Long Blabbering Poems
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Life's taken on a whole new meaning
At this late stage on my trek
If I never ever see another tomorrow
It's complete as it'll ever get
Much happier now than I've ever been
There's joy in my heart everyday
The world could end but my life's complete
There isn't much more I can say
A most fortunate soul if there ever was one
Don't know if I deserve this much joy
Not going to fight it, going with the flow
Happy as a kid with a new toy
This may sound a trifle over the top
I'll admit I'm blabbering on
But happiness has taken over my soul
Each day from the break of dawn
A happy camper am I
© Jack Ellison 2013
At last I wonder... who decides?
And who on earth can be responsible for what it is
And what it was
And how it must be!
There was a time when everything was okay
Or it seemed, maybe!
We used to sleep the night
And live the day
We are just blabbering
Polarized to this or that faction
We know and see
Without taking any reaction
Why should I accept the fact that YOU decide?
As if I were dumb or dead
I'm able to do what must be done
Without blood, without gun
My silent scream will break your walls
If you know what it means….
This innocent face will show his anger
Hold on, I'm on my way to explode!
~~~~
Blackmatta
16/2/2016
Friggity friggity!
MacRaith and O’ Tuama:
poets incessant and
blabbering bores.
Publican served insults –
flibbertigibbeting.
Rhetoric ingrained dull;
flyting supreme!
________________________________________________________
The limerick is an English comedic five-line poem. The form could be found in England as far back as the early part of the 18th-century. It is thought to be derived from the Maigue Poets of Croom, County Limerick (depicted here). When the two erstwhile friends, Sean O’ Tuama and Andrias MacRaith, had a falling out they started trading insults (in rhyme format), ie flyting.
LEXICON
flibbertigibbeting: frivolous, flighty, or excessively talk.
Flyting or fliting is a contest consisting of the exchange of insults between two parties, often conducted in verse.
"While many are silenced by authority, some are voiceless as they have no courage to protest. But some prefer voicelessness for convenience sake which is a graver offence" ~ By Poet
In a world of much noise and cacophony
Some are fated to remain voiceless,
Due to reasons forced or voluntary.
Raising no protest, they yield to their fate
Watch the meek docile lambs that move,
Behind the shepherd to be huddled inside
Food and shelter are all they need,
And they abide to be shorn with no dissent.
Silent are the beasts that trot along,
Miles on end through rugged tracks.
Blissfully ignorant of what awaits,
They stagger lamely to the slaughterhouse.
Mournful is the voicelessness of the slaves,
Flogged and beaten to bear the yoke,
Stifled is the cry within their throats,
Never once let out to break the calm
Heart rending is the voicelessness of the dumb,
Trying in vain to utter fleeting thoughts,
Through signs and gestures crude to view,
Lisping and blabbering in broken sounds.
Fierce is the silence that lingers on,
The ones subdued under stark threat of life,
Gagged and tied unable to moan or move,
While looted of all that is hoarded in life.
Silence turns golden for the sober man,
Who remains sedate when taunted or abused
And shuts his mouth with great restraint,
To prevent a brawl from brewing up
Voiceless lies the dead beneath the sod,
Actors who once rocked the stage,
They exited out from this turbulent world,
To be shrouded within crevices dark.
Oh; garrulous I’m
Merely can talk
Blabbering by fleshy tongue
But fully deaf I’m
Can’t hear
The sacred; silent praying of flora
Verbose dose I’m
Of love nothing I know
Only can shout and spread ink
- Love YOU o' GOD
But not loyal as SATAN in love!
(who performs all
those devilish works in such loving way,
for which he was created)
I’m, not I’m
in my true way
for which path I was created
Temple, mosque, pagoda, church
Oh; my tears for fearing HIM
as like as vanity coiffure
Momentary dew glittering of rising sun
Roaming, and roaming from this to that
Showing loyalty in vain veins
Like an ant or most little creature than it
I know nothing of my true lane
-December 27, 2018 Chattogram
I was in the park sitting on the bench reading a book when I was approached by an old man carrying a newspaper, he asked me if he could sit by my side to which I replied ''of course". After seconds of silence, he started blabbering on and on about random things in life, I started getting annoyed. I was clearly reading a book and didn't want to be disturbed and I couldn't muster the courage to tell him that.
So I just kept nodding my head and agreeing with whatever he had to say, to be honest, I wasn't paying attention to anything he was saying his words were in and out of focus,
I wondered how many hours can he talk without stop I wondered how many times did he brush his teeth I wondered if he had any other suit other than the one he was wearing. I wondered about his children about his family and his youth and how he spent it. I dared not to ask me such questions I respected his privacy and he violated mine, repeatedly.
I was enjoying the words flying out in the air, the sun, the trees, I was enjoying the view and nature, He was nothing but white noise in a symphony; a beautiful one I might add.
He noticed how silent I was then told me I need to be in therapy. Aghast by his comment I didn't understand why he said it, but I realized he wanted me to share something about myself, and when I refused to he got offended.
After a while, I excused myself to leave for brief moments and entrusted him with my backpack.
I walked few miles, I thought about how short life is, and how fleeting is the happiness we feel when we’re in love. I looked back at the old man; I took a deep breath then pressed the button on the remote control.
The sound of the explosion is music to my ears.
I walked down a hallway
To busy
To angry
To stressed
At the front of the hall was a father
Picking up his little daughter
She couldnt have been older than 5
Blabbering on about a duck she saw
She laughed and he followed
She danced and he followed
And I stood there
Time itself froze on me
Trasported back into younger me
Standing in a room alone
Surrounded by all the fathers and daughters
Laughing, dancing, talking
I was trapped in the center of it all
I stared at that little girl
If skin could turn different colors I would be the darkest green
Ha
How funny is that
To be jealous of a little girl
Who has no control over who her dad is
Just like I have no control over who mine is
I walked past them
She didnt just smile she beamed at me
And I gave the best smile I could
As jealous as I was she got what i wanted
As I was glad she got what I wanted
Cause no one deserves what I got
A poem dedicated to the veterans on this memorial day.
MEMORIAL DAY HEROES
America's freedom memorial,
tribute to the general
and the host of saviours,
who by passion for a nation devours
and through bravery stood tall,
answering the flags Clarion call,
they served us oft and well
summoned as a knell
echoed by their nation's foe
into battles they did go,
no one will ever know
where their destination ends
though they made their beds
with the sands of time
but their souls cost far more than a dime.
In our memories let these heroes linger on
as a blast of a blabbering machine gun.
So, like a springtime song,
their legacy will forever stand strong.
VickWizzy.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © May 25th, 2020.
https://mobile.facebook.com/groups/1413153562030310?refid=18&ref=opera_speed_dial&__tn__=C-R#groupMenuBottom
I’m all alone
Studying the stupid algebra lesson
Sniffing my nose from a flu
Listening to songs to chase off
Of my discomforts’
I drink water continuously
And stay alone
Until my sister comes
And breaks the silence
With her stupid noises
I’m worried and confused
Remembering a friend’s inappropriate words
Wishing to slap her badly
For her oversized tongue
That keeps on blabbering bullshits
I don’t know why I’m weeping
Guess because there’s no one to talk too
No one to be considered a someone
Even my mom keeps on watching silly shows
And screaming at my face for nothing but a habit
And it bothers me, it bothers me to hell
And when I step up to defend my right
She forgets my words, and off to her ridiculous shows she goes
I’m screaming from inside
Madly a monster, bored from being kept in a cage
I wanna be free
Bust the chains and do everything I can do!
Bird watchers say
there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.
The robins well know
the proper time to come and go
and as the chill begins to fall
black-capped chickadees and wrens tweet their call
with caped juncos and titmouses slipping thru the trees
riding in on a wintry chilled and icy breeze.
Others stay like the screeching blue jay
clinging to a set of traditional ways
there is a click of cardinals bright orange and cherry red
slip in and out the old decaying garden bed,
woodpeckers like the big red-bellied and downy
glide sideways up trunks to find their bounty.
As winter ice and snow begin to fade
familiar feathers return to the glade
robins, sparrows, orioles and waxwings flit in and out the yews
nesting in houses left from buntings of red and indigo blue
you can catch a glimpse of the bevies in their gathering
mocking catbirds, wrens, doves and finches blabbering.
Birds of spring return in March on varied dates
some earlier far sooner than late
born for flight, scanning the earth escapes
reaching back in time unable to hesitate,
called by an ingrained memory
back to the place of their fledgling treasury.
Surely there are more feathered flybys
but climate change and migratory spies
and sadly on occasion, some clusters face
extinction by the human race
finding fewer familiar species in the states
the greed and corruption of primates.
They're just birds some will say
but if Rachel Carlson's Silent Spring arrives
how many will we find, survive?
For Spring BIrds contest
sponsored by Constance La France
2/19/21