Bladders Poems | Examples

By the Streetlamp

sun-dried, saltwater-rusted
bench sits above cherry bricks
undulating like pan-fried
bacon strips, by the streetlamp
where lazy dogs whine at once
and also lose their bladders
and imagine chuletas
in the beaconed street's limelight

A Pond's Melody

                                             A Pond's Melody

                                      Purrs of swimming swans   
                                 Drumming of fish with bladders 
                                        Rustling of water lilies      
                                          Rippling of waters    
                                      Stir up a pond`s melody,
                                      A dulcet boon to the ears.

Dog Park

Let off a lead,
freedom bounds 
as if all joy is held
within a bouncing ball
to be retrieved
and brought back to lay
at a lover's feet. Then 
sent off to do again.

Smells wafting 
from tree trunks, 
fence posts and tufted grass
flood the air with molecules 
sending canine bladders
into spasm eager 
to mark the moment
as their own.

Focussed on what is firm
beneath their feet, 
every nerve they have
is wired to ‘now’
whilst I, looking on,
try and retrieve phantoms
bouncing across what was
and what is yet to come.

The Lemon Tree

It was a big backyard,
big enough to hold
the imagination of a boy -
trees to climb, 
sheds to explore,
a large lawn to swing a bat 
or kick a ball
and in a quiet corner, 
a sanctuary for prayer
when my grandmother, 
bent over and groaning 
with angina, had me 
go there and ask God 
for help. 

There were long summers 
of almonds, plump grapes, 
peaches and apricots 
and cold winters bursting 
with big, bright oranges.
There were places where
you could heal a hurt
or hide when bruised and full
of fear. Sad how it grew
smaller with the years
like an old religion,
less important to life, 
ignored until it shrank 
to the size of a lemon tree
nourished only
by the beer filled bladders 
of teenage boys back from
the local pub,
dying for a pee.

With Kids in Tow

A Broadway show, with kids in tow,
Is challenging, for sure.
You must prepare for getting there,
With hassles to endure.

The car’s a pain, yet bus or train
May cause you some delays;
Then every street, on tired feet,
Seems like you’re in a maze.

And then the wait, which children hate,
When hunger hits, or thirst;
You buy some snacks, but can’t relax,
For bladders might just burst.

The bathroom line, with poor design,
Means that the world expects
That kids must learn to wait their turn;
We tell them, “Almost next!”

The dimming lights, at last, ignites
Excitement from the crowd.
The music blares and some it scares
For it is just so LOUD!

With luck you last, applaud the cast
And head home with a smile,
But hope your crew won’t ask that you
Repeat this for a while.

Disciplined Dog-line

In restive response to the nature’s call,
in the disciplined dog-line they all fall.
         Not far is the place to pee,
         tree never seems to be free.
Leakage curbed canine bladders learn to stall.

Washed Up

The tide and heavy seas
had washed up a wealth 
of treasures to lay at my feet
spread out in a long line
just like the way wares
are displayed on the street
of an outdoor market.

Shells, some polished 
to a sheen others just broken 
shards of a puzzle never
to be put back together again.
Tresses of weed, float bladders,
a cuttlefish bone and globs
of jellyfish shaped like petrified 
tears as if once welled 
out of the eyes of a whale.

Then there was a hoard
of man made stuff, plastic cups 
and brightly coloured beads
of who knows what, spoons 
and bottle tops, matted balls 
of red and green twine 
and fishing line knitted into
swatches of transparent twill,
a smorgasbord of human 
endeavor all laid out in wonder
and ready to kill.

Pees Corp

When I was seventeen said he
You know how far that I could pee?
Across the mississip
He said, undoing zip.
No need to show me now, I plea.

Why that's nothing, said his brother,
They oft goaded one another,
I had such awesome flow
That in a single go
I filled Moon Lake, and one other.

Their friend said; you all call that pee
I once powered my friend's jet-ski
Tied tightly to the rear
That thing sure did career
Set off like a screaming banshee.

During all this friendly baiting
The three of them stood there waiting
Each of them hanging out
Their now small shriveled spout
Bladders slow in activating.



Tall Tales 1 Poetry Contest placed 2nd
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser 
Date wrote: 4th March 2022

https://www.rhymezone.com/
https://www.howmanysyllables.com/syllable_counter/

The Tyburn Tree

The Tyburn wagon halts at every inn.
Tight stinking alleys
cobblestones and gin.
The condemned drink their fill,
none fear falling ill.
Harlots cackle and screech
the condemned grow horny.
The Hanging Tree accommodates
three at a time.
Six limbs a’ waving,
bladders and bowels voiding
- drink now to the dangling.
A canting debauchery
spends its copper penny.
Hungover Londoners swear
‘off the wagon,’
but look here comes another:
Pass the flagon!

Pointedly Poignant

Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.

Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders. 

Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.

We Are Covid Free

We're Covid free - restrictions lifted
Shop barriers, they have been shifted
But there’s still a queue
For the ladies loo
Weak bladders, us gals have been gifted!

Bars opened for drinking last night
At closing there’s a stupid fight
Folk have drunk too much beer
And they cannot think clear
These drunken brawls are such a fright

We’re finally free to go shopping
Pub’s open, at discos folk bopping
We can meet up with friends
At night time or weekends
No lockdown, but home’s where I’m stopping!

On the Isle of Man we have been covid free for 30 days and many restrictions have been lifted including social distancing but in general we are not doing anything different to how its been over the past 12 weeks - the BEST thing is I can visit mum in her care home once a week for 15 mins but because other people aren't using their slots I've been able to see her twice this week - I was one of few people who used to visit on a daily basis so I've been told if there are free slots I can request to go again. the border is still closed so hopefully we can remain virus free but we cannot be complacent.

6/19/20

How I Remember Maine

a vulgar morning
          unveiling the naked fragrance of sun-burnt dog turds.
It came to me,
          played tunes on the cords in my nostrils
until my left eye caught them hiding
          by the roots of loblolly pines. 
The poor trees, their trunks still wet where about two
          bladders were emptied at daybreak.
The turds, seared like good scallops, made me think
          of Bangor and Lewiston;
I saw a big woman beat two conches to make a salad.
          I am no ordinary man; 
twenty heads of cows made me think of a fleet of oilers & tankers.
          I saw a Jew in a shtreimel,
I thought of Presque Isle where the sun stayed in my hair
          except at night when the earth turned away.

Confession of a Killer's Killer

I killed a killer this morning! 
I gorged his eyes out with my naked hands
Counted his teeth one by one
Like pebbles on a plastic platter;
Belched after I drunk his cold blood
In a home-made cheap mug;
Used a rusty pen knife 
To separate his throat 
From his now-pulp body;
Then tore his heart from its place
And replaced it with a rough piece of dry log!
I then threw what remained of him
In a gutter where street beggars 
Empty the pains of their dirty bladders;
It was the most rewarding experience.
The after-taste lingered on my conscience 
Like quinine on tongue. 
But there was more relief than grief
More Mother Theresa than Hitler.
For then it all came to me
Like beer coming to a dry throat 
How they must feel when they 
Kill us
I confess that I felt dope
When I killed a killer!

Before Takeoff

The planes were lined up in a queue,
A reminder of something I knew.
     They awaited permission
      Like at intermission 
In theaters outside of the loo.

One by one each one skyward immersed
As the rest inched up closer to first
     But like women in line
     Still not given the sign
There were tempers (and bladders!) to burst.

A Feast For the Bride

Moonshine hues in a powerful projection 
peep in to light the lovers’ cavern with profusion.

Her tibias go weak; on the stone table, displayed 
were wooden large bowls full and neatly arrayed.

Her colon constricts and she retains a gas, about to leak,
as she wants very much to look a bride, composed and meek.

A graceful raise of clavicles and a sexy push of the pelvic girdle
masked her gluttonous stare which clearly is to tolerate no hurdle.

She sniffs cautiously as her bridegroom leads her to her chair;
delicious soup of small intestines and roasted gall bladders for two to share. 

A huge portion he serves her with exaggerated tenderness
“This for you, a first humble meal, my beautiful beloved ogress…” 


Tibias, colon (large intestine), clavicles, pelvic girdle,small intestines, gall bladders.

12/09/16
A body of work (Viv Wigley)
Use of 6 body parts

• Short Bladders Poems
• Famous Bladders Poems
• Best Bladders Poems
• Read Bladders Poems
• Long Bladders Poems
• Bladders Quotes