Yammer Poems | Examples

Life in the Country

Someone is wielding an axe or a hammer
It’s the only other noise beside a crow’s yammer
Dogs look down the hill, interested for a sec
Woods are thick, I see no pick or peck

Above the fog I hear a loud airplane
I follow its noise, then it is silent again
Life in the country on a gloomy misty day
Writing takes a bit of my boredom away

How Time Has Gone

My, how wamburdsly vett skitterelees 
yammer in modduskwom, sutty slivers,
every pop muddleskiddly of red-orange, 
in zakrum, zezzledop, vixaddamoth blur!

To see maxfluppinnes' purpled zizum, 
at tillaradoom jazzowdline's tyll sass;
in pithy, murldizzily, gibborton ullius,
of dizzledop, rose, klixmuth contrast!

Exotion blue, wivern tuqlore so green,
and aximinuthy, of gold deemeried yox;
in burgundy-brown, tardily gimmixles,
and darkly, zimmery, villy moon shocks.

My, the wimpledug, lulliate, sable sith,
the gimminy, pinkly zappers of swiftly.
'Midst tealish, flimmering, lilac flitters;
smoking, floxam, hegemsity-a mystery!

Vision

She took her own neck
into her own hands
and tugged and howled silently.
Have I seen this before?

Am I watching a film
or hearing a dream?
No scream, or invisible, inaudible
scheme performed by my head?

Can they see my movements as I copy;
hear, with their eyes, my screech?
Will that silent whinge or yammer teach them
to know me? Or am I, am I?

So strange to see that neck
taken into her hands
as she howls silently!
Has she done this before, as my vision seems to tell?


(4 Oct 2024)

Yearn

"Every age yearns for a more beautiful world. The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning."
                              -  Johan Huizinga

Within these white walls of wellness and weakness
lie labyrinths of life changing lies 
Needless needles nip like nuisance nettles
Scary scans scrupulously scrutinize 
Doctors dressed in drab garbs declare dreadful news
making moody me feel all the more miserable
Circumstances circle with cyst-like certainty
Persistent problems promote psychological pandemonium
Yearnings of yesterday yell and yammer for youthfulness
Lost in listlessness, I lament in laboured longing

Four Limericks Re Marital Trials and Tribulations

I
When a spat leaves you blue-faced and chokin'
This advice may keep love's bond unbroken:
Don't go angry to bed,
Listen to what's being said
And not merely to what's being spoken.

II
A man marries then struggles the rest of his life
Trying to keep his home free from all worry and strife.
It won't enter his head
'til long after he's dead,
That he might should have wed a less extravagant wife.

III
A new wife was installed as the queen of her house,
And for a while quite content with no reason to grouse.
T'was a cruel trick of fate
When she found out, too late,
That her mate was a souse and a louse of a spouse.

IV
A husband, fed up with his wife's constant yammer,
Went ballistic and bashed out her brains with a hammer.
At his trial her removal
Won the jury's approval,
And his (suspended) sentence, six months in the slammer.

A Dog Got Into My Brain

The moon was big and lit-up,
so of course, some local dog
was barking like crazy.

I got up, it was half past the tic of time
and way deeper than any sunken face.

I was a little wasted;
I get mad at such times
when the night cracks open in my head.

Outside, the backyard was fractured by silence
and an unpredictable yammer of sound.

A full-on moonlight had crapped shadows
all over the place.

I yelled pointlessly at the splintered sky
both sky and dog seemed to listen,
then the mutt yanked-up the volume
and really began to howl
I guess it was upset.

Back inside I turned on the laptop
and quietly typed out a lot of
bold, loud expletives -
perhaps considering
it better
not to disturb any more dead-eyed gods.

Big Or Little Hammer

Who’s been struck with even little hammer 
And his lips failed to curses yammer:
“Son-of-a-” not part of grammar:
For a blow, mortal, control stammer?

Struck with a big or a little hammer!
One is sure to enact a drama;
Golden voice hatching golden stammer,
Striker: replica of Osama 
While one is far flung from Obama: 
A writhing cut tail of Agama. 

The Hitter Bigger Monday Hammer 
Bound to give up any Akiyama 
And grossly cough Newest Yamaha!

A Twenty-seven Y Word Delight

Younderward yokel yap
Yore Yorkshire yield yeager york-felow
Yak yiddle

Yammer yack yells
Yard yew yellows
Yellow-tails, Yellowhammers
Yonder yellowfin

Yellow yam yesterdays
Yuca, yogurt
Yesteryears years

The Sad State of the Union

In this so-called modern world today
There's lots of cause for apprehension,
And all the crazy stuff that's going on,
Like the hubbub up in Washington,
Where no one's getting nothing done,
Is only adding to the tension.

It's not that I don't care about
The cost of healthcare, global warming,
And homelessness, and poverty,
And gender inequality,
But sheer governmental lunacy
Is what, to me, is most alarming.

I express my views as best I can,
Never preen, or preach, or yammer,
Keep disdain in check, reproaches small,
And strive through verse to rise above it all,
But now and then when gentler words begin to gall,
I'm rather glad poetic license lets me call
Upon the recourse of bad grammar.

Hymn

Jesus was a carpenter, 
he worked with saw and hammer. 
He pounded, banged, for 20 years, 
it was an awful clamor. 
Then he spent three years a'preachin', 
he never had a stammer.
At last they nailed him to a cross, 
nevermore to yammer.

Soup Tools

yammer
stammer
grammar
glamour
Do folks think you yammer, stammer much? 
Add the soup tools grammar glamour touch!

----------

(For the 'Bite Size Poem no.36' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
2/12/2022)

What Kind of Friend Are You

Buried in my own sorrow I do not care about you
Or your problems or your family or your mother-in-law today.
It is all about me right now, this second.
I need nurturing this time. My ears are shutting down.
I turn to the wall, showing you my back.
I rarely need this kind of attention, but today it is my turn.
If I don’t get a little listening, we are no longer friends.
And still you yammer on, not understanding
Not caring, not noticing even.
What kind of a friend are you?
I am going on a new friend hunt tomorrow.
Today it is all about me. Tomorrow it will be about us.
Them and me, but not you, my ex-best friend.
The one who never listens.

In Honor of the Earth

The globe doth spin, as we walk perpendicular.
I find, this fact, indeed this most peculiar.
Stammering, stuttering we yammer about fixing the earth!
Yet read the poetry, full of how, "it does not work".
Perhaps we should all look in the  mirror and wonder why,
The universe outshines our peevish, constant complaints and cries.
How ungrateful many nations be, wanting to control our freedoms and chosen, individual destinies.
The genuine individual is insulted, scoffed at, or not recognized at all.
Just the sheep, who follow lead shepherds, get acknowledgement
at all.

       
                        12-28-2020
                       11:30am PST

Some Mornings

Some mornings

When you are over eighty, the medics lose interest 
in your health, I used to see the heart specialist every six months
and check diabetes every three months
now they have stopped seeing me.
It is like they think, what the heck he is old enough anyway.
Not that I care sitting all day indoors looking out 
of the window seeing life lived as a spectator.
The phone doesn´t ring anymore and the few friends I had
are dead or in the bosom of AA, their life has been reduced 
going to meeting keeping their morale up.
Listening to the endless yammer of self - obsessed people 
talking about themselves their goal is sobriety, and they spend
rest of their life cocooned in safety while dreaming of whiskey.
We old people are so ugly we walk ungainly, and we have 
forgotten to live in the day.
We have lived our life lost the zest and our laughter when 
we laugh, is a scream of despair

Three Limericks For Friday

CHANGE YOUR NAME, CHANGE YOUR LUCK
      There once was a chicken who had no luck
      No matter how she tried she couldn't cluck
         Brunhilde, her name
         To Donald, she changed
      Now she's a chicken who quacks like a duck


IN HIS SOUP WAS A FLY
      There was a poor man, in his soup was a fly
      He just couldn't get that fly to go bye
         Turned his bowl upside down      
         The fly spilled to the ground
      Now the soup is too cold, the poor man cried


HE DID NOTHING BUT YAMMER
      Pam had a husband named Peter Hammer
      All day long he did nothing but yammer
         Into his corn pone
         She put little stones
      He talks less, but when he does, he stammers

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