Best Splats Poems
And so they sat, this learned three
in full pursuit of liberty,
the turkey, eagle and the dove
looked down upon them from above.
The declaration almost writ
they rubbed their chins a little bit;
looked heavenward, and there espied
their feathered friends, as one they cried:
The perfect symbol he would be
to represent our great country!
His visage shall our seal adorn
To celebrate our new land born!
But harmony became dissent
as three ways now their discourse went;
voicing long as they were able -
till three bird splats hit the table.
Silenced now, the conversation
at this triple defecation,
the trio must now make a pact:
clean up the table, and their act.
Full focused now, the case was laid
for each bird, compliments were paid,
pausing only, eyes a-goggle
at the turkey’s goofus gobble.
Despite their eloquential might
they could not make their choice take flight;
just as they made their virtues soar
another splat would hit the floor.
The birds, enjoying now this game
attempt to calibrate their aim;
to make their mark and thus complete
the declaration at their feet.
The Dove, descending from his perch
aghast at our trio’s besmirch;
peppering poop across their stage
like little stars across the page.
The turkey, not to be outdone
slicked back his crop and took a run;
with several rather clumsy wipes
he bathed the document with stripes.
The Eagle watched with some disdain
his adversaries stock now wane;
their lust for glory now long gone -
he knew he was the chosen one.
The Eagle may have won the day
his image is still used today;
but Dove and Turkey may still brag -
they made the stars and stripes your flag.
Why does my new girlfriend always wear a cowboy hat
She lives in the big city in a high rise council flat
I gazed up at the window of her flat up in the sky
And when I did a bloody pigeon did one in my eye
So as I walked away I’m wiping poop to clear my sight
But droppings kept on plopping on my shoulders left and right
All I could do was duck and dive and try to dodge the splats
I looked around and everyone was wearing cowboy hats
That first cup of coffee, what could be sweeter
It's starts the day right, it's a sadness defeater
We wake up all groggy and stumble over things
Into walls and doorways as to the table we cling
Lucky if we make it to the kitchen in one piece
Hopefully we won't get splattered with grease
While cooking up bacon and eggs and some taters
I'm wondering the cost of a live-in baker
Okay back to the brew that revives us once more
Without it we're zombies with blood splats galore
If the girls at the office could see me like this
There'd be no more begging for a passionate kiss
Pretend not to see me, avoid me like the plague
They'd make up excuses no matter how vague
So you see the importance of our morning brew
It starts the day off with a bright howdy do
That first cup of coffee, what could be sweeter
It's yummy in the tummy and a sadness defeater
© Jack Ellison 2015
As a moth attracts to a flame,
I became; blinded by his blaze.
Leaving me wounded and dazed,
On the battle Ground is where we remain.
Leaking trust like a weak bladder,
Discharging accusations like violent explosions, of gunpowder.
Not believing in the love, I have for him,
Leaving Blood splats all over the arena.
Bleeding blood shot eyes.
Everything I have to say, he takes as lies.
Having no mercy for the man before me,
I become the predator.
Breaking up just to make up, crazy to others but works for us.
Love and war for the man I adore,
Late night bickering in engage peevish arguing.
Skirmish conflicts leading to intimate kisses,
of the battle of the sexes.
Some loving is what I really wanted.
Sexually yielding complying with the request of his desires, I admire.
I lay down on the battleground, surrendering my rights while he continues to play fight.
Lieutenant in his presence,
next in rank to my captain.
In love with his persistent makes me pursue this.
Never having to fight for his attention,
He gives me everything I been missing.
As he is taking charge, I am pinned up against the wall.
He is my personal lifeguard, my body as the main yard.
My love is the trump card.
Battling to death almost out of breath as the words I am sorry lay our problems to rest.
Until next time with our bipolar tendencies, he loves and dislikes me.
Along with the stench
From the Vietnam swamp
Lingers many other stains
Far beyond mud and muck
I’ve washed and scrubbed
‘Til my fingers bled raw
Trying to remove the souvenirs
From my uniform cloth.
Splats of blood, of a friend,
Buried without a face,
And the revenge on the shooter,
In the very same place.
The stain, there on the arm,
Is from the night when I slept,
In a dug out, trench,
Where dead bodies were kept
There’s a cigarette burn
On the chest, over there
Self inflicted pain,
Meant to melt away care
Deeper into hell
Evert step that I took
Mayhem and murder
In all directions, it lurked
A letter arrived
They said I could go home.
So, my buddy and I
To the train station flown
1 week later, in Kentucky
We planted our feet
To be spat on by strangers
We passed on the street
The dirty laundry we wore
Was not held with respect,
We came home from one War
And, intercepted the next
Politicians on the news
Say, that was not a “war.”
Just a conflict, they say
So, what did our men die for?
I’ve woke up in panic,
Cold sweats, and crazed
I’ve wide opened fire
Through my home, without phase
If that don’t define war,
Then what’s this that I feel,
Are you trying to tell me,
What I saw wasn’t real?
Still yet today, I am pestered
By images, time to time
When I open that drawer
With dirty laundry inside.
04/19/2011
All rights reserved ©
Miranda Lambert
In dedication to my Pawpaw; Frank Dials, Vietnam Veteran
Served from 1964-1970.
He always has a hard time telling this story, but tells it bravely.
RESPECT THE VETS!!!!
I remember being a little remote control. My chassis
was sound and I was beeping all the time. My handlers
were amused to drive me around. I was happy to please them.
It made me feel sound.
Then they took me to the track to teach me to race.
It seemed like I crashed all over the place.
Into this one and that with horrible splats.
Then they made us sleep on these crazy floor mats.
There were speeders who were so cool and fast
and I was easy enough to pass.
They laughed at me and I felt like a fool
but my handlers wanted me to be in school.
Then there were those who ran very slow
They ran like trucks with things to tow
And it seemed like I was getting bogged down too
with weights like dummy, drip-nose and pugh!
As I got bigger my engine grew
and I quit banging into you, you and you.
And occasionally, I'd stop to take a fight
and settle a score or show my might.
But mostly I went cruising about, flexing
my muscles, lettin' it all hang out!
Showing off was really a very great thrill
especially when a girl liked my shiny, chrome grill.
There were some who liked me and polished my chrome!
And I sometimes thought I should take her home.
Then there were those who lied right from their heart,
they made me feel bad and my engine wouldn't start.
It hurt bad to feel like a broken go-kart
and they didn't care if they broke my little heart.
It made me angry and I wanted revenge.
I thought of ancient powers from darkest StoneHenge.
I wanted to hurt them down deep inside but something
stopped me, I think it was pride.
They just weren't worth it somehow I knew
and I waited with grace until I met you.
You were shiny and white with chromium delight.
Colors and stripes all looking right!
I couldn't help but fall in love
with a car that resembled a spicy, love dove.
My headlights beamed and my motor purred
I couldn't stop beeping while my oil was stirred
I raced around and pulled up straight away
and said, "hello there darlin' I'm sayin hey, hey!"
You smiled and laughed and made me feel at home
and we sparkled and shined no longer alone
And I realized it was nice to be in this place with you
even though we both were no longer new.
rotten apple
splats 'pon ground....
firm apple rolls
It's a universal soup for two --
The medium for all known life.
A magic, elemental, H2O stew.
In fat storm-puffs of water rife.
Breathing in and over the world:
In a rare, thirsty-desert deluge;
On peaks of snow, wind-whirled;
Beneath the streets it rises, huge.
Where you live, it rains and smells.
That Ozone-fresh feels the best....
Listen to trillions of droplet-knells,
A sizzling, misty downpour fest.
Drooping drips of splats and sound.
The pitter-patter of sidewalk echoes,
Extending from rain-soaked ground.
A poet paints water-of-life frescoes....
August 11, 2016
Now,
I'm not one to jest, or protest,
-or say "I'm the best".
And I'm not one to pout, or put down,
-but I have little doubt...
That I should have won.
Oh yes, there were good entries,
Thrilling tales, brilliant reads.
But among those submissions getting recognition,
were poems of old entities.
Random words with abstract thoughts.
Tired rhyming, splats and gobs.
Nonsensical, gibberish disguised,
as wisdom for eyes that bought the lines.
-But MINE,
was brilliant, fresh, straight to the point.
-Funny, original...and something else that rhymes with point.
So I leave you now with this one fact;
My poem should have won, and that is that.
.
Ancient Barlett Pear
Orange leaves dance reflect light...
Lone pear splats 'on earth
On the top of my delicious spaghetti
Always covered with cheese
I miraculously lose my poor meatball
When someone uninvited sneezes
It rolls of a marble table
And splats onto the floor
Then my poor meatball
Heads right out the door!
It rolled in a grassy garden
And right under a bush
Now my poor meatball
Was nothing but a mush
The mush was still very tasty
As tasty as can be
Then early next summer,
It grew into a wooden tree
The wooden tree was covered
With the prettiest moss
It grew the most lovely meatballs
In fantastic tomato sauce
So if you like delicious spaghetti
Always covered in cheese
Hold onto your poor meatball
And make sure you never sneeze!
The plumbing here is atrocious
With clattering so ferocious
It spits and splats, like angry cats
And can also; be quite precocious
Just a tiddle, as with its handle i fiddle
Gazing into its innards, only a dribble!
I peer so intent, on my knees in a dent!
As concrete makes; pain so complete.
Wow, I lurch without perch and numb feet
In I draw breath, then rattle smash bash
A torrent’s comes flash' a watery lash!
In sodden clothes, I must beat a retreat.
©Joe Maverick 20-11-2022
The first thing I smell,
after I step off the plane,
a Boeing 757, to be exact,
the pungent scent of jet fuel is permeated by flowers,
tropical flowers of pink and white,
a small, long legged bird struts through the grass,
as my family and I walk into the open air airport.
Inside bustles and hustles,
and cutsoms takes forever,
ut Im too exc ited to get to ou resort and sleep (I've been up since 2 a.m.!)
We race alond the pothole road,
narrowly avoiding some guys on mopeds.
I look out the rear windo, expectinf little splats behind us.
After taking another breatch and stepping out,
and walking by deadly and beautiful oleander bushes,
planted with orchids in purple and pink,
we check in at the marble desk and walk to the far room.
Villa number four we got,
not bad out of thirty nine,
and try to find our friends at one fo the three pools.
-to be continued...
Mr McCheesy has large feet
wears size 40 shoes, no simple feat
plip! plop! thud! phud!
was all you could hear
miles before he would appear
Many would hide to hold themselves safe
not wanting his cheesy feet near their face
many scorned, poked fun, gave retreat
all ran and hide, but never to seek
Mr McCheesy felt alone in despair
for he truly felt no one did care
mock him, tease him, laugh did they
each time he passed anytime of the day
One darkened morning
a fierce storm came calling
torrential rain lashed heavily down
ground gurgling, mud pouring
all ran, found cover, all prayed
When all was calm was plain to see
the devastation they did not forsee
disbelief, shock an all forlorn
wheat and corn was all gone
sodden wet mud laid bare openly
mangled limbs from drowned trees
Roads now broken, buried in ground
how was they going to travel around?
stuck, cut off from outside life
they knew to be in heavy strife
In distance a familiar sound echoed flew
splish splosh splush vibrated through
Mr McCheesy the man with large feet
pounding down the ground skillfully neat
Creating a road solid and sound
for everyone to convey around
feet echoing sounds they once did fear
now welcomed with loud roaring cheers
Lone warrior working his large feet
In rhythms of phuds and splats
Mr McCheesy on hearing their claps
spurred on reclaim land to reap
Added cheers erupted, boomed loud and clear
"you've made the horror disappear
Mr McCheesy you've saved the day
hip! hip! hooray! hooray!"
From that day forward none laughed at him again
ashamed and guilty of their bullying and pain
for he was their hero he saved the day
a statue was erected in his grand name
We are all unique with qualities of difference
some dont see, only show of their ignorance
god gave to us for reasons unknown
were all different it is often shown
but the devil he teases and tempts with his sin
turns us into imbeciles and cruelty sets in
If ever your teased to having cheesy feet
remember the tale wrote above
cheesy feet who saved that day
gave so much and forever his love
26.08.20
Water, water, dear water, Mater Mare.
Where would I be without you, my wet, wet milieu?
Water is the medium that bathes my cells, my blood, my fluid within,
derived from the primordial ocean, aeons ago, still tasting of its salt.
I live bedside the sea, no other place would I, or could I be, born a Piscean.
For the ocean, river, lake, pond, drip and drop, even tiny pitter patter splats
sustains me in body and soul.
If I was dragged away from the sea, dripping wet, and I would die.
I willed my ashes to be tossed upon the sea when I pass away. From Water to Water, I be.
Daily I make my pilgrimage to walk along the beach and swim in the ocean waves.
To imbibe the meditative rhythm of the tides and surge of the waves,
to and fro, in and out, surging splashing on the shore around my body.
I walk along the strip of sand washed between tide in and out,
so that I leave no footprints to desecrate the beach shore, so perfect.
I love the wedding gown train crescents left
on the smooth glistening wet sand with each wave as it surges up the beach.
At night, I hear the sea shanties sung by waves lapping on the shore, moody and reflective.
I hear the sounds of waves whooshing and hissing, splashing and dashing,
surging up the shore and back.
This performance is so calming and charming to me and the bird flocks.
Unlike a forest or a park, every day the sea is different, never the same.
Yet like an old friend, forever familiar to seafarer me as the sea and shore.
The rhythm of the sound, and visual surge of images are my meditation,
I come daily to the shore to be refreshed, adorned and pray homage,
to 'Mater Mare', the mother and matrix,
and womb of all life, here, on Planet Water.
On a calm day you can hear
all the seashell choir stranded on the beach,
sighing sea shanties under their breath.
I am one of them, now and forever.