"grub" poems
when you went away it was morning
(that is,big horses;light feeling up
streets;heels taking derbies (where?) a pup
hurriedly hunched over swill;one butting
trolley imposingly empty;snickering
shop doors unlocked by white-grub
faces) clothes in delicate hubbub
as you stood thinking of anything,
maybe the world….But i have wondered since
isn’t it odd of you really to lie
a sharp agreeable flower between my
amused legs
kissing with little dints
of april,making the obscene shy
******* tickle,laughing when i wilt and wince
15k
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a **** dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
We dug up the soil today
Thousands of insects rushed out
Centipedes, beetles, spiders
A crumpled grub writhed in the sun
Too weak to do much else
I’ve always hated agriculture
Fingers tearing plant roots
Sap soaking flesh
A neighbour walked past and said ‘looking good’
And it was the saddest thing I’ve heard all year
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
wind is coming in
sun is just showing
horses are watered
fire is glowing
movement is starting
the camp is awake
cookie is working
there's breakfast to make
no fancy croissants
or drinks laced with toffee
this is good solid food
and strong cowboy coffee
it gets it's job done
it ain't always so nice
later on in the day
it gets served by the slice
mud, java, joe
it's got lots of names
and at each cowboy camp
it still tastes the same
grounds at the bottom
thick as coal tar
without cowboy coffee
you will not go far
eggs, beans and bacon
and bread texas thick
to wipe up what's left
and get every lick
here out on the trail
you won't find any toffee
we eat solid grub
and we drink cowboy coffee
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
deaf and dumb
are the passers by,
the visitors as well
gladly would I fill their ears
with the wisdom of weary worries,
tedious torments, but I fry their meat,
smashing it until it screams
the sizzling symphony wafts to my bulb
stirring memories of the steer, the ****
the beatific butchering, and
the killing fields of my youth
while others see only my hunched back
and wait for their greasy grub
I ask why there is no atonement
no sorrowful song for the slaughter
of young ones in faraway lands
who fell under the “noble” knife
or
the bovine beasts whose skulls
were there for the bar, that dropped
with sublime indifference
as it stilled their
magnificent silence
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
THE NEW YEAR TIGER HAS GRACED US WITH HIS PRESENCE
YA SEE GRAWL GOES THE BIG TIGER
AS WE ARE ABOUT TO CELEBRATE A GREAT NEW YEARS FEAST
YA SEE YOU MIGHT BE SITTING AT HOME
WITH YA KEBABS AND SNAGS AND STEAKS AND ****
BUT I CAN TELL YOU ONE THING
THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO COOK FOR THE NEW YEAR TIGER
CAUSE BEING A TIGER HE LIKES IT RAW
YEAH ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER TONIGHT
ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER, YEAH
ROAR GOES THE NEW YEAR TIGER TONIGHT
AND WE’LL PARTY RIGHT TILL MIDNIGHT
MIDNIGHT, THE ONE MIDNIGHT WHEN HE DROP THE BALL, HAVE FIREWORKS DISPLAYS
ALL OVER THE PLACE, AND HAVE A TIGER GROWL
EXPLAINING, HE IS THE NEW YEAR TIGER
AND COMING TO GRAB ALL THE GRUB AND *****
THAN HE CAN POKE A STICK AT
NEW YEAR TIGER NEW YEAR TIGER NEW YEAR TIGER
WHAT A WAY TO END THE YEAR, OH NO, WAY
THE HAPPY GO LUCKY CAT, NEW YEAR TIGER
PARTIES ALL THROUGH THE LAND
YA SEE WE COUNT DOWN WITH HIM
RIGHT DOWN FROM TOP TO BOTTOM OH YEAH
AND THE MEN ASKED THE NEW YEAR TIGER FOR
A NICE COLD CAN OF BEER
DRINK IT DOWN, BURP IT OUT
MAKE THE NEW YEAR FUN, COME UP AND DOWN
MR HAPPY CHICKS SAID TO ME
THE NEW YEAR TIGER IS THE COOLEST ***** THAT YOU’LL EVER SEE
THE NEW YEAR TIGER GROWLS FOR A GOOD TIME
AND GROWLS FOR A BAD TIME
HE GROWLS AT ANYTIME, TO TICKLE YA FANCY
LIKE MY MATE NANCY, DO A DANCEY
LIKE YOUR MATE CLANCY, WHO WAS THE TIGER THEY CROSSED WITH A LION
TO CALL IT A TIGON,
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
FROM THE NEW YEAR TIGER TO YOU, GROOOOOWWWL, HAPPY NEW YEAR
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
I don't think in going against anyone all I want is to be happy. I've found love in doing things even though others hate on me or judge. I haven't been writing but it kept calling me to do so!
I think about how I stick my neck our and get ******* over but that's got to change. I don't hang out with many ppl but the ones who are their for me I truly appreciate. I BBQ'd on Friday ppl like the grub so that made my day, I practiced with my cousin I help her get better with get softball skills. We could play all day but she got tired it was a change of pace.
I enjoyed wrestlemania my cousin and I had fun bonding with one another. We watched classic cartoons from our childhood. Life's good I'm avoiding the ppl who **** me off and don't do anything for me and have the nerve to be judging me.
I'm enjoying classic music I got myself a chuck berry album. I want to get ray Charles next! I watch YouTube videos for music
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
She took my stash,
slapped my ***
and grabbed my vinyls,
took them for another.
She ate my kimchi,
and ate my ****
and ate my grub.
She reminded my of Morgan,
and sometimes she acted.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
The smell of the oil as it's rubbed on your shoulder
The passion of the coach , we must be much bolder
The hatred of a player on the opposite side
The knowing when you'er out there there's nowhere to hide
The whistle has blow your anxiety drop
The firsts tackle made is a 19 stone prop
The taste of your blood makes it all worth while
The prop gets up and gives that I'll **** you next time smile
The old man on the score board sets our team to win
The small crowd on the side making all the din
The referees whistle calls the game to end
The prop who tried to **** you is now your friend
The hot water finds your wounds without any tear
The thought of some grub and a pint of beer
The game you so love has come to its end
The club house the banter a chat with a friend
The talk of the game the rights and the wrongs
The choir master arises and we blast out our songs
See you training
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.
On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.
See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.
See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.
See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence.
See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains.
See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death.
See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.
The daisy stands still.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
Tucked inside ducts and they wait to erupt,
like ******* volcanoes and not one of you knows
until they spew out their tears.
I don't cry anymore,
my dad used to say,
'cry and you'll *** less'
I guess that's what dads do,
strangle you with words that you can't understand and
you're ******* your pants but you find you don't cry,so
I guess it works both ways.
We tend to grub in the dirt today and blub on some skirt today but it wasn't always that way,
men used to be strong and to cry would be wrong,
we got soft by holding aloft these ideals of what it is to be really a male.
I blame Charles Dickens for making men cry
for destroying the stiff upper lip.
'I spy with my little eye'
which is full of glistening tears,
something that's been happening to the male population for years.
Oh cry me a lake and I'll take a swim,
come in and join me,together we'll both be
wet.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
she writes of the falling days
- knows them well, one can tell
simple things like string
and wrappings
autumn and swallows -
hollow places she has seen
in boxes and photographs
and so it is - the falling days
the number of birds at my feeder are fewer
no more humming, no painted buntings
-only my homies come now, my vato birds, my mijas
the cardinal, both red and green
the nuthatch and chickadee, the titmouse-
all three
the wrens and finches, too-
and the blues still like to bathe
in the pyrex baking dish sun warmed
on a sunny day-serenaded by the mocking
one hopping from grub to worm below
- my usual feathered friends
not caring about the weather-fair or foul
and in the pale blue, a gull still laughs
at the folly of it all-
leaving goes slowly-
a spiraling, a gust of wind-
days slowly graying
shorter, lightly fading
- friends, they go
the falling days, change and leavings
leave me - well, you know...
i see the simple things
that soothe, like string
and wrappings, swallows -
- autumn, you know?
r ~ 10/6/14
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
why is love blind
why when inlove we always bind
to the play this game of heart and mind
on which there are no ways to you find
we dont see but we follow our feelings
we trust without hesitating
if what we do is contradicting
or just being inlove is addicting
so why are we loving if we could get blinded
on things we do for love were not guided
we suffer of being a slave of love
But still we smile even when we are treated like a grub
i guess that love is blind if following the heart
better you think of it before you start
because it will be too late once you begin
you'll get blinded within
by the love that opens your heart
blinds your sight apart
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
'I write about the butterfly,
It is a pretty thing;
And flies about like the birds,
But it does not sing.
'First it is a little grub,
And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,
And then the butterfly
Eats its way out soon.
'They live on dew and honey,
They do not have any hive,
They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,
And to be as good as they are we should strive.
2.7k
"Farty Face"
"Burpy ***
Will never waste
an ounce of love.
Hot snot
and bogey pie
his children are
the apple of his eye.
There's a hole in my bucket
Dear Liza
All that have met
come off much the wiser
Chicken Curry
****** Up
Minced Meat and mash
Come on better hurry
gotta speed up
We don't need lots of cash
to enjoy this michelin starred grub.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
waking to the fresh of dawn my body aches another snore
feel the need for sleep i do ..wakey wakey teapot brew
damm the night that had me hooked.. tv ,beer and loads a grub
just five more is all i ask sleep a little ..alarming bash
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 12:32 AM UTC
Five days a week
for six months now
I have crossed the street
from work
to the little shop
that sells sticky buns
pork nuzzled by pastry
and perused the food
something for lunch
and almost always pick
a baguette brimming with chicken
chilled cucumber disks
a sprinkling of lettuce
plus a muddy-coloured latte
for that extra afternoon kick
though today is different
I’m feeling ruthless
a shimmery packet of salt and vinegar
waits for me to pluck it
from the shelf
squeak it open
the lady says hi and I reply
with a we’ve spoken
five days a week for six months now
and it’s about time I told you
these small encounters
brighten my day
a rotten cliché I know
so I leave quick with my grub
but a tiny grin on my face
unwrap the baguette
take a satisfying bite
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
One spoke: "Come, let us gaily go
With laughter, love and lust,
Since in a century or so
We'll all be boneyard dust.
When unborn shadows hold the screen,
(Our betters, I'll allow)
'Twill be as if we'd never been,
A hundred years from now.
When we have played life's lively game
Right royally we'll rot,
And not a soul will care a ****
The why or how we fought;
To grub for gold or grab for fame
Or raise a holy row,
It will be all the ****** same
A hundred years from now."
Said I: "Look! I have built a tower
Upon you lonely hill,
Designed to be a daughter's dower,
Yet when my heart is still,
The stone I set with ***** hand
And salty sweat of brow,
A record of my strength will sand
A hundred years from now.
"There's nothing lost and nothing vain
In all this world so wide;
The ocean hoards each drop of rain
To swell its sweeping tide;
The desert seeks each grain of sand
It's empire to endow,
And we a bright brave world have planned
A hundred years from now.
And all we are and all we do
Will bring that world to be;
Our strain and pain let us not rue,
Though other eyes shall see;
For other hearts will bravely beat
And lips will sing of how
We strove to make life sane and sweet
A hundred years from now.
2.3k
Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a very ugly troll
But her heart was made of gold
Her body was round and lumpy
Her brow furrowed and grumpy
She always stood all slumpy
She was abandoned as soon as she was born
For her mother had looked upon her with scorn
For with beauty she was not adorned
She was wrapped in a towel and placed under a bridge
Right up there on that little ridge
She was nothing then but a little smidge
The forest creatures insteed of eating her up
Raised her as a cub
They even shared with her their grub
The wolf taught of graces
The vultures, patience
The skunk, fragrances
The mouse taught of need
The crow, greed
The fox, speed
She lived in an ugly house of mud
Just like her the outside was a dud
But wow the inside of that hut could warm your blood
Late one night came a knock on her door
It was a knight in shining armor complete with sword
Battle weary, and badly gourd
She took him in and sewed up he's wounds
He looked longingly in her eyes, she thought loved had bloomed
But in reality she unknowingly sealed her doom
For he had seen her heart of gold
Please excuse me, this is where the tale turns cold
For this knight was not so nice, he had a heart of mold
Late that same darkened night
He unsheathed his sharpest knife
And plunged in the troll's chest just right
With a wailing mournful cry
Right there in her hut she would die
In that fleeting moment that sparkle left her eye
That knight cut out that gloden heart
It was so huge he had to put it on a cart
He didn't feel bad, what an ugly troll was he's only thought
The animals came to see what was that screaming sound
The wolfs smelled around
Nose to the ground
Off to hunt that evil knight down
The vultures did what they do, and ate her remains
The crows joined in and did the same
The mice and the fox just ran around all insane
The moral to this story is an ugly body can hold a heart of gold
But this world is very, very cold
So be very careful with your heart and to who it is you show
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
London is an onion.
Not one of those big, brown juicy globes
you can buy in packs of three, from Tesco,
No, an earthy, shrivelled relic from an old geezer's allotment,
With trailing fronds and a few infestations.
If you were to take a bite, your eyes would smart and your body rebel with a cough, a shudder and a wheeze,
But moments later, a smile would be playing round your lips,
Such a sensory adventure, though not exactly pleasant, can still be savoured,
And you'll remember the taste forever.
Londoners are weevils, hiding in the layers.
Outer, inner, some of us worm our way between them all.
Me, I tend to head for the heart of the thing,
Soho, Southwark, the inner sanctums.
I sometimes venture nearer the surface, the outer edges,
But too close to the unknown, and unfamiliar air,
And I start to pine for the centre.
You can work between the layers,
But the many skins are tougher than you'd think,
Better to burrow down, find a place to sustain
The appetite of a hungry little grub.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Don't dare hang up the phone
Please don't touch that dial
I've got this idea a-brewing
If you'll kindly hear me out
I often have these hunger pains
Throughout my busy day
And seldom find the time to stop
For a meal along the way
So I got my brain juices flowing
And came to this conclusion
Baloney flavored chewing gum
Could be this man's solution
But how to get the flavor
Onto the stick of gum
When it's baloney that I savor
It must be in the rub
So I go buy top shelf baloney
Take the gum from my pocket...
...remove the lint
Rub-a-Dub this grub like in a tub
Then call it baloney peppermint
I'm now on my way to success
Never stopping off for meals
Ain't got time for none of that
In my world of Wheel and Deal
I've now quite the variety of meat
In the daily meals I chew
If you care to call 1-800-Baloney Peppermint
Then you can chew it too
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Out on the town for the weekend
Watch TV Watch TV
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Escape into your escapism
Get lost in your escapism
Trust in your escapism
Get trapped into escapism
Escape from your escapism
Escape from your self made prison
Escape the acceptance that's arisen
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
We're
Drones Robotics
Clones on antibiotics
Zoned hypnotic
Habitually ******
Artificially exotic
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
You're watching your *** life on Tv
A package holiday - pretend to be free
Post on Facebook how life should be
Focus your kids on getting a C
Lurching towards you - Hollow eyes
Pale Gaunt - Fed on lies
In systems that we all despise
Because you sat at home on your own
Or In a pub over grub
Or on a phone having a moan
Or a coffee shop pontificating
Or a lecture cleverly debating
Or an artists studio 'creating'
But you didn't ******* do anything did you?
You thought about it
You talked about it
You sat and maybe wrote about it
But you actually DID nought about it
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
What if we in our liberal pomposity
Followed up our curiosity
And put an end to a small atrocity
Instead of deliberating the big ones
Stop ******* telling people they're wrong and get off your **** and prove it.
Do something.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Some days he'll dress in new or old
But with a smile always so sharp
His walking charm will take a toll
When the woman turns to dark
His snaking charm strolls to the pub
Where the slags and twonks *** around
Nothing but warm hands and pint to grub
Where the woman he sees is found
She spits bleeding words from her filthy mouth
As he scorns them back with his hand
The red only cries when she screams in doubt
The snake gives her his looking glan
Someone thought to call for help
But no help had ever arrived
The barman listened to the poor woman's yelp
People pretend she never cried
The smiling man of ruthless charm
Walks down the stairs of death
Vehemence covered with blood and sin
Whereas mannequin slags spread grim
In forms of angelic old and new
His inhibited shape had grew
More evil it grew as his smile knew
His deliverance was joyful harm
He preached to barman to slags to twonks
His ways of nature so brash and ******
From snake to wolf to man dressed well
Even a preacher of God his allure so grand
The cunting ***** bemoaned downwards
Dampened with red paint shrieked foreign words
With her limbs cut open, "Deliverance is God"
Finding it was the charming man who smiled as a sod
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
I don't want to seem like a barbecue **** but please won't you turn that meat!
If it wasn't bad enough you put it on early that chicken just won't stand the heat
Your confounding the issue by loading on bangers for the dripping fat's sure to ignite
With those flames getting higher and your steaks all on fire, you know you're not doing it right
Black on the outside and pink in the middle, is not how you're supposed to do chicken
And even revamped your bathroom's too cramped, for all of your guests to be sick in
"It's time" you declare, as you pull up a chair "is anyone ready for grub!?"
But with no contemplation, I'll ditch this cremation, I'm ******* off back down the pub!
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC