Best Sticky Poems
Driving along, I’m hearing a song
as my radio I like to play.
I get to my job and hear all day long
that tune that just won’t go away.
The lyrics keep playing -staying and staying -
lines of lyrics I cannot expel!
Like a carnival horse on a pole, my brain’s swaying
round and round on this cursed carousel.
Enough with its brightness -this tune so appealing
with lyrics not even that rich!
Then even in bed, I lie there – mind reeling.
This earworm’s a Cognitive &$%ITCH.
All night without sleeping, just in bed lying.
It’s the insomniac’s woe.
To focus on sleep, I’m trying and trying.
Sticky music, I beg you to GO.
Jan. 7, 2019
for the Sing It contest of Nina Parmenter
Categories:
sticky, music, song,
Form:
Rhyme
I meet you in Laos
as a seed
just a simple
existence of hard rice
seeded inside Huay Xai’s dirt
until water plains
cradle and nourish your infant body
'till you sprout above water banks
where you tickle yourself
with sunshine
like a child who spends all
day with the wind
when you mature
people pull your roots
carry you in bulk back home
along with your friends
moisten your skin
steam under flames and
boiling water
only a bath where
dirt splashes off
while you try to hold
breaths underwater
your skin does not wrinkle
only softens
to stick with other rice
and sink in perfection
of the basket
where my mother’s hands
shake and shuffle you
into a ball
to roll on a plate
now fully grown ready to
liberate our hunger
with your body
that is how we meet
everyday even now
when I chew you in big bites
you never fail to fill
my head with steam
and make my tummy your
cozy home
sometimes I eat you too fast
you burn my tongue
and mom says
I am crazy for eating too fast
but it don’t matter
when I can cool
squeeze to pebble-size bits
dip you in fish soup
or papaya salad
Kao Niew
my family sits together
on the floor legs folded
or on a dinner table
you cuddle inside our bellies
warm our lips
all
the way
down
our throats
in cold evenings with no heaters
you sacrifice to
fill our stomachs
so we can stick to each other
and swallow
our love whole
Categories:
sticky, culture, family, food, funny,
Form:
Ode
Cecilia has set me a challenge – to order my favourite pud
If I can say sticky toffee pudding it would be oh so good
But I may make another error and it could come out so bad
If I said stiffy cockie pudding again it would make me oh so sad
But a thought has just occurred to me – I don’t need to use my voice
My husband can order for me, then I’ll get the pudding of my choice!
1st October 2015
Categories:
sticky, food, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
ice cream truck
mom washes
sticky fingers
Categories:
sticky, childhood, mother,
Form:
Haiku
I can only write on the computer.
And I suppose that that’s not really the right thing to say, because people are going to say that I really am part of the next generation who survives solely by technology.
I really do try to write on paper, but I can only use pen because pencil smudges too easily and the end gets so dull,
So when people say that they can’t send me a link to one of their favorite poems because it’s on paper, my respect for them goes up by about sixty percent.
The part of writing on paper that scares me the most,
the part of speaking in real life that scares me the most
is that I can’t delete words.
On Microsoft Word, I can go back and add words into the middle of my poem, I can look at it as a whole and as a half and everywhere in between,
I can delete half of it and forget about, and that half will be lost forever.
But the way my fingers sometimes stick to the keyboard reminds me, I think, that the words that I’ve deleted stick with me forever, no matter how lost they are.
They’re not in some vast, infinite vacuum of the internet-
but stuck to my fingers because that was the only physical presence of those words at the time they were given life.
(Baby ducks follow the first moving thing they see when they hatch,)
And it’s some weird, modern folk tale, how the words got life, and how the words died.
So maybe if I’m the only one who can’t write on paper, then this word carrying curse is the punishment?
It’s a special flaw that makes the protagonist unique but relatable, (along with making her not able to spell anything and not able to talk to people)
And if poetry is just rambling and writing is ranting, then what are words.
The cancerous cells in a slice of bone marrow?
More likely some hellish creature that comes out of everyone only at two in the morning,
or the sticky stuff that I feel sometimes on my keyboard (or is it my fingers?)
Because my sticky fingers are a word’s physical form,
and if you think about it, you really can’t ever touch a word. They’re either soundwaves or dried ink on a dead tree, or pixels on a screen.
(or on your fingertips or your tongue.)
And I carry them with me everywhere, on my tongue and on my sticky fingers.
Categories:
sticky, philosophy, poets, slam, words,
Form:
Free verse
For most of her life she wanted a tattoo
But was leery her mother might yell, gnaw and chew
The unicorn landed!
Mom won’t understand it
And Mo doesn’t know what to do!
Barclay Ann Foubert (nee Nelligan) 1956-2006
Found sticky note
(stuck to a second sticky note)
Dear Mo,
I don’t understand it but I realize you’re a big girl.
I don’t have to love what you do but I love you,
with or without decoration.
Love
Mom ***
Funny the way memory works. I did not remember this, I only
remembered her initial “you do these things to shock me”, that and
“what are you going to tell your grandkids about the giraffe with a bump
on its head”… which now I know is a quote from Joan Rivers.
My mother loved Joan Rivers. And me, as it turns out.
Categories:
sticky, appreciation, love, mom,
Form:
Limerick
All of the colors
Placed throughout my desk and room
Words which to cypher
Categories:
sticky, funny,
Form:
Haiku
Double Bubble
Blowing bubbles, fun on the cheap
Double Bubble
That was what got me in trouble
Gum in mouth, when I went to sleep
In my hair, so cut off a heap
Double Bubble
Charles Sides
ALPHABETS OF RONDELET Contest
Bubble
Categories:
sticky, nostalgia,
Form:
Verse
I fled the kiln
of the house
where ceramic floors
bake like focaccia bread.
My haven is a bench
in the shade of an oak,
praying for a breeze.
A bevy of bees hover
over blushing jasmine
and scarlet lilies,
dousing me with honey
in July's sticky air
as my finger
culls a drowned earwig
from my glass of iced tea.
Categories:
sticky, imagery, summer,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Picky, Tricky and Sticky
You were so picky
Wrapping up gifts was tricky
Use nothing sticky.
Jim Horn
My Gift wrapping haiku.
Categories:
sticky, humorous,
Form:
Haiku
The belle of the ball and most frightening of all is Sticky Fingers McRaccoon.
He knows how to win, and how to get in, with his gang, of crazy ragamuffins.
He’s never invited, but won’t ever be slighted, as he comes along, for a crime.
And the birthday bash, yes, that he did crash… for a fun filled jolly old time.
We kept our eyes, on him, all the time, but found later, we’d been bamboozled.
As we watched him, someone broke in, and our shiny bobbles, had been hustled.
We were humbled to know, we’d been treated so, and vowed to get vengeance.
Instead of making a fuss, we got FunkunDilly, to follow him home, in silence.
You see, a squirrel can climb, and see, from way up in the trees, to reconnoiter.
Not only our goods, but all other’s too, were caught quite true, with our ardor...
While Sticky Fingers McRaccoon, slept with joyous dreams, of glorious plunder.
But when he woke up, he was surrounded by Trolls, with faces meaner than badgers.
Now violence is not what we sought, rather a job, that would suit them, quite well.
His plunder now gone, and clubs close in Troll hands, he agreed to, our bombshell.
He and his gang, were bespelled, by our neighbor witch, to forever live in Las Vegas.
With Trolls to supervise, a Magic McRaccoon Show, would be totally, tremendous.
McRaccoon wasn’t mean, he’d just lost his dreams, you see, that were so wonderous.
Now he was free, to make a great dream, in a way that was so bubbly, and contagious.
Siegfried and Roy, look out my boys, McRaccoon is on his way, to massive greatness.
All because he stole Lilly’s toys, and FunkunDilly had brought down their crimes, demise.
There would now be magical shows, where the front seats, would be ours, to plunder.
Trolls would arrive, to help at all times, as friends they all slowly, became, forever.
Categories:
sticky, adventure, fantasy, funny, imagination,
Form:
Light Verse
Sticky Heart had a sticky heart
let me tell you what that meant she had
Anything that got put in her heart
got stuck, and got stuck bad
Anything that came to Sticky
she let right into her heat
Person, place, thing, she wasn't picky
at least not from the start
She would accept everything and never learn
that a lot of things there would just tear her up
And left to long, they would start to burn
but be stuck, like maple syrup
She would start to panic, and start to tug
at the things lodged and burning like hell
when she eventually removed these things she'd shrug
but she'd removed a bit of her heart as well
Sticky thought her heart just had a defect
so she let nothing else in, nothing new
Now she's waiting, alone, for something that's perfect
that she can love, that loves her too.
Categories:
sticky, character, depression, heartbreak, how
Form:
Quatrain
Flys heavy to rose
buzzing dopey bumblebee
with its pollen toes
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 16, 2019
Categories:
sticky, garden, insect, rose,
Form:
Haiku
I’m lost in a sea of anxiety, worried thoughts tumbling through my mind like turbulent waves. There is so much about this world that stirs fear in my belly. Illness, hatred, violence, war.
“Hand! Hand!” Your tiny voice breaks through my thoughts, pulling me to calmer water.
You’re holding out your sticky little hand, reaching for mine. I smile and reach back. You wrap your hand around two of my fingers.
“Mama hand!” you announce proudly. You proceed to pull on my hand until I’m walking beside you. We walk around the room as if we’re out for a summer stroll.
You are learning new words every day, and “hand” is a new one. I can tell you are so proud of yourself. I am so proud of you too.
You lead me around the living room three times - with the confident, slightly unsteady swagger of a curious toddler - before you let go of my hand. Then you look up at me with the most loving, trusting smile and the slightest hint of mischief in your eyes. You hug my leg, sticking your chubby, perfect little thumb in your mouth. The hug is fleeting, but it’s everything.
You move on to the next thing that catches your eye - a puzzle or a book. But I live in that moment a little longer.
That moment is bursting with my hopes for you, with the dreams you will have some day. Maybe you already have dreams. You are already capable of pulling me out of darkness and casting light wherever you go.
You may not remember this moment, but I will cherish it. I will hold it in my sticky hand. I will remember it for both of us.
Categories:
sticky, child, love,
Form:
Prose
Snap and squirt the sweetest juice
Through caramel cream
Tart Winesap candied
Are a tasty dream.
Come to Halloween
Stick with me
mmmmmm
Categories:
sticky, childhood, food
Form:
Epulaeryu