"drub" poems
of this wilting wall the colour drub
souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragrance
to rickety unclosed blinds inslants
peregrinate,a cigar-stub
disintegrates,above,underdrawers club
the faintly sweating air with pinkness,
one pale dog behind a slopcaked shrub
painstakingly utters a slippery mess,
a star sleepily,feebly,scratches the sore
of morning. But i am interested more
intricately in the delicate scorn
with which in a putrid window every day
almost leans a lady whose still-born
smile involves the comedy of decay,
6.3k
They feel like breathing
For the very first time
And the only thing I can gasp
is your name and I'm
finally pretty **** close
to feeling happy, maybe free
It doesn't matter if people
stare and laugh because I'll be
In different mindset
High in those clouds
That smell of your jacket
and the echo of your name loud.
They squeal when they do the math
put two and two together
They spit out my name like
disbelief, but there are worse to weather.
Clothes pulled and coats cover
The prints I'll never explain
to my parents, for they'd not understand
How much I crave for you again and again
They call you the pervert, the gross one
obsessed with the next hookup
But it's really mostly me
whose *** drive will really drub.
M.C.M
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
I had too much,
Swirling in a bar,
Swells after swalley,
My girlfriends gone
And I, lost, alone with
Familiar strangers.
They circled me,
Paddling, soles holey,
Rafting under rafters,
My red hair drawing
Them in, motley moths
To a flame, locks lit by ****
And glinting with flit of glass
In peat drub smoking pub.
One brave soldier, sailed
On over and our glaze eyes
Danced, deftly avoided any
Glance as we swayed, silent,
His breath was dank, of sea,
Moist and salty on raw flesh,
I could nae help but wake from
Dream by the scent of only you,
But it wasn't you dreamful laddie,
In shelled ears some brigand shot,
Sprayed a cold loss awakening,
His words, nothings, oak aged,
I felt loudly drowning, caught
In a corner of rusted, hulled
Ship now sinking, he threw
Himself a line and I saved
My soul, a life preserved
By a leaving, breaching
Heavy waves, bobbing
Into the out of doors.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 3:32 AM UTC
Oh, many bounds I've beaten well,
And many more I'll drub,
But through this maze I'll take the ways
That lead me to the pub.
Where worries may be left behind,
Where life's despair may fail,
Where peace has smiled on pints of mild
And blessed the winter ale.
Where folk may laugh, where folk may spend
A moment free from fear,
Where smiles may bless a game of chess
Beside two pints of beer.
And in my mind I see the bar,
The beers' familiar names!
The window-seat where old men meet,
Where children play their games!
Where still you'll find a Sunday lunch
On Sunday afternoon,
And God's own pie, denoted by
A number on a spoon.
Oh, many weary miles I've trod,
All filled with life's alarms,
But in my brains it still remains
My local Carlton Arms.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
deep in the blackwood
beside yellow skunk cabbage
a jagged spectre
stands astrde a tiny stream
twixt ferns and huckleberries
its twisted thorn covered limbs
looking cruel and alien
they gesture menacingly
and they win the argument
so i make a wide detour
and think how appropriate
that this bizarre armored plant
be called devil's club
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
Twinkle, star, you are
So high, up in the sky.
And Little Muffett Miss
Has gotten so ******
Very upset that from
Someone else’s thumb
That was stuck in a pie.
She didn’t know why.
So she cut off tails
Enjoying the wails
Of sightless mice
Though not nice
Not fooling around
She’d blow the house down
Then give a harsh drub
To three men in a tub.
She swiped all the ciggies
Of three little piggies
But she could not see
Why everything was threes.
Narcissistically proud
She was laughing out loud
Then she started to croon
About a cow on the moon.
She looked for a fiddle
She could hey ****** ******
But when she got there
The cupboard was bare
So, she left the dog home
And began to roam.
On the way past Saint Ives
A man beating his wives
Muffet did begin
Beating with rolling pin
And the guy ran away
Not seen since that day.
Miss Muffett turned old
Folk tales into gold.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
Denial gets you nowhere.
When there's a problem, face it.
If it's a major challenge,
Open your mind and embrace it.
The trouble is a problem
Won't go away on its own.
Don't wait until
The flower is overblown.
If a situation
Affects our national security,
Can a solution wait
For some remote futurity?
Bury your head in the sand
If your mind is closed.
But if you do, remember:
Your rear will be exposed.
How to solve a problem
When our leaders drub
Twaddle into our heads?
Ah, that's the rub!
How to get to the bottom
Of what is happening around us
Is problematic when
Efforts are made to confound us.
What is clear to some,
To others is quite blurry.
Suspicions arise when something
Is covered up in a scurry.
To know or not to know?
Is that the question that taunts us?
Why didn't we stop it?
Will be the question that haunts us.
- by Bob B (3-30-17)
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
Sharpen my wits against a heart made of stone.
With a chisel and hammer in hand, I create a stone man from the beating, marble, monolith.
My thoughts pantomime a mythos ripping through the blood-brain barrier, causing hemorrhaging in the form of hands held towards the sky.
Barbarism takes the form of intellectualism, and as a consequence adorns sadism.
Waging war within, trying to conquer both the left and right hemispheres of my world.
But I'm simply made of stone; a monument to my own malicious, tyrannical, self.
Someone, please, come and tear down this statue.
Anyone, please, take this chisel. Drub down and crumble this creation.
For the those that can hear, please, come and set me free.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
I see the mist a little fady
Oh! I love my white lady
He left me thru the curb
I’m fighting like a drub
I know I ain’t sober
‘cause I see the mist a little fady
Oh! I love my white lady
I met her after he was gone
She’s with me through all dawn
Can’t you see I’m happy now?
‘cause I see the mist a little fady
Oh! I love my white lady
She ain’t got bosoms
But she’s being kind for some
That babe got me none
‘cause he sees the mist a little fady
Oh! I love my white lady
20:19
Monday
27 June 2016
©SmitFairytale
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
It was a late midnight
and the radium stars on the ceiling wall were shining bright.
The wheather was pleasant,
the aura was warm.
I was sleeping with Noddy, in my arms.
Then A sudden heaviness in my head
broke my sleep
The pain was growing so steep
That I couldn't get up.
I tried to drub
but Some thing was pulling me in my bed.
I could feel something leak
out of my nose.
It was blood , spurting out
flinging the coze.
Severe nosebleeds,
was a common symptom
of my disease.
But this one was differing,
My nose was blistering.
I knew it cause I've had many before
But this time my throat became sore
And soon i lost all control over my nose,
All I could do was doze.
My mind, I tried to divert,
So I looked for Noddy,
his cap was as red as his shirt.
Then I tried to call for aid
But by now not just my head
also my arms and legs
heftly weighed.
The pain was only growing more,
worse, than ever before.
It was as if the red water was flooding,
Unstoppably my nose was bleeding
Then with a sudden strangeness,
something leashed my lungs
Now I was breathless.
I don't wanna a die, I wanna play with my dolls,
I spoke to the dream catcher ,
That hung on the wall.
I was ailing and weak
my vission was turning bleak.
Soon i was left with none.
All I feared, was oblivion.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 3:52 AM UTC
This pressure is like a waterfall,
as I topple from the force into the water.
I'm submerged in everything you've created,
and drowning in your dissatisfaction.
I can feel myself within your thrall,
as you begin this bloodless slaughter,
my lungs begin to feel weighted,
and I am unable to do any action.
But I have been tossed in a lake before,
and was expected to drown in the pool,
all thought I would die in the bathtub,
but luckily I know how to swim.
I will collect myself out of this mental war,
and not be played as a fool,
and it will be my turn to drub,
and I will make it to the water's brim.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
And so he proved me wrong;
All those thousand thoughts that kept me awake;
Are no longer my dreads.
He sought help to drub my fears
He was there. All along.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC