"sippy" poems
stuck pig
injecting
in a tiny house
on a green island
raining
a jungle of
cable
internet a
septic
tank
I run a
maze
grow bananas
wait for delivery
departure
line up
for my plastic
sippy cup
eat
pancakes
stack
Bromantane
for breakfast
nootropics
family
replacement
new tropical
smoothie
maker
prime member
of the Amazon
got to stimulate
my work in the garden
see that
water feature
it’s a duck pond
no it’s
an empty kiddy pool
but on a tree
I’m over it
an antler bromeliad
hunting trophy
a certification
of my triumph
the plot
next to it
my head
in the mail
a miniature guillotine
to repatriate
my body
and tail
still moving
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
She said "I think, I'd be coffee."
I had asked her:
if your personality was a beverage,
what beverage would it be?
I reply,
"No. You wouldn't be coffee.
I wake up to a cup of coffee every morning.
If you're going to be coffee you need to have somehing else to you.
Be sweet and cheap with tons of sugar if you have too.
Or more preferably, be locally roasted with high notes and low notes.
Or be dark, bold and roasty.
You can taste like anything!
bing cherry, citrus, earthy, chocolate.
You can't just say coffee.
Coffee deserves so much more explanation than that.
I had coffee brandy once.
I woke up to her every morning and I got drunk off of her.
If I ever stopped drinking water i'd throw her all up and feel sick.
but I would never drink water.
Every morning After I drank her I'd walk down the hall and find a sippy cup full of milk.
Even she was not just milk.
She was strawberry milk.
She was coffee milk.
She was my little coffee milk.
You are not coffee.
I had coffee before and it's gone.
You are water.
I don't wake up to you every morning.
I don't need you to get through my day, yet.
But run you through my filter enough times.
Soak up all my grounds.
Maybe one day,
You can be my coffee.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
ching, ching
Two men walk into a local cafe.
A city boy, and a Townsman
The cityboy sports
Slicked up hair.
Blue button up shirt,
Grey slacks.
Dress shoes.
The townsman simpler.
Brown hair.
Orange T-shirt,
cargo pants.
Work boots.
"Hey there!" Says the city boy.
walking up to the counter.
"Do you ladies have different roasts of coffee?
Or do you have just one kind?"
The Register girl looks at him sideways.
"What are you talking about?"
"I want a black light roast if you have it. Also, two shots over ice."
He hands her his travel mug.
"What's this for?"
The girl fondles the travel mug.
"I'd like my coffee in that please."
The manager puts a hand to the girls shoulder.
"The house coffee is a light roast doll, give him that."
"Cream and sugar?" Asks the register girl.
"Oh god, please no." Laughs the city boy "Thank you."
Handing over a credit card.
The register girl does not understand
what is so funny about cream and sugar.
"Cash?" Says the manager.
"Is there an atm? I can only offer this, but I know how to change that if you point me in the right direction."
"No ATM. We just Offer a discount for cash, we'll take your card." Says the manager.
The city boy waits for his drinks.
The townsman, walks up and says
"Coffee, please"
The manager hands him a paper cup with coffee, cream, and sugar.
He pays them in cash.
smiles, nods. Says: "Thank you"
Then waits for the city boy.
"Here's your sippy cup."
Says the register girl.
Handing over his travel mug.
The city boy stands there waiting patiently.
"Are you waiting for something?"
"Yes. my two shots over ice?"
"Oh I put it in there."
"Could I have two shots over ice please? I'll pay for it again if you forgot."
"Oh we don't have an espresso machine.
Our shots are like a syrup."
"Oh... Is there syrup in here?
I just wanted two shots over ice."
"Well like... I mean our prices are so low anyway, it's no big deal, but we don't have an espresso machine so..."
"Sorry" says the manager.
"Thank you ladies." Says the townsman.
The cityboy grabs the townsmans hand.
They leave the Cafe.
The city boy sips his
Botched coffee.
"I've had good, bad, and know what I want.
I don't want to be seen as difficult because I'm educated."
He tolerates it.
The townsman sips his
Familiar Coffee.
"Sometimes ignorance is bliss."
He enjoys it.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Arrive in a neighborhood not mine.
Phoenix sun splits the mailboxes,
Cracked cement, bald lawns, deflated kiddie pools,
sippy cups gone brittle in the sun.
A toddler screams
until a sibling gathers him inside.
Helios whips his chariot down the street,
steals my parking space.
White Shell Woman hushes the child
with a wind of cool dust.
I buy
donuts, Cheetos, pickles-
eat them in the car.
Gas station sink, hair and grit.
I scrub off orange powder.
Kokopelli swings from the paper towel rack,
flicking drops of water onto my face,
flirting, laughing at my small hungers.
Cemetery, sitting on the hood.
Graves hum in the heat.
Yours more-so.
Hecate steps from the shadow of a mesquite,
offers me three paths,
none of them home.
Coyote pads along the stone wall,
head cocked, grin sharp,
watching my pulse quicken.
White Shell Woman whispers:
_Run._
The blood in me stirs-
knife-bright, restless.
I step off the hood,
already fleeing toward
any other life.
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:44 PM UTC
She stands on a chair
Looking out the window
Above the kitchen sink,
Scrubbing baby bottles,
Sippy cups, and baby
Food jars.
She sees her entire
Second grade class
Playing a game of
Tag without her.
The baby cries from
The bedroom.
She jumps down
And runs to the
Back of the house,
Dragging the chair
With her.
She jumps on the chair
And lifts the baby out
Of the crib.
She reminds herself
To support his head
While she walks to
Their mother’s door.
Her mother is asleep
In the arms of a different
Man than last week,
She smells the all-too
Familiar mixture of
*** and Wine.
The man opens his
Eyes and barks at
Her to get out.
She carries the baby
To the ratty couch
And feeds him
As they sit with the
Two other children,
Listening to her
Peers laughter through the
Window above the sink.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
girls in high school wear infinity scarves
and expect their love to last as long.
their hearts are hidden under
mounds of dyed wool, and I'm sitting in
U.S. History learning about slavery.
this is what I know.
we are all slaves to our own hearts.
we pick fields of lust
and try to sew it into love.
we wear combat boots because we feel threatened
by our own bodies.
like we are at war in our flesh, and need the extra protection;
the leather safety net with laces.
we walk down those black, salt-licked stairs
with our heads down because we have trust issues,
but when we trip we never forgive our clumsiness.
we swallow bitter tears like sugar after medicine,
and we pump hate through our tumblr blogs like gasoline.
we pay for affection with skin.
we accept the words ***** **** ***** ugly, MAN, as nicknames.
a wave to the opposite gender is now thirst.
we need to grow up; put down the sippy cup.
this is high school.
cut your hair. dye it purple, and then regret it automatically. dye it black,
and then spend five months and $597.00 getting it back to your natural color.
mismatch your socks. eat almonds when you feel like you should starve your insides.
paint your nails, mess them up, and paint them again;
paint your soul the same way.
we are moving at the speed of light.
slow down your mind.
you are in high school.
you are still growing love in fields, you just need to find the right soil.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Don’t wanna be restrained to,
Allow for the politicians abuse,
Freedom from the celebrity ruse,
As I struggle with these hues,
Red, White, and Blue.
We’re like toys,
We make noise,
Bring them joy,
We’re easy to poise.
Grab me by my hair,
Throw me in the chair,
Scream at me, “It’s not fair!,”
You say, “You’re a burden I can’t bare.”
I’ll kick your teeth out, it’s only fair.
Life couldn’t give you a more silver spoon,
Sat up in your high chair, tightening our noose,
Drinking from a sippy cup, it’s alcohol abuse,
I hope you forget that karma is on the loose.
Cause we’re coming for you.
Half-dead brutes,
***** of dried prunes,
Master of child abuse,
You are the fake news.
Others will avoid,
You will destroy,
The bombs you deploy,
For the middle east oil,
Brainwashed toys are easy to exploit.
May 6, 2022
May 6, 2022 at 11:26 AM UTC
We pulled up in the drive way
If it weren't for my hello kitty flip flops, my feet would've melted into the cracks of the pavement.
Running up to ring the doorbell, and the smell of home rushing through my nose as I am greeted by hugs.
Kicking off my kicks, and letting the beige colored carpet mingle with the bottoms of my feet.
Leaping on to a couch that was stained with strawberry ice cream and memories.
The lace that trailed off the ends of the curtains danced as the breeze from an open winow came to say, "hello."
Splashing in a wading pool while grandma looked through Avon catalouges
sipping lemonade that we made prior, in a Disney Princess Sippy Cup.
I run up the stair into my room; sparkly purple bed sheets cover my bed and I crash.
All snuggled up in an ocean of blankets while everyone else watches the Steelers game downstairs.
As I dose off, half way through a dream filled with pink, grandpa woke me up; he said we were going out for ice cream!
I put on my favorite Little Mermaid shirt on and ran downstairs.
We all pile into an old BMW and start our journey to Sarris.
Nostalgia and city lights fill my eyes with wanderlust.
We park the car and rush to hop in line. When we order our ice cream we sit down in a red diner-hop booth.
Everyone together, MiMi, Papap, Mom, Dad, Victoria, Patty, G-G, and me.
And I don't know if it was eating powdered donuts on Sunday mornings
Or the way that Fresca tasted after eating a happy meal,
but visiting your house
in that small town in Pittsburgh
Is the only way that I can describe "home."
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
*Sippy cups to shot glasses
Skinned knees to broken hearts
Puppy love to marriage*
Why must the bliss be replaced with
Remorse and sorrow?
What ever happened to the time of cooties and boys being “icky”?
Soon baby dolls will be replaced with infants,
And sports cars will take the place of your hot wheels.
*Sleepovers turn into obscene rumors.
Chubby cheeks turn into eating disorders.*
I’m not ready to grow up yet.
I want to stay naive to reality,
Let me stay ignorant.
It’s inevitable that we have to grow up sooner or later
But why sooner than later?
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
The boy walking in front of me
With a slight limp on his left leg
A backwards astro hat
And dark skin underneath darker clothes
Smelled of coffee
And the humid breeze lifted axe from his neck
Backwards and up my nose
He smelled of trouble
Of seventh grade solitude
And looked as if he walked out of my fifth grade memories
Still I thought of you
***** and dark
Dope across your tee shirt
Freckles spotting your smile that press into your dimples
Lifting the corners of my mouth
I'd like to lick cologne from your neck
Made of sweat and ****** solitude
You made none of my memories
Smelled and looked of nothing familiar
Only past daydreams
Maybe I'm just tired
I was up all night thinking of Ma
She has always smelled of Ck perfume
No matter how much money we had
She looks like all of my memories
Her short boy haircut
Her androgynous women's work suit
I remember her younger
Still loving women
Made of muscle, teaching me how to run
After soccer and before the gym
At night
She went out in slinky tank tops
Made of sparkles or silk, and sometimes both
Leaving, she'd kiss my forehead as she left me with father and my 101 Dalmatians sippy cup
I'd hug around her neck
And breathe in her Ck perfume
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
.
(Sippy cups are for toddlers, designed to let them sip but a little sip at a time, and when it falls, the disaster is lessened.)
totally by accident is this dedicated to TL Sipple, whose introspection offers comfort to more than many.
~~~~~~~~~
*who among us has not begun the
journey's poetic, by first examining the
mirror that reflects organs internal,
flipping the reversible glass over,
for all you exposed,
it's the curse, the birthing natural,*
of the first poem
*all your life, streams bustling, streams drying, drought dying,
leaves windy flying up, but final poisoned by gravity,
come to rest and crunched under your footfalls,
but of this did you write, scrivened or scribed?
no
our first child is of our ***** where real borning does occur.
the rest too, but now, and soon thereafter,
put aside the me, and write of he and she,
the first love, always the second child,
for this the nature of the soul and ermine robe,
you elected, when you first self-selected*
I am a poet, therefore I hit send,
*and the diecast, is the first of many hot rods
piercing, invading, calling out to you,
poet,
"set me free, set me free"
then when walking in September,
the leaves un-glistening, cracking and *****
like an old person who cannot care for them self
then you lift your pen, point to the sky or to the earth,
no matter which, for both are loco parents in loco,
and the truest hardest journey begins,
looking outside in, with eyes colored by
global truths
then and only then the real journey begins,
a differing agony to be learned,
to see as others see,
to write as others have before you and me,
and in doing so, this testing travail,
will earn you, could earn you, a time grade of
pass/fail
you are the only judge in this show,
the only contestant,
what grade will you assign yourself,
what standards will you set,
until you ask,
who are the poets time idolizes?*
american idol, throw away your sippy cup, and drink from the river, from the sea, drink deep, until sated,
then begin your foolishness
readied, all over again
poet to please invisible gods,
that all can see
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
shattered dreams
American nightmare
ghoulishly stalking mankind
Bilderberg extremists
owl effigy looming
behind the all seeing
eye of rah –
multi-national tycoons
inspire blooming death
radiated waters flush with fluoride
filter through sippy-cups
washing away the taste
of vaccinations
and GMO soy –
mutated masses mumble monotonously
meager motor skills
meandering through melted meadows
masochistic in the macabre –
moonless morning breaks
trails checkerboard the sky
cubism
from air force fly-boys
under orders to implement agenda 21
disguised as protection
from solar radiation
old soil toils under the strain of oil based
pesticides
and molecularly altered
food crops
for profit
and to experience the long lost joy
associated with being a swashbuckling pirate –
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
The Tie is a bib for men.
For different sorts of messes.
No longer exclusively dribble and bile.
Yes, we may use them for mornings
after our red solo sippy cups
time machine us neanderthal.
But men also have other messes to bib tie.
Like:
friendly faces at work.
not friendly faces at work.
faces on ex's at work.
Ex's faces on not friendly faces and other various places at work.
Men bib tie their feelings.
Or at least that's the media stressed norm.
Men can also not bib tie their feelings
Or bib tie the wrong feelings.
bib tie love when it's wrong to feel it.
Bib tie love when it hurts to feel it.
Bib tie their opinions
when speaking to people who disagree
Bib tie the need to look, only...
Touch, just...
Grab, just
Have, just
Use, just....
Put it in the bib tie.
Stuff it right in there.
That's where all your messes go now.
At a funeral, men do not use their bib Tie as Hankie
They let their tears fall.
Bib ties are not tissues.
You do not simply wipe up your mess with a bib tie.
Put the pain inside it
At the end of the day
You take it off.
Put the used up bib tie in patchwork briefcase under bed.
Passed down by fathers.
Full of generations of used up bib ties.
Like ***** dream catchers.
Knotted hands and looped desire.
fastened snuggly into their folds.
If only more men wore Ties.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
* *Yeah, yeah...
I'm O-k a' a' a' y,
I'm just sittin' round,
It's a 'Sat-tur-day,'
this place still a palace,
little small they say...
...just sittin' round,
And that's O-k a' a' a' y.*
*Hmmm...
yeah, yeah,
O-k a' a' a' y,
WHO-CHACA' -liquor strong,
got my liquor on,
Oh ** sip-sip,
Wearing wing-tips...
...and THEY GOT SPARKLY-SHIT!*
*Got my liquor on,
it's a 'Sat-tur-day,'
going out to party,
going out to play...
and I'm...I'm O-k a' a' a' y.*
*Come on mirror-mirror,
Oh ** sip-sip,
lean in a mirror-nearer,
My legacy a ship.
I couldn't make it clearer,
Oh ** sip-sip,
I'm gettin' fu cked-up
And I'm O-k a' a' a' y!*
The doors they open up, 'auto-matic-cally'
Now I 'out-about' and they all seeing me,
Raise the liquor glass, uh-huh sip-sippy,
They try-ing to mimic, they all want-to-be-me.
Give me a fuckin' break, I breakin' off a buzz...
You standin' lil too close, back it off now couz'
*Got my liquor on,
Diamonds, sparkly-shit,
Suit smooth, mirror,
they can't see my clip,
got my liquor on,
Uh huh sip, sip.
Now break out a mirror,
chopping up some ****
Got my liquor on...
And I'm O-k a' a' a' y!*
*Got my liquor on,
it's a 'Sat-tur-day,'
going out to party,
going out to play...
and I'm...I'm O-k a' a' a' y.*
*Come on mirror-mirror,
Oh ** sip-sip,
lean in a mirror-nearer,
My legacy a ship.
I couldn't make it clearer,
Oh ** sip-sip,
I'm gettin' fu cked-up
And I'm O-k a' a' a' y!*
Music Going Crazy!
Music Going Crazy!
Music Going Crazy!
And I'm O-k a' a' a' y!
<musical break>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
And I'm O-k a' a' a' y!
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
<nin-nin-nin-nin-nin-nin>
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
got it
up packed...
cold at the
blaze.
cobra hoody.
fang-fulls of
elephants lumbering
rooms.
getting fat off slow
death.
straight sippy-cups
brimmed with
reorienting brew.
i watch Ganesha
remove his own
obstacle.
i blow his
shadow off.
code blue on lock...
Shiva~
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
Baby watered her bears
And fell asleep in a sodden heap
Dreaming, no doubt,
Of a world where watered teddies grow
Like flowers, throw
Their paws to the sky,
Fur unfolding like petals,
Chummy grins becoming monstrous,
Button eyes like black holes,
Threatening to gobble her up.
She woke screaming at 3am
I replaced the wet with dry,
Soothed with cuddles,
Changed the scary dripping bears
For dry dollies.
Now she's sleeping soundly,
Hairy scary bears, downstairs
Waiting to be be tumbled,
Wanting to be dry.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Oleander sips
Saturated leaves
Acid lake's disguised under oak
trees.
Sprinkling of cocoons
And fuzzy bumblebees.
Sugar magnolias like
freckled galaxies.
Sippy cups with rainbows
and an antique bucket
Tangerine trees and golden
lockets
Lynx spotted engines
of Chevrolets
Darted dandelions in a
Summer craze
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
He takes in a deep long breath
and billows out the flames
on all nine candles
His mother smiles
and remembers they day he was born
the only doctor in the sanctuary at the time
had been a dentist
he pulled him out of her
like a stubborn tooth
For those first few months
she stayed awake every night
watching him
terrified
hoping
and hating herself for hoping
that he would stop breathing
in the middle of the night
On his first birthday
218 had experienced a breach
nearly everyone was infected
no survivors
she thought about taking his life then
She poisoned his sippy-cup
with the stuff they used to **** the roaches
and in a fleeting moment of weakness
dumped it down the drain
When she does sleep
she relives her father changing
into a monster
and watches the man who raised her
chomp into the forearm of the man she was to marry
She remembers how much blood there was
and how much she hated them
and loved them
at the same time
The little boy
turns and shoots her a thank you smile
she smiles back
faint and almost fake
She makes a wish
but does not dare tell a soul
and continues to hate herself
for loving him too much
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 4:42 PM UTC
She will be our daughter
with hair of finely woven copper
to match that of her father.
And as she drinks from her sippy cup.
Five feet off the ground.
I could never be so proud.
When she holds my hand with fingers the size of pencaps
I could never be so glad
When she wimpers in her sleep
I'll wonder what she's dreaming
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
There once was a lady, who in a brown bag kept her baby, and never let
it see the light of day. But once when it rained, when outside both bag
and baby lay; paper dissolved to ash, and pale skin emerged unabashed.
Now, as well as unabashed the paper babe was unashamed, and fought his
way through the rain, in naked hide aflame. "Where fore art thou, thou
hedonist devil!! Where can i find thee and lick thou with shovel!!"
Harsh were his words and I'm sure you'd concur, when i say not harsh
enough,but then again, tis only baby stuff. Though minuscule were his
plans for he had only babies hands, he trudged along feeling all the
more brave for his life he'd now save. Seeing his shovel, he picked it
up, made out of plastic it weighed no more than his sippy' cup. Through
the doggy door he crawled on all four legs, through the door he went
sprawled like tossed eggs. Into the demons bedroom he silently tiptoed
only to find the horns of said beast had gone.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
"if your personality was a beverage,
what beverage would it be?"
She said: "I think I'd be Coffee"
"No,
You can't be coffee."
You're too sweet
Cheap, With two shots of vanilla
COFFEE is bold, smokey,
Burns your throat.
I had coffee once,
Brandy
Woke up to her every morning,
For years I got drunk off of her
When I didn't drink enough water
She made me sick.
but I never drank water
Went down the hall
to a sippy cup full of milk.
Even she,
was not just milk.
She was strawberry milk.
My little Coffee milk.
You are not Coffee.
You are water.
But soak up all my grounds
***** yourself on the dead burnt cherries
I've left for you.
Maybe
you can be some quick
instant version.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 7:21 PM UTC
Can you hear the
Cast bronze fireplace's
Flames melting iron snowmen?
Can you see the obelisk
Sitting in it's vacant lot?
The stone cold singe-marks
Sear varicose veins
Of wooden lamp posts.
Whiskey filled sippy cups
Preordain the raven's tears:
(Bullets)
I hear Nerudan love poems
Broadcasted through blue PA speakers
To no one
(But me)
Songs resonate through hollow walls:
Songs read from empty
Sheet music
From the fall of
1964.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
All the makeup in the world
Won't make you feel
Less INSECURE.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 3:11 PM UTC
Thurston started off easy enough
With the simple slurping of Sippy cups
But soon enough moved on the the bigger stuff
When Sippy cups didn't do the job
He constructed a straw three feet long
Though Thurston was thirsty he wasn't that tall
So he could reach the kitchen sink
As Mom did the dishes Thurston could drink
Soon the sink was not enough
So Thurston moved on to the bathroom tub
You would think that that would be too much
As Thurston rub a dub dub'd and drank it all up
From there he moved to the aquarium
As he watched the fish around him swim
As they watched their world go sinking in
To the glass reflection of Thurston's grin
With an inch of water left he left them alone
As he spied outside the retention pond
That's when Thurston's thirst came on strong
And he dropped everything he had going on
Once he had the pond drunk dry
Thirsty Thurston heard the waves nearby
Dare he even give the ocean a try
His answer was yes to the question of why
Though Thurston did give a pause
Along with a bit of a thought
Before he left he went out and bought
The makings for a longer straw
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
drip, drip, drip,
there's a little water dropping from the
sip, sip, sippy cup,
spilling out and sopping in your
lap, lap, lap,
so you stand instead of sitting, so the
wet, wet, wet patch
is drying off (permitting that the
sun, sun, sun
is up high and the sky is clear), you
run, run, run,
to the arms of your mummy dear, and
tap, tap, tap,
on the bottom of your sippy-cup,
drip, drip, drip,
now you'll need your mum to fill it up.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC