Best Sloppily Poems
The stars up yonder glitter in one accord
The fast moving clouds shaped like a blunt sword
The fireflies in the distance light up our meadow
Their lights cast sparingly on our corning glass window
Our mansion was carefully crafted and built
In the country side, it has this magnificent tilt
Made of expensive material and state-of-the art technology
It was a beauty to behold considering its unique topology
My wife lay on the third floor of an enchanting bedroom
Kissing and caressing sloppily her handsome groom
And voice-commanding the lights to give us some privacy
As we gradually climbed to technological ecstasy
I was embarrassed for my gold-finding prowess was slim to none.
I lived alone, in a mushroom hut, built sloppily for one.
My leprechaun relatives were braggarts, and blowhards and mean.
The things they said to put me down were evil and obscene.
A friendly cardinal named Ed saw them for who they were.
He told me I had to get away, he gave me ideas to stir.
He showed me where Old Man Ligglie Howser buried all his gold.
The man was long-gone from the spot, in a home for the truly old.
I started digging up buckets of gold that very night.
I was careful to hide all of these pieces, clearly out of sight
I bought a red Ford 250 Truck with all the trimming.
I drove away from my relatives with gold pieces clearly brimming.
I gave a little gold to Magna-Fe, a shape-shifter-professional witch.
She changed Cardinal Ed into a handsome lad, although he had a slight twitch.
We married in a little church, in a ceremony so light.
Ed turns into a cardinal in the evenings, so he can do his finder-flight.
He finds the gold and I dig it up. These Leprechauns are so silly.
They use their gardens, throwing the cauldrons willy-nilly.
I have become famous in town, as the Leprechaun Gold-Finding Queen.
And I have wiped my feet of my relatives who were always truly mean.
I am a porcelain doll.
Fair of face, coveted by a young girl.
My smile is welcoming, cheeks are rosey,
My dress wrinkle and tear free
Each button in place.
I am a porcelain doll.
Cracks feathered lightly across my pained face.
I’m the one they come to when worried, stressed
Clutching at me too tightly
I’m feeling my age.
I am a porcelain doll.
Older now, but still adored by my girl
Who needs me much more as she fights cancer.
She sets me down way too hard
And runs to vomit.
I am a porcelain doll.
My face sloppily glued back together
That painted-on smile at last wiped away.
Who would smile at her torture?
My dress has a stain.
I am a porcelain doll
Everything I once thought vital has changed.
I hate my hair — because she is now bald.
Glad my presence gives her hope.
Wish my arms could hug.
I am a sad, broken doll.
I hate my gingham frock — I should wear black.
I am dirty, cleaned only by her tears
And now of those who miss her.
The lid closes. We rest.
January 6, 2019
Free Verse Only Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
Another new beginning, another major change
My feet know the rhythm, though this road is undiscovered
My toes know the feeling of wet dew still clinging to the blades of grass
Not yet baked by a summer afternoon
They know the rough soft mountain dirt
And the bounce of a carpet of prickly pine needles
The numbing cold of winters long snow
Quickly followed by the sharp sting of feeling returned
As they are roasted by the fire
My loves feet are following the familiar rhythm
Down a much different unfamiliar path
Will our feet find their way back, unlike our stubbornness
That led our hearts away
The pieces of our soul we tore apart, have not fit right for years
Sloppily thrown back together
Not realizing the catastrophic damage our haste would create
Perhaps the pieces we are leaving behind will become a breadcrumb trail
The morsels to bitter for a crows meal
I had forgiven you so long ago
My love blinds me to your every misdeed
As I lie bleeding on the floor
But it matters not what anyone might say
Because though you can rip me to shreds with a look
Your lips heal my deepest wounds
And although tonight I lie above different soil
I console myself with the knowledge that it is still a part of this great earth
Of which we are all connected
I'll close my eyes and feel your warmth next to me
I will breathe your breath as you hover above me
And I will feel you inside me
As you run through my veins with every heartbeat
Come home to me my love
For I will never be home until I'm safe in the circle of your arms
Close enough to feel the beat of your heart
And the fire of our connected soul
Your Best 2020 Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Sweet September, see how splendidly she shines!
Subtlety submitting seasonal splendour, she
swamps summer’s splendiferous sights,
by stealthily shrouding splendid scenery,
with suffused sensuous, sybaritic, scenarios!
Sublimely serene, she spatters and splashes
slivers of saffron, sepia and sienna shades,
slapdash over the sedentary summer scene, sending
sightseers silly! Soon, spooky spectres sporting skittish
shadows, surprise and startle singularly sensitive givens,
seeking soothing solitude someplace. Suspicious solo
sentient stalkers, suspecting solo sailors sometimes, shiftily seen
spying on sequestered sibylline, spectator savants, stay silent.
Such suppressed servile sophisticates, spotting smart
Seedy Senators, sitting sloppily slumped - some silently
supine - send sensual suggestive signs to sexy secretaries, as
subdued sartorial suitors stand speechless. Some, sober and staid,
state spasmodic spates of salacious, and sometimes sanctimonious, statements.
Seemingly superfluous, scores of servicemen and seniors suggest
specific superficial senile support services, should shut shortly!
Studious spokesmen suggest scads of spurious suggestions in September,
send scrambled signals, since severely symbolic sentence structure,
should seek speedy severance from sedulous speculative stricture, and
stimulating scattered sophomore senses and sensibility is senseless!
Since scathingly scanning this alliteration, it seems successful!
Hopefully a fun filled frolicking folio with ‘fin-esse?’
Rhymer. September 6th, 2016.
There was a florist in southern McNungus
Sloppily smeared with soil humongous.
Customers suspected something was wrong
When proof arrived indisputably strong:
His ears displayed five varieties of fungus.
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hind sight!
I went ghetto gold .......
I was told that when I flip this,
I'm come sicker than syphilis,
My verses come in 3's like triplets,
I drop ebonic type scriptures,
That keep your eardrumbs numb,
when my psalms roll off my tongue,
my adversaries hide & run,
as the oxygen escapes from my lungs,
I lace my poetic sermons with codeine
the mo' feinds means the mo' green I separate,
I'm a cheese head like in Green Bay
so I stay in a chedda' state[money state],
of mind frame & 1 of my prophecies,
I will rise at a high velocity,
and my thoughts'll be,
sprinkled[spoken ] far from sloppily,
when my voice is transmitted,
the pathetic get netted & shredded,
by my unsweetened poetic antidotes
see i'm sugarfree like diabetics,
Strong Faith,Family&Love's a good trinity,
and my deliveries,
during my performances or soliloquies,
will let all know this should be,
broadcasted throughout history,
I'm the vocabulary minister,
If your poetry soul's empty I'll replenish ya',
and when I'm finished
I'll stamp your inner thoughts
with the Rhyme Pedllaz signature,
And my mouthpiece unleashes verbal hand grenades,
from the block to the stage,
and the weak gets quarantined
when I deliver 1 of my spoken word plagues,
You can wipe your ears off now.
A piece of ocean next to trees and sand
Scattered across treated mahogany.
Across a face, and a ship now unmanned,
And rolling waves, fingers trip sloppily.
Splitting the pile into organized stacks
Here end pieces, there yellow, and here blue.
Out of nowhere a playful cat attacks!
Ocean falls like rain, every piece but two
The cat bounds away leaving destruction.
Scattered pieces, mangled ship thrown on beach
Nothing but a picture for instruction.
Marching forth, I took the puzzle by siege
Gradually the pieces come together
And are ready for your viewing pleasure
MuddyFingers
I shall write in catchy thoughts
encased in phrases
lead you through a maze
of pussywillowedhazes,
in search of ducks that bark
and dogs that croak.
Snippets of mind strings
all cut too short
braided into knotted
terse retort
leaping the synaptic
sentence gap
two footed landing in
apresprungtrap.
Stream of consciousness
or babbling brook
searching for the stones
already took
seeping through the dams
of mud’s dismay
children in the midst
ofmudpieplay.
Sloppily creating
works of art
eager hands at work
in willowed haze
ducks that bark
in sunshine left to glaze
thoughts allowed to wander
through the maze.
Cats with wings
on tree limbs with the crows
childrensmuddyfingers
up their nose.
John G. Lawless
1/13/2016
My gift of life is steadily tock-ticking along
Why give me strife? Regularly gone missing or wrong
Heard my first gasp for breath
Learnt dry thirst grasp for breast
Wrapped in cloth, Felt protected
As tick and stop now directed.
No hour is safe to dream
from the nerve shredding howls
The power it takes to clean
those black pudding bowels
The horrors of weaning a baby
you gotta clean me, you made me.
Sometimes I lose all patience
I want the Solitaire-y life
At times refute relations
I haven't got a wife
Irresponsibility pray for me, I reach to be one of the boys
Responsibility plays on me, I rush to pick up the boys.
Solemnly, Sloppily, Slaloming whatever life may throw
If only I'd chopped my salami then, or if the wife had blown
Why I forgot to tie the knot
I've got the tip, I'll get it snipped.
Life, Life, God what it all must mean
Child, Wife, Job little time to just dream
Between the food and the rent
Seems zero hours are duly spent
To juggle bills and credit cards
Struggle still to get that car.
Quite piste off, I wish life was a beach
Night switch off, I wish, mine's outta reach
Turn the wine into cash
Burn the vine sprinkle ash
Now I doubt a vegetarian could make those ends meet
How about Carl Sagan would be amazed by this feat.
It all sounds nearly mystic
Turns out 's really simplistic
Don't look down I fear you'll miss it.
Yes today is unshrouded, here in the present
Yesterday was also, yet somehow it isn't
I know how it will be tomorrow too
The moment of Now is a gift we borrow you.
Freedoms an Illusion, they say time is your captor
Reason got Ruined, always tryin' to catch ya.
30/03/2016
It had partially dried to the table, crimson, sticky, and coagulated, and not wanting to let go of the sloppily scrawled letter. It drooped in his hands:
I finished the f-----g dishes you were B----ing about you dirt bag
..don’t worry about the mess outside
LEAVE ME FOR THE ANIMALS,
give me a chance to be appreciated by SOMETHING!”
Jeremiah’s eyelids tightened around the words. She wasn’t serious, she couldn’t have been serious. Night after night of drunken fights and carnal apologies; She always awoke the same, hungover and satisfied by the endearment of his widowed anger and forgotten misgivings. The thrust of weathered flesh sated the storm they wrought with the rainfall of liquor. They made it through, it was a promise made. That night, 15 years ago, still kids, they bore an oath that couldn’t be broken. They tore a trail across one another’s palms, clasped them together and spoke the words:
“Together, Eternally, Married in this life, the next…Hell can’t stop us.”
"SHE F------G PROMISED ME!" his tongue spattered the words across her own, his fear dripping lazily down the finality of her betrayal. Jeremiah’s grip slouched, rattled by the haste of grief, her letter fell upon unsteady feet as he stepped over the intoxicated goodbye of a love that could no longer stand to abide the throb of chaos. "WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER, YOU B---H!" the crash of bone against hardwood quaked shards of brokenness on the floor; a sketchy trail, toward an open front door. The smell of bleach curdled amid stale cigarette butts strewn across a palate of remorse. He walked out, still not sure if it was a nightmare or if the pain he felt really was the echo of karma Victoria had always told him, would reach him someday.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved. -to be continued-
This is a rough, work in progress...
Scattering spellbound in search of this utopia
Minds-eye in shortfall dissects one's monopoly
Through no choice of own approach it sloppily,
Exude to a position such promised, Ethiopia-
As the diminishing dream on landscapes ensemble
The probate illusion of Queen of Egypt's daughter
Who proceeds through this escapade of slaughter
And who am I forgiving one or either? I tremble.
Having reached two thousand years without absorb
Of having travelled miles, indeed was bronze;
Such ghastly size these statues, long lost sons
With indications seen through my crystal orb.
Precious filling educated, siphoning the syllable
Retracted.., words of larger scale were of faith
Those who muttered sounding, Queen Merneith,
-Alluring dynasties as Anedjib's was, as a fable-
Engulfed over as subsidiary benefactors cannibal
Over some archaeological find, for at the centre,
No godly size can interpret that this magenta,
Haze of gross sufficient was the alluring spectacle.
Expedient gauge eclipse this as the inferno;
And making this voyage with the help of a globule,
Whose crystal awareness has forgotten the rule,
That language hosts devise quoted, 'quid pro quo'.
Dear Mr. G.,
I'm a sloppily manufactured good
the kind of
you don't want it to be
exposed to the view
the kind of
piles up in a humid warehouse
tacitly humiliated
collusively dehumanized
even that feeling of having price attached
was never introduced
and I've heard the story about 20 dollar bill
that doesn't lose its value
no matter what
yet, here I am
unpriced
magnitude of my role is reduced to
bidding for detour
and what if
no one ever unpacks my pages
what if ...
is this reticent predestination
my real path
or instructions are misplaced
give them an order
I'm patiently waiting for refinement
Kind regards
S.
Given I've cursed myself
writing the title first,
I'll treat myself to a scribble,
poorly written, pointless lines
babbling, bubbling sloppily,
like those people I envy,
cranking it out without thought