Long distant cry, how I pine for your touch,
a bridge of one hundred miles,
gaunt gulf beyond my grasp
golden haze of blithe recall, sunlit strolls,
heartfelt pledge, under green copse,
then transfer, post abroad
your dulcet voice on phone has me weeping,
though honeysuckle laughter,
creeps in, sinks a deep root
close union fostered, we dwell, dream, at dawn,
where that gem rimmed stroke of luck,
heralds my homebound trek
post trauma absence, dwindles in a kiss,
a gleaming eye rapprochement,
velvet voice hue’d dribble
winsome weekend yet return journey lurks,
seconds fly, olympic spurts,
solemn clock a spoilsport
resume garnet glisten threads of fond blab,
sonic swathe of peachy phrase,
from a glow world era
ramble through lush haunt on a spur or spark,
where once love’s first blush blossomed,
in time pastille misty.
a gurgling swirl pool, high tide torrent now,
engulf twin flame’s scarce resource,
random swing by mood boost
catch up at lightning pace, that traffic jam,
of wistful yesterday’s dash,
oops…yikes…booked cab in yard!!
Everything about society is rotten
nobody wants to make a change
everyone wants to talk or blab
social media kind of like this very
website where we write for free
and those behind the curtains steal
our words and our feelings
our voices and our choices to be,
we know this and yet we still do it
because we are hungry for a change
all of us here want to be some famous poets,
but as long as you are asking these people
here who control this page for approval,
you are screwed one hundred percent.
All of this just to turn our hearts
into paper tigers
i am here too and that is a shame on me,
but poetry has lost its dignity
and respect has turned into load of you know what.
Unfortunately regardless of how many views you get
no matter how many those dumb ass gold stars you buy
your dreams are in hands of those that will do
everything and anything to destroy you,
so just keep writing, go ahead
show them how desperate you all are.
bombs and fray is a clear example of used blab blab garbage post
I n.
l a
ove the oce
I sleep in wet sand.
My biggest fear is
a child's little hand.
You guessed my secret.
Don't ever blab.
Yours, sincerely,
riendly Sand Cr
F a
A b.
I love the ocean.
I sleep in wet sand.
My biggest fear is
a child's little hand.
You guessed my secret.
Don't ever blab.
Yours, sincerely,
A Friendly Sand Crab.
violent downpour
of disorderly toads blab
squishy lullaby
eugen schwab don't blab..!!
fat chance; that checkers dont cheat.'
Facts stand, acid test.!
.
Babel: “A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.” Alexander Smith
The preachers preach what they've been taught.
Reporters say what they’ve been told.
The politicians lie and lie.
I watch a tragedy unfold.
On social media I see
some folks who like to blog or play
while bullies bully; haters hate.
“Talk to the hand” they seem to say.
Mean twitters, memes and certain posts
use scalding words - an endless thread
scrolls down as if into a pit
where fire by sparks of hate is fed.
Opinions can be strong, but why
can’t some folks hear the other side -
with peace agree to disagree?
Yet fight they do and then collide.
Insanity is not just lurking.
Madness spits right in our faces
as many blab and jabber on,
heedless of the social graces.
Ears get clogged up; loose tongues flap.
See Babel’s Tower now so high!
We’ve come too far to still believe
that towers climb to touch the sky.
The fire raging underneath it,
spurred on by hate, crawls up each wall.
Violence will overtake us;
Then Babel’s Tower we’ll see fall.
A VISIT TO THE MORTUARY
Makinde Adebayo Adeniyi
Sleeping on the slab
Surrounded by kith and kin
In a conference of blab
No thought of sin
All opinions in the bin
Naked like a newborn
Helpless like a lost chick
No thought about the morrow
Dreams and aspirations long forgotten
Intoxicated by silence
None to see her fears
The future wrapped in loneliness
Like a disappointed uterus
Here ends the journey.
We who can
must write ourselves down,
send our words to no one
and everyone,
be the mailman and the mail box.
Some say little yet know much
but we who chatter, blab
and reveal
we must write upon this shifting sand
for all things will be undone
but not the scribing thoughts
of fools and poets.
Please tell me which are you?
A hard question
for we are most often both,
yet upon a sometime, we are touched
by the lips of God.
I'm mad as hell
I thought I had it in the bag
But this leftie groundswell
Throws in an unexpected snag.
The Media blab my name
Gorges on the outcome
They shout it's me you have to blame
To the beat of their usual drum.
DeSantis isn't helping
The guy needs worship at my shrine
I'm the one who did the selling
Kudos for his win should be all mine.
As to my wife her instincts proved so wrong
Dr Oz was clearly not a match
For a muddled guy who simply came on strong
And that unexpected win did snatch.
Another curve ball in my life
I'm sick and tired of all this tripe
While I'm great at handling strife
I so detest such lousy hype.
Still today's another day
My foes should know me well by now
I'd suggest they start to pray
As through their fields of hope I'll plow.
Run I will and watch me swing
I'm a winner through and through
My bark and bite will sorely sting
And if all fails, I'll simply sue.
About all your possessions, you blab
You’re trying to dream up a need ~~
Scooping up everything you can grab
I call that, unquestionably, GREED!
Written June 21, 2022
Submitted to "Greed Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico
India’s thinkers are ahead of their time.
Making medicines out of manure from their bovine.
Urine too has a place of honor in their lab.
They use it in treatments, but please do not blab.
I would like to meet the brilliant thinker of the day.
Who decided poop and urine might be the way.
To cure some diseases – was this idea heaven-sent?
Or were they just lucky their mind was so bent?
You are on a little roll today
I have no idea what he is speaking of
But I know one thing
He is always speaking
Yak Yak Yak
Yuk Yuk Yuk
Yak Yak Yak
Chat Chat Chat
Blab Blab Blab
Gossip Gossip Gossip
Constant blubbering and blathering
You are a wild woman he says
I ignore him
Not wanting to encourage
any more words to come out of his mouth
I might drive you crazy and that's for sure, so please don't come
a knocking at my back door.
Serve me brewed coffee and soon you will see a wired Chatty Cathy.
If you really want to be cruel slip me a can of Red Bull.
Many moon ago when I learned how to walk, unfortunate for some,
I learned how to talk.
The irish call this the gift of gab, to others its just blab, blab, blab.
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