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Eve Pruecil Mar 2010
Splish splash
The waves crash on the sandy shore
Attracted to the ground up rocks
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers.

Splish splash
The waves are getting fierce
Rain is starting to pour
Like a child with a hose
Spraying their brother on a warm summer day.

Splish splash
The waves are like skyscrapers
Towering above me
Maybe I should go; I’m all alone now.

Splish splash
The waves have formed into one
One giant wave covering my island
I run away, up the mountain.

Splish splash
The devastation is done
The buildings lie everywhere
So do the bodies
I am the only survivor.

Why
Why did I survive and not the wise old man down the street
Why not the old merchant who only sold oranges and beets
What would father say?

I know
I know what he would say
He would say, “Because you are you and no one else is you. That’s why you survived.”
Now he is gone

Splish splash
The waves are calm again
Attracted to the sandy shore
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers
this is my first longish one, so you know, it's not the best
Andrew Jun 2019
Splish, splish, ploop.
A stone gently disturbs
the plane of the mirror,
before descending
into undisclosed depths.
Ripples erupt, breaking
the surface of the tarn.
As the current subsides—
splish, splish, ploop.

What if we could
live and die,
creating such soft—
such token undulations?
Splish, splish, ploop.
Let’s cause cosmic waves
of compassion and aegis
for the planet,
our companion-
leaving, as such, small
wrinkles and blemishes
upon the surface.
Splish, splish, ploop.

A. I. Myles   2o June, 2o19
@athenaeumthoughts
He opened his eyes to view ***** hands regretfully in filth.
Sitting in the rain he realized it.
splish, splash, patter patter
He had made a mistake.
splish, splash, patter, patter
He kept his eyes closed believing the rain would wash the filth away.
splish, splash, patter patter
It wasn't until that moment in the rain.
He opened his eyes to view ***** hands regretfully in filth.
Monique Isom Jul 2014
tik tok tik tok
the sound of my personal clock
tik tok tik tok*
the time bomb that just wont stop
ding **** ding ****
the sound of a visitor here
ding **** ding ****
the pain they  try to  feel
splish splash splish splash
the sound of the somber rain
splish splash splish splash
fills an ocean full of my pain
knock knock bang bang
the pain the visiter can finally feel
knock knock bang bang
the pain they   try to heal
once i open the door and
let them in they save me    
from my own ordeal
accidently erased this, re uploaded
birdy Jan 2022
rain
pitter patter
on the roof top
pitter patter
on the sidewalk
splish splash
on your hand
splish splash
holding mine.
Sharina Saad May 2013
Went to my ancestor's home on a Spring season that year..
On a Holi day in the land of Chanchadari
A peaceful morning in Hoshiarpur, the doors to Himalaya
Happy Holli day!! The kids shout with cheer
Holi Hai! Holi Hai! Lets play Holi!!!

He woke up early morning that day..
With a bucket of colored water waiting for me
I stepped outside my grandpa's door
In a split second I was soaked in a coloured water…
From head to toes… red, orange, yellow, purple… the colors of Holi…
Ohh It's a Hoi Hai day alright…
Lets play Holi … Lets play Holi..

Hails spring with ecstasy and joy!
The trees smile with their sprout
of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
The land of beauty and greatness,
India, witnessing color of happiness and peace.
Nation come alive to enjoy the spirit
A celebration of color- Holi!
An experience of content, harmony and delight.

Holi colors of red, green, yellow and countless.
A day's canvas - a riot of colors.
Lively crowd running, dancing, playing
Rainbow of colors, Lets play Holi and splish and splash!!
Lets play with the frenzy colors .. play on Holi Hai day….

I am dreaming of playing with colors with you
It is the Holi celebration after all.
I can't play inside my home, the carpets will get tainted,
I cant' play it in the yard, the grass and outer walls will get painted.
I thought I would go to the secret garden of ours,
and play with you Holi hai day …
It's a colourful day just you and me..
In love on Holi Hai day…. Lets play Holi..
A poem about Holi festival of colors I dedicated to friends and relatives in unique India.
Brycical Nov 2013
Time flies like a baby fruit fly to a banana
buzzing through a brand new day through the fractal lakes
cleansing my body in peppermint amethyst vibrations
as the gyrations of the water ripple and drip down my back and waist
tickling the skin into submission--
I'm on a love mission feeling the splish-splash nefelibata mind
within my glowing gold-hazel eyes as I realize my potential.
The world isn't simply my oyster
my voice can make a difference
if I wish and believe me I've kissed Aladdin's lamp
but my mind is filled with vagary so I plant the seeds
in my magic garden and watch them grow--
burst through the ground and glowing
some like emerald embers
and others like electric chalcopyrite
as my third-eye shines and pops calico corn
crackling in the back the ideas simmer on the grill
near the chilled ZuZu Juju honeydew wine
while the electric blue hip panther cat croons
away on her guitar in ancient star languages saeng
when we were all just haranguing through the ONE-light
all bright sun's right to shine a vine of fire rays
into our future past selves
now aligned with burning designs of moons, suns and AUMS.
The animal pixie band manipulates the sounds around us--
the cicadas sing a lotus chorus while the tiger-painted rabbits rapidly
strum rainbow hieroglyphs on their magic harps
while the jazz sax racoons all dressed in jasper suede jackets
and backwards newsboy caps
play a theta vibration so meditatively
we dance in digambara dream catcher trance
of enhanced meraki enchanted atoms
and cells boiling in passionate blood.

After all the eating and dancing we play in the clay mud
recreating our animal forms and budding faces blooming
and swooning as our winged auras sling us
into the dusk sky
to sway and zoom in the rain.
later we enter Father Sky's cloud castle
for a peaceful night curled up by the azurite lightning fireplace
roasting marmalade maple marshmallows
with those rasta angel fellows token
on the diviner's sage sippin mugwort tea.
And as we third eye-gaze into and through each other
seeing our past and future time tubes
aligning into a sacred golden flower sphere,
we giggle like silly fox children
we've forgotten hours have left our pockets
cause to us it only seems like seconds have gone by...
Grace Johnson Apr 2015
Pitter patter pitter patter.
The rain hits the Earth's surface.
I lay on my bedside,
waiting for the storm to pass.
I watch three racing water droplets,
collecting more as they go.

Drip drop drip drop.
The droplets create a city of mud and worms are crawling outside of the Earth's surface.

Splish splash splish splash.
Kids are stomping in the rain,
angering their mothers.
They ***** their school shoes,
leaving a mess on the hardwood floors.
It's like 3 a.m. in the morning... and I forgot about homework and I had to do this poem so. TAA-DAAA. aahaa, it's stupid,
Ellis Reyes Feb 2010
He is a bookworm humming marching tunes with a caribou.
They smell the sky, hear the sand, see the bright red light with their tongues.
Ed Ed the Knucklehead hides his hands in Ottawa.
Ed never hid his hands, he revealed them for all to see.
Splish-Splash, Splish-Splash, his webbed feet slap the tiled floor,tasting, tasting, tasting.
Walking, walking, walking
The foul-smelling wall of hunger screams empty codes at the freezing sun.
"Calculus," whispers Ed, "I want more Calculus."
The math will sneak by, he will feel its shadow; but not yet.
Sour triangles whirling openly greet the visitors.
Powerfully they mask their entrance embracing fraudulent identities.
The caribou now speaks his truth, "Ani rotzeh tachtonim."
Blindly the door opens and reveals all that the caribou desires stripes, rainbows, little flowers.
Down the long pathway to nowhere.
Nat Yonce Nov 2010
Cottonball girls with Q-tip legs dance gently
On Epsom salt beaches
As waves of rubbing alcohol lick their feet.
Father, let us run among them.
Let us clean and clear our faces in their festival of mirrors.

We shall rebury the awful jewels I found
With the failed veiled assassin's prescribed directions.
Rx marks the spot.

You may keep the map, for it keeps you in knowledge.
I do not wish that curse upon my conscience.
You may keep the knowledge, for it keeps you in power.
I do not wish the crown in that course.

Molten

Molten


Forty milligram
Molten
Sterilehappy
© 2009
Lani Foronda Aug 2014
If I listen carefully,
I can hear the lapping of the ocean tide.
The splish
              splash
                       of skipping rocks.

If I close my eyes,
I can feel the sun again.
The warmth my hands held
For those few seconds.

If I stop for a moment,
I can still find traces of those stolen moments.
Of that sweet summer
Trailing in the October breeze.
October 27, 2012
Kay Dec 2017
Splish Splash but it is simply more than that
Water cascades down the side of the dam
Not only does this take away your breath
But also the water that reeks of fish

As I run my hand through this cold water,
I realize one thing
Even though the water is calm up here and down there
There is still that rough patch where everything can just go down

Life is just like a waterfall
Even when going down
It is still a beautiful sight

Nothing will EVER take this moment away
Nothing will EVER ruin this for me
This moment is mine
And mine alone.
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Splish splash splish splash
Into the water
My paddles crash
Neither a care nor a bother

Gliding along
I listen to the river's song
My mind it soothes
My soul it moves

Silver flashes
As a drum flits by
And otter play
So pleasing to my eye

Water sloshes against my boat
While I watch an eagle fly
Man I love to float

Muddy waters flow on by
Man I love to float
mj cusson Nov 2012
Dear Mister Splee, I have a story for thee.
A man of humble attire, went fo’ a walk on a dull wire.
Skilled he kept balance, with nothing but a lance.
With a great long stride, he made it to the other side.

Back he went from one side to the other,
he grabbed nineteen polar bears and a ladder.
He carried them across just for fun.
Amazingly it was all at once not one by one.

The whole audience,awed with just a glance,
While monkeys surrounded and began to dance.
He dropped the ladder down, until it reached ground.
And the monkeys climbed up, pouring tea in a cup.

The polar bears climbed down with elegant ease.
I swear one of them sneezed.
But skilled he kept them balance, with nothing but a lance.
The acrobats were on the trapeze, they looked humbly appeased.



Thirty elephants all whiny and giddy.
Climbed the ladder all silly nilly.
Rhinos and Tigers performed ballet.
I hope you might get to see their performance someday.

The monkeys now on tightrope now hung,
By their tails they now flung.
The humble man on tightrope did sat,
collecting the teacups into his hat.

The elephants dove from the top,
into a pool, splish, splish, splop! splop!
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Tigers dancing.
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Rhinos prancing.

A lion or two just fo’ show,
Jump through hoops caught on fire
And a smile caught my eye from the man on the wire
He jump off, down the ladder.

He walked up to me, with glee
and told me to “tell this to Mister Splee:
Come visit me O’ Mister Splee
This circus was designed just for ye”

I told Mister Splee
And a tear rolled down his cheek
Sadder than he could be
He said: “That circus has long since been dead.”
Lilly Bug Feb 2011
Fly like a bird and sting like a bee.
I find it glorious to sit and ***.
Joy is in me soon you’ll see.
Why is it that I love to ***?
Rushing, roaring, as I release
the trickling sounds just bring me peace.
The john on which I rest my ****
stands tall, white, and strong.
By the time the flow has gone
the peaceful trickle will have greened the lawn.
Now you see how free it is too ***,
but don’t forget about ***’s friend poo.
The yellow Niagara that from me
once flowed has run dry,
but soon enough I will be out of this rut,
with a gift for John from my moon white ****.
Naomi Dec 2018
Hello,  I am a puddle person.
I'm certainly not the only puddle person, of course.
And I often think I'm more puddle then person.

I lay on the floor still.
People come by and see themselves reflected in me.
Sometimes they step in me,  and drops of me splish around and evaporate.

I'm content being a puddle it's, comfortable.
People are aware of me whether looking at themselves, tip toeing around me or jumping in.

I am NOT invisible.

Love me or hate me this puddle person isn't going anywhere,
until I become more puddle then person.
Throw a rock
In river

and the rip-
ple will fade.

The river,
it moves on.

Yes, time stops
for no one

But it does
not forget

about the rock
that was thrown.

It's still there
sitting at

the bottom;
out of sight

out of mind.
As time moves

on, and more
ripples made.
A poem for you guys, had to write it for mypoetry wwriting class and the prompt was to write a 3-beat line poem inspired by a poem from Rasmussens book Black Aperture.
Scarlet Rose Feb 2017
Pit-pat goes the rain
Falling all around.
From under my umbrella
I watch it hit the ground.

Splish-splash go the puddles
As I come stomping through.
My boots keep me nice and dry,
And my umbrella too.

Outside it's wet and drippy
As rain falls from the sky,
But underneath my umbrella
I stay cozy and dry.

And though the sky is cloudy
And the sun has hidden her face,
Under my own little umbrella
I have a happy, pleasant place.
It's raining today and I seem to have lost my umbrella...
Paul M Chafer Nov 2013
Splish, splash, splish and splosh,
Katalyn always enjoys a laugh,
Her imagination running a riot,
Whenever she is having a bath.

Katalyn sees fairies inside bubbles,
Funny creatures her mind has made,
A grinning blue-finned-fairy-dolphin,
And even a singing, fairy-mermaid!

Together they sing bath-time songs,
Often sharing some staggering tales,
Adventures of wrestling an octopus,
Or riding the backs of giant whales.

Sometimes, Katalyn imagines a fairy,
Blowing magic bubbles round the room,
With the help of a very pretty witch,
Making bubbles with a magic broom.

Katalyn thinks bubbles brim with magic,
Like her imagination, so much fun,
Especially shared with funny-fairy-folk,
Until at last, her bath-time is done!

© Paul Chafer 2014
Written after half an hour bathing our grand children: real magic.
Breanna Stockham May 2015
You quickly approach
A puddle of mud
Small enough to step over
But you thought it'd be fun
To splish and splash
And make a mess
But it's dirtied your face
And ruined your dress

You stomp out of the puddle
It has ruined your day
You look back in anger
And head on your way

But what is to blame here,
The action or trouble?
The mud or the splashes?
The person or puddle?

Don't walk into mud
Then complain of the mess
If you want to stay clean
Just watch where you step

Not all, but many outcomes
Are up to us
So be careful that your actions
Will lead to what you want
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~


in a four lion pawed,
old fashion
bathtub,
soaping and playing
with my two boys,
then, young children,
splish splashing,
playing games,
a wet version of capture the flag,
the winner gets to scrub someone else's back
with a flag
of the slipperest bar of soap,
ever,
in a game we called,

catch the cockroach cuckoo

***.

the floor is totally soaked,
your mom's gonna **** someone,
the bath mat weighing now 'bout five pounds,
not including the no tears shampoo that miraculously
is bubbling up from it,
an actual
groundswell of
shining eyes

and oh crap,

your pj's!
on the floor!

we all gotta go hide real quick
in the crazy better-be-on-high dryer,
more happy shouting, tumbling,
to get them and
our selves
back to a
ready-to-wear- state,
with a wearable, Johnson & Johnson sham-poo,
sweet-smelling encasing,
ready to be swept beneath a talcum powdery snow-angel coverlet,
into a slippery ready-to-sleep state

"quit all that screaming you guys,"

a piercing late entrant
to our Las Vegas gaming bath~table,
heard through the door,
deserving of a ten second
almost silenced,
fearful, giggled appreciation

then some one sang out

catch the cockroach cuckoo

and the fun and games recommence,
all of us,
soap search engines,
began again,
fully reenergized

don't gotta clue,
why this old fool fills
his memory sac this day,
with this silly,
refried-ain't-worth-a-hill-of-beans
peyote poem-visions from
decades older(1)

nowadays, he still plays,
still a super soaker bath man,
reliving old-fashioned soapy games
with a new Kingston trio,
me, myself and I,

and still hearing voices,
absent and present,
coming thru the walls

"you making a mess in there? better quiet down!"

but today's voices heard
are from within born,
not real,
an updated, revised recollection of the
went, and now,
gone gone gone

these voice now mocking the messes made
of bathrooms and
lives,
his own,
and the other players,
their lives
that this man sealed and help fashion,
for better and some,
for worse

and the
updated "better quiet down" sound heard,
well, that's jes me trying
to convince the too familiar new trio,
that the
harmonies of that vision,
ain't real
no more

and he finds-the-soap game
nowadays,
can't give you relief,
cannot remove,
the uncleansed residue of them
other
oldest soap **** guilty memories,
consisting of too many undisclosed,
then, unrealized mistakes,
that any parent,
all parents,
or this particular parent,
raises up,
seals and makes


~~~
5:21pm
1/30/16 NYC

(1) I subsequently realized that Pandora
played Crosby, Still and Nash singing
"teach your children well.
their father's hell,
will slowly go by"
Dae Staebell Jan 2016
Though I splish
Though I splash
*** I drink so fear my wrath

Behold my mate
Behold my captain
Cutlasses ring and we are laughing

Pity me not
Pity the foe
Sink him to the godless unknown

Plunder the hold
Plunder her chest
Strife we be so do not rest

Sink the English
Sink the Spanish
We rule here so we **** them

Free we are
Free we be
A lavish life is the one for me

If I am hanged
If I am dead
Fear not mate I swam to land

Cut your foes
Cut their friends
We rule this kingdom
    In the Queen Anne's Revenge!
A fun poem to show my appreciation for pirates. My favorite time in history.
dj Aug 2012
the night was already crazy-wild by the time
we arrived at Jarred's pool.
he had a big house but we never went in

4 teens, teen dream, a dream team;
but I knew deep down just what it was
we snuck out for.

a "transform-optional" rite, this hollow night.
but I still had doubts...
as Jarred offered me an aluminum can of something and I nervously said, "no thank you",
the moon had proudly jut out

he had a big house but we never went in.

I hadn't noticed, without the moonlight, just how
sharp Jarred's teeth and fingernails were.
canines, ivory & sporadic. looking at me

I hadn't noticed how reptilian our 2 friends were
The fangs and dislocating jaws, tendrils & scales.
Man-o-war for a head, giant earthworm for an arm
She looked scarier than he.

Those 2 went at each other in a murderous way
A blood sport of sorts. Confusing to me.
She spread her jaws wide - a parachute with teeth
And bit down hard between his legs.

Blood everywhere. Blood spattered on her face
She looked ****** god-awful by then.
The meat of his dead body then re-animated
And assimilated with hers. Anabiosis + Differentiate

Jarred, a werewolf or something like it, approached me.

He had a big house but we never went in.

we chatted poolside for a while
he'd go harmoniously from monster to human, human to monster.
Boiling cancerous growths under his fur
Grew angry eyes that glared at me.
clawhand on the back of my neck,
he went in for a kiss (or a bite)
with a puckered face and bared teeth.

This is it.
I finally felt a grossness so profound that I,
without thinking, jumped in the pool
to splish-splash, cool, to escape, whatever

I opened my eyes and just floated there for a bit.
hanging in the stillness
trying to forget those alien freaks
staring up at the moon
from the bottom of a pool.
find out who Jarred is here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/jarred/
(& yes, I do realize 'snuck' is not a real word)

स्वप्न
annh Aug 2019
red
neon
rain spattered
pavements teeming;
one thousand prismatic shades of meaning

graffiti-laden puddles splish, splosh, splash;
as midnight turns
to blue, and
dawn to
ash

‘I walked up, and I walked down, and I walked straight into a delicately dying sky, and finally the sequence of observed and observant things brought me, at my usual eating time, to a street so distant from my usual eating place that I decided to try a restaurant which stood on the fringe of the town. Night had fallen without sound or ceremony when I came out again.’
- Vladimir Nabokov, The Vane Sisters
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
by Anthony Williams
Zach Willett Nov 2012
i am at the top of beggar’s peak
i have lived alone
i brew tea and sit serenely staring at the top of the world
the sky holds me in and i am thankful

i am wading in mudslap creek
i have swum alone
i splish, splash and stomp in the gold forest with all my livelihood
the earth holds me up and i am thankful

i am strolling in baldie woods
i have seen a home
i cut, craft and toil all the day long in perfect serenity
the world embraces me and i am thankful

i am dead in this gracious world
i have lived content
i breathed, climbed and sang all my life without wrong and all things were gold
the gods love on me and i am thankful
WARNER BAXTER May 2015
Owls say who
cows go moo
ghosts say boo
nothing new
horse goes neigh
but what does the turtle say?

bird wings go flip flap
fish fins go splish splash
horse hooves go clip clop
snake belly goes slither
Santa Clause says ** ** **
but what's the sound of the *******?

What day is it?
Everyday Is **** Day
Iskra Aug 2018
Streaming sunlight and horse tails lightly swaying in the breeze, flicked lazily at gadflies.
Hoarse dove cries echo hauntingly as I wander across lush grass, towards the murky pond.
Dry, splintery boards of the rickety grey dock creak under my feet. Stone still, opaque brown-green water lies beneath. I close my eyes, resting my hands on the railing, letting the euphonious melody of rasping doves, cheeky robins, and other chirping birds blend with the bubbling sound of running water in the distance, and wash over me. The water bubbles and froths, it has a foamy sound, not as clear and ringing as streams and fountains back home.
Carefree.
Bullfrogs splish and dart into the silty pondweed.
It’s all as if this little world requires no purpose, it’s enough that it simply... is.
If only I could find peace in simply existing. Freedom to just be.
Judypatooote Mar 2014
The neighbor kids
come down to play...
On a warm and sunny
Summer day...

We would each get into
the small wash tub...
with a splish and a splash
and sometimes a shove...

With our suits stretched out
and hanging down...
the shower cap made
me look like a clown...

the tub was small
and we squeezed in three...
Duane and carol
and there always was me...

by ~ judy
summer fun, when I was young...
Third Eye Candy Oct 2011
he fishes in the pond along the broad abroad
reeling in the glistening skin of fight and splish !
a twitch of atheist, in a rainbow foxhole
pleading to invisible  wire
he prayed would
hit.
when Life imitates Art
the Irony

is Photoshop.
RLG Jan 2019
Holiday: a man backstrokes
oh so gently in the hotel pool.
It’s breakfast time. Bean juice
coagulates on my plate.

I watch the man’s languid, enchanting
backstroke and, for some reason,
it inflates my heart with sentimental joy.
This semi-corpulent middle-aged man,
is, right now,
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth:

His arcing limbs do not slap or thrash,
but plop into the drink like skipping stones.
He is a babbling brook. A water feature.
The splish-splosh trickle-truckle of a spa waiting room.

And what’s more, this forty-something baldy
gliding through the water
fills me with love for all humanity,
because he seems blithely rapt
in absolute peace
(despite the room rates at this place).

But then, I realise, all of this might be
free association of the mind
linking this moment to a scene in
the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump;
when a legless Lieutenant Dan
makes peace with God (for taking his legs),
and backstrokes with the same carefree beauty
into a pink and orange sunrise

(funny how the mind does that).

And suddenly the bubble of beauty is burst.
The portly swimmer becomes just that
(FYI: legs intact),
and my wife returns from the buffet
with a plate of vibrant fruit segments; Cheshire melon
and the greenest kiwi I’ve ever seen.
Lo! Only now have I tasted true kiwi.
And I remember: I’m on honeymoon!
And my wife, in this moment, and forever more,
shall be the only human to be known as:
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth.

Similar to the way Forrest felt about Jenny,
in the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
She loves it
when we go fishing,
enjoys all of the activities,
spearing & angling,
gathering & netting,
anything to get
down on the shore.
Her boy in the boat
always bounces,
craves more of my dangling.
She's a looker,
baits my hook just right,
I don't fight her
& it ain't no shrimp.
Nooooo,
no wimp here,
I always use my big long pole
looking for her sweet fishing-hole.
When I finally get there,
find the right spot,
I scrape her scales
from every conceivable angle
to uncover her tasty pearl.
I give her a whirl,
shuck the shell out of her
as she squeezes me hard
with her tight mussel,
ready to receive my roe,
a splish,
a splash,
a huge shot
of my hot cocktail sauce,
curling her toes.
kelly clare Apr 2016
call of the rainfall

pitter patter
splish and splatter
hear the gentle call
of the rainfall

raindrop drop
they gently plop
on your windowsill
causing us to do our greatest will

it is hard to resist
the gentle mist
and the sweet call
of the rainfall

even in the May
it is a lovely day
for the clouds to drain
for it to rain

come let us dance
come let us prance
thanks to the call
of the rainfall
Sombro Jan 2015
Wellies
Unfull cups of funny puddlewater
Around the feet and toes of happy children
*****
           Stamp
Splish
          Splash
What
         Fun
A memory of that darling child
Hand around her mother's
Fascinated and absorbed
By those little lakes and worlds
Her little pink coat
And wellies
Keeping her warm as a snug bug.
Stamp-Splash-Fun
Memories of wellies and rain and my little sister
Cam Feb 2021
Splish Splash with Tired arms
Inhale Exhale with Tired breath
Yell and Argue with Tired coach
Whine and Complain with Tired swimmers
Loud Static from a Tired radio
Bubble and Pour from a Tired coffee ***

At the pool,
sound became music, and music
a Tired cane for them to rest their weary limbs
I’m trying to read more so that I can enjoy all of your poems as well:)

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