"grovelled" poems
I wove my own web and netted my prize,
I cold-pressed my words and refined my disguise.
I goggled at life and faced up to that book,
I tumbled and tweeted and baited my hook.
I blipped and I blogged, I bantered and blushed,
I followed and friended, I grovelled and gushed.
I doled out the instant, ten grams at a time,
To fuel my addiction for caffeine and rhyme.
I reshopped my pic, I swiped left, I swiped right,
I pinned and I posted deep into the night.
I gloated and gossiped, I chatted and cheered,
I logged in and logged out without favour or fear.
For is it not fun - this mad media storm?
Viewing and voting from dusk until dawn.
Yet love me or like me, let it never be said,
That despite how it seems, it’s gone to my head.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
There lived a man, a crooked man
Who bore his life upon his back
It took a toll and weighed him down
As he trudged along the track
He'd resigned to his fate as the day grew late
Ignoring his unwelcomed guest
He had spoken no words as he continued on
Till he decided to stop and rest
But his health was failing and his feet were aching
His destination no one could know
He crumbled to his knees in the setting sun
As daylight lost its glow
He knew that dusk was skirting so near
He knew that night would come to shroud
And soon he would be overwhelmed
By shadows that would come to crowd
He curled into his lanky self
He cowered in shame and fear
For all the things he tried to leave behind
Crouched now in the dark so near
He trembled and quivered
No one could hear him cry
He whimpered and grovelled
Knowing that there was where he'd die
Know this man, the crooked man
Who then had given up on hope
He shivered and sobbed knowing full well
That he'd reached the end of his rope
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
Congrats! Your thin!
Go home and grin,
Freely roam
Atone
Forget former days
And steak fillets
Still a fake
Just now tame when you're next to a cake
Though still completely the same
Which is really quite the shame
So you went for fame
To make a name
Grovelled to beg
Upon a bold mans leg
Only to be told
You were far too old
You go back home,
Alone.
Eat heavy scones,
The belt line becomes blown
Up
About the time you buy a pup
Who'll be drinking next to you from a cup
As the two watch TV,
Never to flee.
Finish alone
Pup soon outgrown.
Never leave the home,
Or hear a ringing phone.
But at least you're now a size three
Eating no more than a cup of tea
People really respond to that
whole notion of not being fat
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
The Lizard came to find one day;
That he had gotten Stuck;
For the Ladder seemed longer than ages of Heavens;
And the Bottom was plagued with Muck.
Many a Skin had he Reluctantly Shed;
By falling to the Bottom;
And for each rung he Grovelled up to;
No notice had he gotten.
One day, exhausted, he fell upon;
The second Holy rung;
“Climb up, for paradise awaits!”
The familiar voices sung.
And then it seemed a Lifetime after;
He had Climbed unto the Promised Land!;
But pleased as They were to see him there;
He found it horribly Bland.
And so after having a brief look around;
He got back on that friendly Ladder;
And as every step he took pointed down;
He felt himself grow Madder.
Another Skin came tumbling off;
But determined to climb he still looked up;
And Poised upon that Ladder still;
He thought about the Drop.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
Grey whistles spoke shrilly
Of wishes never seen
As I sought a hobby that ne'er
Grovelled to'r machine
I saw those moor harpies asleep in their crow
There was a sentence lying dormant in me
Without much more than history lessons
To go forth was a hefty sentence
Making conversation pieces
Of the rocks I met along the way
And I hoped that one day I might
Be there for the rise
And fall of 10p states
To sentence them to mutiny
Silly, shrilly and ne'er hopeful
But at least not airborne, at least rooted
In hobbies gainst the machine
What a terrible lot, indeed
What a lot of terrible days
Ah, well
At the running track I feel
The sentence dormant in me
Bolt upright, turning the grey
On its head, as harpies fall
Into the earth and the stars come down for me
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
And up the hill we climbed
A singin' and a swingin'
But they switched off the stars
So we stumbled and grovelled.
Dishes to ashes
Lust to dust
And we all fall down.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Eyes glaring the unbounded horizon,
Lying on the ground baffled with a hunch.
Asking myself what could be my purpose, the reason of my subsistence?
For decades I have scoured this Earth for answers.
Got lost in words, nerves cracking, knees shaking, teeth chattering.
In the calmness of the night, I lay on this cold hard ground.
Right before my eyes, vast of darkness swift into infinity.
Numbness grovelled into my anatomy, clobbered cold as death with this idiocrasy.
Trying to break the silence, to bail out from the fact of existence.
Depart secretly across dimensions, abscond all the recollections.
Turning back time can be option, yet puzzled who will do this notion?
Pieces aren't yet gathered and this voyage ain't over, I took a glimpse on the mirror and saw a stranger full of queries that needs answer.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC