"booing" poems
I cannot wait for that someone,
those little sprinkles of moments where I can tell him about the scar on the bottom of my left foot.
The crinkled and creased edges of my heart gently tugged out,
finally he can see the dinky mark on my right knee.
Slowly, the blemish on my lower back can meet his eyes.
Sure, my cheeks will be crimson,
but,
hey, I found Brave hiding,
it is peek-a-booing at me,
now to
you,
sweets.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
Unbeautiful, unbeautiful
Unhandsome and unimportant
This one goes out to the losers
All the liars and the thieves
And the wannabe beauty queens
You're never going to shine
Not even for a little bit
So get off the stage
Before the booing crowds take seize
Unbeautiful, unbeautiful
This one goes out to me.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye
Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry,
Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge
For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large.
Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet
A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet.
Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring
To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting.
Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out
The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route,
The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din
As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win.
Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope
I cover up with everything to give myself some hope
He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast
His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last.
Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace
The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face,
A wash of resolution hotly surges from within
So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him.
Defensive expectations had him open up his chin
So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin,
Boring in with fury and a combination score
I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor.
Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight
I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight
Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out
As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout.
Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild.
It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child.
Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two
The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo.
The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke
And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke,
My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire
When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire.
Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget
When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet!
Marshalg
My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter.
14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise)
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Sun + Shine
=
Sunshine
The sort of warmth that dapples across bared collarbones and shoulders.
Honey + Comb
=
Honey-comb
The scent of honey itself gently tugs the ribboned memories of summer.
Sweet + Mittens
The sort that are utterly perfect for hiding behind those little winks and sweetness peek-a-booing from that hell of a smile.
=
Smitten
You + I =
?
Could it be love ?
"Now, don't ask that like a question.
Say it like it should end with
a comma (,)
or
a semi-colon (;) at least!
He says carefully and measuredly.
His lips kissed the tip of her nose
like
a
full-stop
(.)
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
I am not an ordinary person.
I am no genius,
no artist,
and barely a poet.
I have no great life's work,
no opera,
no magnum opus;
but I'm no ordinary person.
There are no great lovers
waiting for my arrival
at the docks,
or morning my departure
as the ship sets sail.
No major sporting events
with crowds of fans cheering
and booing my every
success and failure.
Nobody takes pictures
of me or gawks at my pose.
Nor does anyone ask
for my signature
on their favorite
piece of paper,
which happens to be
stained by the ink
of my own words.
No one praises me
for my work,
or thinks I'm the best
at what I do,
whatever it is I do.
But I'm no ordinary person.
I have no son or
daughter to look up to me.
Parties aren't thrown
for me, and I am not
on the top of anyone's list,
not even the **** list
my enemies make.
I don't dance very well,
and I'm not a good singer,
songwriter,
musician,
or composer.
I'll probably never
be on TV or
in the movies,
no that's not
gonna be me.
But my life's work
is its happiness,
my operas are
my own personal dramas,
and my magnum opus
is this life itself.
For I am like you
the extraordinary person.
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 10:27 PM UTC
Numbed & dumbed
Into a void of oblivion
So far beyond the grasp of reality
My face is not my face but a doormat
Numbed & dumbed
A skull left to frighten
Watching you dance through little mirrors stuck in the eye socket
Peering, admiring
But who, admires who more?
But the skeleton, oh he stares, stares right back at you
With eyes crooning and booing
And me boohooing
The crowds tough
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
Is it a mountain range?
I think that’s strange
To start in the plains
Through the foothills and rains
Over streams and lakes to bulky terrains
Up and down, and up a bigger one still
It starts as a game, one big thrill
The valleys are sweet and the peaks high
How high could they get? To the sky?
Maybe high enough that you can fly!
What’s on the other side? More plains perhaps?
Or maybe an ocean, with breaking white caps?
No one’s ever made it so we’ll just have to guess
Some say at one point the height is much less
But that’s not firsthand information, so I digress
The path is strewn with bodies whose stamina wore out
But signs on their necks read, “This is what it’s all about!”
You can’t know what that means until it happens to you
When you’ve shattered your dreams, and your legs feel it too
But you’ll miss these people who tread paths for such few
Perhaps you’ll find where the peaks get a little lower
You won’t find it by resting, push on! Upward and over!
There’ll be bruises and scratches aplenty for sure
For this wondrous disease there is no known cure
The majesty of the mountains is a deadly lure
So many have tried to reach the other side
They’ve sweat and they’ve bled, they’ve fallen and cried
But to stop is to go mad with curiosity and thought
About what lays beyond, what the dead have sought
So we climb and we climb, even if all for naught
Then we find that perhaps it’s not been worth doing
Were it a play we’d probably be booing
Then we think of the foothills, of much simpler days
When the son shone blinding and we danced in his rays
And we wonder if there was a pass we’d missed on our ways
All the while climbing to the end of our days
As the sun starts to dim but casts a dark haze
And we wished we had enjoyed the peaks
Climbing and climbing for thousands of weeks
And then a slight rose comes to our cheeks
We lie down for a moment and softly cry
Take one final look at the blueblack sky
Then sit up straight, nice and stout
Confidently moving, no shadows of doubt
And don on our necks, “This is what it’s all about!”
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
eyes meet.
souls recognized.
(if you listen closely
you can almost hear
the electric current
buzzing between)
footsteps close in.
‘hello’s’ exchanged.
(if you listen closely,
you can almost hear
a simultaneous sigh
of relief.)
overanalyzing.
shoulders shrugging.
(if you listen closely,
you can almost hear
the hypothetical audience
booing.)
shoulders brushing.
asking ‘what if?’
more shrugging.
discreet second glances.
(if you listen closely,
you can almost hear
the universe roaring.)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
contradict my colors
carry me with your cause
I'm building this house
on love, sir
& I bleed out
violent flaws
calm the wounded widow warrior
change the picture on
your page
I've burnt all I can of
the exterior
& they're booing me
off the stage
cherish only what you love
charity and all that grooves in the night
don't give one listen to what
you've heard of
about the man who lived
with his own
fright
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Running
Through the forest
Running
Through the trees
Ducking & weaving
Through the bushes
Crunching on
The autumn leaves
I hide
Behind a log
Quiet
As can be!
“Shhhh”
“Don’t tell anyone
I am here!”
“I am playing
'Hide – And – Seek'
“I don’t want the boys
To find me!”
I giggle mischievously
Peek – a – booing
Through the bushes
Just
For a second
To see
If
Those silly boys
Have
Followed me here!
“Nope”
“Coast is clear!”
“Yaaay!"
“Nobody can find me!”
“Nobody but me!”
“BOO!!!”
I get pounced on!
Smothered in boys kisses
“Oh no, too late!”
“That rascal
Johnny Little
Found me!”
I push him off
Giggling
Brushing off the dirt
From
My
Pretty little, flower dress
So
Mummy
Doesn't
Tell me off, again!
I run back home
As fast as I can!
The cool breeze
Against my face
Blowing
Through my leafy, blonde hair
Arriving home
Racing through
The screen door
Just in time
For dinner!
“Yum Mum!”
“I’m hungry!”
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Between the dust of mulberry bend
Sat seven little men
Each one had a whistle that they had carved out of enchanted wood
And the sound that came out of them made the air become filled with enchantment
And magical things would appear as though like snake charmers
And so one silent evening as the dew met the grass
A rabbit hopped out,
Yes I said a rabbit
Why is it that you are now doubting me
For do I not hold this pen of mine?
And so this rabbit was so unusual because he had three eyes and he did not hop
He skipped and he had a jump rope,
And so out came those seven little men and they wanted that rabbit to be gone
And so they each picked up their whistle and out came that sound that scared that poor little rabbit into jumping right out of that magical place that he had fallen inside of,
And to this day those rabbits are known as jumping jack rabbits
And I heard you all booing away at this short little made up story
And hey you!
Why did you just toss my book away?
jo.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Grow and die,
like small traces of a lingering thought,
singing to the sound of static,
and lo' my sweetheart grows ever so fair,
growing and dyin' like that thought in the air,
***** nobody asked for a selfish opinion,
don't ask to know something when you're not up to listen,
but, I'll tell you darlin' I've had better days,
Dodging each question with a "Yes, it's okay."
and please don't cry upon the bathroom floor,
whispering obscenities to yourself, behind closed doors,
More make up, more acting, more stunt men for hire,
You won't get by no one without being a liar.
Belting out love songs, for the proper reaction,
but the crowd won't stop booing and crying for action.
so offer your head, upon a silver platter,
dress it up nicely,
because nothing else matters.
May 28, 2011
May 28, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
Sometimes I hate
It when I woke up late
The first thing I know
Looking out the window
All I can say is wow
It's show time now
Pigeons impatiently
So crooing booing me
High on rooftops wait
I hate waking up late
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
Some worst neighborhood is this
Lucky people draw no attention
They woooooooooooooooooooo
They rise, and
Woooooooooooooooooooooooo
Kind words to describe my love
Kindness they enchanted in ears
Love for one reason, couldn't be
More suitable to the wooing crowd
They will retain reasons to forge
Death out of lives don't matter at all
Still, they boooooooooooooooo
Blessed are these creatures, dumb
Affectionate and passionate lust
They scream cry and laugh at times
Admire, the boooooooooooooo
To beat the mass in genocide
Life has short hints that hurts more
More than their booing in the light
They die at the very end of dark
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 2:32 AM UTC
Yesterday, there was a cloud and the cloud was turning
Today there were more, and the ounce kept burning
Some bar in Hamburg and dreams of punching Atatürk
The sister wasn't **** no paper, seven X's
It wasn't a good time, it was a shoddy paper bar
The redneck ************ was the one who turned a star
But oh no
An axolotl with the body of a flying serpent
This is urgent, a full body of the color verdant
Learning the choreography of a murderer of burdens
The static and manic idiosyncracy of skin men
The bodies of three legends accounted to ten
But there was no reception or action back then
But who knows?
The calling of a tender serving drinks to no end
Many friends to attend to and mend the hearts
There were children who drank like worrywarts
And the shortened query of lines was eerie
Peering, they're steering like he was hearing
Some sudden tale of questionable origins in there
The fact that it's all the same **** with no name
Makes it the same old hat, the same old game
A dream of millenia ago when there was no fame
The only person booing was some swollen lame
But it's life and life is strange
How do you change the way you change the way you feel
Rotted brains that don't feel no feel, they steal
But time heals, so time equals no wounds and that's why
Why they wish to live forever on a never-ending ******
But then comes Life-ender, the scythe, ember, mender
And it's all over, no one's sober on this Rolls Royce
Range Rover, said Herbert Hoover the awful goober
And now it's all **** and there stood the stooge
A fool made of reed and a tool made of keys
But what for were keys when there's no doors in need
No trusty steed to ask for the **** or mead
Who knew that life would be so hard indeed
It's that two story fall that doesn't ****
It made them fall ill and lie still for a fill
Of this endless bucket made of Kengo's will
There was a silhuetto of a rusted stilleto
It was well kept like Velcro in a safe or the pocket
Of the dog from Kesto, that ******* he pictured it
Some poor animal and made it sit on the cover forever
That made it sever from reality and come back never
But that's a tale for another lever to pull
Or the fool with another drink in their hands
And a bit of food, delightfully canned or a machine
That was manned by a man who was made of sand
All there's left is a question I've always had
What if I was the cloud, and the cloud was dead?
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
Needs to be anywhere
As long as it's a place of nowhere
I will go there
Before I have a breakdown
I need to get out of this **** town
No longer want to stick around
I am about to drown
You can see it in my frown
There is nothing here to keep me from going
somewhere not knowing
easygoing
Maybe somewhere it's snowing
the moon is always glowing
Somewhere, it's calling for me
my destiny
A new place to see
Somewhere to clear the air
have a new love affair
not have a care
Here or there
Going somewhere
where I can make believe
and will never want to leave
and my mind will stop moving
no more booing
no more need of overdoing
Going somewhere for some renewing
Where my thoughts makes since
"Convinced"
Going somewhere
Anywhere, Anywhere
To set myself free
!!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Fans from both sides
Yelling at the referees,
Telling them how to do their job.
I wanted to defend the referees right
There.
But then I thought, "How could I plead my case
Regarding a sport that most of the audience knows
Better than I do?"
I rested my case in my head.
Even the coaches were mocking
How they could make better calls
And how many the referees missed.
I guess that's why my dad and brother
Didn't give a **** about the tension.
They've seen tension not only from me
In the family,
But they have an awareness of sports
That my experience cannot contest.
I have thin skin, I can't let these situations slide.
I couldn't be in an arena
Where every fan was booing the officials.
I had to leave; my hands are still marked with
The filth of unsportsmanlike conduct
On every animate being.
Sure no sport can come clean,
And everyone in my family and most outside my house
Had to remind me in basketball, piano, football,
That it's "just a game."
I left this so-called game early.
I wasn't really rooting for any team;
I don't even think I was watching a real game.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 12:35 PM UTC
Psstt...
*** bim bam
Rawr roar ruwr
Beep boop biip
Bzz booing bssst
There’s a whisper
“You’re weak, disgrace, a failure”
Von Gogh ?
Tesla ?
Napoleon ?
Wondering...
I finally understand
I really do
Maybe its true
We were really dead when no ones remember us even blood still flows in our body
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 10:57 PM UTC
I wouldn’t pinch
Not **** or slap
No sucker punch or idle tap
No tipping cows
No booing geese
Or folding frogs until they crease
No splatting bugs
Or spraying flies
No salting slugs into demise
But mess with my dog and I’ll tear your ******* arms off
**
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
A swarm of blue and white
Shot-putters hurdlers sprinters javelins long and high jumpers
Congregate before esteemed guests whom the PTA did invite
To secretly scoff at losers and worship winners.
Not quick or strong,
All I could do was jump high.
Alwyn came in stone last in the cross country after long.
Poor chap – their sneering and booing made him cry.
Soon after, it was my turn,.
Third jump – down went the pole.
Alas! – one corner poked me in the back. The pain, the burn!
Need something sweet for the shock, like a Swiss roll.
Into the common room I went,
Where smoky, limp athletes unwound with a movie.
There I encountered three foes infernally-sent.
Alwyn was among them – out to get me.
“Why are you crying?” one goon prodded.
“I got hurt by a pole,” was all I could muster.
At this, Alwyn’s raucous laughter erupted and exploded.
One day I’ll get you, buster.
Didn’t you cry moments ago when they sneered at you?
So, your solution is to do as the Romans do?
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
This is my mistake.
Not yours. Not anyone else's. Mine.
This was my doing.
I'll take all the booing;
That's just fine.
I'll show what this mistake
Is able to make.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC