Best Swatted Poems
There's a pesky mosquito hoverin' around our ears
If he keeps it up he'll soon be splattered in smears
T-Buzz tries to draw our blood
When he gets hit with a THUD!
We'll celebrate his demise with a party ~ Cheers!
by Lin Lane
A mini vampire with wings,
in annoying high notes he sings.
Tries to fly incognito,
this imp called mosquito.
With blood thirsty appetite stings!
by Carol Connell
That darn mozzie was buzzing like hell
Til I sprayed him with a can of Repell
He can no longer fly
I watched that mozzie die
I’m happy he’s gone – you can tell!
by Jan Allison
That skeeter was in for a thumpin'.
I swatted, but he just kept jumpin'.
I got out the spray,
winked, said, “Come my way”.
And now I'm no longer a-grumpin'
by Dale G. Cozart
There's a pesky bug upon the lawn
One his mother should have never spawn
making noises here and there
wish he'd just disappear
One big ol' zap and poof he's gone
by Tim Smith
T-Buzz flies around in pestering irritation
One good swat'll take care of his elimation
No more buzzin' sound
He's garbage can bound
Thank goodness there's no reincarnation
by Marti Sutherland
I was singing karaoke, acapella
While eating a sandwich of mortadella
Along came a mosquito
Named Little Esposito
I smacked him cuz he wasn't a nice fella
By Mystic Rose
A skeeter singing for a favor
Was wanting blood for a caper
He's playing with fire
His future is dire
Joining others on my wallpaper
By Cheryl Hoffman
A mosquito was buzzing loud
Of his bugle, he felt so proud
My hands would squash fast
That buzz would be his last
Soon, he'd be covered with a shroud
by Jo Daniel
If anyone dislikes the buzzing of a mosquito, join in the collaboration by sending me your lines in a SOUP MAIL.
They start thick—
not the polite kind you stir into tea
not the mild drizzle on breakfast toast
but the kind that runs hot
slow
dangerous
coating your tongue before you grasp
the price of its pleasure.
They start golden—
dripping off the comb
sun pressed into their marrow
too rich, too syrupy—
gumming up the gears of your schemes
too luminous for hands that flinch from light
too wild for walls meant to contain them.
You want squeeze-bottle love.
Clean.
No bees.
No stingers.
No buzz.
But they ferment in kitchens
where no one thanks them—
same way their grandmothers did
spooning fire into each serving
stinging their own tongues
just to stay sharp—
drizzling down your better judgment staining
Sunday shirts
unraveling wedding vows
spilling past boundaries
no one asked them to obey.
They get called—
too much.
too loud.
too open.
too shut—
like they were born to fit into your grip
instead of slipping right through it.
You try to jar them.
Slap on barcodes:
Best before.
Handle with care.
Discount if damaged
for quick sale.
But wild honey won’t kneel—
it contradicts logic
defies preservation
reason
perfumes the air
wrecks your thirst for tradition.
You mistook raw for reckless
Reckless for ruin
Ruin for something to fear.
You laughed when they wept—
like grief was a spectacle
like tenderness was weak
like softness
was a defect to be filtered out.
But by the time you realize
she’s the rarest thing
you ever tasted—
she’s already sweetening
the hands that never swatted her
And now,
we sit here—
jars without lids,
spoons still sticky—
trying to remember
what it meant to taste something
that never begged to be caged.
Maybe—
the glass wasn’t meant to hold her.
Maybe—
it was meant to shatter—
to let something wild
and feral
flood in
and leave you
pleading
for ruin.
—it’s a reckoning,
unapologetic,
untamed,
final.
He squealed,
Like a pig in heat
Praising God for he believed
He sat, 2 years old
And he looked at the lord
Drew an angels breath
Swatted a toy
A bird that could not fly
Meant for another mans eye
Gramp's died
took a colorado bound plane
in the seat pocket in front
was a small toy ostrich
I shoved it deep into my pocket
I could not say why
When I got home
a sickness ensued
with pink cottage cheese chunks
Filled up the sink
and i withered in pain
He died
It came
on the window pane
it was white like a ghost
did not appear on french toast
it was like a laser etching
awoke to the bird symbol awakening
and i had that toy
same exact size
and this symbol on the window
with every feather perfectly detailed
could be traced from the toy to the window
difference was that the tail was composed many fine, white, smooth flowing, intermingling lines
translucent, and seen best by brightest daylight
I thought it was condensation
that it would fade away
but it remained
©
Two bee or not two bee
swarming bout me bed
I swear for sure I swatted one
I sure hope she is dead
Oh no she must have gotten me
just below my ear
the swelling it is rising
and I don't think I can hear
I run right to the bathroom
into the medicine chest
grabbed my trusty epipen
and stab that little pest
Oh wait did I get that wrong
was that shot supposed to bee for me
i don't know what I'm doing
and now I can barely even see
The bee is still a buzzing
louder than before
it seems he is getting closer
I run out and shut the door
Tripped in a pile of laundry
fell flat upon my face
blood has started to trickle
and my head is in a daze
Oh why didn't I close that window
for sure by now I'd be fast asleep
dreaming of happily ever afters
and not lying here in this heap
My neighbour her name is Matilda
She used to step out with a builder
She loved the exotic, but became quite neurotic
When his lovemaking no longer thrilled her
Her plumbing was starting to go on the blink
And her toilet was leaking and so was her sink
She needed a man and she needed him quick
But her builder had fallen and cracked his joystick
Her cistern now broken, she needed the loo
So called out a plumber called Malcolm, she knew
He arrived with his tools and his six pack too
Her fantasy answered her dreams had come true
She succumbed to his charms and fell into his arms
Tattooed and muscular he was all she could wish for
But whilst they were frolicking her builder returned
As he gave her a rollicking, showing Malcolm the door
But Matilda and Malcolm were besotted
Malcolm’s spanner in hand, her builder she swatted
Now her love life’s exotic she’s no longer neurotic
Malcolm’s full of surprises in all shapes and sizes
Surprising Matilda each time his spanner rises
19th November 2018
Competition: Make me actually LOL
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Contest Strand Choice N
Sponsor Brian Strand
she is scarred so deeply inside
yet she chooses to remain beautiful
gloom of darkness engulfs her
yet she dons a mask of brightness
stab of humiliation slices her
yet she attempts to bandage her wounds
in her solitary moments
she keeps wondering
if her life is worth living
and the war she is waging, worth the struggle
she is a pearl locked in an oyster
but unless someone digs it out
its lustre will be lost to the world
and shall perish in the caverns of the sea
trapped and enslaved......
will she break the shell herself and come out?
from slushy swamps,
will she be able to walk to gilded palaces?
from a pawn on the chessboard,
will she ever rise as the reigning queen?
such thoughts torment her from inside
even when she knows she is beautiful in and out
and her worth is beyond measure
she can’t bear to be treated as a tiny bug
to be swatted at and done away with!
August.17. 2022
~ Placed First~
Inner Conflict Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Unseeking Seeker
These once nimble fingers,
pinned diapers on your behind.
Swatted the misbehaving toddler,
when you got out of line.
Held you the first day of school,
applauded loudly as the graduate passed.
Waved goodbye when you moved to college,
prayed your marriage and happiness would last.
I use words to paint memories,
to remind me how it began.
But now these once nimble fingers,
can barely hold my pen.
I want to tell you one last time,
before these hands of mine go.
I’d like to give you one last rhyme,
to tell you daughter, how I love you so.
Percival Tucker rose at noon, then wept,
He ate and then at dusk again he slept,
It matters not what he thought or did say
But where his frail body to rest did lay.
I did not know him well, nor did many;
Yet he was there for all to see:
Pinned by gagging mouths and rolling eyes,
Beaten and bound by subtle sighs.
In the air his voice could be heard
To those that saw the grass draw breath,
But not to us who turned our heads
Whenever his gold tears were shed.
How his eyes did gleam with burning grace,
And how his heart did pulse with fiery love
For the swatted flies and the ants forlorn
That trekked with fear across his dark, cracked floor.
Yet his heart did ache those few long months
Whilst he sat down, beside his phone.
Knees tucked into his bare, gaunt chest,
Listening to the dialling tone.
And the anger he caused that day
To dare delay the ride of Mrs Hayne!
And the horror he caused those kids
As he flung his soul before that train.
The scoffs and groans and sighs
And tuts of dismayed ties
Will amount his bright life
To the eight-minute delay he caused that day.
So Percival will burn with all the rest.
No crowds will weep, nor child protest,
And someone somewhere, yawning at their desk,
Will mark a tally and file another number.
Today I had the roughest day that I have ever had
Of all the crazy, wacky ones, this day’s been really bad
It started when I first woke up and fell out of my bed
I cut my scalp so deep the blood was dripping from my head
I found some gauze and taped it on until the bleeding stopped
I put the coffee on then in the shower quickly hopped
But then I dropped the bar of soap, that’s when I slipped and fell
I twisted my right ankle and my knee began to swell
I poured some shampoo on my head and lathered up my hair
But some of it got in my eyes and burned beyond compare
Then as I limped out of the tub and went to grab my towel
I noticed something smelled real bad, something very foul
The eggs that I was boiling were now burning in the pot
The house was filled with smoke and the alarm just wouldn’t stop
I grabbed the broom and swatted the alarm with all my might
Instead I hit the ceiling lamp and shattered the whole light
I quickly backed away as glass had flown around the room
The day was only one hour old but I was filled with doom
I opened up the windows and the smoke went streaming out
My neighbors must have called the firemen I have no doubt.
Then in the hazy smoke I got some glass stuck in my foot
I guess I should have sat right down and really just stayed put
The firemen were quick to come, and call an ambulance
I felt like I was in a daze, a crazy dream or trance
The EMS removed the glass that stuck inside my feet
They bandaged up my ankle and my knee, they were so sweet
I guess I just can’t win, so back to bed I’ll go and stay
And hopefully, tomorrow it will be a better day
There was a great asthenospheric disruption
Followed by parallel volcanic eruptions
There was a great, abrupt tectonic shift
In a moment, a million years of continental drift
The ground shook like a wet dog out of water
Mother earth swatted her sons and daughters
The fault lines re-created all notions of cartography
Beneath coal mines, earth re-wrote her autobiography
Out of the havoc sprang a deeper appreciation
Of how life is led in an "advanced' civilization
Such planetary tumult resolved every human dispute
And made humanity, as geography, to transmute
Just as battles lines are re-drawn, so are fault lines
Within the confines of the denouement, we all felt fine
When the fourth wall is broken down by the stage director
We've emptied the garden of Eden of all its nectar
P.S.: Take Note
We are met again
at the crossroads of delusions
reminiscing failed choices
and broken promises;
here we stand once again
in the vanity of illusions
reflecting tainted truths
and old compromises.
Here they come again
dancing in our faces;
streaming confetti,
blinding revelations of lies,
pretending there’s no more parting
the river of races;
yet our children continue to be
swatted down like flies.
Many lessons have been taught—
few have been learned;
the new day that dawned
was a mere placation
to stall the drive and determination
of freedom yearned.
Little was it realized
that this was—is the same old nation.
Once again they’re at it—
making us the butt
of their everlasting joke;
stop, think—take a good look:
alls claiming
they’ve pocketed our vote!
P.S.: Take note!
Solomon Cook
1820 – 1900
It was a miracle.
I entered this wicked world with
Mother’s umbilical wrapped around my neck like a noose,
Inside a cold cabin made of stone.
My mother,
A beauty of burden,
Chopped the wood
And served chicken neck soup on special occasions.
My father taught me stories from the Bible
And swatted my behind with a strap
If I slept in past 6.
My eight siblings and me
Worked the fields from the rise of Phoebus at dawn
To the fall of the day’s eye at twilight,
And we barely had enough to eat,
Except after the harvest.
I taught myself to read at ten years old
And as a young man
I travelled by steamer as a swabby
To Europe, Asia and Africa
And I took in the local colors like one of Twain’s tramps.
I met many women of questionable reputation
In many exotic ports-of-call.
But my one true love was my wife of 42 years;
My lovely and patient Pearl.
By train and stagecoach
We came to this quiet Quaker town in 1892,
And lived in the white Queen Anne on Olive Street.
Pearl and me walked on many a Sunday morning
To services at First Christian,
Shaped like a cross,
And together we smelled the gardenia blossoms
In Pastor Crain’s eccentric garden.
Why, my Lord, did I have to live so long?
Why did I have to watch my wife and friends die before me?
And why, my Lord, was it a simple cold
That finally stopped my old lived-in heart?
And now I am resting in peace at Clark Cemetery
Under the sprawling sultan-like fronds;
Under the magnificent golden nucleus
Of a single desert palm.
Ida Kincaid
1866 - 1903
I was Ida Kincaid
Wife of Charles
And mother of a pernicious brood of five sinister sons.
My first born required eighteen hours of excruciating labor,
And I should’ve known then!
After Charles, our son, finally had his behind swatted
By the venerable Doctor Lont,
Charles, my husband, smoked a relieved cigar under the willow tree there,
By the front porch of our Milton Street cottage.
My second pregnancy was like the birthing of a butterfly from its bulging cocoon.
The bloody struggle, I surmised,
Would be my last day on this Earth.
But Doctor Lont
With handkerchief and black bag in tow,
Adroitly saved my life with trembling hands
And a distant stare in his saddened eyes.
Miraculously and stubbornly
I pushed three more squirming boys out of my swollen aching womb,
With the fifth destroying my kidneys.
Charles never knew this,
But I must confess.
Doctor Lont, old Doctor Lont,
Kissed me when Albert first saw the light.
And for a minute there
Old Doctor Lont stopped trembling.
An unsophisticated feller attending an auction could find himself in a pickle!
The nuances, subtleties and gestures used in bidding could cost him a pretty nickel!
A city feller decided to attend a farm auction to see what it was all about.
Alas, he accumulated a heap of needless stuff before he could figure it out!
He was fascinated by the tractor, manure spreader, horses, hogs and cows,
And the chickens, goats, manure forks and hay to be auctioned in the mows!
The auctioneer began his alien spiel and the feller couldn't understand a word,
But farmers in overalls and John Deere caps knew exactly what they heard!
Bidding began on an old steel-wheeled 1925 Model D over-used John Deere.
The feller watched others offer their bids as he reached to scratch his ear.
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the man scratchin' his ear over by the fence!"
He was the stunned owner of a tractor - it happened so fast he didn't have a chance!
Next up for bid were a fancy chamber pot, two horse collars and fifty feet of hose.
The feller in all innocence swatted at a pesky fly that had landed on his nose!
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the guy who swatted his nose for fifty dollars!
Son, you got a steal! That's an antique thunder mug and so is them there collars!"
The auctioneer opened bidding for twenty bales of newly cut alfalfa hay.
The feller was distracted for a moment and waved at a pal across the way.
"SOLD" said the auctioneer, "Please write a check for this stuff to my able aide!"
The hapless guy was wondering how he'd explain to his spouse the purchases he'd made!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In youth I learned to jump
First off steps, then rooftops
Spirit of adventure
Nurtured in the heart of a child
Preschool acrobat twirling on my head
Grandma swatted my bottom
Repeated words like Tomboy
Never learned to be ladylike
Catholic school discipline
Uniforms, religion classes, daily mass
Never satisfied with any accomplishment
Even the nuns called me “perfectionist”
Blessed with storytellers in my family
Dad and sis would send me to dreamland
On the wings of a unicorn
Or Shakespeare’s amazing plays
Family and friends I hold dear
Each has influenced my thinking
I learned to offer support in troubled times
And to thank God every day for special people
Unable to have children
The most crushing blow
Accepted at a young age
But rued for a lifetime
Lover of Jack London, John Steinbeck
From Jack, I found adventure
From John, I learned compassion
Dickinson’s poetry touched my heart
If I can find a way
To make a friend feel joy
Then this is my mission
Comforter, nurturer
November 16, 2020
For Silent One’s “It's a part of me - Life and the perceptions and philosophies you hold Poetry Contest.”