Best Unscrew Poems
Do you know exactly how to eat and Oreo,
Well to do it you,
You unscrew it.....very fast.
'Cause a kid will eat the middle of an Oreo first;
And save the chocolate cookie outside for last.
Daisy Yant
05/27/2015
Sing Me A Jingle Contest
In the centre of the silence, a giant fills the space
He carries but a trumpet and a battered old suitcase
I watched with bated breath, the street was dimly lit
He puts the case upon the ground but holds on to his trumpet
His monumental hands unscrew a tiny little jar
The contents seemed to dance and swirl and glitter like the stars
He tips the foggy matter into his blowing device
Then pokes it through a window, I don't dare blink my eyes
The dream that he has captured, collected, then released
Now floating in the mind of the reciever as she sleeps
The giant, big and friendly, satisfied his job complete
Picks up his battered suitcase and moves on to the next street
*I took inspiration from Roald Dahl's 'The BFG' book.
19th Jan 2012
The songbirds are plentiful where I live in the middle of oaks
I had four birdfeeders, but white tail deer slammed into them
Until they broke into bits, for they were plastic and did not survive
As they were being deer-bashed against the trunk of these oaks.
To discourage the deer, I bought new metal bird feeders.
It brings in up to eight cardinals, and a blue jay daily.
Wrens, robins, sparrows, and wood peckers arrive before nine.
Rat-a-tat sound on my oak bark; I enjoy watching their heads bob.
My forest is full of tweets, peeps, whistles, coos, and caws
There is a huge the influx of crows, which I also welcome
Playful squirrels are fun to watch, but their fingers are too deft
Daily they unscrew the tops of my bird feeders, laughing at me.
Allowing all of the bird feed to land on the ground, in a clump.
Bottoms of feeders roll into driveway, so I have to drive around them.
A plethora of activity, a menagerie of lively animals including rabbits.
Sassy squirrels chastise me when I come out; thinking it is their yard.
Sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
By the sea, she oft let her spirits clench
to the lore of love where I once grew.
She watches seagulls dive for a quench,
as waves predispose to catch her view;
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
O, look how she put the sun to blench,
giving her the sea in note less mew,
which let a startling night, to unscrew
stars to dance, anew, that in elench
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
- inspired by Brian Strand's A Rondel Poetry Contest
Germany, 1964
In barracks bare of beauty
I lay restlessly in bed. Around, a rife
of lifeless characters
from some Saturday charade
sullenly invite me to their ghastly parade.
I merely pull my blanket higher up
and blatantly yell out "Shaddup!"
A spot of flesh unknown to sun itches
so I scratch. Musty curtains run
in dusty ripples on their pulleys.
The room overflows with bullies
but I turn over in my bunk
and choose to spurn,
scratching a spot that doesn't itch.
I glance up. The light bulb top is dirty.
I reach up, unscrew the bulb,
lay silent in my patch of dark
and try, vainly, to extinguish
a more persistent spark.
The air around me reeks of smoke and beer,
is heavy with the weight of discontent.
I lie still darkly fomenting
an impotent dislike
for atmospheres like this one.
I writhe upon my squeaky cot and dun
and growl like some ancient,
burly, and barbaric Hun.
Vehemently, I vocalize my intense tension
with interjections "nice people" would never mention.
She's been kicked to the ground in the dust of despair , kicked in the ribs by human hyenas...
When trying to stand up she was stepped on like a cigarette butt
...and Time threw at her the acid of aging in an unexpected attack.
She never complained to the outside of her Soul. Dirt could be hosed down and she never needed ribs anyway:
She was one with the rhythm of Nature in Spring
and knew how to blossom despise desert winds.
We rented a boat out of a Pacific harbor.
I sat next to her for one hour ride.
We whispered and giggled memories of childhood while two whales accompanied us echo-locating our Soul.
"It Was Time!"
The motor went mute as clouds dissipated like a curtain, the Sun - the only stage light - focusing on the monologue of a sad. lonely life.
I picked up the urn, a silver Deja Vu.
My wings started to tremble as I was struggling to open the container. How can you grab and unscrew the lid of your Life wearing feathers from Heaven instead of fingers?
I whispered the Captain to help...
It was time for me to throw myself into the beloved Pacific ocean. It only lasted for a few seconds until I made contact with the tears of the dead. I have never imagined how heavy my ashes were. . I felt nostalgic but, oh, so very light...
We both said: "Farewell" to the lonely captain with blue tears in his eyes ...
he accelerated disturbing the balance , he was mad with the world
but still willing to anchor on Life...
Iolanda Scripca
Food packaging was once simple.
Ketchup came in a glass bottle
with a small cap that you unscrew.
Now we have plastic package new.
Man’s cleverness comes to the fore
to give ketchup a novel pour.
What clever gadgets we are sold
but there are details we’re not told.
Just the right squeeze is critical
from plastic bottle flexible.
Now if it’s straight out of the fridge
you must squeeze hard to get a squidge.
Then it should be allowed to breathe,
inhaling just from underneath.
But if you overlook this part
the next squeeze with a splat will start
and all around receive a share
as bright red splatters everywhere.
So next time with plastic ketchup
give it breathing time to catch up.
How did I arrive
In this glass menagerie?
Why look at all those peoples' eyes
Just staring in at me
Not one of them to say
"let's just unscrew the lid"
and let me out to fly-
oh wait! That one just d i d
There once was a sly kangaroo
Who was jealous of Winnie-the-Poo
He tasted Poo's honey
She found that un-funny
Warning: "My jar's not for you to unscrew!"
I often post my poems “A I” - (AS IS)
Spelchek uses “R”s and I don’t
We us “H’s” instead
(we paahk R caahs in Haavaad yaad)
We’ve been known
To pitch a B itch
Mostly about those F-N Yankees
We “gawk at visitors from New Yawk”
We eat “bay gulls” for breakfast
Sprinkle “jimmies” on our ice cream
Buy our booze at the “packie”
Return all one fingered salutes
Drink from the bottle…cuz we know the bartenders
Believe that crosswalks are for sissy’s
That “cursive” is a language
Our politicians are as crooked as our roads
We will BOO the home team when they “piss us off”
Then call them WICKED PISSA when they do well
(we even have it on cups and T-shirts)
AI would unscrew itself if it had to listen to our conversations
We are who we are
DEAL WITH IT…
Someone from New York will tell ya where to go
Someone from Boston will tell you how to get there
Every drop won't be enough
to bribe a heart that feels so much.
With every well dried to the bone
I forget your face and can't find home.
You warm my blood you'd be my crutch
Just take her place with care or such.
Like rubbing salt into a wound
I pour the fire from its tomb.
and now my chances just seem slim
As she watched this curse suck me right in
Your weightless lips pressed to my head.
pushed me closer to my edge.
You filled me up then drank me down.
Half full of hope for a second round.
Unscrew the skull to find your prize
Then squeeze my neck and hang me dry.
Confide your troubles in me my friend.
These walls will never speak again.
A sweetheart bittered by your taste.
Its all your fault but i won't waste.
You're loyalty to a trusted friend
who drags you to the rivers edge
then binds the boulder around your feet
and watches as you sink beneath.
To breathe your oath of self destruction
the light is bent, your in too deep.
So wield the sword you left behind
and cut the shackles, restraints, and binds.
To reach the surface and find your breath
this is not the way one should find death.
Drop the glass, for hell it sent
Or you'll drown in all that will ferment.
Soothe the fire on your tongue
or forever will your soul be numb.
Soothing are the notes you hear
when desperation's drawing near.
So strum a chord, or hum a tune
for music is what humbles you.
A racing mess, concealed in glass,
Impulsive thoughts on which we crash.
Intoxicate me, as sorrow drowns
You'll kneel before the melting crown.
That exploits your truth, feeling content
then chews your trust without consent.
Repulsive, wholesome, honest actions
multiplied by numerous factors.
Speaking without consideration
the vulnerable target for humiliation.
The symptoms sounding too cliche
ounce for ounce, it seems risque
but I accept your challenge, yet another day.
The road to freedom, faint and blurred
you ask for help, but your words are slurred.
I won't let you fool me friend.
I've fooled myself time and again.
No need to let her see me so.
Without you i would never know
what's its like to want or envy
you'll ruin all life puts before me.
I bid goodnight to an empty shelf
tomorrow anew, bring me my hell.
lift this burden to midnight skies
midnight skies who conjure up midnight lies
midnight travels scream midnight whys
poets moan midnight siqhs
as poetry grieves a poet's midnight cries
so what if i've earned a bronze hand
i'll just paint beautiful prose with my left nub
but first i'll unscrew the bulb,
or can i perfect this 14th line in the dark?
the pen marks me, targets me
i mean him
well forgive him
i mean me.....
CHOP SHOP
The Villages at Carver ate
Four tires and a steering wheel
Their hunger pangs would not abate
So they acquired plans to steal
A screwdriver
And a wrench too
A steel hammer
Golf carts unscrew
The Villages at Carver hide
Its many parts in a chop shop
As golfers exercise their stride
Wiping balled sweat until they drop
On dapper lawn
For evil’s spawned
From dusk to dawn
Behind closed doors
The Villages at Carver search
For splintered wood and tools of trade
Amidst the oak and pine and birch
The hidden door reveals a blade
Village gone mad
Carvers past sad
Pitchforks take stand
Revenge at last
The Villages at Carver mass
Drawing a crowd to view a home
Overlooking manicured grass
A course with four golf wheels and chrome
6/27/2017
impress me
undress me
caress me
kiss you
miss you
resist you
see her
free her
be her
need him
read him
mislead him
avoid them
annoyed them
destroyed them
view us
pursue us
unscrew us
(Quatrains in couplets)
My pen gets stuck a lot at night
I try and try to make it write
Seems this pen is out of juice tonite
And this muse has no pity of me
I unscrew all its parts to make it work
And scribbled hard as if it were a fork
Then scramble and unscrambled my brain
But heads swollen has been inside a drain
Still my pen refuses again just to write
My poor brains having infamous bug bite
I hate see my beautiful Muse, just slipping
But what can I do if she's bent on leaving.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
October,05,2014
funny pic enclosed in the notes window