"prattles" poems
1.
Look! two butterflies entangled
in the thick of love, try extricating,flapping wings
girl, forget you're a doctor,let love resolve it.
2.
A strawberry touches her lips,
astonished I stop eating my peach;
where does the fruit end, her lips begin?
3.
Your dad is conservative,
mother is moderately appreciative,
every move of amour, has to be politically sensitive.
4.
On this bikini your body prattles,
a language unintelligible through, I am all ears,
darling, make your body speak, the lingo it truly appreciates.
5.
Water nymph, your bodyhugging dress
simultaneously does myriad things,
talks erotica, tries seduction,makes me a fool fumbling for words.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
It is a beautiful bird sanctuary
Where a sparrow chirps, a cuckoo sings
And the parrot talks and the mina speaks
And the peacock dances
There is a great comradeship among th e birds
But a proud crow inflitrates into the place
And prattles and boos the cuckoo
And mocks at the lark
The nightingale sings so melodiously
That all the birds clap and laugh
Except the crow who thinks his bark
Is greater than the song of a lark
He feels as though he were the king of
The park and thinks his bark is sweeter than
A parrot’s talk and greater than a peacock’s
Walk. How long can he bark?
The crow is like a poison in a bowl of manna
How long will the birds bear their woes?
A day comes when they will kick the crow out
He will surely be out of sight
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
Death is dreadful
hides in shadows
seethes and battles
grim the night
Beth is bedful
rides in saddles
breathes and prattles
trim and tight
©2013 Lyn
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
i've been a woman for nineteen and a few months years
and i've never looked at waitstaff
and asked
can i get that with a side of guilt?
but i should have
because it feels like that's what i
am ordering
instead of fries because
all the salt in the world
can't cover up the taste of guilt and self loathing i feel for eating sometimes
this is for all of the ladies i know who look at cookies
longingly, but tell themselves no
only to eat an entire box of them later
and cry
and most women will never admit to it
but i've been there
and cookies don't taste so good when
you're tossing them up
and this is for the ladies i have watched in the grocery store
eyeballing the candy bars like they are men in dark
allies or
snakes in the grass
because the magazines sitting right beside
them are watching you watching that candy bar watching you watching your weight watching those inches around your waist watching you
and telling you that you aren't good enough
a moment on the lips forever on
the- hold that ******* thought
because my lips and hips have two things in common-- they are big
and they want all this
******** to stop
every time a woman prattles off how many calories are in a drink
i can't help but correct her in my mind because
i know for a fact that there are five more calories in that than she told me
because i've been counting calories and playing games with my stomach since
second grade.
i may be **** at algebra, but i know intake out-take math like
i know the smell of my grandma's cigarettes.
eating meals with other women
is unbearable because i am tiered
of having to eat entire cinnamon buns
to myself because
my friends wont split them with me
and i'm tiered of watching women
talk about eating too much but
wanting to get
back
on
it
tomorrow like
feeding themselves is a crime
and so the next time i go to
cookout for a blueberry shake
i'll ask you to leave out the guilt
because it fills my throat up
like sand and my teeth
are brittle and tired from being
bared and ground
while i
battle with myself
over the baked goods at
a coffee shop
wondering if
i feel like hating myself
today
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
*The drums of change are sounding
the willing Hearts no longer astounding
Yes,change has taken longer than we wished
and in that gap there's so much for which we've wished
the dreams we once had and forced to kiss goodbye
the unemployed and poor loitering,
orphaned Children as they cry
Little wonder we all want to partake what change is offering
We've seen them all over the streets, the black mambas
Yet that won't deter us from turning up in numbers
I only have one vote, so do you and remember
the warmth of dawn in the night unless you light an ember
can't be felt, so play wisely with the hand you're dealt
Don't waste that vote, unless you
do trying to make our country better
You have seen with your own naked eyes
How many a mother helpless in an abandoned hospital lies
you have once or twice hit a *** hole & hurt your waist
heard promises every other term but nothing happened
Be glad a new door has finally opened
You still have the key to change, a vote you shouldn't waste
Try change, conservatism has but failed
Nothing changes, trust me if nothing changes
don't be the reason why even future generations are jailed
Don't sell your vote unless they are paying a generation
don't listen to their prattles and unclear history narration
let them not throw jargons such as enclave
and in excitement you make your country their slave
the time is now, you have one vote don't waste it
We've seen them before, the black mambas
We're not afraid anymore, we shall turn up in numbers
this is the road to a new beginning and we shall walk
enough is enough, we no longer have time for mere talk
my vote is the seed for the future shed of a palm tree
For God,for God,for God and my country*
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Dug up from the sand you have been buried in
held aloft
squirming
blinded by heat and intensity of visions
mucus runs across your face
dripping with guilt and chemicals
the aftertaste of corporation food.
Fevered dreams held together with floyd moments
rings around you
raw,hollow,retching as you cough up self disgust.
No softness here
tears too ashamed to cry,too bitter tasting
no conversation here
only prattles and pity,unsure
body squeezed like a writhing grub
flesh and water
swollen
unpretty.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
That time,
When the morning shook me awake with a new set of senses
Every pore opened leaving my old body obsolete and breathless
It was a great day, filled with glory and dried sweat
The sky would tell me tales of gore and criminal's scores
The trees sung of warriors that could handle any pest that crept
Sun and Moon would prance, ignorant of envious bores
It was a great day, rattled with sounds and prattles
Even gravel, had its mysteries of wondrous wandering
Waters simply grew a face, to smile of silent pondering
Grouchy and coarse the soils were, always whining of past battles
It was a great day, whistling secrets and flaunting immortality
At least that was how the wind would laugh, free and kooky
Fires did more whistling, between their cackles and endless dances
Then science was rinsed off the creatures to show the paths in their glances
Who was I to judge?
Woes of consuming spectra
Under despot rhyme
Then night had fell +
My eyes would dwell /
My hearts next swell =
Still a space to figure,
A time to measure:
The center of levers::
A fate for lovers:
A void...to test
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
There’s a sick, sad little space
between tea spoons and midnight
where the teeth on your fingertips chatter
and the ink in your forearm prattles on
about which bone you’re going to pull out this time
and how your chapped lips taste like poetry
but your dry eyes can’t bend around the prosody
and it’s in that space that my clothes turned into feathers
and flew away with the *****
the one that pipes out those same four chords
and tempered breath made into rotting elephants on sale
but the bazaar called for more than just pennies
and I don’t think my cough medicine blinks enough
to make this dance hall stop spinning
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Breathing cold vibrancy,
the earth and sun remind us
that whatever prattles on the surface
will be layered over,
fossilised,
and judged as advances
or fat, white dead ends
by the clever folk ahead
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 12:52 PM UTC
You know the one,
One who blathers on... and on;
The one we'd rather not.
One prattles like a rattle,
Tattles and gabbles,
Babbles and jabbers,
Chatters til we frazzle,
Twaddles til we drop.
One never seems to stop.
One brags
One talks
Bark off trees,
One argues
With a knot.
One can't stop.
One drops names
Like cloud bursts;
One day
One will
Be caught.
One has diarrhetic run-on.
One's opinion's seldom sought.
Finally, at the end of bray,
One has only nought to say.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
Gone With The Wind is one of my favorite movies. I resonate so strongly with both Scarlett and Melanie... I feel like Scarlett is all ego and Melanie is all heart and soul. I feel like these two characters are two voices of many in my psyche. I experience a constant internal battle within, as my inner Scarlett prattles relentlessly on, draining my energy, with her goals being vain pursuit, external validation and self preservation. My inner Melanie on the other hand, fully aware of my inner Scarlett's self sabotage, embraces Scarlett lovingly and compassionately, yet doesn't allow Scarlett to throw her off center or make her feel inferior, because it's impossible for Melanie to feel inferior or in desperate need because she knows her intrinsic worth. So, in all, I would say that Scarlett is my ego and Melanie is my Soul.~~ Just sharing my analogy with the community to shed light on a struggle many of us face~~
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:01 AM UTC
Now it's off to sleep, and may
I find a dream to dance inside,
to smile my eyes shut tightly wide,
before the morning prattles?
A pillow mountain, rivers deep,
and blanket castles while I sleep.
(My dog could care less, she just lumps,
and snuggles, till the day.)
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 8:10 PM UTC
through the static
your voice, barely audible
prattles on
through the haze
your fingers wag
and your body language
barely visible
chides
the armchair, so plush
and comfy, supporting
the weight of the world
that I just shrugged off
my shoulders
my body doesn’t respond
to the signals from my
brain
but that’s fine
as I settle in
eyes slowly closing
on this fuzzy hazy scene
pain, misery, happiness
all mean nothing, nothing means all
as i’m consumed by the void
I can’t explain,
you wouldn’t understand
this is how I wish to be
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:02 AM UTC
1
An ant rants
when left behind
by the greedy mates
who carry together
for the rainy days,
a luscious carcass
that was a grasshopper
(with hopes and dreams
that kept it hopping
not long before)
************* all,
they wouldn't wait
even for a moment
for those less inclined
to greed and avarice"
The ant fallen by the
wayside frets and fumes
burst out in flames
with rightful indignation
and anger.
2.
A ghost pants
while climbing the
steep gravel path
leading to the cemetery
he chose to visit that day,
***** ********
couldn't make the gradient
little more convenient,
for a weary ghost
compelled to visit
burial grounds at
lonely midnight hours
that too by foot"
prattles the agitated ghost!
3.
A gentle wind chants
effusively like
a prophet,about the
nature of all things
material, in the past
present and future.
"Nothing lasts for ever my dear,
except pure consciousness
the absolute,that manifests as
all that we experience,here
in this transit camp we call life,
fly, fly till you embrace
nothingness, the essence,
on the wings of the winds
of change, reach the destination
beyond the limits of body and mind"
4.
The ant to which was revealed
the futility of illusory existence
lets go it's chase,knowing
it doesn't make sense
for a carcass to be, soon
to chase another.
He takes a new path
decides to go it alone
all the way beyond darkness.
A firefly he becomes,
liberation personified,
Enlightenment suddenly lights
the dark undulating sea
of ignorance gathered through lives.
5.
The ghost, (an other name of past)
sits on a tombstone relaxing,
decides to dump the routine
of haunting, stalking the weak
midnight visitations et al.
He grows wings at will
dons the garb of a dark angel,
on his way to gloomy light,
the next step to peace.
6.
Swishing wind, chimes it's message
"This moment has already gone
hang on to the consciousness
(that fill all the vacuum of universe)
till hitching on to the moment next,
and if in the mean golden time
one can somersault,
to the absolute beyond,
go for it
if having a deep yen
to be immortal.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
the worship service looks full this morning
though, admittedly, i haven't been
in attendance since Christmas.
families in their Sunday best
sit on wooden pews
in a patriarchal church
that spent its tithings
on a multi-million dollar
gymnasium rather than the poor
their savior told them to look out for.
men, women, and children
awkwardly pretend
to sing contemporary hymns
beneath their breath,
hoping no one will notice
as they pick their noses,
thinking absently of Easter dinner.
i write poems
while the pastor prattles,
his shallow words
an empty drone
filling my ears
with white noise.
i feel myself drifting.
i haven't been sleeping
lately. the news has got me thinking
each passing day might be our last
on planet Earth and i'll be incensed
if i waste one minute more
than necessary
in this cramped
and ugly church,
a sanctuary smelling faintly
of old ladies, cheap perfume,
and wilted flowers dying silently.
just one more week
and i'll have been
god-free for half a decade.
for now,
i grin and bear the tedium
and mourn the tarnished legacy
of the radical rabbi,
a Nazarene who took on an Empire
and died by his convictions.
i daresay,
he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see
these rich, white
Presbyterians sullying
his good name—
provided, of course,
he'd not so famously
vacated the premises.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
the pastor prattles on
and i nod off as my
phone shudders in the
pocket of my jeans
i fish it out
during the brief
interim where
everyone obediently
closes their eyes and
bows their heads
victims for a hungry
guillotine
the screen alights with
her name just as i
suspected and i voraciously
read the rough draft of the
poem she's just sent me
the clock stops in the middle
of two separate seconds
i ruminate over the illuminated text
on screen digesting feminine
intentions between intermittent
glances to see if anyone's noticed
how even Father Time
paused to read her lyrics
i'd read dozens of excerpts
penned by her generous hands
sonnets wreathed in somber cadences
spoken word blistering with brazen passion
and compassionate pleas beseeching
all who'd listen to thaw cold hearts
and take heed of the lost
and lonely masses but
i never read something where
she referenced me
alas
the piece was
brief
and i can't help
but think i am
one of her many
footnotes
and the sick and subtle
tragedy is that she
instigates my exposition
rises in each action
and catalyzes every
climactic conclusion
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
I have this voice inside my head
That talks and talks and talks
No matter what is done or said
It never ever stops
This little voice inside my head
That masquerades as thoughts
It prattles on relentlessly
With all that I am not
Not nice, not kind, not good enough
Not anything at all
Except the things that it sings
To keep me feeling small
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
In thee it flies, down thee it sighs
There got thee back to the leap
of graceful nihilism we dwell upon
of forgottened veil unfolds in.
Confessed, the sin invites.
In me it strikes, down me it ties
Cuz’ ain’t you a stranger too?
Absurdity afloating back and forth,
Alienation flattering be and not
Nauseated, the chestnut tree sprouts.
In hell it inane, down hearth it ablaze
Until the sprakle’s all but gone
Not in the way off the grounded What
But on the sheer of That it is
Unhindered, the cradling halo fades.
In blue it prattles, down black it blusters
Can’t the passenger paint a red eye?
Sailboat shivering on the sea
Salvation shotting at the sky
Stumbled, the fallen angel flees.
From a whisper sinking so close away:
Here’s a flight doomed to fall
a leap led to lost
But I’ll show you how
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
sleeping feels better than being awake
but the more I sleep , the worse I feel when I am awake
which seems obvious , but nothing quite is
when I am not with you ,
which also now seems obvious .
I want to do my one good deed for the day
but as soon as those words enter my head in that order
I feel disgusting and it feels ruined .
my head prattles away
with some other part of my head
about this and that ,
I don’t know .
I wasn’t invited .
I’d never say this is the worst day ever ,
or whatever .
not everything needs to be said .
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
My thoughts get polluted in the short span
of time it takes them to run to my tongue.
Intent evaporates, I find myself
spewing banality with confidence.
Dubious sense of humour fails to land
a punch; I dodder past with a faux grin.
Finally it’s time to pass the baton
to another unwilling candidate.
I nod pleasantly as we continue
our dull charade of camaraderie.
Once upon a time being sociable
meant exchanging infrequent messages.
The small talk prattles on… I think about
the lost luxury of writing letters.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 12:29 PM UTC
Chattering of china
Twittering of utensils
The scoop of melting grease
Manifesting the release
The smoke of sizzling meat
Saturating the nostril
And the waitress
Half slavish
Flirts here and prattles there
To dodge the malice of moment
In the ring of endless hustle
Where refills are free
And rewinds obliged.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC