"chatterbox" poems
For the first time in his life,
he was speechless
not a word to say
A thought unformed,
a bell not rang
silently staring,
mouth agape
at the woman who made him think
in different ways
For the first time in her life,
she was speechless
to the woman who told her
she was beautiful
in so many different ways
she was speechless to the friends she had made
unable to formulate words,
chatterbox broken,
a record skipping
Like any other time in his life,
he was speechless,
not a word to say,
unforced words to people he'd never known
to people who don't care
until he's online,
with his fair share.
Like any other time in her life,
she was speechless,
but no,
not on paper,
her words flowed like a rushing river
but only on paper
to be unseen but to her.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
~the heart of (the) matter~
~~~~~~
an essential phrase,
that concentrates the
instincts not to sway
away,
be focused
on, by the always present
algorithm of the
essences
but my version preferred
is that
"the heart of matter"
with skill and effort,
one can learn, to shoot
arrows honed to be near
an-almost-bullseye every time
but to understand that
the heart
is matter,
the mother
of our body parts,
the little engine that could,
can and does,
and asks only
refresh it with
fresh blue blood,
every second
(not to much to ask for)
what are/is the sinews of the heart?
what are its secreted corpuscular (1)
composed of?
why words, you silly!
each beat, a letter,
the heart doth register
its creativity incessant,
never ceasing to rest
for composition is its goal,
to sing to write, to weep
from pleasured thoughts
and deepest fright,
and you say you need inspiration?
then listen to your writing vibrations that from thy center
emanate, you who toil laboriously
when all that matters is the matter,
the wonderful matter of
who when where and why
that chatterbox in your body
never ever pauses
***and that is why in the matter of god,
have no doubts
only a god could have conceived
of a world of billions of composers
where each one of us
matters***…
5:19am Wed Sep 10
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 5:59 AM UTC
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels
Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"
The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz
Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File
Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs
Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?
Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico
You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
the waiting in hallways
lined up on the wall
with eyes following the chatterbox and her
flowing train of rabid listeners
who hang themselves ritualisticly on her
shallow water illustrations
swimming on this thin tide of unpublished lip candy
her bubblegum words are commentary
upon which her followers build temples
to the unfit mothers of televangelists
the chatterbox spills her loud thoughts
on the sun warmed concrete
as the summer lawnmower navigates
around santa and his late december reindeer
and the children's labyrinth of christams morning plans
while i sunbath nearby
she gathers her spilled thoughts
and races away proudly proclaiming that'
my poems are too short for the pulitzer
so she is ready for her laurels
and a fast road to academia
with a neatly packaged version of her inner perversions
spread like *** and lip candy
on the local coffee shop bookshelf's
for the pretty college girl with glasses to drink from
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
We are two animals trapped inside a glass box
Nothing to say or do that isn't lost inside our thoughts
You hope to find an inkling inside the broken chatterbox
But mostly deny what's inside the two time Goldilocks
Is it too cold, too hot, or just right?
Hit me up on the flip side and I'll keep you lukewarm tonight.
Who's eyes light up your insides like a rotten Jack O'lantern?
Who's argyle style lies in all the wrong patterns?
I'm loose like a cannon or a bad set of tie rods.
You can hear the truth speak when you read it in my scrimshaws.
Bear claws
I'll Tear apart your life like the jaws of life.
Tear you apart like a knife like jaws did Richard Dreyfuss
What?
Say what?
This guy writes like Jackson ******* drinks
And paints like Charles Bukowski.
His life pours out in lines like the inside of a chocolate factory.
When asked where is his mind he pointed to his heart,
and said to them:
"you shouldn't play with knives when you're dancing in the dark."
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
I hate that sound
It makes me cringe
Wild goose bumps come popping out of my skin
The hair on my arm sticks up
I turn away
But the sound of your chatterbox against his makes me wanna disappear
I'm not here
I don't wanna be
It's almost like you're cheating
But i know you're not
You were in love with another man
Only that's what I thought
Who knew what was going on in your head
How long have you been lying to yourself
And to others
I was foolish to think I believed the magic I was seeing
Ten years it went on
Then suddenly stopped
My world crumbling into pieces
It took forever to put it back together
Some pieces are lost and can't be found
But the damage you did could never be fixed
And that moment could never be forgotten
Now five years later
You went through guys like money flying out of your hands
But this one went on for a little longer
And the longer it went on
The pain I was dealing with kept coming on
It doesn't seem right
Even after all these years
I miss the one man that stood by you through everything
But you let him go
You were stupid enough to let him go
Now it's every other weekend
Instead of everyday
Why in the world did you make it that way
So now there's only one thing I have to say
I hate those sounds that make me cringe
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
she smiles for me
she was born beautiful
with golden hair and green irises
but when did she get so pretty?
a pleasant upside down triangle smile
a collaboration of lips, teeth, cheeks and eyes
shining in affection for me
for happy childhood memories
singing Disney songs
painting unicorns and waterfalls
stringing beaded bracelets
and learning how to draw good
because she "keeps on trying"
at times she was the devil's child
incorrigible
other times she was the sweetest
little chatterbox
at the corner drugstore
I couldn't get her to stop talking
"Why are we following that man?"
she said within his earshot
"Because he knows the way out", I replied
at four years old
she could beat me at video games
truly a kid from outer space
now a young woman
at life's threshold
with doubts and questions
and confidence
and more strength than she knows she has
working and going to school
I have no fears for her future
I know she'll keep on trying
till she gets what she wants
that was my advice
spoken so many years ago
to my little niece
my Godchild
Dani
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 12:52 AM UTC
sweet bird of budding april's pretty wing,
sat in the willow where the catkins grow,
enchanting like the river's winding flow,
small chatterbox that always loves to sing,
the blossoms kiss the sky whose wandering
finds vast crusades where fleeting warriors go,
true to their loves e'en in the bleakest snow,
or some princess who finds a sapphire ring.
enchanted lands, the bird sings in the tree,
so long forgotten once found near and far,
where streams wind yonder where the bluebirds play,
on honey branches by the windswept sea,
as if they whispered underneath a star
of princely gold the beauty of the day.
Apr 3, 2024
Apr 3, 2024 at 2:34 PM UTC
They lick their lips to the sight of my downfall,
The sinner, the saint,
The meaning's the same,
We can't get away from meaningless things and we spend our days just wasting away
Make love,
******* take drugs,
******* hate love,
For all we know we're gonna die young, so let's get ****** up until we're all numb
The venom is watching your every move and it is licking its lips just waiting to get a taste of your bloodstream,
Headstrong paradox,
Chatterbox chatterbox,
You love to talk **** yet you hate to live it,
I'd hate to see the way your neck pivots when those vulture eyes give your weary veins a place to rest,
Lie with them and die like the rest, get a glimpse of what ever after looks like,
We're all sick here, get used to it
If the devil's in the details then consider me satanic, I make my way into every crack and crease and turn your nights into days,
Angels weep for us,
The demons sweep us up and dump us out into the cold and empty roads and tell us to fend for ourselves,
So we spend more time driving aimlessly with the radio waves set on heaven than we do with our friends and family
When she died she took bits and pieces of us,
They're stuck on spiderwebs and bad intentions and they're not ever coming back,
We're not ever coming back,
But we love this,
We live for this,
We would be nothing without this,
I'd sell my soul if it were worth anything, trust me,
I kept myself away but I'm starting to like the pain
I met God and He shook his head at me,
I met the Devil and He handed me a bouquet of flowers,
Maybe I can grow my own garden of Eden using them and maybe this time we'll keep the apples out of it
Until the day comes when I feel I belong,
I'll keep singing the serpent's song,
I'll keep singing along,
I'll keep the covenant ****** and I'll set my pages on fire,
I'll keep pretending this matters and that I'm not just wasting away,
It's hard not to feel any other way
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
A raucous tone of an oldie worm gear
Sound's like a screech that torn ears
Toothed wheel and it revolving spiral, bear
The oodles of blood as the oil of fear.
The products are orderly transmitted diseases
Wrench is limited avast for every pigment of it
And to rely on its asylum, to ceases
are not enough, to cover the dirt or to omit.
Let's stave the stave of reddish fuels!
If life is a wheel and we are its axles,
Our will be done, drawn of our risksha
And let this machine covert chutzpah.
Working of two wheel with sloping square edge,
Is the next wheel with trickery on the ledge.
Our wheel has a will of its spare-part, none Midas touch
But still, this wheel will chase the chaste egg to hutch.
Be the egg of tomorrow, who's snob the chatterbox.
Uproots our machine's cheapskate who's blood are their tax.
Their waste turns to wax from the slave of fox.
It can take away everything outside of our flocks
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
I know you usually talk but let me speak.
Know you usually wanna be the better me. You usually say something but my ears are are weak.
Usually cause we argue bout the same old thing.
Talk about what? Your just gunna cut me off and then let me be.
But whatever here I am in hell and there you go burning me.
You can be my angel you know... If you shut up and let me speak!
Man it hurts to know that I been looking at this mirror .... Speaking bout me
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
Some guy's
Won't realize.
Their word's can **** a woman
Just by the flick of their chatterbox.
Advice. Men always
Watch those nasty poisonous
Words, that slip from your
Nasty mouth's.
I'm not your kindest girl
I'll knock you
Out.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
I concentrate
not on my
thoughts.
Nor feel with my
emotions.
I do not
react to that
chatterbox
within my
head.
It's the silence
in between
the pull
that captures
my attention.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
We talked
he and i about
all the reasons why you and i can't
talk anymore
we talked for a long time
I don't remember the last time we,
you and i, really
talked about things that weren't
relevant or recent
it's been a long time
We've been talking with our lips but
hardly ever in the way that
accomplishes things
or reveals things i didn't already know
about you or the things that matter to you
this silence is kind of deafening and my lips are feeling lost
i tried to talk the other day to you about me and us and our things
but i couldn't find the words
and so
the talking didn't last
and the space between my words got very large and heavy
and the tears between my eyelids got very large and heavy
and maybe even slipped out
once or twice
But we talked
he and i about
all the reasons why you and i can't
talk anymore
And I had lot's to say
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
I write much
does that make
poets closet chatterbox
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
If I open it it will come spilling
tripping me choking me suffocating
this already breathless existence
that pours fear to dilute sense and
strengthen apprehension yes that
very one I gulp down each day
throwing it back up just to feast
on it once again in the endless
cycle of ****** torment that grows
swollen and engulfs my everyday
every hour every minute madness
where every second turning sickly and
cramming itself down my throat till the
clock breaks or I do usually me.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
Chatterbox, face-to-face
Nine o'clock, brace the pace
Sign the docs, stop the chase
I quit! You're a disgrace.
Allegation: "double agent?"
Your brain is too ancient
Keep testing my patience
I'm done! from your insulting statement.
Nothing you say, can rearrange my perception
I ain't got time, for your desperate deception
Suffered enough, running out of option
Uncaged! Claiming liberation.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 6:06 AM UTC
There was cafe near my neighborhood
when I walk past it, I saw someone through the glass windows
there was a way younger version of myself
sitting at a table as she kicks her feet in the air while whistling a jolly tune
I enter inside and sit across from her
she seemed eager to see me and began to start a conversation
which only lead to her rambling on about random topics
she was a chatterbox of sorts, and I had nothing to reply
a waitress came to our table and ask what we wanted
she asked for a cup of tea while I asked for a coffee
when she came back and gave us our drinks
she blows on her tea and takes small sips since it was too hot
while I drink my coffee full
ignoring the feeling of my tongue burning
after I finished my drink,
she began to ask me numerous of questions
and over time the questions got more irritating
she asked about what we have become
and I said nothing in response
she began begging me for answers
trying to make me break out of my cocoon but I don't budge
finally in a heat of the moment
I snatched her unfinished tea and splash it on her face
it was still hot, and she began to weep and cry from the pain
other people in the cafe looked over at us with utter shock
some left their tables to comfort her
while others tried to interrogate me on why I did that
I wished I can tell them
on how much I despise my younger self so much
but I know it would be no use
so left the cafe and never step foot their ever again
and yet every time I pass that same cafe
I see her once again but with bandages on her face instead
she whistled a sluggish tune and rock her feet in the air
it looked like she seemed to be waiting for me
but now was not the time
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 3:34 PM UTC
In my own cave; my personal dwelling
Just thinking thoughts, never intending on telling
No energy no passion no smiles no drive
Just being by myself is how I thrive
Excluding myself without even realizing
Former chatterbox now stresses socializing
Family, friends they all notice first
They're confronting and yelling when I’m at my worst
Just smile be happy c'mon talk again
Get back to normal not what you have been
I hear all at least ten times a day
No matter how much you say it the blues won’t go away
Let me be let me handle it myself
just in a dark place it’s hard to find oneself
I’ll be back, just give my mind time to fight
smiles slowly appearing stepping into the light
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
More like of the quiet yet noisy type.
Pretty much of a chatterbox when it comes to talking about things you love,
People you’ve met, bands you’ve listened to and books you’ve read.
“Go ahead, I’ll listen.”
More like of a shy person whose job is to keep the walls of the house company.
Yet is willing to give up these walls in a moment’s notice,
For an adventure with someone worth it.
“Go on, I’m listening..”
Could be a lover, a friend, or even an amorphous wraith.
You won’t spot me mingling with a group of people,
I’d rather you to be calling me, begging for a walk in Winter’s cold rain as we shiver and shake.
“Keep going, still listening…”
I do not know who you are I’m talking to,
But I do know that I’d walk for hours and never bite my tongue.
I’d talk about the silliest, stupidest and most ridiculous things that’ll never cross your mind,
But I promise you this:
In a blink of an eye, you’d realize that I’d switched to a poetically deep discussion that’ll split the wiring of your brain.
“I am who you’re looking for, and I am..
YOU.”
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
WHEN THE MERDE HITS THE FAN
Our Sat. Nav's French
is eh...how you say
TRÈS TRÈS
. . .MERDE!
She transforms
Châteauroux into Chatterbox/
She morphs Le Harve>>>
into Le Have Her!
We can only laugh en français!
Streets with longer wording
become simply a slur
of wild guesses. More merde!
Here we be
on the road to Rouen.
Miss Sat. Nav. tells us it's the road
to ruin.
Aghhh...Paris pops up
Who put Paris there!
Even more merde!
We begun to distrust
Miss Sat. Nav.
She sulks for miles.
Insane we are
in the Seine.
Now we drive up
the Loire river.
Straight5 up the middle
with our high-lighted route
jockey along side us
in purple
like a riderless horse
winning the Grand National.
We cast her into
the back seat
make the ferry
( no thanks to her)
....ju....ju...just!
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
This poem is number 600
Of poems I have "published" on the Web.
My steady enthusiasm for writing
Poetry hasn't started to ebb.
That's six hundred since the spring
Of the year twenty fourteen. Okay,
I know I sound like a chatterbox,
But I thought I had a lot to say.
The process is electrifying:
It happens after I immerse
Myself in an ocean of thoughts and feelings
And out pop my comments in verse.
There's always something to write about--
Something to question, discuss or explore.
Some might say, "Enough! Enough!"
While others say, "Give me more!"
I've always admired a great poet
With a facile tongue and a flowing pen.
I'll never be a Shakespeare or Milton,
A Wordsworth, Keats, or Shelley, but then
That's not important. I'll still write poems.
If one of them strikes a chord that will be
Nice; but if a poem falls flat,
All I can say is, "C'est la vie!"
If there is a lull in my writing,
Do not fret, for goodness' sake.
I probably haven't kicked the bucket;
I'm probably just taking a break.
-by Bob B (9-5-17)
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
Box
Boxes
-Not enough boxes
-Too many boxes
Small boxes
Medium boxes
Large boxes
-Moving
Cardboard box
Shipped boxes
-Delivery of
-Delivered boxes
Giving a box
To receive a box
A surprise box
-Gift(s)
Locked boxes
Po Box
-Post box
-Letterbox
Un marked box
Un claimed boxes
-From you
-By me
Boxed
To be boxed up
To box yourself in
Kickboxing
Boxing
Boxer
-Sports
Sandbox
Jack in the box
-Playtime
Chatterbox
-People
Jukebox
Boom box
-Music
Lunch box
Takeaway box
-Meals
Boxers
Shoebox
-Clothes
Gearbox
-Cars
Toolbox
-Construction
Outbox
Inbox
-Microsoft
Corporate box
-Work
To think outside the box.
© By HF-Whisper
09/08/2022
Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 10:00 PM UTC
The radio talks incessantly, a chatterbox relative sat against the wall
never seen but always there, a constant stream of noise.
Every now and again something is said that catches your ear
and empties itself into your attempts at poetry, a muse, an education,
a place you had never been, or will be quite the same ever again.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC