"splishing" poems - Hello Poetry

My childhood was a dream. Filled with monsters, mayhem, and magic, And long sunny days That lasted forever. Playing cops and robbers, Barbies, House, Playing, playing, playing. Isn’t it ironic? Back then we wanted to grow up. When I was a kid, My sister was my other half. Like two peas in a pod, We were never apart. We fought, We fell, We failed, We grew up. Together. I miss The playground. And falling asleep in one place, Waking up in another. And splishing, and splashing, and squealing, Through puddles in the rain. We were monkeys Climbing and climbing But never falling. Ok. We fell sometimes. But at least we knew That whenever we fell There was always someone there to catch us. I hope My childhood sticks in my brain Like gum in my hair, That one time in first grade. I hope I never forget that Christmas, When we made so many gingerbread men, There was almost a million. I hope I never forget my friends. Imaginary and real life, My pet fishies, Or the things that scared me. They let me know how far I’ve come, Cause I’m not scared of them anymore. I hope That my house doesn’t forget me Cause I will never forget my home. I did all my growing up there. Though I guess I’m still not done. I wonder if I ever will be.

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Oct 29, 2013

Oct 29, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC

lindeemadisonlarson

My Childhood

My childhood was a dream. Filled with monsters, mayhem, and magic, And long sunny days That lasted forever. Playing cops and robbers, Barbies, House, Playing, playing, playing. Isn’t it ironic? Back then we wanted to grow up. When I was a kid, My sister was my other half. Like two peas in a pod, We were never apart. We fought, We fell, We failed, We grew up. Together. I miss The playground. And falling asleep in one place, Waking up in another. And splishing, and splashing, and squealing, Through puddles in the rain. We were monkeys Climbing and climbing But never falling. Ok. We fell sometimes. But at least we knew That whenever we fell There was always someone there to catch us. I hope My childhood sticks in my brain Like gum in my hair, That one time in first grade. I hope I never forget that Christmas, When we made so many gingerbread men, There was almost a million. I hope I never forget my friends. Imaginary and real life, My pet fishies, Or the things that scared me. They let me know how far I’ve come, Cause I’m not scared of them anymore. I hope That my house doesn’t forget me Cause I will never forget my home. I did all my growing up there. Though I guess I’m still not done. I wonder if I ever will be.

56

I can't say for sure at what age you suddenly start to really take the world in, but I have these specific memories of being an angsty fourteen-year-old running laps around the reservoir at swim practice. I was so young, but old enough that I really thought I knew what love was, and maybe I did, maybe I knew love in a certain kinda way, a certain kinda love I'm too old to understand now. I ran laps. I remember noticing my breathing, the one-two-three huff-huff-huff rhythmically circulating oxygen as I went numb from the waist down. I remember thinking about this boy that I loved in some way or another. I remember noticing the water's gentle splashing, the way the high, hot sun reflected off its splishing. I remember the sound of runners passing me by, the sight of those I passed doubled over from a "cramp" or maybe just laziness. I remember the way my coach yelled and yelled, pushed and pushed. I remember feeling and thinking so many different thoughts, noticing so many different things. I remember the first time that I just took in so much I had to go home and write some love poems, spilling my guts onto college-ruled paper in some various-colored gel pen. I can't say for sure at what age you suddenly start to really take the world in; I can't say for sure at what age a poet suddenly becomes a poet; but I have these specific memories of the first time I took the world in, and I decided to write about it.

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Dec 23, 2014

Dec 23, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC

megb42290

The First Time

I can't say for sure at what age you suddenly start to really take the world in, but I have these specific memories of being an angsty fourteen-year-old running laps around the reservoir at swim practice. I was so young, but old enough that I really thought I knew what love was, and maybe I did, maybe I knew love in a certain kinda way, a certain kinda love I'm too old to understand now. I ran laps. I remember noticing my breathing, the one-two-three huff-huff-huff rhythmically circulating oxygen as I went numb from the waist down. I remember thinking about this boy that I loved in some way or another. I remember noticing the water's gentle splashing, the way the high, hot sun reflected off its splishing. I remember the sound of runners passing me by, the sight of those I passed doubled over from a "cramp" or maybe just laziness. I remember the way my coach yelled and yelled, pushed and pushed. I remember feeling and thinking so many different thoughts, noticing so many different things. I remember the first time that I just took in so much I had to go home and write some love poems, spilling my guts onto college-ruled paper in some various-colored gel pen. I can't say for sure at what age you suddenly start to really take the world in; I can't say for sure at what age a poet suddenly becomes a poet; but I have these specific memories of the first time I took the world in, and I decided to write about it.

59

He lazily wonders, "would it be best, to manifest, this array as a poem?"... Dribbling, drabbling, splishing and splashing, Summer's scorn whirls unlashing. Gutter strikes throng cluttered pipes, filled to burst before crashing. Concrete delta, chizzled from steel, devouring, steadily, it's only meal. Here to stay, but ready to leave, they swifly pass throughout their eve. Porch roof wet, drip by the drop, along the guardian's shielded top. The sky yields for the setting sun, but in the night, the bombers run. Booming strikes desparetely fight to enter the darkness, and win back the light. So many things, all the same, block mountains, laying their claim. Slicing into theatrical waves, luck guides as a strider braves. Running as well, the Tempest to test... both he and the storm, the other one craves. Sitting back in his safe little home, the boy becomes worried, of becoming too grown. "How to put into words..." "This moment may never be seen again." "Almost gone... lost to the birds..." "Holding on between a thought and a pen."

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Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC

pbward

If Only

He lazily wonders, "would it be best, to manifest, this array as a poem?"... Dribbling, drabbling, splishing and splashing, Summer's scorn whirls unlashing. Gutter strikes throng cluttered pipes, filled to burst before crashing. Concrete delta, chizzled from steel, devouring, steadily, it's only meal. Here to stay, but ready to leave, they swifly pass throughout their eve. Porch roof wet, drip by the drop, along the guardian's shielded top. The sky yields for the setting sun, but in the night, the bombers run. Booming strikes desparetely fight to enter the darkness, and win back the light. So many things, all the same, block mountains, laying their claim. Slicing into theatrical waves, luck guides as a strider braves. Running as well, the Tempest to test... both he and the storm, the other one craves. Sitting back in his safe little home, the boy becomes worried, of becoming too grown. "How to put into words..." "This moment may never be seen again." "Almost gone... lost to the birds..." "Holding on between a thought and a pen."

30

Eyes alight Laughter loud The waves hittin d shore, d only sound As v wade into the crystal blue Splishing n splashing-so much fun stories n jokes over bbq as up above dances d sun Tho smile on my face a sadness lingers i should stop hoping,coz its hoping for nothingness wishful thinking's steel cold fingers I should stop believing on u i guess. I should let go of u,coz it drives me mad i need to let go,i dont wana b dis sad. I should let go of u... n slowly i will... D only question now... is well, how?!

0

Mar 30, 2014

Mar 30, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC

poetrylover17

i should let go of u.

Eyes alight Laughter loud The waves hittin d shore, d only sound As v wade into the crystal blue Splishing n splashing-so much fun stories n jokes over bbq as up above dances d sun Tho smile on my face a sadness lingers i should stop hoping,coz its hoping for nothingness wishful thinking's steel cold fingers I should stop believing on u i guess. I should let go of u,coz it drives me mad i need to let go,i dont wana b dis sad. I should let go of u... n slowly i will... D only question now... is well, how?!

16

I gathered up my thoughts, and gazed upon the waters of reflection, serendipity shimmered cross its surface I gasp, struck by the beauty of its perfection transfixed on the little ripples and rivulets splishing, splashing and weaving clouds did gather above, the rain began to fall, I sunk to my knees unawares I was bleeding vision blurred with tears, head swollen and aching from the cold, I awoke this morning with no aim, but a destination, and down this valley lane I strolled I can no longer cook for myself, nor wash and my hair has all but gone some days it's as if nothing's happened and others I know not my name nor where I'm from my wife is long dead, my only grandchild, waits ah, greed was always a perpetual enchanter - alas none of this matters when you hear "I'm sorry to say, sir, it is terminal pancreatic cancer." And now gazing across the dewy grass to the opposite side of the lake, I reminisce the good times, the simple highlights of this beautiful life Death will eventually take, stone-cold realisation setting in for the last time that soon I'll be gone, I know by the blood tick tock Death, please don't be late, I'm ready to be reunited with my Love.

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Sep 28, 2015

Sep 28, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC

lexander-jones

The [Final] Call To Ivory Rose

I gathered up my thoughts, and gazed upon the waters of reflection, serendipity shimmered cross its surface I gasp, struck by the beauty of its perfection transfixed on the little ripples and rivulets splishing, splashing and weaving clouds did gather above, the rain began to fall, I sunk to my knees unawares I was bleeding vision blurred with tears, head swollen and aching from the cold, I awoke this morning with no aim, but a destination, and down this valley lane I strolled I can no longer cook for myself, nor wash and my hair has all but gone some days it's as if nothing's happened and others I know not my name nor where I'm from my wife is long dead, my only grandchild, waits ah, greed was always a perpetual enchanter - alas none of this matters when you hear "I'm sorry to say, sir, it is terminal pancreatic cancer." And now gazing across the dewy grass to the opposite side of the lake, I reminisce the good times, the simple highlights of this beautiful life Death will eventually take, stone-cold realisation setting in for the last time that soon I'll be gone, I know by the blood tick tock Death, please don't be late, I'm ready to be reunited with my Love.

28

Time to fall back into the murky waters again You did so good Splishing along the surface trying to keep yourself afloat making all those luscious bubbles but it's time to sink below and rest.

0

May 31, 2018

May 31, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC

stopdoopy

Tired

Time to fall back into the murky waters again You did so good Splishing along the surface trying to keep yourself afloat making all those luscious bubbles but it's time to sink below and rest.

7