"bitsy" poems
****** affliction of a lack of affection companion
Hand and hand strolling greater than syrupy plunging
and even sometimes buddy shrugging over wooden noisemakers
We whistle with their metal strings
and through the pasta soft ones in our throats
but no nest colored mares seem to hear
our flamboyant feather calls for future fondling
So I scribe slight implied short letters
invites to drink joints and nature jaunts
All too well thought out
hoping your advanced technology cannot trace
the time I spent to type
The overanalysis of our psych: her and I’s
wondering why she doesn’t have an inkling
for a cute fall date where we attempt to bake apple pies
It’s all too contrived, I know
I’ll strive for delusion
Accept a useful interpretation for our chemical inflammation
and let sparks pass it by
Like itsy bitsy flies laying eggs in a wound
for stagnant water maggots
They’ll eat away the thought well
where all my cranial zaps seem to dwell.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
honey on a lightbulb
in the hopes
for shiny bees
and itsy bitsy blankets
for the bed bugs
just trying to sleep
i feel bad for planets
galaxies and milkshakes
unable to receive
pick up my phone call
sun
pick up the moon
dreams
i am sorry for the things
i don't understand
the soap bubbles and the seams
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
Blue roads, orange sky,
Gray weather,
No one to say goodbye.
Yellow bricks,
Against an orange wall,
Cold sky,
Against a blue hall.
Bitsy black boy,
Walking alongside me.
Break the chains,
Let his squire be free.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
Soaring high.
The reds,
the blues,
nothing could ever be more different than those two colors right now.
It's beautiful and so are you,
my lovely friend.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out
Feeling low.
The headaches,
and the sleepless nights,
nothing can ever bring me back to where I was before.
My horse has a name and he is loyal,
he is my friend.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain
Thirsty.
The sun,
combined with the noise burns me,
how long was I asleep for?
My enemy will put up a fierce fight,
but not for long.
I can fight this.
The itsy bitsy spider climber up the spout again
The chain is addiction
and the links are euphoria.
One end is a bent steel pole.
Me.
On the other is a needle.
My lovely horse.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
It's like you have a Lego house.
You're just an itsy bitsy tiny little lego guy.
You've been working really hard on this Lego house.
Every day it seems to get a little better, a little bigger.
And then one day you see storm clouds
And something just feels off,
like you feel it the moment you open your eyes in the morning
but you ignore it because you think it'll go away,
you've been here before,
it's probably just another tiny storm.
But you've underestimated it.
it's not just a tiny storm
it's a monsoon
and now it's ripping apart your Lego house from the inside.
And you don't call anyone for help
because they'd say
"oh, again?"
So you stand there
watching this monsoon tear down something that's taken you weeks to rebuild.
But you understand the routine.
When it's over
you rest.
Because that's all you can do.
And when you wake up
you add that very first Lego block
And you start building again.
You don't know where it is
You don't know when it'll be back
But you keep building
Because that's what they tell you you have to do.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
They gave me a name that didn’t suit me.
What’s funny is
the universe recognized that
before I did.
She paid me this compliment:
*“There’s too much person to you.
You can’t be tripped up with so many
syllables in something so trivial as a name.
Less speaking, more breathing,”* she said.
Four reduced to two.
Now I can exist in half the time.
I became “Bitsy.”
Which means I’m associated
with certain things.
Mainly tiny spiders
and brightly pattered swimwear.
It’s easy to be irked by that, you know.
Yet, I smile and take it,
because they raised me
with the patience of an idiot.
I get automatic cute points
just for introducing myself with a name like this.
Newcomers get giddy,
like hearing my name is equivalent
to receiving a box of kittens.
I always try to drop an expletive or two—
I just don’t want them
to get the wrong f#@%ing impression.
“Less speaking, more breathing.”
I instructed the universe
not to do me any more favors.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
Itsy bitsy spider
crawling in deceit
along came the truth
and stomped it with its feet
Down came the shoe
and squashed it’s organs out
splat like a web of lies
it’s bits all about
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 4:54 PM UTC
It's 3:43am and I'm wondering if the spider in the corner of my bathroom is dreaming
I wonder if she knows about the sun and if she ever dreams of weaving a web in the moonlight
I wonder if she knows what I'm saying when I tell her "don't worry, i'll keep you safe" and I wonder if she believes me
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 9:47 AM UTC
I'm sitting the passenger's seat
of a bright blood orange 1973 Ford Pinto.
Adam Levine is driving.
We talk about the weather,
and sing along to some Hall and Oates on the radio.
(By the way, he nails those high notes—
just like Adam Levine should.)
In the interim, we share a pint of
Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte ice cream—
a flavor which we both agree
is subpar and a total disappointment.
As he passes the pint back to me,
he admits that his abs in half the photos
you see in People magazine are Photoshopped,
and pats his little round belly in jest.
I confess that I can always identify
even the most flawless Photoshop jobs—
and honestly, I don't think
he is the sexiest man alive anyway.
We have a laugh after that one, Adam and me,
and devour the silence for a bit before
I lean in and ask him if he even knows
where he's taking us.
He leans in too and makes some brief,
but serious eye contact,
(his eyes are hazel, by the way),
and he says something to me
that I really need to hear.
“It doesn't matter
if I know where we're going, Bitsy.
You can always get there from here.”
I lean back in my seat
and smile as I watch the world streak by.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
it's the little things
that please me
color coded my earbuds
so I know my right from my left
in the pitch black.
it's the little things
that please me,
and the big things
that defeat me.
I'm rich in itty-bittys
**There are no definitions available for itty-bittys.
Did you mean:
itsy-bitsy titbits itty-bitty-butts?**
yeah,
all three, thanks for doing the writing for me.
some-a-day,
gonna get me a big big closet,
a whole closet room,
to store my itty bittys teeny weeny
tidbits riches.
if I make it to
some-a-day,
just can't find it on my calendar,
but every morning
I wake to big things
wishing me cruelly
have-a-nice-day.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Nursree-Rhymed-Rap
you got yer Jack be nimble
you got yer Jack be quick
you got yer Jack jumpin over a candle stick
he jumped so high
he almost touched the sky
you see he burnt his nads
and it made him cry
you got yer 3 little pigs
you got yer Goldilocks
you got yer big bad wolf dumber than a fox
he huffed and puffed
and took a big hit
and they all joined hands
they were smokin some ****
you got yer Little Red
you got yer 3 brown bears
sippin on soup and sittin in chairs
Red danced on the table
yeah she danced really good
the bears gave her money
to see what was under the hood
you got yer Jack and Jill
you got yer buckle my shoe
climbin that hill what they gonna do
Jack played pattycake
according to rumours
trying to get inside
of little Jill's bloomers
you got yer Little Miss Muffet
you got yer itsy bitsy spider
he made a big mistake sitting down beside her
inside her purse
she kept a can of Raid
she drenched his ****
and now he's daid
you got yer hey ****** ******
you got yer dish and spoon
you got yer old spotted cow jumpin over the moon
there's Humpty Dumpty
and the fiddling cat
the little dog laughed
to see Jack Sprat splat
you got yer round the rosey
you got yer ba black sheep
pullin the wool over yer eyes as you sleep
****** ****** dumplin
so what is my point
whoever wrote these riddles
musta been smokin a joint
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 10:02 AM UTC
left cup runneth over/
right cup half empty/
if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/
I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/
(D)Disgorges over the underwire/
D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your nipple/and/
breathe/
no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/
I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/
will he still want to touch you/
you/
sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/
even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/
you/
strangulated bagpipe/
moulting pompom/ ****
what's that spell/
what's that spel/
what's that spe/
what's that sp/
what's that s/
what's that/
what is that/
what/
who are you/
you/
waning gibbous/
my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/
itsy bitsy titsy/
you make me/
sad/
you/
teardrop defying the laws of gravity/
or/
is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/
place/
I've noticed only/beautiful/things/
fall/
shooting stars/
autumn/
my left *****
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
A pearl is kissed; licked
By a gentle, questing tongue,
Ecstasy greets her.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
ANGUISH,
a wicked, deafening drum
synced with the brutal,
monotonously thudding rhythm
of my own jaded,
bitter heart's sickly beat
each throb of my
pulse rips savagely
at my seams
the wretched sobbing
of a crumbling soul
trickles and weeps out from me
and darkly cloaked
within the furthest reaches
of my disassembling being
secrets spun into silky
spider web strands
ensnare any shreds of light
holding truth and hopes
captive until they can be
drained to lifeless husks
****** to infinite suffocation
struggling with an unconquerable battle
a war, the likes of which
no human has ever,
even just once,
managed to have won
there's no cure,
no remedy to mend
what's broken, breaking,
shattering all around
I'M CRYING and begging at
an unseen God to come
come to my rescue
pleading for an intangible,
omniescent being to
destroy the tower built by
my own sinful nature
my own deceit
praying to a Creator
whose very existence I
still can't help but to
question and sink in doubts
but for that miniscule chance
He's real and might
maybe help me...
because the very reality
of such mercy and grace
could bring this
otherwise undefeatable
curse crashing down,
down, down, down...
THE DRUMMING,
banging out its mad rhythm
of anguish
changing, changing now
changing its infuriating tune...
with the final
dying grains of
my imagination,
I'll shove aside my
terror; my unholy fear
of the relentless
force of disappointment
I'll indubitably feel when
I reach my finishing line
clutching onto a
hideous fail
such an asinine act,
this allowing of a bitsy
fragment of hope
to creep and crawl
inside the walls
of my mind
but I've nothing more
left beyond this
bleak black floor
sagging beneath my feet
and a hope,
regardless how quiet,
no matter how
pitifully dim,
could quite easily be
the absolute final
spark of light that
my eyes shall ever see...
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
I guess it's the end of my need for some ****
I guess all I got is thid lsd
Gee,
but really what care,
I'm not even hear
teleport to the couch,
met a pink bear,
he ate all my hair,
**** In my eye he cussed not to cry,
MR BEAR!
mr bear
you think I wont trip?
one hell of a fry,
YOU **** IN MY EYE!
back to the room bad trip oh woah doom,
hit my head 'Jingle~
;oh yea and I'm single
hey mr. spider, lend me your lighter
back in an hour,
I thaught you died in the shower?.
itsy? bitsy? ,
I'm just rather ditsy..
wait why am i wet?.......................
all for one bet,
;)_ jesse mckush
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
I gazed at her skin, fried and sprayed orange like the flames
That swallowed her soul, dragged her down to hell with ‘em…
Let her burn.
Staring at her sparkly stripper shoes, I wondered how she could sleep at night.
Well, she probably wasn’t alone.
Her hair, so harsh, bleached blonde beyond compare,
Frail, fraudulent, wannabe beauty
Like her shallow, gimmicky, stage get-up for the guys,
Giving the goods in mass quantity, like a buffet.
How cheap could she be?
I ogled her body, ***** that resembled balloons.
Psh. More like implants.
Honey, you’re not fooling anyone.
Her makeup, tacky and overdone.
It could never be plastered over her tattered self-worth.
I glared at her clothes, or lack thereof, itsy-bitsy and a poor excuse
For a cover-up, of any kind,
Physical or emotional.
Leave something to the imagination, would ya?
Some girls, how pathetic they are.
I’m better. I have morals.
Even if I don’t abide by them…
Even if I despise the creature I’ve transformed to…….
I gaped at the reflection, in the million-watt mirror lit aglow…
Who could this be? It never could be me.
Staring between false eyelashes, she was easy to see.
A party girl. A ***
No, no!
It’s not me…
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 2:33 PM UTC
Come in all you children and dance upon the sea. The coastline tides are dancing and gallivanting on the breeze. The elephant seals are floating in their carcasses, warm blood lakes thicken on the foam, dancing in the ripples the shivers of Leopard sharks party's throw. ***** slugs and combatants, early hours send cries through crustaceans of the spine, and glitter muscles entwined with porpoise to drink their brunches with new recipes of the brine. Fairy starling, aching heartache, shapes each coil of the coast, and tears apart the stardust of starfish sliding up the coast. Drinking from the salt licks that falling waters move, inside the bay the bluefins escape the hunters in their shoals. The itsy bitsy great white, crept into the beaches cove, but orca and dolphin chased him back into the deepest azures where the fur seals pup and milk.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
We faded like fragments
White bed sheet tales now
We used to smoke like trains
I think I can, I think I can.
Ashed in each others hearts once or twice
But I didn't mind
With the sunlight on your face
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
I crept across the sheets
Looking at you hungrily
Your eyes danced down my back
The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout
We collided without a sound
I watched your lips part
And muffled murmurs were all that escaped
Hush little baby, don't say a word.
But those tales are only tales
And these white sheets are empty now
I don't know why you left me
How I wonder where you are.
But I mourn for you like a dying lover
And while I do,
I long for another, to take your place
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack. All dressed in black, black, black.
Yet no one aside from you,
Has taken the time to look inside
So, slowly, I find myself emptying
Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.
And so I wait. And I remember.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
It’s like you’re a pair of headphones—
coming in two different ears, and I’m bouncing
between one beat and the words that fall from my mouth
like ransom. I swear to god, if you’d just let me fall into you
the wreckage would be small, you’d just have to cradle me
like you do all the other bits that land in your lap
during the so called “suffocation” of your busy schedule.
I get that I’m too big to fit onto a calendar.
I get that sometimes I wear green just because it’s your favorite color.
But picture us together, and not with my clothes in a puddle
on the tile floor while the shower runs. Not with your hand
playing itsy-bitsy spider on my legs as you let your tongue
linger on the dips in my neck. Picture us on the sidewalk
with a lucky penny between our shoes, and how beautiful
our reflections would look even in that tiny surface area. Then,
imagine me in the stands with your over-sized t-shirt
and you could pick me out among the crowd. How about
our hands? Just picture them tangling together, your thick knuckles
knocking against my mother’s old ring. Or even take those circles you draw
on my hipbones and practice them on my palms.
I promise you it’s a lot prettier.
I promise you I know the route, I’ve been around that elliptical
that is your I’m sorry laced with every interpretation that is
YOU JUST DON’T FIT. I know I don’t fit,
and that you think we’re just too misshapen, but do you ever remember,
in that tipsy mind of yours, how slender my body fits into yours
like we’re two half-moons just making a sliver? I just wish you thought of me,
if at all, a little bigger.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
Perfect is cold showers in the morning
Perfect is long walks 'til your feet are too weary to take another step
Perfect is working out 'til you faint
Perfect is my hands around my thighs
Perfect is my elbows bigger than my arms
Perfect is my ribs like guitar strings
Perfect is my thumb and my pinky meeting at my shoulders
Perfect is my hips like anchors below my waist
Perfect is my spine like thorns on my palms
Perfect is my collarbones like hinges on my throat
Perfect is the immense gap between my thighs
Perfect is a diet soda and a ******* for a whole day
Perfect is 16 bites a bitsy cupcake
Perfect is guilt in every swallow and throwing up afterwards
Perfect is slits on my wrist after eating
Perfect is my clothes that fit like blankets
Perfect is the scale on 35lbs
Perfect is to be lighter than air
Perfect is size after zero
Perfect is lying to yourself
Perfect is denying you're starving to death
Perfect is 21 calories for a whole week
Perfect is not eating
Perfect is must not eat
Perfect is laxatives and diuretics
Perfect is empty
Perfect is skinny
Perfect is reality in a trance
Perfect is just-breathing
To embrace perfection is to live inside a dead body with an empty soul;
To tacitly prepare for your grave while struggling everyday to survive
Perfection is your frame in a frame
Perfection is death
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
There was none of your itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie bikinis at a fashion show of vintage swimwear in aid of the Cleveland Pools.
The costumes on show on the catwalk at Green Park Station were a much more modest affair, with a lot less flesh on view, and with some very interesting costumes which seemed to amuse the younger audience.
The Vintage Swimwear fashion show celebrated the last 200 years of bathing suits – the pools celebrate their 200th birthday next year.
Costumes from the last two centuries were modelled down the catwalk, with some interesting reactions from the audience, many of them design or fashion students from Bath Spa University.
It was a great turnout according to Sally Helvey from the Cleveland Pools Trust.
"We had a great night, and it really was great fun," she said.
There was a bar and barbecue hosted by Green Park Brasserie, and ice cream from a vintage Humphry van.
The audience also enjoyed a photography booth, and picture and video slideshows.
The Cleveland Pools is the only surviving Georgian Lido in the country, with a beautiful outdoor pool nestling in the back woods by the River Avon near the Bathwick estate.
But it is very derelict and will need millions spent on it before it can be re-opened again to the public. Last summer the trust received the welcome news the amenity is to be granted more than £4 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund, so plans are in place to have the pools restored and open for use again possibly as early as 2017.
A lot more funding needs to be raised to try and match the funds given by the HLF, and the fashion show, organised by Bath Spa student Jenny Brown, was just one of many events being organised over the summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
She ***** the sweetness of lust like taste of blood. Death hold grips can describes her hugs. They fall into a web, like the ones who finder. And now there all are hers, the Black Widow Spider. lured in the dark of her legs, sleek and black. Disregard the warning sign, Red hidden down the curve of her back. Fall into her into her mesmerize trap, Queen of seducers. lust at first sight waiting to turn hearts into stone like medusa. Dangerously 50 shades of black, which side of her they want? Games on your weakness, Russian Roulettes gun. Blindsided by her deceit, tangled in webs of her power. And now she feeds on their thoughts, like a brain ******* vampire. The beauty of her web, is persuasion of her femininity. Her birth is to gain your soul and her winning is her fertility. Because she will feed their starvation of love, and innocently build their esteem with everything she can think of. Create *** beyond their wildest fantasies. Drive them wild, begging for another hit down on their knees. Thriving off the lost of emotions, dominating feelings with full control. Then will leave them hanging when the festivities get all old. But the ones she scared will never understand. That the cuts from their abuser was caused by past life of a sexually abusive man. Is the price they pay worth their time?In the end to be hurt by a beautifully seductive mind. To be caught in the webs of a warm, wet place and lose a hold. Of Reality that this girl is pure selfish, untrustworthy and devilishly cold. foolishly loosing themselves in her body, While she’s alive for the fun but in reality is unattached with her body,a defense for untouchable, if they would only listen to whispers in the night, her body sings. To cope with her pain, A deaf man chooses not to hear this melody. The itsy bitsy spider, went up the waterspout, Down came her fangs and dried, his lonely heart out. Out comes the sun and hides her heart of pain, so the itsy bitsy spider waits to eats another one again. Black Widows Game
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
Nursree-Rhymed-Rap
you got yer Jack be nimble
you got yer Jack be quick
you got yer Jack jumpin over a candle stick
he jumped so high
he almost touched the sky
you see he burnt his nads
and it made him cry
you got yer 3 little pigs
you got yer Goldilocks
you got yer big bad wolf dumber than a fox
he huffed and puffed
and took a big hit
and they all joined hands
they were smokin some ****
you got yer Little Red
you got yer 3 brown bears
sippin on soup and sittin in chairs
Red danced on the table
yeah she danced really good
the bears gave her money
to see what was under the hood
you got yer Jack and Jill
you got yer buckle my shoe
climbin that hill what they gonna do
Jack played pattycake
according to rumours
trying to get inside
of little Jill's bloomers
you got yer Little Miss Muffet
you got yer itsy bitsy spider
he made a big mistake sitting down beside her
inside her purse
she kept a can of Raid
she drenched his ****
and now he's daid
you got yer hey ****** ******
you got yer dish and spoon
you got yer old spotted cow jumpin over the moon
there's Humpty Dumpty
and the fiddling cat
the little dog laughed
to see Jack Sprat splat
you got yer round the rosey
you got yer ba black sheep
pullin the wool over yer eyes as you sleep
****** ****** dumplin
so what is my point
whoever wrote these riddles
musta been smokin a joint
Gomer LePoet ....
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Hippity hippity hobo hopped a train in mobo, whilst mobo and toe-do flowdoed down dits bitsy mountain. She-ha and he-haw hast rode bikes to sleetah where burritos were bandits and bandista's on barnyard fence. Smoky and choky were high on mangozee and tis they loved posies of the same tilling field. Geuber and Gruber maketh infants as scoopers whilst dust is their slooper,
Slippery dipsy dask.. . uncle tis and Mrs tas. Tadpole Bennie, neon jenny, Mike and shunny.. Bunnies of two..honey's of few. Crick-crackle pop the hobo didst hop, as I caught him, as he fell, he bumped his head and yelled...( Hobo forever)
As I smiled to his passions...
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
The itsy bitsy razor
crawled up her thighs last night
down came the blade and sliced, and sliced, and sliced
out came the blood and
drowned her demons dead
and the itsty bitzy razor
latched inside her head
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC