Best Spilt Poems
She liked the way
he spilt his ink.
He had such a great pen
and though it was pink
it was big and round and made her think.
He was always ready to write
again and again.
He wrote the best when she was in his sight.
She was the inspiration for all he’d write.
She loved the things he said,
his words a sexy sound.
With his pen in hand he’d lay his words down.
Oh, how his ink would flow
when she laid her paper just below.
He wrote and wrote
‘til her paper was full
and all his ink was spilt.
His motto was:
"Write or bust
with love and lust
'til the paper is 'filt'."
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 3/21/2018
“All Rights Reserved”
The little boy in blue, with shirt of silk
Caused Mary Tuppet to spill her milk
When the cat came in to take a drink
There was a rat stuck in the sink
So the cat ate the rat that was stuck in the sink
When it came to drink the milk that was spilt
In the house the little pigs built
Mrs Hubbard dog chased the cat that ate the rat
That was stuck in the sink when the cat came to drink
the milk that was spilt in the house the little pigs built
Then the big bad wolf bit the dog that chased the cat
that ate the rat that was stuck in the sink when the cat came to drink
the milk that Mary Tuppet spilt in the house the little pigs built
Then a big brown bear chased the big bad wolf that bit the dog that chased
the cat that ate the rat that was stuck in the sink when the cat came to drink
the milk that Mary Tuppet spilt in the house that the little pigs built
just under his kilt
slightly hanging at a tilt
from the tip to hilt
once great weapon starts to wilt
highland dirk ~ covered in silt
By David Kavanagh
highland dirk = Scottish stabbing weapon
From when'st this knife fallen from that yonder shelf...
Impels it's long slicable blade deep inside my self.
That blade which bade it's woeful cry so loud...
Gathered many a spectator's viewing crowd.
Blood which spreadeth it's widening reddened shroud...
Instilled it's red bathing, all to a wondering how'd?
That orange reddened sun bathes the vulture, in
it's heated life shrinking rays of death stalking days...
Serpent's severed head, happly shone off it's protruding,
elusive pointy forked tongue.
Jackal's fanged teeth had gnarled it's death delivering
quivered smiles...
To all the many horror striked fearing victim's.
The sun had set it's macbre shadow to toil and boil the earth...
Longly and lastly to end on this worldly planed, any chanceful
innocent one's by nature, it's long suffered birth.
Caw, Caw, ... No more forever moored!
when one stands up against injustice
when one spits in the face of those that oppress &
shows not one ounce of fear in their eyes
often, if fortunate, standing amidst others who have come to
the same conclusion,
at first, it is like a joke being told at a comedy club
where there isn’t even a drink minimum---
for the need for customers is so drastic,
the club doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers by
asking at least that as a price for sitting all night
under a roof & listening to comedy.
as the plague of convention
spreads like the contagion that it so blatantly is,
more come to the conclusion of the initially brave
(and to many, thought to be the initially “insane”)---
people begin to see that things are being done wrong to them
as well,
and suddenly, because others have already put their lives on the line
in order to lock arms & fight
what they no longer think can be ignored,
this kindling gives way to a larger fire
which soon spreads on its own,
counteracting the wall of poisonous status-quo, complacence &
all out submission to the will of those that
feel that they are unstoppable,
offering not a crumb to the individuals challenging them &
still, the seriousness of the matter is not fully understood
by those which have become desensitized to any possibility of
actual change in their lifetime.
as the fire continues to grow & spread, becoming fiercer with
every gust of wind, ever new addition to the flames,
those that felt unstoppable begin to question their own ability
to crush the fire,
if they deem it out of hand,
that is, if their kingdom is on the fringe of being
invaded---
and it will come,
the bludgeoning of the spreading fire will be one of never before seen
ferocity,
for examples have to be made,
in order for those in power to prove that they still have power &
blood will be spilt, in fact,
blood is being spilt as this writer types
(little puddles now, written off as “unruly dissidents,” only foreshadowing a river of blood leading to a vast ocean).
it is the spilling of blood which ignites the last few,
those that thought it would all blow over &
that their lives could stay pretty much the same,
if they just stuck it out---
when friends, relatives and neighbors begin to bleed,
be it through destruction of property, incarceration, injury or death,
the once comfortable are forced to open their eyes &
decide which side they're on.
I will let my problems freely expand never complain over things that cannot be answered to an compliant thats so ignorant to its availability when the reason is so irrelevant to my results of human nature but can be explain in admiration and evaporated and cleaned up by my postive analyst standpoint that I will overcome promissory to my vision thats half blurred in which I may not see nor people that may notice me to a complete way of there simply with a positive connection that relies in me all me in all variations in which version me only but try to conduct myself properly instead of clumsy balanced in how to withholding weight or leverage to keep me leveled and never fall too deep in a milk mishap and try to caution from slipping into an major accident until everything comes to clear to clear eyes viewed when everyone can see the accident b4 it happens and occur for them to see in a rush b4 everything comes clear from evaporated of spilt milk accident of problems that may affect me so seriously to an creed of a compliant of no clarity support just an non exist problem that well overcomed so lively.
Scene beneath is utterly true
Veracious (ridiculous) account
Told by me from baby eye view,
- Utterances she was without
Eighth day in the cold bright realm, hungry again
Feeds feature foremost!
Bundled snug in my Grandma's rhythmic arms,
grizzling kept at bay
Lovely Mummy eagerly took chance to shower
Unconcerned by her absence
Have fresh bottle of expressed breast milk
" Hungry, darling Possum?"
Grandma coos, getting comfy on the lounge
Gaze eyed, flared nostril enticed, elastic lips pursed
I'm ravenous! Now!
Lain awkwardly on Gran's lap, while she softly curses
" ..... Get this lid off, if, how ... "
Sprawled hands clasp my face - what's causing delay?
- I'll chat when I'm twice the size!
Tedious minutes of empty tummy lid wrestling pass us
Hollers supersede grunts
Jiggling knees threaten to chasm as she concentrates
Splashed suddenly, a solitary drop of nourishment
dissolves in my wailing throat
Blinked away white curtain showcases Gran's stun
Milk quickly cools on my back
Hesitant yelled confessions to shampoo lather Mama
cause more curses, taps off
Towel wrapped, she dresses red faced me in dry clothes
Grumbles over Gran's innacuracy
Guaged bottle lid's removal happens best when tipped up!
- You don't need to teats me how to drink!!
Word Count is 200
26th July 2020
Written for Contest: 'Craziest Time'
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
It may be a day of red
Which would make something that should be said
A Mother's love is un denying
Putting up with her child's whining
That turns into innocent sighing
So on this day of love
Let's reach a little above
While acting peacefully in the tradition of a white dove
Silk spills from her suitcase
and love is a careless thrown scarf
around long elegant necks.
She watches through the scented night
of unfamiliar décor,
as packet teas and coffees
lie like soldiers on a tray.
She idly wonders if he likes his coffee black,
or perhaps they will dispense altogether
and lie like lovers beneath
crisp white sheets
sharing bubbles of surprise
from cheap hotel glasses.
This is not the midnight raids
Of laughing childhood,
eating stolen food beneath a
canopy and jumble of bedclothes
cross legged with nightdresses
bunched around their knees.
Crumbs are no longer fun
and fizzy drinks are bought
in bottles proudly bearing labels
of an indifferent champagne.
If she opens the drapes
just a shade
will she watch that long lost innocence
cavorting down unfamiliar streets?
Nowadays she likes to lie
with one leg possessively stretched
and the lines and sinews of their bodies
elongated and filled with
Sated sighs.
© EMG05
Here I stand with a razor in hand
I stare into the mirror and see my reflection
Tears falling and scars that will never heal
You don't care and you never understood
That the pain I feel is real
I slash my wrist and clench my fist
Bittersweet release and bliss
I drop the blade and fall to my knees
As I drift into an everlasting sleep
I weep for your return
But now I finally learn
That love is not true unless your blood runs red
Cause words mean nothing when your heart is dead
Jams and jams gather all around
As I shatter glass jars on the ground.
Amongst the finest silk.
Beginning to spill is the milk.
Caressing the very fabric.
Disgracing the very cosmic.
Enjoying the destruction.
Fraying the very eruption.
Grave driven is the rage.
Harboring the scent of sage.
Indignant excuse.
Jester the abuse.
Killing the very soul.
Losing all of your control.
Milk runs and brands.
Open container saves the other strands.
Purpose unknown.
Questing the very moan.
Rendering the very cloth.
Sending the sloth.
Tending to the mess.
Usually they like to make it less.
Venders selling gothic souvenirs.
Wading to the very fears.
Xerox everything in sight
Yours to destroy and fight
Zeroing in on the very game of playing the average.
Spilt Scenery
Moon bunts as a saffron sun advances o'er a horizon,
Spring's dabbled hues tender hearts a growthful bounty,
Love sprung amidst the fluttering of its emerald leaves,
High upon mounds beneath an affectionate bluish peak,
Cascading conduit spews of embracing inclined surrender,
Drench fondly nestling crystal waters of a chanting stream,
There search I this penchant lost in its cooling wetness,
Burbling budding blooms caressing banks of moving voyage,
Subtle surging touching midst rocks passionate swerving,
Till a mouth kisses a lake and surges sweet smacks ashore.
2020 March 24
*3rd Place*
STRAND CHOICE O,any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2020 March 24
Oh baby when the milk spills on the floor
Pours out its contents without warning
The carton bounce makes mommy scream
Daddy thinks it’s funny but daddy is wrong
Baby must die in his sleep tonight just because
Isn’t it a lovely day today with the birds chirping
Sun beaming on the perfectly calm afternoon
Mommies eyes fill up with real tears of diamonds
They become saucer size when worlds collide
And in her lily white mind thoughts turn south
As she screams and the guns come out
Daddy knows how to fix everything with a smile
Milk is serious business you know
Order must be kept in the perfect home
Mommy looks funny with her head spinning around
And what is that green stuff spewing from her mouth
She says, “Go to sleep my little one”
Sometimes mommies get tired too
No one will hurt the baby or leave evidence around
That would be stupid and dumb
Not a drop of blood or milk will be found
We keep a perfect house nice and clean
Isn’t that right my little honey pie thing?
a lemony Sun~~squirt its juice onto laid squinting eyes~~on a beach
2019 December 31