Long Blab Poems
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Another Senseless Killing...
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the found exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts
perhaps a spurned, snubbed,
or scorned love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack,
a punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bulling utter dis belief
questioning the supposed all
mighty, or at a loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl,
while once again this
affected soddenly wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
a lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit her - slain
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence)
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
my makeup was fabulously light green, lips ruby red
I fit in well with the theme, witches, warlocks and the undead
the blue I had sprayed in my hair glittered like starlight
when we entered the party, a gang began a quick fight
my witch hat was pointed at an odd funny angle
could I get a dance? Just one maybe wrangle?
I looked at my husband whose nose gave a twitch.
I looked fabulous as a sexy, gorgeous young witch
my husband dressed as Dracula with cape and red tie
he watched me dance with another, we both wondered why
the rest of the night my man spun me around the floor
I had not danced in a while, my legs and heart said we wanted more.
My friend laughed at our exuberance yelled out “get a room!”
I gave her a gentle tap on the head with my yellow straw broom.
the food was delicious, the drinks were cold and refreshing.
my husband’s eyes were on me, I knew he was undressing.
funny to me, since we already had two babies at home.
the next thing I knew, I was picked up by a gnome.
The gnome ran off with me to the ladies room to gab.
she had a lot to tell me, and she wanted to blab.
this was a Halloween party provided by my school.
At our principal’s house, and he was now a fool.
Made silly by drinks, which went straight to his head.
His wife was so embarrassed, she sent him to bed.
teacher friends were dressed as goblins, super heroes, and a ghost.
We all discussed unabashedly the craziness of our elusive host.
He was a shy guy, and would be embarrassed to death about this.
A cobra slithered up to me and tried to speak with a hiss.
Nancy! I was delighted, she was my best pal at school.
She had a lot to confide about our nemesis, Mr. O’Toole.
O’Toole was walking around saying dumb things to everyone.
Speaking with Nancy about him was incredibly fun.
My husband was devouring everything off a huge silver tray.
Tidbits and appetizers in black, orange, yellow, and gray.
two jack-o-lanterns were giving me a clever candle wink.
I felt cute tonight, happy, totally energetic, and in the pink.
we had a sitter that night for the first time since our second baby.
Do you want to go home yet? I stared at my man. “No, yes, maybe.”
With two children at home under the age of two, this was a delight.
A marvelous Halloween party that made me feel happy and right.
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.
Preface:
Earlier today May 28th, 2021,
the 12-member jury unanimously
found Cristhian Bahena Rivera guilty
of first-degree murder in brutal stabbing death
sentenced to life in prison
without the possibility of parole
of Mollie Tibbetts remembered as then friendly
20-year-old who was studying
to become a child psychologist.
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the body found July 18, 2018,
an exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts.
Impossible mission to deduce
senseless killing of innocent babe
wild speculation perchance
spurned, snubbed,or scorned
love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack.
Grievous punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bullying utter disbelief.
Family/friends question
the supposed almighty
at devastating loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl.
Third anniversary regarding
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
aforementioned deceased
affected sodden wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
a foregone lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit said slain lass
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence),
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
Racking, fracking, fricker dickers -
there it goes again stirring all my inner jitters;
my pc, tablet, phone and friends
blank screens locked immovable in place again
while tweets and texts disappear in phantom space.
Techno blab excites me
and the mesmerizing call invites me
but searching play on the blank display cueing
frustrates my mind to forget just what I'm doing
and at my fingertips the troubles brewing.
It's a slam dunk OCD call
to play games and tweet within the web thralls
lost in wavelength microwave wifi
while communication stalls and dies
and that's the truth, no lies.
Curse you internet!
Some secrets should never be told
Other secrets are too big and bold
Some secrets bring you so much joy
A lot of secrets aggravate and annoy
There are so many secrets in this world
So many that we could tell
Some people guard them with their hearts
Others blab them and it tears them apart
Some secrets are unjustly sold
Other secrets are like pure gold
Some secrets need maturing
Lost secrets are so obscuring
There are so many secrets in this world
So many that we could tell
Some people guard them with their hearts
Others blab them and it tears them apart
If I tell you a secret I wish you to know
I've told you in secret don't put it on show
I expect you to be silent and don't let it go
Silence is golden or didn't you know
Some secrets need to unfold
Other secrets need to be told
Some secrets back fire and scold
But there's never a secret that hasn't been told
There are so many secrets in this world
So many that we could tell
Some people guard them with their hearts
Others blab them and it tears them apart
You could hold a secret that could be lost
Secret information could come at a cost
I have a secret I wish I could tell
Can you keep a secret I was wondering as well !
Shush !!!!
© Copyright KC . Leake
24th February 2015
All Rights Reserved
.
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.
I ain't gonna brag, boast, blab...,
lest yours truly suffers demise from backstab,
resignedly taking wheel of our automobile
donning, (but NOT trumpeting)
role as taxi cab
shuttling the missus, (she effusively glad)
to medical appointment
me, the obliging husband
in order for this mister former cad,
debt, now an ordinary dude dad,
who upon snaking, crab
like sighing, shimmying, scooching...
thru bumper to (rubber
baby buggy) bumper drab
morning commute, which
snail's pace spurred shoutout, via ab
dom men null controlled app
designed by A. Habb,
which homonym identical
sound of descendent, sans faint jab,
asper fictitious Capt'n of Pequod
at sea vis a vis
if forced to snatch macadam landgrab
all the while aye spent gab
bing maintaining mindful outlook
for aggressive drivers,
whose cold icy stare
felt akin to painful jab
methought best not to "flip the bird"
subsequently get rushed
to emergency medical lab
avoided, cuz aye hapt tubby vigilant
for brazen drivers, plus additionally
keeping keen eye for police ready to nab
speed demons (mailer or female) even nawab
receiving citation for traffic infraction
and if repeat offender sent to rehab
with license revoked,
nonetheless a slight stab
of anxiety as appointment time elapsed
indicated by built in digital clock
no matter arriving after 7:45 am time
my de facto role as chauffeur,
the wife would disfrock,
but fortunately excuse, sans gridlock
did not necessitate need
us to return at later date, thus no knock
kin wind out figurative sails, hence
circumstance did not
find me laughingstock,
thus any consideration, asper myself
resorting to quaffing hemlock
unnecessary honorable sacrifice,
that versus engaging in lethal warlock
additionally compromising private uber
to give spouse coveted lyft.
Dear Santa, will you make my dream come true?
Although a little costly it may be,
I still believe there’s nothing you can’t do.
So could you please provide a cruise for me?
I’m not too picky. Any cruise is fun.
However, there’s a plan I wish to hatch.
It has to be a cruise with everyone
who matters most to me, so that’s the catch!
To take a cruise is easy, but whether
my sisters, spouse, grown kids, best friends and mom
could somehow at the same time come together
would prove quite hard, yet it would be the bomb!
I know that it’s a lot to ask because
a little naughty this past year I was!
A little naughty this past year I was.
I told my friend unneccessary things,
but no one gets me like a best friend does,
and so few share the comfort each one brings
me when I’m feeling down, and there are days
I blab too much. I fear I’m pestering
good friends who must endure my whiny ways.
Releasing woes, I stop their festering!
I’m also lazy, for I hate to do
my housework. I would rather watch tv,
and there are projects I do not get through,
for I’m online or writing poetry!
Dear Santa, is my naughtiness too bad?
At least I try not to make people sad.
At least I try not to make people sad.
I try to always live the Golden Rule.
I don’t go out and follow every fad.
I think I do good working at the school.
I simply want a cruise with family
and also with best friends online I’ve met.
I’ve made great friends through poetry, you see,
but face to face we have not talked as yet.
To eat, see shows, do kareoke, dance,
and tour with those most precious, one and all,
would be a dream! I have but this one chance.
Is this an order, Santa, much too tall?
I’d love this cruise. My life it would renew!
Dear Santa, will you make my dream come true?
Dec. 27, 2017 for Phillip Garcia's "From Your Lips To Santa's Ears" Contest
(These are done like a min-crown of sonnets, which to me is much nicer
than having to write a lot more sonnets than three!)
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.