Best Splashy Poems
Oh, how I swoon
in the ruby bliss of your sunset kiss -
your vibrant rays of maturity arouses my fire;
touching me with urgent rapture,
saturating me in sparkles of champagne light, then,
streaming through me in bold shafts of gold.
We embrace
in the broadening bloom of lantana skies -
our burning blend;
your western blaze my prismatic panes
telling biblical stories of love and pain,
bestowing rainbows into depths of dark -
our fervor cast like water-colored sprites
in far-flung illuminations
across dusky medieval arches
enlightening dim granite walls
gracing graceful curves and conscientious columns
in jewel-shades waltzing with your solar pulse.
Our vivacious union reflects our Gothic romance
in mirrored mirages dyeing the staid floor
with painted riches that richly rejoice
in plashes of splashy
orgies of light and glory
the appetite of holy ambiance whet
by warm and cool tones
pregnant with passions of the heart
and imbued with torments and ecstasies
of the soul -
cleaving humanity and divinity
in flaring flair; emerald, sapphire, citrine and garnet,
amid our spellbinding moments
of tantric twilight magic.
Our synergy electrifies
the night-falling quietude of this sacred space
before our enchanted euphoria
begins to wane… and as your dying flame
gives way to the rise of the shy crescent moon
I lose my orgasmic zest
to the evening’s ebon hue.
Two drops of water fell from heaven
Unlike any other, they were in love
Holding each other they stayed together
Dreaming of river and deep blue ocean.
It wasn't easy to skip the flower-garden
And ignore appeal of a thirsty fountain,
But they persevered rushing down street
Being trampled by traffic and splashy feet.
Bouncing, giggling, reaching tributaries
Riding gleefully, foaming, and sprinkling
Jumping in delight, riding wavy vibes
Sensing river was near, rushing with joy.
Panic set in when they got separated
Holding essence of a shattering dream.
Feeling like being abandoned midstream
One drop teared, the other saw cheer.
Drop that teared soon learned to cope
But as the ocean neared, it lost all hope.
Little did it know as it fell into the ocean
Other drop waited to catch it with elation.
March 4, 2018
While the waves lash the shores and splash in soft music
The dishes we serve here in this Golden Grain restaurant
Emanate aroma into the nostrils a pungent sweet exclusive
Have you visited this earlier too or how are you insouciant
A sip of sweetly sour sea food clear soup with tofu in your mouth
While on your hair the wind from the Arabian Sea plays its tickles
As you change your seat for the cool wind coming from the south
Our gracious waiters serve you mouth watering sea food pickles
Tasting the cheesy tuna salad as you share your moments with sea
The boundless sky above invites you to look at its cracked blue art
We are mystified if we will have the listen and sight or have the glee
In Sorpotel with rice, the Goan cuisine we must take to fill our heart
Made of pork in spices coconut vinegar and green chillies
Sorpotel is the essence of Christian gastronomy of Goa
The pungent and little salty flavor will without doubt ease
Your fatigue and more so if you take chunks of chilly soya
To which delight you will employ your perception is
A challenge as your eyes are amazed at the sight of
Seagulls in front of the restaurant leaving the breeze
Have become scavengers in their wing-spread hops
There is the all time favourite basil leaf spread lovely
Pizza dough of Phoenix with a crisp but chewy crust
Made by our chef himself who learned his art at Italy
Sweet salty pizza margheritta of ours take you must
Bebinca you all have to take in its full seven saffron layers
Get the personification of Goan spirit in this unique dessert
While listening to and looking at the splashy music players
Nonetheless your taste buds seek the sweet food for a flirt
Golden Grain is a golden moment in the golden sea beach
Do step in and taste the food with waves within your reach
_____________________________________________________
9/9/2016
For My imaginary restaurant - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Young and single, just got a job in a neighbour town,
Thought I’d buy a flashy car so I could get around,
My boyfriend at the time said that I should get a Camaro,
It was new, orange and shiny, how could I be so narrow.
I crowned her Bess and drove her home with pride,
All my friends called, they wanted to go out for a ride.
Summer was so much fun, what a splash I was making.
Then gone, both summer and the boyfriend I was dating.
Winter rolled in with tons of snow and patches of ice,
Getting to work in my Camaro, was like rolling the dice.
Ol’ Bess would skid to the left and swerve to the right,
Wow, I held on to the steering wheel with all my might.
So I resigned that Bess was not good in cold weather,
Even with snow tires, she blew around like a feather.
Then suddenly a new quirk started as I turned on the key,
She spluttered, oh great, guess I won’t make the grand prix.
Bess would start well at times then for no good reason,
She’d stammer, then stop, reek of gas - in any season.
Bess and I visited many auto repair shops by way of a tow,
The carburetor was like a fountain, out of it the gas would flow.
Apparently a carburetor is needed to make Bess purr,
So I had it rebuilt, then replaced, oh the bills, what a blur,
Then a starter motor and strut, remember Bess is brand new,
After three years of aggravation, I traded her in, I was through!
Guess a cool single girl may look good in a splashy sports car,
But if your car doesn’t start or run, you won’t get too far.
So I put on my sunglasses, look cool but feel like a real wart,
As I drive to work in sleet and snow in my old Ford Escort.
Written for Contest “Driving Me Crazy”
Won 6th Place
Mother Nature...Oh! Blue water,
Oh! Soft Globe...
I’m your slave; I’m your probe,
I’m for you... and for what you hold,
I’m a nature addict, this what I was told,
I like your fresh air...I like your breeze,
I like your flowery plants,
I like your shading trees,
I like all your little creatures....
Squirrels, wild rabbits, birds and bees,
I like the odours of your virgin prairies and farms,
I like the magical beauty of your countryside that charms,
Hunters, adventurers and lovers more...
Vagabonds and even fugitives who come for,
Seeking shelters to escape and hide,
Horses-lovers and jockeys who ride,
I like your singing rivers that show and lean,
I like your floating swans going in twin [s],
I like the tiny alleyways that lead and mean,
Paths, short cuts, mews...all in green,
I like your braying donkeys and the barking dog,
I like the whistling winds and your splashy bog,
I like your orphan turtles and the leaping frog,
I like your frosty mornings and your ghostly fog,
I like your stylish gardens...I like your vogue,
I like everything in you, mother-nature,
But I don't deserve you...
Since I’m destroying you,
And myself [...] I’m a rogue!!
river. gold
liquidcopper sheen & skypulp
mashed upon fatrocked banks
refracted beams;
reflections.
The kid squeal.
The rowers chirp "hello"
[multiple oar-chasm] we bridge it
with a languid arm-sigh tooing, no fro. Yes,
the 20th century is over,
and the "Water-Noodle"
has arrived.
Time works different out here.
The national spine
doesn't belong
to a book. No. Hold land
in check,
meaty planes
sewed onto bone.
Through the
geothermal corridors
where karadji's file into rooms
discussing the hunt
laymen like me
listen in
on dragonfly wings.
Cherubs
land.... "Mum, you're an old fart!"
snorty laughs
splashy goodness
erections stay
low. Kookaburras
slot into. Their laugh
lingers like a
splinter in my throat
and I don't follow.
Family's an ascending arc
orbiting
this chubby orphan
(he is all sickle,
shaped like a question mark.)
Re-arrangements.
"I want to see if the wombat's home!"
He's a dad alright, his salt 'n' pepper laugh more convincing
than George Clooney. Paper grows inside us
in wet reams.
It's all an odd proud thing, this lick of space.
The noise retreats, my heady sight dangles. Dizzy
eyeball flesh in quicksand vaguely mired.
A bordered scene:
a symmety of Mates bathing in
coy homophobia
their gargantuan cocks
reaching so far
to touch each other! Forbidden
to break the old pattern.
This goldpan face persists. Is life a Saturation?
Moist is good I like moist. Hairline dwellers
polite oracles.
My feet naked next
to cigarette butts & weed
the tethering of a slight libido
a moist amulet hangs like a beard;
sophisticated mist from the muddy cauldron.
Copyright. 2009.
Melded with raindrops -
the juiceless earth fruited lusciously
and the roaring lightning pops -
the vehement clouds sparked abundantly.
From time of summer -
for the juvenility they long expected
over the awash field they bopped over -
alike the sweetness of wintry roses, the zestful aroma contrasted.
Here and there the lively music got wind of bongs -
when the rain waved by the wind so heavily
the splashy whispery voice sung like yuletide carols -
with roasted chicken along with champagne, savored blithely.
All of a sudden the sun peeped out in between,
reckoned alike to chance once upon the Kris-Kringle's camion
Over the sky it arced with orange violet yellow blue red indigo green,
glowed as if presents wrapped along with gleeful horizon.
The sky that outraged fell out the factual consequences,
Around the globe masses fantasied the season to be resurgence
Palsy-walsy rain was alike the snow flurry occurrences,
Jejune July was abided by the Holy Christ's renascence.
Rusty colours
Immature eddies
Various swirls by meeting the shallows
Easy life for birds – paddling and schmoozing
Robust banks discipline the flow
Rapid somewhat move through the narrows
Under river fish playing with the water
Naughty fish playing!
Shallow deposits
Steady talking water
Timid waves throw floating leaves
Energetic dog puts splashy paw prints
Along the smoother bank
Diving dipping bird: it has dived to fish
Young river to grand river
------------------------------------------------------------------
Rumblings
Irritable eddies
Violent swirling
Eager fish only challenge it
Rapids
Raving bank smashes
Unprovoked now provoked
Nasty river messages
Surprising depth
Water rush
Ill tempered negotiating
Living a struggle
Deaths
Haunting and haunted,
These visages with lacy, saponaceous curds
Depending and plummeting,
Do I on the pebbled porcelaneous integument
Of the whitish shower floor scrawl.
I wonder, as frothy masses of foamy, bubbled soap
In the shower traverse mine body and ripple and course
Undulant across my sinews, driven by the pound and pour of the
Plunging, cascading cataract of pressurized shower water....
I wonder, I mull and I ponder over the
Accounting, the tally, the sum total of those
Ephemeral faces by soap and pressured water engendered:
Those ghastly and spectral faces which precipitate
Diluted, water-blasted soaps have, in
Soppy, splashy, soap-lashing
Depositions on that pebbled floor atop of which I stand
(Or did when the inspiration for this poetical work mine
Did, whilst erectly bathing, occur to me)
Yet how many multitudes of these
Through the course my myriad bathings and showerings;
How many of those horrid, demonical, haunting and haunted
Physiognomies did I of a moment
Indirectly will, if you will, into being-
Even whilst the shower coursed pluvial and pouring waters thundered all around?
What do you do when she’s born two months early?
Nothing in place but cute baby clothes
Wishing we could at least kiss her on her nose
While in the incubator she had us in a scurry
Expecting a boy, peering through the glass was a girl
So my folks asked the two nurses for suggestions
They just smiled and didn’t have any objections
So I ended up as Wilma Nolene in a twirl
Mom and dad were quite happy
Little old me had no say
Only saw mom for the first time on New Year’s Day
My name, I think is quite savvy
I wish I could meet those two ladies
Whose names I now do carry
I would take them out to someplace splashy
Just to say thank you for looking after us babies
Wilma derived from William
Meaning determined keeper
I can be a real teaser
At times a bit fearsome...
*a true story, two nurses named me*
Contest: What's In A Name
3rd Place
Knowingly overdone
kind of low brow drama.
Kooky, loud and splashy
keen on melodrama.
Kinky and weird, it can
knit one's emotions in
knots, with its garish ways.
Written on 3/8/2017
Pleiades
(tongue-in-cheek humor)
I understand there is a lawsuit, doc # 666, Neptune vs. Jersey. Apparently, windmills being put in the ocean off the Jersey coast was all done without consultation and approval by the Sea Council – who clam (ocean slang for claim) guardians of the sea coast, Loan Sharks, were paid by politicians to keep usually open mouths shut, and therefore the project went forward without public digest (a form of shoreline debate). Salacia, Poseidon, Neptune, and other overlords have their fins in a tizzy, equally upset about gender changing surgery being suggested to school fish pupils by gender fluid teachers also causing quite an uproar within the shallows and depths – stay tuned to the Splashy, your Prime Time Ocean News Network. This is written tongue-in-cheek, and any resemblance to real people or places is accidental and unintended. No truth in any of this to my knowledge.
AN ILL FATED FOURSOME
There was once a giraffe called Flashy,
Had a girlfriend whose name was Sassy
In addition, had a mistress called Trashy
And the girlfriend, a lover called Splashy
They romped and played all of the day,
Not giving a care to criminals in their way,
For danger lurked whilst they just lay,
In a dreamy, erotic, sun drenched bed of hay.
Reality soon crept up on these randy four,
As predators came knocking at their door,
The pride of lions let out a delighted roar,
Licked their chops, a mess on the grassy floor!
One slushy day, a Jolly fisher fishes
a wishing well, where he knows splashy fish is.
For Princess Tricia's favourite dish is,
a plate of little squishy fresh whitefishes;
and Tricia gets all she ever wishes.
Too selfy selfish to accept shellfishes,
Dogfish, Catfish, or even some Swordfishes;
and despite her mother's pushy tisch tisch tisches,
a plate of little squishy fresh whitefishes,
is all that Princes Tricia ever wishes.
The dashing, raffish, jolly fisher's wish is
by fishing for the squishy fresh whitefishes,
surely he should switch Tricia's fishy wishes;
then introduce and show some swisher dishes.
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date wrote: 8th September 2022
beneath the frothy rapids
along splashy river shallows,
strewn with sunken rocks,
crawls a delicate sand shrimp,
slender and transparent,
the color of colorless cellophane;
having long discovered
the right body tilts and moves,
it is able to rein in and ride on
the fastest, often swirling, flow
of the invisible undercurrent,
gliding to where it wants to go;
but, perhaps the shrimp doesn't
manipulate the current after all,
perhaps it just yields to each
flow and abandons its original
wishes, having been convinced
about what it can and cannot do !