Another gritty grimy old town with echoed din
who sees how many secrets it keeps within
where at day's end amid traffic's sound
some head for home some run around
with rain-washed windows in hotel rooms
whenever there I do roam
through wind-swept streets at midnight
and hold long-distance conversations on the phone
and that dirty old river forever flows
who knows how many places it goes
as the ships come in and the tide rolls down
some make it safe some run aground
and oh those winking blinking lights
filled with promise of earthly delights
will take you shake you
make you feel all right
grimy gremlins gathered in a gloomy glade
giggling guzzling grapeade they’d greedily made
with gadgets gone wild
and gizmos defiled
they gambled on games with tricks they’d displayed
Written By: D. Collins 11/12/24
A growth spurt beyond grimy, some never do.
No need for names. They know who I'm talking to.
They are pretty good at changing superficial traits.
But the core of their being is wicked without debate.
That cruddy person will emerge if they spot an edge.
For a substantial gain, good folks could end up dead.
They get Holier Than Thou to complete the fasad.
Swear up and down they are the right hand of God.
Judge them through their deeds and you'll not be surprised.
That, which before you stand, is the Devil in disguise.
What always comes out is what was there before.
The grime, slime, and crud oozing from their core.
My grimy grill,
Is really quite,
Summer’s delight,
And if used right,
Is very much a thrill.
It’s not just meat,
That’s off the hook,
For if you look,
You’ll see I cook,
My veggies over heat.
The greasy grates,
They hold the food,
That will conclude,
With gratitude,
Once I put onto plates.
The fires burn,
On down below,
And cooking slow,
My grilling row,
As I do often turn.
The grease had grown,
Up over time.
And made the climb,
To turn to grime,
From what the grates have shown.
And when I’m done,
I step aside.
And feel inside,
A source of pride,
I find second to none.
Grimy grubby unkempt unscrubby
He pranced around with keen delight
Skipping on cool cobblestones
Throughout the amazingly fun night
Beautiful days filled with work, love, kids and pets
Stuffed to the brim and living without regrets
Life's little, stubborn and grimy rocks
Are neatly placed in a teeny, tiny box
Better to treasure our sweet and golden nuggets!
(Poem dedicated to those insignificant flea-like people who are, quite frankly, like grimy little
rocks.)
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