an old saying from way back when
Now it's okay for men to sputter
Showing emotion wasn't considered masculine
The way it's been all these years
Strangely we're expected to be real jocks
And never ever shed a tear
Well I'm telling you here and now, my friends
That's a great big load of crap
If you're ever moved to show some emotion
Ladies love a sentimental chap
© Jack Ellison 2013
Two Words – Redux Two
Push
Pull
Donut
Hole
Toilet
Bowl
Laundry
Fold
Sing
Song
Ping
Pong
Mao
Zedong
Fly
Eater
Cloud
Nine
Moon
Shine
Vinegar
Brine
Wild
One
No
Pun
Arm
Leg
Black
Plague
Circle
Square
Head
Hair
Sonic
Whistle
Broom
Thistle
Pretty
Face
Human
Race
Alien
Space
Mountain
Road
Horned
Toad
Meteor
Rock
Mister
Spock
Start
Dart
Go
Flow
Pol
Pot
Hope
Not
Green
Brown
Smile
Frown
City
Town
River
Creak
Circus
Freak
Stuffy
Nose
Big
Toes
Bogart
Bacall
Free
Fall
Standing
Tall
Music
Note
Castle
Moat
Witch
Hag
Laundry
Bag
Robber
Rubber
Space
Discover
Race
Car
Bucket
Tar
Fruit
Jar
Phrenology
Psychology
Logo
Pogo
Wine
Beer
Whine
Jeer
Weather
Clear
Beach
Chair
People
Stare
Garden
Hose
Bloody
Rose
Genius
Knows
Alaskan
Snow
Car
Far
Road
Tar
Proud
Hound
Ground
Round
Upside
Downside
Aladdin
Jafar
Genie
Wish
Table
Fish
Wash
Dish
Slobber
Swish
Babble
Gabble
Clark
Gable
Atlantic
Cable
Stool
Pool
Fad
Lad
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 3, 2018 (Short-Form Free Verse)
Eggs, eggs, glorious eggs, love 'em a bunch
My favourite treat, any time, a great munch
Scrambled, over easy
Omelettes quite cheesy
Try hard not to slobber eggs down my front
The storm thrashed the sides of the house
trees bend to touch the ground
rain drops fall heavily on fragile leaves
gutters fill to overflowing
spilling its slobber onto the dry streets
Midnight clouds give no cover to exposed hearts
burdened with an intense need for a dose of love,
but there is always the promise of her door opening
and the welcoming fragrance of roses and gardenias
Colorful flowers sprinkled in her golden hair greet me
poured in her satin, body hugging tiny dress
she stirs my fires already lit
I seek the warmth of the bright hue in her soft green eyes
She appears like a lover’s promise in spring,
but promises are just like dreams, misleading fantasies
my assurances are unable to compete with my past lies
and hunger for sex speeches don't persuade
I hear the same tired sounds of rejection
words I know so well
the darkness of midnight invites me
to move on to seek satisfaction elsewhere …
Like a sappy fruit
in vice of time,
a slobber root -
a top cut by a knife.
Thick drops in a pot
down slowly trickle,
hold firmly a cup,
set off a ripple.
Must hoe one's row,
time, here, I see,
for muck and your
fruits marc will be.
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021