"gossipy" poems
Chlamydia, you grumpy cow!
You're twice as grumpy as Sarah the sow.
Half as happy as Jennifer hen,
But ten times better than all the men !
Chlamydia, Chlamydia,
we never will get rid of yer.
A fixture in the draughty barn,
giving us milk and a gossipy yarn.
Have some grass and Chrstmas cake,
have a snooze and then awake,
to a surprise picnic on your floor,
then you can be a grump once more.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
It was not, by any means, a loss of faith;
Indeed, her devotion was a boundless, unfettered thing
Beyond proscription, beyond rote chant and catechism,
And what she found as a novitiate
Were shuttered gates and gossipy confessionals,
Standoffish priests, pig-eyed and pinch-lipped
Sisters who thought life’s commerce
No more than mechanical prayer and spotless linens,
The whole enterprise
Smacking of the exclusion of Heaven’s bounty.
So she demurred when the time came to take her orders,
And she returned to the world of pavements and lesser pieties,
Free to seek God on park swings and barstools,
In pleasures of the pastoral and the profane,
Though her faith is no Dionysian walkabout,
As she is passionate to the cusp of maniacal
When it comes to the Book of James’ admonition upon works;
She is often found among the sisters she once tiptoed alongside
At food pantries and clothing drives
(She is scrupulous about ministering to only secular needs,
As the Bishop is not happily disposed towards those
Who choose not to take the veil,
And the specter of excommunication is a prospect
Too awful to contemplate)
Afterwards clambering onto some vaguely roadworthy MTA bus
Back to her studio apartment in Green Island,
Where she often walks down to the Erie Canal lock nearby,
Praying for those who have travelled near and upon the water,
Convenience store clerks and ragged Irishmen fleeing famine,
Feral kittens and insufficiently mourned mules.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
I knew a man once who could read the trees
He'd stand in a field with nothing on
And look at them for hours
(He couldn't talk to flowers)
But he would pour over every branch
Trace every knot and feel their bark
He translated a sycamore for me once
But oaks and beeches were his favourite
He said he just preferred their type.
The elbow bends told him of seasons
The trunk's tilt told the prevailing winds
Their denseness in relation to their neighbours
Told him all manner of gossipy things.
The colours and the hues told of the soil
The moulds and lichens the local fashions
He'd tell you if they'd ever been frightened
By hippies, chainsaws, axes or lightening.
And as I looked on, I realised something
As I read his naked body with no clothes
This man was obviously a stark raving lunatic.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 8:31 AM UTC
You need a porcelain mixing bowl and a wooden stirring spoon
a cup and a measuring jug.
Add one teaspoon of ripe inconsequentiality.
then add two teaspoons of innate stupidity.
Pour in one cupfull of political lack of integrity
preferably nurtured in hot smelly air.
Add 4 cupsfull of facile celebrity chatter,
preferably with the volume turned down..
Add 2 cupsfull of shallow religious nonsense
full of obsequious morality.
Add 2 cupsfull of vain "god" chatter
and sacrificial demands.
Pour in 1/4 cup of nonsensical "goddess" humbug
and fatuous posturing.
Sift untold millions of youthfull soldiers dried
and powdered bones until finely ground in the crucible
of never ending wars.
Take up the wooden spoon of societal hypocracy
and stir slowly with gossipy backstabbing.
When all these ingredients are blended as smoothly as a shaven young girls **** put to one side covered with a bloodstained cloth for a millennia to rise to the occasion.
Back in an hour
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.
She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.
They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.
She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.
Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic,
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee
Jul 30, 2024
Jul 30, 2024 at 7:44 AM UTC
7/30
11:20 am
no luddite me.
no longing for the good old days.
from one oft abused little phone,
I, while bathing royally
in my cowardly four
legged lioness tub
got my music,
my reading list,
sports pages,
and if so inclined,
shoot off a quickie,
a poem for your
grateful nation
appreciation.
all of which
causes me to
issue a heartfelt
happy cry apology
dame as the
of the prehistoric
techie avanti,
Flinstoni
yabadabadoo!
which does not deserve
the opprobrium returned of
"Shut Up, Please"
coming from the the galley
kitchen where the women are
doing their whatever
gossipy kitchen thing.
not to be accused of non-responsiveness,
I, reply as the techno Fourth Tenor,
"can't hear you, why don't you text me!"
happily issuing another,
but in a more
thoughtful basso,
yabadabadoo!
quietly whispering
a self satisfying
follow up
vincerò!
ogdiddy nash
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
I think about you at day break & as the sun sets.
When I should be sleeping............I think of you.
I'd love to share my life with you again.
A few of a zillion reasons....I love you as I do.
First and foremost.....you are easy to love.
Would not love you if you were full of yourself.
We can talk all night & I'm never bored.
Love your comfort level in new situations.
You ooze genuine confidence Pet!
I can guarantee I'd walk away if.....
you turned gossipy busy body &
worried about what Jane Doe was doing.
Love how you keep focus on your own life &
could care less what people say about you.
You live in positive mode 24/7.
You face your problems and fears head on.
You never deliberately try to inflict pain.
You don’t spend time with people who
**** the positive energy out you.
You got looks, brains, personality &
many talents....
You're unique & special
Betty Ponder!
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
I have these dreams that haunt me when I wake
and I'm not sure
if I believe in god but
I don't think I'm strong enough
to believe in nothing
and survive it
I guess I should be
grateful that the pollen
doesn't make my throat itch
like it does Naomi's
and it doesn't make my eyes itch
like it does Naomi's
but it does make me itch
to get out of this godforsaken place
once-and-for-all
In my dreams I walk through
fields with needles where the grass
should be but when I wake the
crickets, birds, gossipy girls
whisper when I pass
and its so hard to stop listening
(the streets swell yellow with the ***** of spring)
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Office Gossips . . . Awful people . . .
Gossipygossipygossipygossipygossipygossip . . Ahhhhhh
Gossips ! . . . Ssshhhhhhhh . .
Have you heard ?
It's the . . 'shame it's a shame' game . .
Though no one's to blame,
No one with any
Particular name . .
Not really . . ?
Not now . . anyhow . .
It's been spun around town . .
That you said . . sincerely . .
' I'm SO glad we met ' . . . .
Well . .
Your words hit their mark
Were not shots in the dark
More . . insidious darts
Which promised to spark
Even more . .
Then . .
Then . . YOU . . walked away, ( ?? )
same as you were
the day before.
Where doing the right thing . .
Well . . . it just didn't count . .
Since when gossip moved in
Common sense moved on out
As the NEED for a rumour
'BURIED . ITS . SNOUT
Scenting . . scandal
Or news . . .
To peruse and abuse
And ultimately
Maybe just . . to amuse . . .
Do the gossips win ???
Or the rest of us . . Lose ???
Oh . . . .
The moral of my little muse
IF THE HORSE DON'T TALK
THEN IT'S NOT REALLY NEWS
It's just personal spin?
Which belongs in the bin
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Sunny, cool windy days
The kind of irony i can easily live with
Rushing wind tiring to a meander,
before catching its breath off again
to find a new adventure!
My heart follows it,
My earthly body content to stand caressed by invisible fingertips.
The grass dances at my feet, covered by a brilliant blue sky
The dandilyons arch their stalks like puppies for belly rubs.
The daisies nod readily to the gossipy whispers
Without thinking,
Eyes draw closed chin to the sun
I drink in deeply the essence of the stirring energy
Filums of air rushing through flared nostrils
reaching down prodding tired lungs open,
"not today" they whisper,
poking open apathetic ventricles and lazy sacs
The welcome of life envelops me
A beat,
And I felt, since the longest time, alive.
Its was a moment-
Where I could forget about you.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
to the grocer i run
to find the best sandwich buns
and the finest wine to see
on the budget that i heed
no time to matter on the childs nose
she'll wipe it her own
"we must run now it's time to leave
throw that purple dress on i just sleeved"
to the barbershop i take little john
so much like his father i admire
his cute little cheeks perked up in a smile
makes me fall in love all over again with his father
two babes on my hips as i stole the wiles
one ham, two loaves, a bag of potatoes
yogurt, milk and five tomatoes
and two candles for mom and dads own table
coming close to five o'clock
i put on the crock ***
put the stove on for this monday night dinner
the side soup on just a simmer
coming close to six
I give my husband a quick fix
of beer and wine for me as we sit
"What a day" he whispers, looking at me
"What a day.." i said, looking back at him.
"..henderson said Johnny had hair just like yours
when he used to cut it. and pat gave
the girls two pink bows in line when we were at the grocer
But the girls next door, as we were washing potatoes
said they have never seen a girl so happy
and I asked why? (you know I'm so gossipy)
They said, 'Why Sophie, your love shows right on your face'"
I could hardly look my husband in the eye
"you've got one hell of a place"
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
"Stop dangerously playing at philosophy
Stop acting like you have what it takes to be scholarly
You can't even speak properly
You untiringly, and sloppily, try to come up with snobbery
Your diabolical propensity, this fakery
Is just an attempt to associate yourself with roguery
You should put on the masquerade of frivolity
Be all gossipy. Try being frisky. For once, become the life of a party
So that you fit in nicely. Because that's the body's main vitality
Sincerely,
Society "
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
The obsession was endless
tears undeserving, a hated addiction.
"let me breathe,
or I might just die"
scrawled on the bathroom wall.
Oh! How excited I'd be,
to meet the ground, six feet underneath.
Unafraid of missing the northern lights,
exhausted with these caustic words
flying like bullets out of my own mind.
Gossipy little words throughout my ears-
spreading heinous lies about my character
but he scrawled threats I know I might take seriously.
Scars lined up like cheerleaders upon a gymnasium floor.
Death shoves to take his spot at the top of the bleachers,
looming over those laughing scars.
An announcement is made;
Bookworms writhe at the thought of a human's words going to waste,
Stoners rush out of the way,
Jocks make haste to find what to say
Death just laughs
while, other kids pray.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
Abela sits
in the café
in the town square.
She's ordered coffee
from the waiter
with the dark moustache
who had given her
a smile
and his dark eyes
had explored her
as he moved away.
Benedict has a headache
and sleeps back
at the hotel.
They had had a row.
Words were said.
She recalls them
as she waits
for the coffee.
You were gawking at her?
I was merely looking.
You slavered
as she walked
by our table.
She wore
a strong perfume.
Benedict undressed.
Your eyes were out
like telescopes,
watching her
Yugoslavian ****
You imagine things;
I was thinking
of her black
waitress dress.
Abela undressed.
You were thinking
of what was beneath
the black dress.
I wasn't,
you imagine
these things,
you're jealous.
He put on
his pyjamas.
Abela stood
in her underwear
staring at him.
Me?
Jealous of her?
That ******
She's not a ******
she's a waitress
at the hotel.
Benedict climbed
into bed.
Abela put on
her nightdress.
Your tongue
was hanging out
as she passed
the table;
she almost
fell over it.
You should be
a column writer
for a gossipy magazine.
You should admit
your guilt.
You should
open your eyes.
Abela got into bed,
pulled up the cover,
turned over
with her back to him.
No *** then?
Not then or now.
She switched off
her side lamp
and he switched off
his side lamp.
Music played
from a bar nearby.
Voices laughed;
a girl screamed.
Abela's coffee comes,
brought by the waiter
with the dark moustache
and dark eyes.
His eyes seem
to undress her
as he walks away;
his black trousers
caressing
his fine behind.
She sips her coffee,
but he is there,
caressing her
in her mind.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Forget what they say
In gossipy ways
Smirking to a crowd.
Pointing fingers to find control
Flicking others down
Embodying a spirit other than their own.
A loneliness giveaway
Cursing at the stars
Messengers of denial
One can see it from afar.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Faces are our covers
They show the world what we want it to see and to believe
A replacement cover can make a tired old book look new
But hands tell a different story
On the ends of your arms are two gossiping wagging tongues
They always tell the truth!
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 6:15 AM UTC
Sleep! A sleep
Think, to sleep
I want to sleep
But l can't sleep
#thought #gossipy
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
Have you seen
a life born
and someone die?
The beginning
and end of life.
Memories buzzing
as guilt buts in
like gossipy neighbors
and regret comes
as if it’s not enough
that reality is rude
and the loss is lost
in wishing away
a stain that stays
to remind us that all
wasn’t as we’d want
to make believe.
Yet, if wet trash
is how we feel
as we let tears flow
as we almost ***
laughing the bad away
and crying the good in
reality fills us
with the truth of how
love is.
Marta
6/28/2019
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 4:57 AM UTC
Oh, last night, did you see
what happened to that bloke on TV?
Well I were shocked, it baffled me
anyway, got to go.
Saw the Doctor t'other day,
whatshername thinks one is gay,
His name? no, she didn't say,
Is that my bus?
His wife was out with him from work
always thought he was a berk
sits in the office, has a permanent smirk.
See you later.
Not got any news today
my gossipy friend has gone away
off to Spain on holiday
Never said goodbye.
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 5:28 PM UTC