"dribble" poems
I don’t care,
That you don’t care,
About caring about
What I care for.
And you know what?
I don’t care that
You won’t care for
the only thing that I really
care for.
What if I care about
cake? Would you not
care about cake?
Would you not care
ABOUT CAKE?
You care about cake, of course you do.
I can see it in your eyes and by
that tell tale dribble at your mouth.
Cake is something that will
make your legs quake with
butter cream goodness.
A good cake baked,
makes you proud to be
a cake baking citizen in
a country that will let you
bake cake.
So what if I care about
democracy. Would you not
care about democracy?
Would you let people live
in fear of the **** of a gun,
Would you care that there
are those who are on the run
from tyranny and violence
who know pain and loss,
that you could only
wake up from,
in a cold sweat?
As you turn and toss
in your memory foam bed.
There is more happening on this Earth
Then cake.
There are greater causes
than choosing between
Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration
and that traditional Victoria Sponge your
Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week.
The struggle humanity faces, is to live
in harmony with each other.
It cannot be resolved with cake.
You cannot bring democracy
to a country with cake.
Or can we?
What if we swapped,
Non radar detectable aircraft
For dairy delectable foodcraft,
What if we swapped
12inch shells for
12 thousand babybels?
What if we stole
RPGs and gave back
MSG’s (they’re less harmful
in the long run, if thrown at you).
What if, for once, everyone cared.
And then we’d get somewhere.
Every voice in every home
Would not be a voice alone,
And for once, we’d all agree about the fact
we like cake and democracy for all.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
Sit in a crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday.
Basketball is not the point.
Stare at the orange speck anyway.
Silence your phone and his voice from before,
Still inside your head,
words the color of the burnt orange ball.
Find music in the squeak of the rubber soles,
Notice the referee's slanting stripes, and how they blur
when you stare, until even pictures inside your head blur.
Nod to the man wearing the red cap beside you,
whose words dribble across your mind,
They imprinting a message:
travel
next year
last year
time
killing
foul
out
losses
hope.
Maybe you miss that last word,
Or maybe you see the message graffitied on the score board.
Maybe you close your eyes and open them again,
And notice the white jerseys gleaming in song with light,
The same light that slants up toward you,
Your shirt should also be white,
With the same light shining on those who travel
and on those who foul out.
Sit in the crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday,
and forget about what he told you last night.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
J'étais fou de toi. J'ai été
I will never forget
the more I wanted (you)
the less I was.
If a dark night is for dancing -
will you come waltz with me?
from the top of a hill
she never heard
which way to down
and never felt
a connection underneath
a missing note
a deviate step
a vapor mist
our kisses never met
a hollow cavern
a hole forever closed
inside and out
like tar water run-off from a hopeless ash basin
an unending drizzle of forever ending dribble that fizzled ... out
help me dear earth
if you really want to be mine
blacken the soil and ink the green
in deeper ferns we reappear
as lava flows to shore.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
Run.
Dribble.
Jump.
Send the ball through the orange hoop,
another "nothing but net" shot.
Quick hands and even quicker feet.
"Yes! Do it again!"
Again and again and again...
The wing,
corner,
top of the key.
Every spot on the court.
Remember the elbow.
Follow through with the fingertips.
Run left, run right.
Better.
Faster.
Stronger.
God, I missed this.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
Magick 13
My rhymes periglacial slash through foes ****** leavin' corrupted maxillofacial stay laced with the coco
Til my nose blow out nothing but deadly keys makin' monopolies at ease see my desert ease
Could make the devil freeze with the beautiful ephipanies laid though my flow cinematography ain't no fictions here G
My pedigrees been deadly since the age of three
First sips of Hennessy pictured a glare of my enemies stories of me biblically
Born a David killin' Goliath's society defiant
Knock down the orders in the cornered borders
Of the Jesuit I'm the black Pope
Elope to the celestials gods that rope
My mind hanging on to the highs of the ****
Better yet the marijuana sneaky as an anaconda
Once I tighten cells begin biting
Fighting tryna stay alive like Bee Gees
Fiendin' for my lost dynasties kin to Nefertiti since I ****** on *******
As a baby I got a taste of the universe thoughts deeper than a hearse words hurts exciting flirts beating all perks through my vengeful works
My alias an archangel leave the game triangled Titan mentality dribble like Cousy so you might loose me?
Sick with the tracks axe minds like Moses to the red sea knockin' down Rome legacy
Back on top like the greatest plot dimensions traveler like Bishop
Capitalizin' land plots I be the Black Wieshaupt
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
From the last Armageddon
Floating Yoda
How does he do that?
That's why I spent $12
To get him why
Cause he's just cool
Diary 2013
On sale last January
You take my thoughts
Scratch and scribble
Nonsense or dribble
With small pages
I write heaps
Of fumbling lyrics
Time to just do it
On my couch or the train
Thanks to you both
The sky's now the limit
I love you my Star Wars pen
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
Dont be so stuck-up, i'm just bein' nice.
Jus tryin' to have an intelligent conversation...
Maybe I'm fairly flirtatious, but...
Im bein' polite.
Not tryin to take you home tonight.
Unless you give me the green light, then maybe I might...
C'mon, I'm just playin...
Y'know...
I could make you blush in a few minutes time.
Could get you naked in a few moments...
Dont...
Be...
No...
Fun.
Dont tell me you dont like it...
I know when I hear lies.
Dont call me if you dont lick it...
'Cause I know what I like.
If you don wanna practice makin babies...
**** it.
I'll just **** it 'til I dribble.
That one's for you ladies;-p
I can paint a clear mental picture...
A perverted portrait with my paintbrush...
Of your hot, soft, wet flesh before me...
I could show you a few things.
A perverted portrait...
My.
Paint.
Gets.
You.
Wet.
A perverted picture.
Your body wincing...
Pinching me.
Every inch of me.
A few more than 3 or 4...
You'll find...
A couple more...
If...
You...
Want...
To...
Score.
Dec 8, 2009
Dec 8, 2009 at 8:05 AM UTC
library books;
the musty smell floods me with
thoughts of its past readers
did a girl like me
run her finger across this line
as i have?
will our lines like vines
ever intertwine?
rainy nights;
while the tip-tap and dribble of
droplets hit my windowsill,
i imagine gusts of wind
dancing with one another:
carless and free
and without destination
light touches;
the accidental bump of elbows,
the awkward entanglement
of fumbling phalanges,
a gentle squeeze of the hand,
a comforting gesture that says
“i am here.”
now reverie this:
you and i,
the spines of our books broken,
our shoulders barely brushing,
the sound of soft and subtle raindrops
all things i adore in one simple
and seemingly endless moment
books, rain, touches, and you
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
Stringbean small was tall and trim,
Basketball seemed meant for him,
At eight foot four,a coach's dream ,
And yet he failed to make the team.
It seems at practice ,string bean small
Began to chew the basketball,
The coach screamed,"Stop! Don't nibble it!
I want you to dribble it!"
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
We are a team, That have a dream…
We don’t stop, no not even when we drop.
other teams are lame , cause we got game.
Sprint, pass, shoot, dribble, assist, defense
Thats our life as we thrive. This is our house
And the game is our spouse.
We grieve every loss, cause we hate losing
more than we love winning. But the next game
We go up down, down up back at it with the roundup
We get hungry to get revenge, on the team that
Can’t avenge but we don’t rest til we’re the best.
We’ll be on top one day and they’ll pop.
We steal like thief’s in the night,
We wont lose without a fight,
We have the pace, and we keep up with the race.
There are setbacks, slumps, bumps,
But that only makes us stronger
And it makes us last longer.
We fall as one , rise as one,
That’s what makes us family
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Dribble Dribble Stop
The Player Takes a Jump Shot
The Ball Swishes in
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
A Workplace Rendezvous
My eyes
Always found hers.
Mischief,
The dangling host.
She was one
Of my workplace peers.
If it went any further
I could be toast.
Those cinnamon eyes
Of hers.
Butterscotch candy
Peers back at me,
I feel so dandy
Shoot me some brandy.
I see the loneliness
In hers.
Her cleavage
Cuts to the chase.
Happenstance now in place.
Our eyes did dance a duet.
Her words are the coquette.
Mine is a cadet.
We grabbed a ruse.
A pail and mop with a muse.
When we reached
The men's restroom
The coast was clear.
The sun shining above,
Holding a frown.
Say hello to the clown.
We fast break the court,
I dribble up and down.
She passes back and forth,
I shoot for the town.
We score at the bell,
That breaks the spell.
Our lunch break
Rendezvous
Was a first.
And last.
We filled our thirst
With
better scotch
we toast.
Logan Robertson
10/6/2018
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
I think about my death.
The seed of life
is so
profuse,
and that
is
my demise.
I might live,
but I will die.
When I dream,
I dream
of Judy Greer.
She's been there
talking
about
love and *******
and death
and hurting.
So what can I say now,
when bulletholes
of lightning
people my dreams.
When a couple
shots of whiskey
have put me on the edge
of missing you
over memories.
I moan
and dream,
because dreaming
is a moan
for hope.
And being in for a bid,
is the same
as your lips
to
my
lips.
So I evade promises
and dribble
into traps
of
depression.
I've had this problem
for so long,
it seems inconsequential
that I might
wring my neck
by an electrical cord,
or by the chords
of your heart..
Because i miss you
and that
type
of
thing
never lets go
to much.
I stare at humans with an anchor in my hands.
I don't know if I should break
their noses,
or
tell them how it got there.
Don't hate me,
just be grateful;
that I told you I'm so sad
and worn out.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
Regurgitation of the spoon fed, unintelligible dribble supplied by the media is not intelligence.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
when its the monsoon season,
and it rains every other day
your memories dribble down
like rain drops on a window pane
as there is no way out
they pool in the recesses of heart
like rain water pools when there is no drain,
it is then, when all i want is to be a kid again
to jump in that pool
and let the memories splash and splatter
creating a beautiful moment
worthy of living !!
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come
It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal
Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble
The All Time Shit-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar
It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?
Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew
I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering
Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging
I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water
You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******
*******
*******
*******
No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool
Indentured servants we're just an after thought
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Dribble your words all over my body, sprinkle me with your writing. Smother me with your thoughts. Lather me up with scented syllables. Massage your lazy vowels into my skin. Wash me down with your beautiful language. Wrap your sentences around my wrists, hold me down with your paragraphs. Tickle me with with interpunktion. Scrub me with silent speech. When I'm all wet and rosy clean, dry me with the pages of your warm typing
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
“Mr Pyre, come on through.”
“Pop your bottom in my chair.”
“Open wide, please Mr Pyre”
Mr Pyre shaking, quaking in his ***** boots.
Couldn’t bear the dentist.
Was so very scared.
Nurse pops on his cape.
So no dribble spilled.
Mr Pyre, the frightened patient.
Wasn’t very thrilled.
Dentist stuck his mirror in poor Mr Pyre’s mouth.
Sees nothing.
Shocked as no reflection seen.
Very discreet.
All knowing grin.
Working with vampires never ideal.
As Mr Pyre’s teeth they grew.
Leaped out of the chair.
Thought he’d have an early lunch.
Dentist was no more.
For lunch, Mr Pyre munched his dental man.
Ate the nurse, receptionist too.
Extracted his cape of plastic.
Restored his own.
Being a vampire, such a curse!
Then from the surgery he flew.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Now then,(Clicks fingers and stretches out),,,I know you men out there will think i'm all cahoots,But i need to vent my feelings on the, ever, splendid, boot,There,s black boots white boots, really outta sight boots,Baby boots, Mummy boots, ever just so yummy boots,X boots, Y boots, black patent leather thigh boots,(MMMMMM)Flat boots, high boots, heels like a needles eye boots,Work boots, shopping boots, **** , real eye popping boots,Going to visit mum boots, feeling very glum boots,Welly boots, smelly boots," i'm just watching telly" boots,Car boots,"?" truck boots, "come on babe, let's **** boots,All these boots and more would make a woman want to swear,But guys, you haven't heard me go on about our underwear!!!
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:21 AM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,
And never miss’t!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’:
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
3.8k
Always see the world through rose-colored glasses and
The classy lady always orders the cosmopolitan
I’ve always preferred Miller light
But I’ll raise my Cosmo up in a salute to him
Always hide your Butterfinger wrappers in the fire—
“That’s where Grammie won’t find them”
A man of his stature, success
Shouldn’t have to keep such secrets from his Babe
We know she’s only looking out for him
But nothing will keep him from the simple pleasures life has to offer
Not even his Babe
When we were young he told us
Of the Fuckawee Indian tribe that settled Northern Michigan
And how, maybe, just maybe
If we yelled loud enough
They would peek out at us from behind the thick foliage
After dinner he’d take us kids on his evening cocktail cruise
(Once again hiding from Babe)
With a Gerrity mixed drink in his hand
(He wasn’t allowed ice cream, or ***** and Kahlua)
We’d cruise by the house and call out
To the tribe that settled our sacred land and
To our shocked parents on the distant shore line
“Where the Fuckawee?”
How to drive a boat and How to touch the world and
How to love unconditionally and How to enjoy every moment
How to stand up for what you believe and How to have fun doing it
How to follow the rules, and more importantly How to break them
Looking up and down the rows and rows of
White folding chairs
Watching these salty lessons dribble down the faces of those he touched
The young, the old
The Brazilian, the English who always asked for the Irishman's list
The family, the friends, and those who admired from a far
We come together, here
To celebrate all we learned from him
How to work to the top from the bottom
How to touch the lives of so many
and
Most importantly,
How to fill your heart with love for
The Luckiest Family in the World
That I have around me now,
Thanks to the Luckiest Man in the World
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
Behind the screen,
I see you in my fantasy,
Dribble drible, dribble dribble,
with your ghostly blue hair,
and your rough red haired partner,
you want me to make some good story ****
the bond and love between you two,
makes me want to see more,
until the match ends,
dribble dribble, dribble dribble
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
My sister is a quarterback
I rarely catch a pass
and she can run a marathon
I soon run out of gas
she pitches for her baseball team
I pop up on her curve
and she's an ace at tennis
I can't return her serve
My sister dunks the basketball
I dribble like a mule
she swims like a torpedo
I flounder in the pool
she's accurate at archery
I hardly ever score
She wrestles and she boxers
I wind up on the floor
My sister catches lots of fish
I haven't had any luck
she's captain of her hockey team
I can't control the puck
her bowling's are unbelievable
I bowl like a buffoon
she says someday I'll start to win...
I hope someday is soon
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
Dig deep in the sand with a cupped shovel-hand
Until you come across a healthy source of water.
Scoop up what you see and let loose the soggy contents,
Let them dribble through a careful filter fist.
Slowly drip foundations and upon them start your fortress
Using steady streams of trickled dribs and drabs.
Stalagmites in hyperspeed form walls and lookout towers
With the damp bricks one by one constructing peaks.
Spectators of all sizes will collect and cast their gazes
But you must keep up the focused droplet swell.
Maiden battles can't be won and so the masterpiece will crumble
To the tide that forces motes to overflow.
Waves crash and reek their havoc on the castle that you managed
To build with will and manky dripping palms.
The sand on which it once stood will be flattened out and polished
To make way for a palace twice as grand.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC