Best Splotch Poems
It is an important cake that I had to bake with out a rake so that it would be
real It has a special filling that the groom himself requested and has not been
tested a flavor that is also a favorite of mine no matter where I dine even with fine punch It must not even come close to being dropped nor even flipped
It is a family specialty both with and with out the decorations with not one
splotch not one drop of scotch although my watch seems to have been some
how misplaced plus every step retraced although perhaps it’s in the van with the
pans of sandy ham maybe even on the can of Pam- wherever it is I can not put
down the cake to look
My book when last seen was next to the cake which was nowhere near the
hooks my watch may have been there too when I was using my decorating tools
with out boos but wherever my watch happens to be I am grateful I have not run
into any yellow bees I hope I am not late regardless of the fee because I have to
make a delivery even if for free
Well whatever the time even if I only get a few dimes and limes this is a
special occasion so this better be the right destination regardless of
instantaneous regeneration of plants with out procrastination or any kind of
hesitation despite some close calls that would make it resemble the leaning
tower of Italy here comes the wedding cake!
A conversation overheard between Shakespeare and his former muse.
"So many things hath turned to utter folly over the ages.
Hundreds of years since I've penned pages and pages.
What these ancient eyes of mine doth now conceive
plead, 'Return to thy grave, Bard, for here you'll grieve."
"In sooth, fair maiden muse, I know not why I am so sad.
Perchance to dream, is this a scheme or have I gone mad?
Enlighten me as to what's become of life as I once knew it.
Bitter dregs are coffee? Bring me tea or I shall lose my wit!"
"Fie to you and the darts of scornful glances from the eyes
of natives half-dressed. Is modesty held in compromise?"
It's accepted attire by everyone, nothing like in the past.
"I shall not rudely stare, but I find myself quite flabbergast.
What of the churl who spits venom into that man's face?
Doth women in this day act like shrews? What a disgrace!
Is not thy husband honored as both her lord and keeper?"
Women are equal. She looks at him like she's the grim reaper.
"The lady doth protest too much. That's what me thinks.
A goblet of ale tis what I need, and then forty winks.
That minstrel sings gibberish. Has he no pride in himself?"
He sings a Christmas song about an elf who sits upon a shelf.
"O, teach me how I should forget from whence I have come.
I do not belong here. I need a draft to sleep and benumb.
Romeo's poison was quick. Thus, with a tender kiss he died.
To chamber I betide to cleanse this stain I shall not abide.
Out! Out Damned spot! Thy splotch besmirches as if blood.
Begone fore I hear my heartbeats pounding with each thud.
On the banks of Stratford-On-Avon tis where I long to be,
rewriting Romeo and Juliet so in the future he will decree...
To Juliet when she says, Romeo. Romeo, wherefore art thou?
The lad shall reply, "What do you want from me, you cow?"
Dear Bard, you mustn't change a word of what's been written.
For centuries women have read your lines and were smitten.
"I shall nary breathe a word of this ill journey to the future.
Thine lips are sealed forever more without need of suture.
Back to the grave where I belong, most gladly shall I return.
In eternal sleep, ne'er to dream of such time I did spurn."
The people cast their ballots;
And hopes are very high;
But the looks upon the Christian man;
Shows some worry in their eyes.
The donkey has majority.
And hopes to bring the fame
But the skeptics look to clouds above;
For fear there could be rain.
At the wheel of colors;
The paint won’t match the blotch
And the ones who paint the pictures;
They can only paint a splotch.
The wife is picking curtains;
And the man is on the phone.
The kids want decorations;
And they’ll never be alone.
Some people are ecstatic;
Some are now in fear.
Many never will accept;
The time for change is here.
Sing a song of good times;
We’re not on our own;
Sweep away decaying leaves;
Up ahead is home.
Up ahead is home Lord;
Can the time be near?
Will the rider on his painted horse;
Bring with him what some fear?
A splotch of orange
spills over East,
mixes with and washes away
night dark and moon yellow.
Golden quiet transmutes
to silver sound, and tousled sleep
awakes to fresh-combed day.
ekphrasis
Five glasses filled with brew but only two in kind;
the bread is toasted lightly, portioned just for four.
Although the background’s hazy, something rests behind,
dim splotch of green? a clue we may be out-of-doors.
A meeting of the minds? just what shall we assume?
Simplicity. The toast and drink, an easy fare.
It seems the palate lacks variety, it’s true;
be careful, but move past the concrete things in view.
Which guest will do without the toast or maybe share?
Perhaps this scene’s a prompt not meant to be consumed.
Imagine artists gathered round, with tools all set,
each marking what he sees upon that butcher block.
A not so simple task, the brush and palette used
or words in lines employed so meaning is infused.
The artist/writer spinning thoughts which can unlock
the core of what is seen, our appetites to whet.
written by Reason A. Poteet
written 18 April 2015, for Giorgio's Ekphrasis 01 Contest
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_contests/member_contest_details.aspx?ContestID=6243
Mum
A siren of Oogahs! fills her ears,
But the cream of smile and care splotch her face,
Tells you the loving tutelage she has for years,
Cuddling and snuggling is me the little thing,
As she wraps me and embraces me,
In endless full love string,
Onomatopoeic sirens of my helpless cry,
To you might be a clear bother,
To her is a call-in notification,
To attend to me like an open door,
Mama is the greatest being ever lived to cherish,
Never shall I let her joy to perish,
Thank you, mum.
The ink blot can BLINK
Hurrah! TODAY I think
Now a SPLOTCH is in the sink
With water I did not drink
If I spot this BLOTCH I'll scream
Bringing a crowd to this scene
Calming them all with CREAM
BUT this shock may never be
If I can wash it away with
Aqueous fluid indeed it will
Spill into the drain and glide
Onto infinite PARALLEL PLAINS
THE BLOTCH of SPLOTCH never
To be seen AGAIN. HURRAH!
Carcinoma, melanoma sick twins
Inside their innocuous hosts grin
For surface tension brings no chagrin
Another, common diagnosis will time lend
Healthy cell structures to amend
Immune systems with guile befriend
In state of denial, journey begins
Signs not to the human eye hidden
But worry has healthy mind forbidden
Asbestos, carbon dioxide, dioxin
Immune filters will certainly fend
Smoking, over eating, years of gin
Only near life's end wages will append
Per chance through pore seeps pathogen
To rally antibody troops always an antigen
Discolored figment under skin
Bright pigment from allergen
A red rash can dry with benzine
Yellowish splotch need carotene
Brownish bump harmless toxin
Black mole surely genetic origin
Benign cyst lacking needed vitamin
Purplish lesion can cure with Neosporin
Small lump only a gland that's swollen
Goiter rarely takes malignant spin
Bleeding Tears
I would love to master the bait,
But my heart still crumbles with tears,
I thought I had wept all,
But your simple sound still sizzle straight to haunt,
My gaits to move to splotch me,
Because the vase of love has been sucked to dry,
I sit in my kneaded hut with tears bathing my chest,
I am bleeding tears!
The marshal with anger and pain,
A paper love was well destined than action,
Promises we baked thawed before oven-ed to reality,
My eyes dilate with barrels of tears,
That is craving to be released to freedom,
As they leave a mark of a broken heart that has no cure,
I sit down looking at your portraiture,
With tears water logging my chest,
Am bleeding tears!
PORTRAIT OF SPOT
mr. Picasso
we have a strange cat named spot.
spot is mainly white
save for this splotch on his nose,
pure black and triangular
now some cats meow
but spot cries like a baby
you’ll want to paint spot.
because spot is quite unique.
i’m sure you’ll think him worth while
please don’t take offense
but at the art gallery
i saw your pictures
and you like to distort things
spot has built-in distortion
cats like to cuddle
not spot he stays to himself
switching his black tail
while the others eat he waits
he’s very particular
other cats hate him
they hiss when spot comes around
does this bother spot?
no they hate the way he cries,
how he always gets his way
he knows he’s special
so you might have to beg him
to come and sit for you
and you must treat him super
he knows you’ll make millions
I live in a barren wilderness.
Thoughts of those I miss are few.
Nothing but the midnight sky to watch.
For leaving them behind I have no bitterness.
Although this world all but feels like deja vu.
For this existence is but a splotch in mine reality.
Some of my previous life's are coming clear.
All of these memories will soon accrue.
Upon a greater reality of one I will try to drink away with hard scotch.
Be it through this life or the next I am alone for that Is my fear.
Upon my next dream I hope I will be with them again mine Bauch.
A rather young couple have
Moved in together
In the two up, two down
Across the street.
Not for them conventionality
Or conformity:
No wedding band offends
Her third finger, left hand
Nor, it must be said
From appearances,
Does bath water very often.
Long, lank and greasy hair
Drools over their acne-scarred complexions.
They proudly declare their membership
Of the rock music degeneration
With booming bass
And screeching electric guitars,
Earth-quaking the street.
Oh yes, they have defiantly
Made it clear
They’re not going to conform
And prefer to live their lives
Living in din.
Hickory Dickory Splotch
The Mouse glanced at his watch
The chime struck ten
The Mouse smiled then
And opened up his Scotch
Decadent perimeter a decorous
tray doth betray
Polished cart a nubile mask doth
display
From black, coiffed locks baited line
doth sway
From slippery, glossed lips a sweet
nectar doth spray
In dark corner, sleek, painted lashes
lustily fray
On cheeks, hearty splotch of rouge,
as sparkling rubies arrayed
Powdered, satin neck a smooth,
silky route doth relay
Below, a swinging gait with nimble
legs that teasingly play
While regal, surface stream my
passions do tap
My mind longs heart's deep
reservoir uncap
The silted mine's exterior allures
with its glittering scrap
But I long the buried riches of soul's
deep crevasses to unwrap
The tender juices from heated lips
flow like sap
But my burning desire is to
navigate heart's ventilated gap
Your soft, rhythmic words my
beating pulse doth clap
But would much rather your
subconscious strings map
Per chance reason's melded door
doth flap
Thereon, lust's sensuous screen
we'll strap
"We are cute spring chicks with fluffy feathers that keep
us warm; real small, like to run, and we are adorable ! "
Quote by _Constance
On a bright morn spring chicks hatched,
as the first flowers of the season bloomed;
oddly, not a single chick matched,
their fluffy feathers delightful plumbs.
Each was silly, playful and gay,
they would run every which way;
often, they wandered the barn yard going astray.
Those sweet chicks had no fear,
sometimes, suddenly they would just appear;
and to their mother would adhere.
So whimsical and frivolous to watch,
and almost impossible to catch;
I love each fluffy chick's feathery splotch,
and have a favorite that I call Butterscotch.