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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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
 ...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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 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...

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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...

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It’s not enough, you say
We’re killing mom and
I’ll never be the same.
You pinch my cheeks like
Maybe you’ll bring back your life,
Long gone,
In my blank canvas,
Sometimes painted but I always grow to
Hate my work and I wash it all away,
Paint it flesh-pale, start over tomorrow.
In any...

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Estella Murray

1891-1912

Johnny’s was the last face 

I saw that April afternoon in 1912.

I admit I was mean to him,

As mean as a starving she-dog in heat.

It’s not that I did not appreciate 

The blooming rosebud he presented to me

Six months before my untimely demise.

But that...

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