Best Spit Poems
Oh the venom on these lips
cold fury should you
taste it there. Drink
deep my gathering gloom
quench your thirst for
my lies and my truths
and my muted thoughts.
Stand still frozen dead
in pools of wonder and
dread for this poison
that seeps into your
pores will not soon
leave the haunted spaces
your frightened places
there will be myriad traces
where it killed the
wonder it found in your
dull and dreary mind.
Choke on toxic thoughts
vomit my musings and
spit forth guts colored
black with doubt and
fear and torment stain
the ground with your
loosened purpose your
pathetic beliefs that
words are always intentions
of the noble and righteous.
I spit fire from my lungs,
None can extinguish my flame,
The Ink I write with bleeds into their brains.
They wish they could raise up and stand as high as me,
I am filled with effervescence, touching places they can only dream.
I am absent, flawless, more perfect than they'll ever be!
Gaze into my emerald eyes, fall in love with me.
I dance with Gypsy magic stealing the souls of men,
These other fools, Ha! They see my trap and fall right in!
Can you refuse the beauty of a red haired Saint,
I'll beguile you before you recognize my war paint.
Silk white skin taunt across ample breasts,
Poison like Ruby lips that whisper dreams of a naked caress.
I hold all the powers, the gift of a seductress,
Worship me baby and I'll show you I'm the best,
I deserve to be a Queen or a Goddess, the rest are just worthless.
The Spit & Whittle Club
As remembered: by Miracle Man
3-21-2020
As a kid it was always town on Saturday,
horses and wagons dotted our main street.
Tied to curb rings up and down Broadway,
then penny candy, was sometimes a treat.
Many had come to gin a weeks cotton,
and buy flour and coffee for another week.
Times back then would today seem rotten,
But that was life and times were bleak.
Worn out by years, older men would sit,
they did this having nothing pressing to do.
On a bench swapping yarns to whittle, and spit,
and think, at days end, how the time flew.
All older men needed was a plug of Brown’s Mule,
and a pocket knife, and of course a stick.
Tom
The Tahitian sparrows won't sip,
The Albatross won't dive deep,
The pelican, the islander
Poorer than before,
Has to suffer and keep...
The agony...inside him and her,
And the world at large is watching,
The tyranny...
The imperialism that was once before,
Here it comes once again,
To poison your rips,
French foe..Foe,
Three two one go...bang!
Spare me Francois, it is Joe...
Who would suffer...
Go general...just go,
Deep...deep and on the surface blow
The totality
Of our reality
Rests on a loss of morality
More and more I see the shame
Every partner points the blame
Accountability leaves the brain
While innocent youth are going insane
Who will put a stop to this endless war?
Our family unit needs to be restored
Who will stand up and say it’s enough
The counterfeit lie that they have to be tough
Searching for love in all the wrong places
Can’t fill that void with different faces
Selfish pursuits and hopeless endeavors
Ultimately leaves ones soul lost in forever
The vanity… is insanity
Its society’s physical profanity
When will our hearts melt once more?
When will we love what we were made for?
We swore we wouldn’t repeat our parent’s mistakes
And now our neighborhoods are filled with a bunch of
Fakes
Snakes
That make big mistakes
Not man enough, to own up, get healed and be right
Obsessions have taken over righteous appetites
The quick-fix seems to be the common way
If we humbled ourselves and repentantly prayed
The voids would subside
We would not have to hide
And Gods light would transform
Every self-inflicted storm.
BY: Sabina Nicole
Spit and the Ocean
The sand spits at me as I walk
an uninvited interloper
content in my inane belief
I leave disappearing footprints.
Theft, pilferage, armed robbery,
committed in covetous collusion,
sunrises seared into memory,
plagiarized in dreams.
Thundering timpani of surf
rolling rounded stones,
salty chime of windblown sand
peppering the sea wall,
distant fog horn tuba -
ushers in the dimly lit aisles
following history’s lights
through shifting shoals.
The air shrieks, the ocean growls,
the sand burns, the brine stings,
the surf - in foaming rage - erases
all sign of my presence,
spitting as I walk away.
1/29/2016
In my mind there is a poetic spark
Illuminating words that were in the dark
When I put pen to paper it starts to blaze
My syllables are on fire as I kindle my phrase
Fiery words race through my mind
As conflagration of thoughts combine
A liquid thought attempts to put out the fire
But it's too weak to extinguish my burning desire
Then like a volcano my stanza erupts
My words are red hot please don't interrupt
I'm in rhyme mode and I cant stop
A free verser intrudes but is quickly burnt up
My final couplet flows with the lava down to the sea
Smoke rises from my pen, my poem set free
I went to war in Vietnam which wasn't my idea
the army never asked for my advice
I slogged on through the jungles there and watched some soldiers die
out country where the farmers grow their rice
The months went by like in a horrid dream of blood and death
and nothing I could say made any change
one mission here. one mission there just made no sense to me
but there was no way it would rearrange
We came to do our duty and to save South Vietnam
from communist incursions from the north
The tunnel rats went into where no one should ever go
And daily, squads were sweeping back and forth
The enemy was everywhere so telling friend from foe
was just about the hardest thing to do
then just about the time you may have thought you had it pegged
some little "friend" would make a fool of you
I finally got home last month, free from an ugly war
but landing at the airport gave me pause
a woman with a little kid called me a nasty name
and spit at me without a hint of cause
This war I did not advocate and never wished to go
I never had a choice in going there
I only wish the people at my home would understand
and put the blame on those who sent us there
I simply cannot understand the hatred aimed at me
for doing what I really thought was right
it seems that people aught to see the reasons why we go
and know that it's our duty makes us fight
If It Tastes Good, Spit It Out
By Elton Camp
Some diets for weight control
Fat-free, sugar-free do extol
Those who wouldn’t be fat
May have to eat a lot of that
Bran cereal that tastes like hay
And there’s even more to say
A muffin that is fat-free
Tastes very bad to me
With a salad I’m not thrilled
With E. coli, it may be filled
From now on, you must lack
A luscious, juicy Big Mac
French fries you eat no more
Their fat and sodium to abhor
Never think you can try
A slice of chocolate pie
Also quite hard to take
No more red velvet cake
The diet rule to recall
If good, don’t eat at all
'Tis said that baseball is as American as turkey and punkin pie.
There's nothin' more excitin' than a triple play or a 'homer' on the fly!
Though somewhat distractin' from the game that I am diagnosin',
Are the peculiar mannerisms of the players that I find so engrossin'!
Some hand signals by the manager seem to be downright rude!
When he's nose-to-nose with the ump tryin' to stir up a feud,
He jaws and kicks the turf and dust all about the umpire's shins.
The ump poses with folded arms and just stands there and grins!
A matter that in some quarters is considered a lack of cultivation,
Is the players' chawin' bubble gum creatin' cascades of expectoration!
Spit is liberally used on the players' gloves, bats and hands.
For what purpose I reckon only a seasoned player understands!
The pitcher goes through strange gyrations as he settles on the mound.
He scratches here and there, adjusts his cap and gazes all around,
Then, communicates with the catcher with a subtle nod of his pate,
After they both concur on what tricky ball to deliver o'er the plate!
Before the batter steps up, he adjusts his gloves (into which he spits),
Fiddles with his helmet and bat, all, I suppose to garner better hits.
Maybe bubble gum and spit are necessary for the game - what do I know.
One thing is for sure - those fellers sure do put on a fantastic show!
Would you just spit out what you're trying to say!
Stop sounding like a jackass, hee hawing a bray.
Sugar coating words won't make them sound sweeter,
and don't even try to recite them in rhyme and meter.
You keep babbling words. It's foolish procrastination.
Stuttering "B b b b...but B b b b...Baby" in hesitation.
Minced words are stumbling and fumbling from you.
Hinting with utter nonsense is what you always do.
I don't have the time or the patience to wait around
while you stammer in the most annoying sounds.
Tongue tied and afraid you'll say something wrong?
I'm not mincing words in telling you goodbye, so long.
6/17/16
I spit fire
to remind you
to strategically align your verbs correctly in a sentence
or perhaps you'd like to see me correct you
oh wait, You correct I?
That seems about right
that sums it about up
and just when you figure you've had enough-
poof!
You're gone.
Cause you run.
You run from your feelings,
you run from reality instead of taking the beating
you run from your own self judgment,
self worth
don't tell me I didn't love you enough
I sat by you while you spat vomit in my face
while your hands twisted my neck-
rope-burn-
the sensation
you feel when there's no hope
nothing but doubt echoing
louder
and louder
but wait
is that retaliation?
Or a mirage of he-the one he pretended-
the one who was happy
had his life together.
Instead you pity me
Pitiful thinking
brings pessimistic events
so while you're still stuck in denial
unable to forgive yourself
unable to trust
I'll be flying over you,
hitting an excess speed
This mission is aborted
You lit my rocket ship
What can you do with all those seeds,
slick, black missiles that blaze
a path down your throat,
when what you want is to taste
the sweetness that surrounds them?
You collect them, as if they're treasure,
and curious grandchildren follow,
eager to play, sure of victory.
I spat those flat torpedoes beyond
the range of their imagination, and they,
in slack-jawed wonder at my dubious talent,
took turns spitting and measuring,
each determined to beat my record.
I dispensed seeds as lips pursed, tongues
pushed, seeds flew and the air rang
with spitting sounds. Grandpa shook
his head, laughing at our nonsense.
The game continued, dishes stacked
unwashed, pride built, skills increased
and seeds diminished.
But watermelon seeds' primary purpose
is not to be denied. Lush vines sprang up
in flowerbeds, dwarfed petunias and snapdragons
and produced huge, sweet melons,
replete with slick, black pips.
A poem is all you had request
A masterpiece is what I’ll bequest
No mere rhyme, nor meter, nor count,
Will ever truly amount
To the vast greatness you will see
As the last verse I’ll present to thee!
For all my gallant
Talent
Will be on display
At all others dismay
For I shall win your contest
Without contest!
…
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Glory is great
But PayPal will do ;)
Forgive me or condemn me.
I'm imperfect.
Nothing will change the way that I stand or present myself.
I will stand here until this world fades away.
In this place, we all die young.
So will you live or let me down like always?
I see the way you fall.
Living your life on your knees.
You fall for everything, give up on everything, you'll never have a chance.
I can see straight through your crooked eyes.
Infallible lies.
Again and again.
You can't help yourself.
Let the truth be told.
I got this feeling.
I don't think we will ever be the same.
We are bound to be polar opposites, you believe in nothing.
You fight for nothing.
You stand for nothing.
Am I the only one left with a mind of my own?
This makes me sick.
Get out of my face.
Decisions need to be made.
You need to change.
How can you just let your mind be d?
Your free will just stripped away.
It's like you make every effort to just spit in my face.
When will you stand?
When will you get off your knees?
I'm disgusted at your lack to live or believe in anything.
Get up.
I will not help you to your feet.
You're not that weak.
Will you stand or continue to fall?
You have a shot to end this all.
Pull the trigger or just spit in my face.