Long Bladders Poems
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Commencement writing this poem
began December 24th: 08:04:03 PM
ended December 24th: 09:23:17 PM.
Soon Auld Lang Syne
sung bidding goodbye
adieu two thousand nineteen
uttered from every gal and guy
transfixing living mortals
with good cheer well nigh,
while awesome pyrotechnics
light up night sky.
All across world wide web
hope springs eternal
rocking and rolling creatures
woke out their hibernal
phase, where new year
rings optimism jockeys
to thwart diabolical, infernal
offal, venal... bare beer bellies
race with full bladders
elbowing way to nearest urinal.
Infinitesimal metaphorical eye blink
yet,... utopian wishes
transcending personal resolutions,
while champagne glasses clink
booze legitimated, liberated
to quaff another drink
who knows mankind, and
all species may become extinct
climate change if anthropomorphized...,
a party spoiler rat fink
aye bet same phenomena,
that also caused human missing link
wild hypothesis, I admit
yours truly did misthink
merely speculating as
fingers spuriously plink
MacBook keyboard
upon completion, I will uplink
rhyme without reason,
than succumb to zeeland,
where dreams conjured courtesy
rapid eye movement lidded wink.
Though veritable stranger
to thee dear reader,
I read dull admit,
nonetheless hope ya summon true grit
threading thru maze of life adhering
to credos, dogma, ethics... mostly legit
yet take to the activist streets
if necessary and ABSOLUTELY vote
if prior to election day,
ye complete eighteenth orbit
cuz, commander in chief,
he will not concede nor quit
power monger loathe
to relinquish presidency
grounding country into
Grade A s*¡t
(use your imagination, and
sure call this mister a twit.
All joking aside,
yours truly wishes ye well
write and share, cuz
no doubt you got lots to tell
plus the writing process
cathartic, fantastic, therapeutic
to express concerns, emotions,
far out predictions... eke quell
or greater than mine,
an ordinary garden variety fell
ho...ho...ho... within Schwenksville I dwell.
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
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.
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
Absolutes
1
Darkness dominates
the earthly cycle at year’s end.
This is true
no matter how many fools
legislate otherwise.
2
Dogs have unerring internal clocks
and finite bladders.
Taken together,
these absolutes of nature
guarantee that I’ll witness
every dawn from November to March
regardless of my
preferences or exhortations.
I don’t have a problem with this,
although I’d much rather be relishing
the warmth of bed and wife.
I trade comfort for being part of
cold quiet pinking toward sunrise,
snow blowing horizontal,
rain sometimes gentle,
often thrown hard against the ground
heaped upon the poor dogs
answering the call
of another of nature’s absolutes:
when you gotta’ pee,
you gotta’ pee.
If sleep was like a box of chocolates
Each choc representing time,
We'd all likely dive for the one
Offering several hours - nine!
If we sneak one during the day
It would be a cat nap.
There are others that give intimitancy
Where dreams will overlap.
It seems that most nights the same is picked
That only provides two to four
Hours of sleep in total.
If I take two, will I get more?
Some can be quite sour
Bringing nightmares, pain or angst.
Others are sweet prompting pleasant dreams,
Even waking, you can feel your heart dance.
Then there are umami ones
With detailed vivid dreams
Not scary, not sweet, but very real
And you find significant seams.
There are occasions where, quite by accident,
Your own exhaustion makes the choice.
One is selected where there's no disturbance,
No dreams, no bladders voice!
This rare sort refreshes the most
And you feel the utter bliss
Of a good night's rest, you're raring to go
Thinking, "I could do with more of this!"
If sleep was like a box of chocolates
And you could actually choose,
Which one do you think you would pick?
I'll give you time to muse.
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.
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/
When I was young I'd drink all day.
Till I was drunk and swing and sway.
But then time came to pay the bill.
And I woke up a little ill.
My belly grew and almost popped.
Then I knew this must be stopped.
My hair fell out and I got gout.
I finally learned what it's about.
The damage done, nowhere to run.
My hay day's gone, now no more fun.
My bladders fried and totally spent.
I always feel like I just went.
Just one beer, oh my, oh dear.
And now I have to go I fear.
I've taken pills to ease my ills.
It's this kind of thinking that usually kills.
Maybe someday I'll live and learn.
If you play with fire, you will burn.
But I'd like to know just what it meant.
For I still feel like I just went.
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.