Quibble Poems

US Sports Report

When playing basketball
being tall is best it's thought
but that's not all
wearing saggy baggy shorts on the court
needs keen hand-eye coordination
plus being fleet of foot
and have no quibble with dunk or dribble
if through the hoop a Wilson you wish to put.
As for American football
boring from the sideline I find
it's more talk less action
namby-pamby as opposed to rugby
which is wilder less calmer
and without all the body armour
now there's a game with some traction.
America's pastime baseball
is another matter
whether pitcher or batter
with Rawlings or Slugger
when on the mound I have found
unlike soccer or rugger
before a ball the hurler throws
and the pitch is hit or caught with a mitt
first rearrange the private parts in public
twitch the cap and then spit.

Where is Spring?

Spring's whispers were present in the brisk night
promises of blooms mid summerlike skies
Yet winter's snowy white colors my sight
Could those promises be only her guise?

I long for endless nights to quickly end
though I own no quibble with the white moon
but on Spring and birdsong we do depend;
in this stillness, there is no lovely tune.

Spring does seem very unmindful of time 
nor do  freezing breezes stir her desire
for flowers blooming in sun shining clime
What does one do to light the stubborn fire?

Could it be spring is but choosing to hide,
or is this some version of Spring Untried?

April 3, 2024

Afters

Fourteen pounds; that’s a bucket of lard
And losing that shouldn’t be so hard
It’s turkey, pud and let’s not quibble
A pretty frequent midnight nibble

It’s one whole stone of belly fat
Inflating what was firm and flat
Slimline tonic won’t do that 
So did I eat an alley cat?

Six-point-three-five Kilograms
Twice what sometimes fills our prams
Were I pregnant, for my sins
Could be that I’m toting twins

But I’ve had lots of Christmases
And I’m sure when I tell you this
Six weeks watching what I eat
Will make my tummy nice and neat

The trifle’s gone, as is the meat
All the savoury, all the sweet
It’s time to watch my waist deflate
With smaller servings on my plate

And so I put away the gin
And tonic with no sugar in
For gin gives me an appetite 
That makes me nibble late at night

So, fourteen pounds; that is my goal
A resolution in my soul
But, by the gin, before my eyes 
A box - unopened - of mince pies!

Command

COMMAND

What I say, you treat as a real order
Not a suggestion nor a request
No delaying nor any quibble
A task that one must obey
Not a choice, but duty
Complete it in time
I’ll be watching
Your response
So start
Now!

Time

Time will tell
When I'm still there
After the fire 
Or cupboards bare

Time will tell
Endurance wins
Past bruises, burns
Or sufferings 

Time will tell
No room to quibble
Just beauty
Past the horrible

Time will tell
The whispered truth
No shout required
No loud uncouth

Time will tell
If you're worthwhile
With every hug
With every smile

Time will tell
No shades of grey
No argument
No 'so you say'

Time will tell
Her secret then
Love letter written
Without a pen


Jinjagoliath 
8th August 2023

Quibble

Summer began in a small country home;
forest's shadow and fields a dog can roam.

A kiss of radiant warmth lay this day,
off wild running and chasing in gay play.

Like other children we trifling quibble,
over childish senseless art we scribble.

QUIBBLE over who's going to be first,
QUIBBLE who's acting like the very worst.

Though harmless quibble with one another
before twilight falls, still love each other.

Camel Back Straw Broken Into 2

Gimme your best shot

Why the hell not

And let the both of us

Play an unfriendly game

Of pick up Camel

Straw's and stick's 

And the winner

Is or will be decided

By whomever

Break's as many backs 

As either you or I

Or at very least

Failing that

Gets the most backs up

And being it's a Camel

It sure as hell

Has to be at very least

More than the very minimum of 2

Otherwise what's the use

We may just as well

Play 

Water 
V
Sand

And see who eventually makes it

Out of the desert

Full of sand

Onto beach sand

And then we can quibble

And compare 

Sand
V
Sand

As we die of thirst

As neither of us

Can drink or survive

On salt water

Proving the point

The only thing 2 stupid people

Will ever agree on

Is when

And after

That are both

Dead

The other may have in fact had

A valid point 

But saying and admitting that

Got your nose out of joint

So ouch so

You had to ram home your point

Fantastic Words

A closer look at a fantastic word
And no, I’m not talking in bafflegab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd

To absquatulate like a fracas herd
Throw a foofaraw over a little jab
A closer look at a fantastic word

A uni-brow is a glabella furred
And whirligigs hung too slapdash to grab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd

Scuttlebutt schlepped to sassafras by bird
Skedaddle from a skirmish of stone crab
A closer look at a fantastic word

A quibble over razzmatazz occurred
Doohickey from a lummox, easy nab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd

So scrumdiddlyumptious I may have slurred
Like tintinnabulation, it’s not drab
A closer look at a fantastic word
To not repeat this speak is just absurd

Half Asleep

Last night I wrote a poem in bed
When I was half asleep.
It sounded great inside my head
(And sure beat counting sheep!)

But in the middle of the night,
All cozy ‘neath my blanket,
My body didn’t want to write;
I thought that I could bank it.

The mind, however, won’t retain
A close-to-slumber musing.
It would be best, then, to refrain
From anything but snoozing.

So when I woke, not one sweet rhyme
Was left for me to scribble.
A notebook by my bed next time?
With that, I will not quibble.

Rainy Days

When somber skies sully a sunny day,
the pitter-patter of drops drags me down.
And especially if it is Monday;
when my smile tends to flip into a frown.

Stinging droplets feel like a billion tears 
trickling down my cheeks; a constant dribble.
But on a Monday, they morph into spears
as depression and misery quibble.

On dull, cloudy days with partial sunlight,
I'm not melancholy if it should rain.
Yet on sunny days, with few clouds in sight,
drops of rain morph into droplets of pain.

I'm not exactly sure why this should be,
but rainy days and Mondays sadden me.

Control In Right Hands

It matters much who is in control:
In a venture he is the petrol;
To others hands what is relevant
And fishes out those who gallivant;
Workers warn to be not sycophant
For treats the size of an Elephant...

It matters a lot who does control:
Early his catarrh checks with menthol,
So that it staggers not his petrol
Or him reduce to thing to console...

Someone in control like Football Coach
On one's shoulders burdens of approach:
The fellow to new grave topic broach
And bad workers pair up with cockroach.

On a pedestal who's in control,
One's eyes closed to sharing of dettol
Over the squabbles merely quibble 
Or a barraging voice make feeble.

It's a Pickle Party

The sign read, "Just a nickel
for every party pickle
to buy some pumpernickel."
The wait in line did trickle.

For tasty party nibble-
place bread upon the griddle.
For sure, they did not quibble-
was their fun time to giggle!

"Come one and all, don't twiddle
let's eat, dance by the fiddle
played to a funny riddle-
and swing to pickle-wriggle!"

Now, that was worth a nickel
for every party pickle!
Food choice was firm, not fickle-
enjoyed the pumpernickel!


August 21, 2022

Premier Contest: It's A Pickle Party
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose

The Sparrow Starts To Quibble

Right at daybreak the sparrow starts
To quibble, heralding the day.
"Prick! Prick! He says in spurts
Like a vexed man having his say!
He deals out thoughts,
Slights and retorts!

He prefigures what's to come
In the nearing daylight hours.
Things will cause us to lose our calm
And there'll be times for no favors.
You'll free your chest
And speak with zest!

The sparrow shows a clear spirit:
Voicing feelings without restraint,
Talking straight, not for plaudit
Or fighting shy of all complaint.
He says his say!
He talks away!

In the coming several hours
There will be all manner of talk,
Some benign and some venomous;
Hence the sparrow starts out the walk
With this quibble
As a dribble!

Who Is In Control

It counts a lot who is in Control:
In a venture he is The Petrol;
To tell The others The Relevant,
Fish out those who choose to gallivant,
Workers warn to be not Sycophant:
Those chasing the size of Elephant!

It matters a lot who does control:
Early fights his Catarrh with Menthol,
So that it staggers not his patrol
Or him reduce to one we console!

The one in control like Football Coach;
To be The one you mostly approach:
The Fellow to new topics broach 
Upon his Province not dare encroach 
The one to The ‘Bad Guy’ call Cockroach!

On A Pedestal who’s in control:
Then, eyes closed to sharing of Dettol 
Over The Squabbles merely quibble
Or one’s barraging voice make feeble …

Who has found himself in control
Has for himself found painful Vitriol.

Sentimentality

....is both dried berries and nut tree,
by the leafage, the sunlit the phizog,
oaks skirted the edifice's entree.

he never mentions his mother as unreal.
as I involve my mother, did he prevent her?

mawkishness -
spawned a popping sound,
What a foolish,
& semantic quibble.

mawkishness -
To defy reason,
& sanity.

m a w k i s h n e s s -
It's nearly dreadful, 
in its evilness,
mind-bending, 
in its hurdles.

Written: May 20, 2022

Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

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