A skeletal smirk at the school door -
the greeter-teacher; 50 years later,
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back,
that leer is now plugged with dirt,
yet it can still be traced in the brown water stains
of mottled toilet walls.
A female slave-unit named ‘Miss,’
She never did speak directly to a kid,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator,
a third level teacher who lubricated nerve endings.
I am ‘put right’ by a serial wrongdoer
with a goose steeping gait,
his guppy mouth is a blubbery hellhole.
Next,
a second-tier maniac with a penchant for angry rhetoric,
his large hands flay like windsails as they
slap books and heads.
A last Piscean reflection,
a teach sporting a fish-head grin
as he opens a school exit door for me
while I gladly leave forever.
They would all hate to be in a poem like this
so tightly packed together
like oily sardines choking on the phlegm
of what they could have aspired to,
could have been.
Categories:
blubbery, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The sobbing girl spent fifteen minutes gasping
Trying to get out words that made sense
Her chest was heaving, and her speech was blubbery
What happened? The Queen of Spades asked.
I know said the Jack of Diamonds. She was attacked.
By whom?
The fours, sixes, two’s, and sevens.
Why?
No one knows.
Queen of Spades was tired of these thugs.
There will be consequences, she said.
We do not want people to think that playing cards are thugs.
Too late, said the child.
Categories:
blubbery, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
Higgins was the worst Math teacher,
and that year I was his worse student.
Higgins had loose blubbery lips.
When he taught long division or algebra
his words were full of spit
and phlegm.
Higgins had big feet and he carried a large
thick-soled sneaker
which he threw at slow thinkers
It hurt
especially if hit by it 3 times in one lesson,
especially since we had to pick the damn thing up
and hand it back to him
especially when he loomed over you glaring,
daring you to be a wiseass.
Higgins was really very big
his massive form always intimating
to young minds.
Mostly I just doodled his form
on my school math book.
Happy to flunk any test of his.
Once I drew him naked,
his fat backside bouncing on the back
of a spavined mule.
Underneath this masterpiece I wrote
'It hurts don't it?'
Sadly he had snuck up behind me
too late
I felt his hot breath
drooling down the back of my neck.
Higgins was hit by a bus,
but that was years later.
When I heard
I felt sorry for the bus.
Categories:
blubbery, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Oh, foolish man! I told you I'm not a clinger
Don't grab my tail 'less you want to be bitten
and if at me you keep pointing your finger
I'll show you the contempt of an angry kitten
Be off with your horde and their petty assails
or I vow to scratch the eyes of those with you
whose fatty buttocks are blubbery like whales
Your gaggle flings vile insults as you pursue.
My whiskers are trimmed and yours are scruffy
You know what I mean when I spit and hiss?
You're not insulting me when you call me Fluffy
I'm an aristocratic feline. I only answer to Priss.
If you draw nearer, I'll swat you with my paws
Keep your dirty hands off of my marmalade coat
or I swear I'll scratch you with unsheathed claws
For your insolence there should be an antidote!
Categories:
blubbery, cat, humor,
Form: Rhyme
UFO
I believe UFO exist it would be strange if they didn´t
considering the many planets in the vast galaxy.
I have not seen a UFO person close up with the exception
of my face in the morning before coffee.
The picture I have seen is always at a distance
and tend to be grainy.
Some people insist they have been captured by UFO,
analyzed and sent back to earth again presumable because
the UFO being found them of no interest.
The UFO world does not call us human but the strange
blubbery beings with a penchant for killings and fighting wars.
They, the UFO is petrified by us keep their distance
hence “grainy photos.”
Still, I believe the UFO people are a friendly sort all we have
to do is to stop wars, be polite and they will come to us
not necessarily in human form, and show us how it is possible
to move so fast through space and defy gravity.
Categories:
blubbery, blessing, creation, graduation,
Form: Blank verse
A rundown duplex in an old inner city place
The walls smeared with dog in an outright disgrace
It smelt of no hope and no future for her anyone more
The neighbours complained of loud music and bad language behind her door
We were called one evening and she answered to us
Bleary eyes and drunk she wondered at the fuss
The scars on her face a sad story told
Of a car crash that maimed her in drink and speed story so old
Photos showed there was a time when she was a good looker
Gone now forever living life as a low class hooker
When she spoke it was slurry and blubbery
Wanting something she couldn’t have in a horror story
We turned the music down and said it had to stop
In a useless charade they was all that we got
So we left to go back to the world
She remained there a lost soul with little left to be held
And alone she lived on in this downtrodden place
In filth as a struggle with no time or grace
I wrote on the log in upper case
Music turned down AQOL NFPA in the appropriate place
Once and a while we had to go back again
For a similar job and a result that would never an end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
101 is a police code for a disturbance.
Categories:
blubbery, life,
Form: Ballad
Still calling to me
Getting my attention
Rubbing
Scratching
Wrenching them.
Blisters,
Dry skin,
Cracking,
Even bleeding.
Rubbing them raw.
Only stopping when the pain is too much,
Or when other eyes on me.
Clenching them in fists,
Driving me nuts.
Then a 360....
A gentle touch
That has my eyes instantly swell up,
My face becomes blotchy,
The blubbery mess I avoid.
I stop myself.
My eyes ever so blue,
Glassy appearance.
The hurt is there.
The fight for denial
Only brings more awareness.
I've seen it before.
I've said it before;
The eyes do not lie.
Still.
These damn hands of mine.
Begging me to let it go.
Cry.
Categories:
blubbery, cry,
Form: Free verse
I stay on this side of the wall,
Where the wind is sharp,
And the stars shine.
I go about my daily chores
With fervor and promptitude.
Cutting the grass, clearing the fallen leaves,
And letting the vines hang on the wall.
I am happily discontent.
But, when it comes climbing over the vines,
Precariously, to my own side of the wall,
My precious side of the wall,
I become unhappily discontent.
Lightning thunders with admonition,
And the morning light shuns me.
And before I can discern my malcontent,
I find I have broken down the wall.
I cast my blubbery eyes upon the broken pieces,
Hurl a few of them around,
At nothing in particular, and prostrate,
Hoping for mercy.
And when the snot dries up the next day,
I pick myself up from the stone cold floor,
Set brick upon brick,
And build the wall again.
Categories:
blubbery, girlfriend-boyfriend, loss, lost love,
Form: Blank verse