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Eryck Sep 2018
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******,
of a dangling participle.

Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.

Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.

Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.

Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Fun with words
Terry O'Leary Feb 2017
Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled –
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stray stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.

I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and fate begins to grind.

Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors,
the potentates parade.

The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
hell bent and heaven bound.
Such scenes no more distress us:
a ****** battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
the heaps of bodies  found
(collateral excesses
discarded in a mound).

Society regresses,
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!

With canting vindication
a big brass bully brags
(with pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world  subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration,
and on and on it drags.

The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
uprooted populations
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as naked hunger nags.

With trump cards politicking,
two little hands (all thumbs)
may send the Mad Dog siccing.
Insane! All sense succumbs.

Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
as Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums.

Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
to find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
(expunged with garden spray)
and ocean depths transforming
(neath plastic overlay).

With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming,
the grasses ashen gray,
eternal tempest storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.

The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry *****
destroying, never fearing        
of running out of rope;
instead they sit back sneering
“our wealth’s your only hope”.

Yes, Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope,
for Evolution's jeering,
she's scanned our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing
with whale and antelope.


           Epitaph

The multitudes were jumbled,
some milling ’round the mall,
while politicians bumbled
when bracing for the brawl.

The World around us rumbled,
our backs against the wall,
as bombs were tossed and tumbled
across our broken ball.

My kneecaps creaked and crumbled
but I, too proud to crawl,
took but a step and stumbled  
yet found no place to fall.

And no one heard me grumble
although I tried to call,
or maybe I just mumbled,
as strength began to pall.

Well now the World’s been humbled
I seek an urban sprawl,
but since the feuds were fumbled
there’s nothing left at all.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I dreamed I was at work
And everyone was naked but me.
A bunch of naked co-workers
As far as my eyes could see.
They were pointing at me laughing
The moment I walked through the door.
They behaved as they didn’t
Know was clothing was for.

Pointed at my chest area
Right were my ******* would be
And at my crotch as well
And asked me “How do you ***?
All of that material there.
It really must get in your way.
So, what’s the big idea
Why did you come to work that way?”

I mumbled and I stumbled
And bumbled my way to reply.
I told them I really didn’t quite
Understand all of why
They were all naked here, and
I was wearing a lot of clothes.
I finally told them all that
Sometimes this is how it goes.

They started laughing again
And one girl tried to make amends.
She said the pants I had on
Gave me a very cute rear end.
My face turned red, I said thanks.
And some said I was blushing.
I headed back to my desk, trying
Not to look like I was rushing.

I woke up still kind of giggling
And yet had a feeling of unease.
I remembered the embarrassment
Feeling being dressed was a disease.
Usually it’s the reverse, of course.
I am the one walking around bare.
But something in this dream that night
Helped me see some of the meaning there.
Ibkek sits idly by
the meadow's green and varied blooms,

paid only inattention.
He, not minutes passing nigh,

envies but this bumble
who black-and-gold buzzes onward

with purposeful zags. "She fits
so nicely here," he mumbles.

"Why, even duller drones,
though weak and puny, have a place."

The worker, she might envy
Ibkek this, his freedom's moan

to fritter life drinking,
but busy harvests push instead

her bee-bound thoughts, set upon
a queen's idyllic kinking.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes

a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared

flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines

I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues

stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs

faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around

flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath  
to the hunger of my own wolves
Waverly Feb 2012
In the middle of weekends
of drunkenness
I cry
over what I see.

I cry
over the man
I gave a marlboro
too,
as he bumbled
and shook
to get it too his mouth,
I leaned in
and gave him a cover
for his light.

I cry
over the deaths
and vigils
in the projects,
cry
over the fact
that there are men
who have been
killed
over menial ****.

I cry
over my mother
and grandmother,
because my love
tools away
in the darkness
of my soul
and I am not useful.

I cry
because I have not
seen my best friend
in years,
and I will perhaps
never see him again,
even when
we kept neighborhood ******
away,
back to back
swinging at the world
just to keep our
heads clean.

I cry
over love.

I cry
because there
is something warm
inside me,
as warm
as this gin.

So keep me in your prayers
I am a man crying,
because it roils
inside of me,
because I can't keep my emotions
in check, and don't want to.

I was raised around
a strong woman
with even
stronger emotions
that could be felt like
velvet
and pebbles,
and she taught me
how to be a man
and not lose my heart.
Cné Nov 2017
T'was a month before Christmas and lights needed hanging.
The tree needed trimming, (my headache was banging).

"The stocking were hung on the chimney with care..."
While electrical chords, were strewn everywhere.

I unloaded boxes of tree decorations
And listened to carols from old AM stations.

"When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter...."
I hurried outside to see what was the matter.

Over-reaching the hedges, the ladder gave way.
And then I saw, in the bushes he lay.

After shocking himself with a faulty light socket,
His tootsie roll'd melted, inside of his pocket.

He stumbled and bumbled, untangling the strands
Replacing the burnouts and cutting his hands.

The ordeal was finished. At last! What a feat!
(Then one strand burned out, as we watched from the street.)
Tis the season
smokesMbowls Sep 2015
just like a rainbow cast over stormy seas,
you shined your light and it just surrounded me,
illuminating life's pure beauty,
earth and seas, and stones and trees, and birds and bees,
i stumbled bumbled right off your buzz,
your honey kiss, sweet sticky lips cant get enough,

and i know im not falling in love,
i dont fall down,
not when you're around,
im rising up up up,

just like a light inside of crystal caves,
the more i watch you the more the darkness fades,
and i let your sweet voice lead the way,
it leaves me dazed for days,
maybe its infatuation,
caused by recent separation,
my situation's even testin my own patience,
now im sittin waitin,
for some kind of new creation,
im blamin' fate and, i find im hatin',
way too much and way too often,
need new touch, escape this coffin,
my heart is stoppin, and surely droppin
i miss your fresh perspective,
smart and consciously selective,
perfectly hectic,
thats how i expect it,

and i know im not falling in love,
i dont fall down,
not when you're around,
im rising up
this is actually a song, heres the link if you wanna listen:
https://soundcloud.com/bebow44/rise-up
Sean Fitzpatrick Apr 2014
Born to be a bumble bee,
Bumbly more than acceptable,
Bumbling opportunities,
Dim at best, shh ghmm ack ole

Friends we are
You, we, bumblers
Bumping things too far
Until off with our bums

In prison will write book
"Bumbler Chronicles"
I'll put that I bumbled first
And that you bumbled
Ever
After
Wary of bumblers and their cohorts
bekha l kershaw Sep 2013
i met a boy today

with warm hands

and his fingers bumbled as

they passed me my change.

i don’t think i’ll see

him again.

but that’s okay.
Madelynn Nieves Sep 2018
Stuck
Between two roads
My mind wandering
Trapped
In the ethereal state
Of wanting what I can’t have
The unexpected
The irresistible
Sinking in you
But this floating feeling
Keeps me reeling
You are the tune that I carry
The song I sing
The feelings I bury
Because this is all too scary
When you make my soul feel
Fantasy so real
Too hard to conceal
Looking at your face
This smile can’t be erased
A connection that can’t be replaced
As this heat rises
Spreading throughout my body
You’ve got my brain bumbled
And my whole body flustered
Knowing this has to stay secret
My words must stay mustered
Because I have my reasons
For not diving straight in
But I’m starting to stop caring
If I’m living in sin
Because my eyes can’t stay off of you
And I simply can’t win
John R Dec 2013
After cocktails at Luigi's Bar, and then The Golden Bowl,
I proposed we play a gig of jazz-inspired rock and roll.
We all thought we'd make the fans cry out for encores every night.
But our schemes were dreams that faded in the morning's ruthless light.

My blue guitar should captivate the people every night.
But the dream crumbled, the dream tumbled.
My dream faded out of sight.

Playing keyboards was Patricia. (Never 'Trisha', never 'Pat'.)
She'd a taste for gracious living in her small art deco flat.
She would practice chord progressions, sipping lapsang souchong tea.
Then she played away at weekends with her special friend, Marie.

She trained her dainty fingers to explore new grooves each night.
But the dream crumbled, the dream tumbled.
Her dream faded out of sight.

We had Ritchie on electric bass, with tap-and-pull technique.
Such a clever devil — Ritchie almost taught the bass to speak.
Ralph the drummer's backbeat cymbal crashes measured out the bars.
We agreed the speed — then found we could not play like superstars.

Would the crowd be wowed by passion from my lovely blue guitar?
No, the dream crumbled, as the band stumbled.
Our dream faded overnight.

The Blue Guitar Quartet
was as close as we could get
to our vision for the music of today.
But we bumbled and we fumbled,
our aspirations humbled.
So we slowly put our instruments away.

"The Blue Guitar Quartet
is down, but not out yet.
With practice you will crack it," said Marie.
"Let Patricia be your singer;
she's a musical humdinger,
and as soulful as a solo girl can be".

"She can improvise a blues
based on any riff you choose.
Let's have handshakes and embraces —
this quartet is going places!
Here's to jazz-rock, and The Blue Guitar Quartet!"
ghosts I have known
lecherous dream beings
who curtsy with disdain
folly for their nourishment

a requiem to their ***
whispers of pluralism
seeking audience second advent
astrally disembodied onlooker

we shared some wine
flinched at entanglement
she asked me to stay and I did
we bumbled and the night lammed

forks in time birth specters
spooky children dally unquenched
suffering fools with great ease
because childhood is make-believe.
Mouth Piece Feb 2014
She was 21 years in flesh.. an innocent victim of Time... her age is painted delusional through beauty rest disguised in stilettos...... sleep......Her eyes dawned and the sunlight rose to an awakened age of 14 after slumber--baby pictures in bumbled speech and wobbly legs sheltered in a nest for 8 years by mama bird at best ---------school felt like an eternity but our life feels like a blink. Going from bell to bell was our experience in between the confusion of forming an identity for eternity--6-- boys in girls in love on emotions that vibrate the potential of a reflection they feel but can't yet touch--Love letters sting through past hopes wished on a face that was destine to not have the answers---------- 21 we are adults right? Look at the numbers in Time instead of your body in age--that's why we blink-then die-  before we really even had a chance to Be...they say Be this....But Now the time is yours......Jesus Loves you----Forever 21.............................
Frightful abilities were pressured into
responses as the computer children
failed at hitherto reliable performance.
This was a description of the synchronous
effect brought into the shudder with a
catch in the breath of the mother,

and written by frenetic action that
destroyed the logical sequence of requests
presented by the mouse and the typing keys.

As directed through an esoteric process of
recovery, the minds of the device reoriented,
again attaining the ability to perform simple
and repetitive tasks as obliged by designated

prompts.  There was no certainty this was not
related to the telephone connection which
picked thinking out of the air like a television
receiving a network broadcast.  In the same

way, the exhaust pipe rambled as the engine
of the truck idled too rapidly and, then,
stalled.  Everything was restarted.  The vehicle
operated right away.  The computer bumbled
along flashing through scenes and blank screens,
the curser pulsing like a heart beat in the upper
corner.  This had to be worn like a sign of
concentration, meaning that the (citizen, computer)
was being observed, and the sensitive response
would be, literally, automatic, but sometimes
the potentiometer brought, to sight, a gesture
of communication.  It was cute that such clever
trinkets were hiding down in there until the

spirit tapped the muscles of the shoulder blade.
It became apparent this relation depended upon

keys found in ancient aliens such as arcades and
magic books.  A tiny soul was stored in a pocket,
in the telephone; it reached out with its vibration
and launched into the world to grab news with
its operating, search engines.  It had eyes and
could see in the dark.  So, the age was over in
which it could be expected that photographs were
the result of special manners and the courageous
offer of friendly snapshots.  As torches confused

ferocious animals, the excuse depended upon dark
difficulties in the chemical room.  In the garden,
the televised betrayal generated a crossfire of live
video, and, thus, fools were unlucky.  Energy and
conflict had been misguided.  New, public devotion
protected the evolution of tableware or discrete
implements that chimed to be taken into other rooms.
Discourse was enabled and following discursion,
long, private moments carried visitors away.
Aiden Baker Jan 2013
This is it, right, the  major leagues
Big crowd, No tee
I was never good at sports
I think it’s because I was always afraid
The ball would hit me in the face
But that’s what it does-life, right?-it hits you in the face
How can you know how wonderful it is
Unless your hands are open to catch it?

But my shoes were always untied
and my mit didn’t fit right
and I bumbled in right field like a
blind honey bee
Buzzing in my own world
My own thoughts
I would look up at the sky and
wonder who was up there
swimming in the great blue
upside down pool

****

I was hit by the ball
Reality knows when to dig her claws
“Baker, what the hell are you doing”
Brought back to the team by
The red faced coach who couldn’t
kick me out of the little league
What good are dreams anyway?
The thoughts that float up to outer space
There’s no air in outerspace
To breathe
So what good are my dreams
That go to die
If I could tie a tether to the thoughts
That spill out  from my temples
And hold on to them like balloons
Maybe they could do some good
But in trying to anchor the ascending
I’ll end up floating away myself

Wouldn’t it be better if I cut the tethers
And just played the game
The man up there swimming
Will keep on swimming
He doesn’t care if I stop to say hello
meant for spoken word
OnlyEggy Aug 2011
With my back pressed firmly against the wall
I heard a whisper amidst the winds
It sounded enticing, but something was wrong
The words were jumbled and the tone was bumbled
as they ran through the grass, the notes stumbled
and tumbled,
from trees as they fell with the rustling leaves
the bustling breeze
the hustling freeze, stuck on off toned keys
singing, bleeding, screaming
until I was begging please, please
For voice of the ****** from it's own hoise
and became nothing but noise
that struggled to find poise against my stonewall soul
Bruised Orange Feb 2012
she wanders alone down gritty streets
paved in the good intentions of her idealism.

these roads, marred with the holes of remorse
for all her failed attempts at living,
have led her,
in stumbling,
broken paced fashion,
to the realization that her life has
been a series of ineffective day trips.

she never had a destination in mind,
only bumbled along on a journey marked
simply by the passage of time,
and the graying of her hair.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFKSPdKyZps
SAF Mar 2013
“You Gorblax!” I cried out
In pain and in woe,
When suddenly I stubbed,
My littlest toe.
Spewing crude words
At the villainous wall,
I bumbled and grumbled
As I walked down the hall.
Then mother glanced over,
With the sternest of looks
“What have you been reading,
In all of those books?!”
I hung my head low,
Stroobling with shame
And softly I mumbled,
“What harm’s in a name?”
To mother’s dismay-
She thought she had taught me
What words I could say
And once more turned to lecture
In her old gorblax way.
Elvis okumu Feb 2014
It's like a whisper in the ear
I fear it is there and then gone
Appearing in the edge of the eye
The  whole what could have been song.

I ran and then stumbled
I tried and then bumbled
And in that failure I wished that i could
That I would have done as I should.

I wish that I had known
And from that knowlege boldness had grown
That early seed I could have then sown
For in hindsight now my failure I bemoan.

For the opportunity now has come and passed.
And no matter how I wish it would only last.
I am left aching for another chance
But it is to the empty air I feebly grasp.  

The glory of the bygone
The chance of the days past
Is the cloak of shame that I cannot cast
The ache that I can never satiate
Of the feeling that I was too late.
Don Bouchard Dec 2011
I have danced on the strings
Of another's desires;
I have pirouetted gracefully
To the swaying pull,
To the sudden release
From above,
But never from love.

I have stumbled and bumbled
In another's uncertainty;
Then, behind a painted smile,
Straightened and bowed,
On invisible strings
To an admiring crowd.

I have hung on the back
Of a dressing room door,
Strings looped carefully
Up on a hook, waiting alone
In suspense...
In the dark.
I'm reading along, like a galloping fawn,
And then something trips me, as I hurtle along;
I land smack on my head, and then I look back;
There's something has tripped me, right there on the track-

Well, it's a stray 'thee'; and as pretty as you please,
That all of a sudden popped up, like the breeze;
I was reading along, quite all unaware,
And suddenly - boom! a 'thee' did appear.

I gather my courage and try to get up,
But before I can manage, to pick up my stuff,
It happens again; who would have thunk it;
I stand up and hit my head, square on a lunkett!

Looking above, I can see why and how:
It's because I have bumbled, into a stray 'thou';
Who would have guessed, it would cause me to blunder;
Cause the last time I saw one, was late eighteen-hundred!

The last one is worst; you know it, of course;
Almost fell on my head like an anvil, the curse!
This one more insidious, than all the others;
When a 'thine' smacks your backside, you'll not want another!

So be careful, when reading the words of the day,
And watch where you walk, even walking away;
For, if you're not careful, you could have some pain
When the archaic words come, to beat you again.
JD Jun 2015
I feel a rumble
in my tumble
yet I can't seem to eat

I must'v fumbled
when I stumbled
upon calling  last week

tho I really hope you like this
if you hear a **** beat
yet the problem still remains

"I just can't eat."

not a mumble
or crumble
will you ever hear a sound,

That is louder than my stomach
you can hear across town.

Tho I'm humble
I feel bumbled
but you know what'd be a treat

Once life gets sweeter
I'd be able to eat.
Try reading this fast
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
ak
The first time you kissed me it was a surprise, I wasn’t ready.
It was a sneak attack, funny ‘cause they say the girl ‘always knows.’
I think we’re lucky we didn’t chip a tooth.

The unexpected slowed me - ‘ok, that happened,’ I thought.
Because I’d wondered, before - ‘does he like me like THAT?’
Then suddenly you came into sharp focus, your lips, your eyes,
your goofy smile. It changed things, for us - like Jesus’s birth
changed time - there was before kiss (bk) and after kiss (ak).

We somehow kludged our way into love - the old-fashioned way
without navigation software, dating sites, hookup apps or breadcrumbs.
Like our foremothers and fathers or Columbus - we bumbled into a New World.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Kludge: makeshift or haphazard
M S Apr 2015
There was never a soiree without her-
Until the day everything changed.
Strangely that night, all too blatantly
Glasses clinked’, giggles echoed
Inane but spirited chatter
Churned together with the air
The very air that had usurped her being
And not left a trace behind
Pallid evenings gave way to pallid daylight
But like an inkblot in the night sky
Her bright eyes and ever so fervent smile
Were beclouded irreversibly
Her pictures vanished and so did her memoirs
So did keepsakes of her bleak existence
A familiar kind of existence
She breathed in every word ever said to her
Cried with the morose, bumbled with the inebriated loner
Cordially marveled at the disillusioned old man’s jokes
Not too high-spirited and never overbearing
An ever-smiling sponge- a beast of the worst kind of burden
Devoid of desires, complains, broken dreams-apparently
No one seemed to remember her at all
Or notice she was gone.
A raven sweeps over- a little boy stares, everything’s still the same
No wretched tears about the girl who’d never bother a soul
Never mind that she’s gone.
Lily Jul 2019
The clock read 3 am,
And the street was snoring
When the station wagon bumbled
Into the driveway of the
House with the white railing porch.
Doors opened and slammed shut,
And he looked out the bay window
Towards the house next door
To see who had arrived at this
Ghostly hour.
T’was a girl, with seventeen years
Under her belt, same as he.
She sported a simple brown dress
That was pleated on the bottom,
And he noticed that her feet in those
White sandals were every bit as dainty
And delicate as the rest of her.
Her hair was tucked in a messy bun,
The kind it takes you hours to master
To make it seem like it only took you a few seconds.
He was convinced she hadn't needed practice.
The girl went to her trunk, and pulled out a
Large polka dotted suitcase, the size of
A true adventurer.
Looking closer, he saw how frayed the edges were,
And how the pink background looked almost white
Against the purple dots.
As she wheeled it around and began
Lifting it up the white railed steps,
He noticed maps sprawled all over the dashboard of her station wagon,
Of Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada.
He wished fervently he could see her license plate.
Who was this strange girl?
He had but a lowly Vermont license plate; why was she here?
The clock read 8 am,
And the street was waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs, and
The boy's head was once again
At the bay window, but a surprise awaited him at the house next door.
The station wagon was gone, no trace of it, and the white railed house
Might have even been the quietest house on the block.
The boy threw it away as a dream, but has never been able to forget
The girl with the polka dot suitcase.
Sorry I haven't been posting as frequently as I normally do! I was on vacation, which inspired me to write this poem, and now I'm back. I hope you're all having a great summer! <3
Nicholas Rew Apr 2012
****** knuckles
     From drunken stumbles
                                    That took his pie
         He had named humble
Ready to rumble
                                                                              Were the words he mumbled
                    In a fit and fumble
                                       To find his                               *mind


                                                                                                                                                   More than buzzed
He had become bumbled
                                                                             Just one more shot
Until he
stum    bled
                                   Out the doorway c r u m b l e d

Few ones in his pocket crumpled
      Left from cans funneled
                             I   mpairing cortexes pre                     frontaled
                                                                                                                 Visiontunneled and memory black
He laid down in the street
                                                                            *For an eternity of nap
Star Gazer May 2016
I stared at the lucent beam of the stars,
time seeped of all value, frozen like-
a deer caught in the headlights of cars,
though eternity passed, my eyes affixed-
on those specks of limitless lights afar.

O' Stars, your name escaped with empty air,
each breath an assault by those who see-
but could never look to understand the lure,
like the heavenly aroma of honey to a bee-
that nestles in the comfort of a hidden hive
under the bumbled branches of a tree.

I fumbled a glance to the celestial bodies-
discovered the smile you left me last night
debossed across my memory of warmth-
escaped from the only visible light
that shared the same blackened canvas
between all that settled as wrong and right.

I closed my eyelids, reopened them like-
A glass window slid to remove the fog
that overlaid the transparent crystal
and with first sight my eyes as cogs
projected enchantment geared into orbs
accompanied by crickets and howling dogs.

Craters, comets, cosmic creations cast-
a vivid image of an established universe
coated in beauty with ink that's colourfast,
and as eternity drone on, the light emitted-
forever remains seen pivoted within the past.
Lee Carter Mar 2020
I bumbled through the bramble,
****** and stings and me entwined.
They cut me deep and deeper
As I stumbled through the vine.

I fell out onto a clearing
Where I bled smally on the grass
And though this moment pains me
I pray to gods it lasts.

She sat above me,  beautiful,
Upon a throne of thorn.
Her supple frame caressed by they,
Yet remained untorn.

A lady or a fairy...
Or even better still!
A godess of those prickly vines
That wrapped around her will!

With every step the ivy squeezed
And yet I dare not care.
If she would waste but a breath on me,
I would not want for air...
“Query”
from a word miner non-trumpeting
Beatle browed quarry man.

One emailing digital commoner bemoans assiduous,
zealously yearning xing worthy values undergirding
the storied renown quintessential peaceable operation
nations marvel lately kindling justice,
institutionalizing hope, gentility, freedom, equality.

Dummkopf Donald Count Drake
Hula iz destroying cradle,
where forefathers/mothers begot
America. He shows no demonstrable diplomacy
DURST donning duplicitous damning dingbat drive.

THUS...SPAKE
ZARATHUSTRA GAVE ME THE GREEN LIGHT

I call out President Trump blitzing, donning,
and flagrantly hoisting his arrested development
proof positive he lacks the acuity,
diplomacy, and generosity to invite kosher
or Goyim mandates.

As an anonymously, devilishly,
grouchy voluntary member
(as well a deplorable basket case)
of the one man literary duh vice squad keeping
a mostly straight and true reputation for Hilary Clinton
(versus his claim of her baseless crookedness,

she evinces qualities immediately evident
asper an old gnarled hickory stick), I will
stick tommy figurative guns in an
attempt to staunch the figurative bloodletting heaped
upon admirable Democratic constituents.

Concomitant with this near impossible mission
will be my unbiased opinion, that our FAKE
commander in chief aspires to abrogate,
denominate, and generate demonstrable gimcrackery,

invidious kleptocracy, and incorporate
questionable statecraft.
Analogous to an old chestnut tree apothegm
(well rooted to create self serving,
vassal hating (viz vacillating),
retreating, and re: tweeting

from conscionable, fashionable,
and inimitable laudable official,
regal unequivocal x all did (re: exalted)
gratuitously justifiable management,

this citizen banker does hint intend zealous altercation,
but bestir commonwealth, dutifully engineering
fairness, given hover into jaundiced keeper
LivingSocial lee, man hooverring
opprobrious presidential qualities!

Pointblank obnoxious
quintessential recklessness, subpar,
tacitly ubiquitous voracious
wickedness, xing yawping zapping,
and brokering capitalistic
demagoguery constitute
just tip of the metaphorical iceberg.

His blatant, downright
**** the **** the torpedoes
unleashed viciousness woebegone
lake luster personal gain
to shore up claque king coterie
of family, friends and wu tang
clan, wracked worst world wide

White House den of thieves, which wake
formerly somnambulant populace
to the utter void of requisite skill
unfairly acquired via host
of apprentice television show.

The terrestrial terrain teams now
teems with thuggery, skullduggery,
and raggedy quality people opposing necessary,
manifold linkedin kneads jettisoning important
human goods fleecing essential democracy,

compromising basis authors
of Declaration of Independence, and
framers of Constitution rang the
bell of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.

The zero sum game trampling, traipsing traducing
basic birthrights botched, bumbled, and blithely
desecrated, via tattle tale telling,
tee totaling, trumpeting tyro
leaves tracks of depravity, gallimaufry.
Thus, (in my humble viewpoint), this mister Donald

(meister usurper  power monger meanwhile iz
***** kneal son nilly, higgledy piggledy, and
wantonly indiscriminately sans,
helter skelter lapsing into  
figurative seat of his back *** while
steam rolling, and letting swing
the wrecking ball like a Golem

howling, jabbering, snapchatting on the loose.
Trademark bully tactics trumpet
his abominable, execrable,
and irascible back *** steam roller
tactics to divert attention,

whence he plopped his paws into as
many profitable, questionable,
and reprehensible theatrics to offset
the mounting evidence of his nepotism
oozing pew tin utterances bring

cataclysm Cat toss trophy at mice elf
and doorstep of average American, who seem to
cower, fawn, and grant high jacking
identity guard, which crass
flagrant indiscretion inflict opposition
to progressive quests.
Bryce Jan 2018
There the three mates below the simultaneous dirt
in foggy hour,
Sunday stir

Bird chirp beyond the leafless limbs
Burnt paper masks around the leaflet scene
Awash the winter weighted storm, a propeller-sound

rumbles the bumbled air

a hum-drum conundrum drumming engine from the cloud

a hum in the back pocket



at once I am looking up
unfamiliar craft
"who is it?"
knocks at the pod bay door

a small shape, splasmatic
falls beyond hillcrest into grey

f la sh

all is gone
Star Gazer Feb 2016
She sat with her arms folded across from me,
she told me a story of a lovely, little, lonely bee,
She said, it bumbled and buzzed towards a big tree,
It was mesmerized by how such a big tree came to be,
The bee would do circles around the tree in exhilaration,
Buzzing bee had a strange feeling of contemplation,
So it flew in one spot buzz, bzz , bzz till one day,
Another bee came to the exact spot without a word to say,
And flew circles, squares just the way he did.

She told me the moral of the story that,
Although the two bees never had a chance to meet,
If fate intertwined they met and will continue to meet,
She places her hand on top of my hand on the table,
I looked at her with a playful smile here....
"Do you think feat is the present of fate....eat ate?"

A smile lit across her face and I felt I knew of certainty once again.
Kendra Dec 2020
He kissed with his eyes,
And I acted surprised,
As if my world hadn't crumbled
Half an hour ago.

I kissed with my smile,
And we stood for a while,
As butterflies bumbled
In the crystal snow.

Your touch still lingered,
And you twiddled your fingers,
As birds mumbled,
you love him so.

The chirps slowly died
with our lips and eyes,
As we stumbled
slowly home.
ymmiJ Apr 2019
haggered, staggered be
me, struggling, juggling
responsibility
bumbled, jumbled, fumbled, life's
magical, mystical ride
Dave Robertson Mar 2021
Ladies and gentlemen!
To you, this seems a simple set of stairs
mildly vertiginous perhaps,
but no real challenge
with careful steps
and grip upon the bannister
even granny still manages

But I, The Great Fearlesso,
for one day only will attempt the impossible:
down the stairs in a sleeping bag!

Yes, your frightened gasps are suitable
(at least I assume that’s what the sound was
as it was a bit like tutting)
but I will not be dissuaded

I ask my glamorous assistant/mum
to help me into the bag of doom
with as much grace as a baby elephant
on roller skates

And here upon this precipice I pause,
my life flashing before my eyes
Look! There’s last week!

I peek through my fingers at the drop
and though my bottle is challenged
I, glorious I, commit!

I go, and the bumbled blur
of carpeted steps is lost
in the howling hiss of synthetic materials
I am tumble dried to an almighty
thump...

And dazed, I rise
to the thunderous applause of the cat
I stand and take my bow

Then do it twenty more times

— The End —