"splosh" poems
_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_
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 10:10 PM UTC
if happiness was rain I'd live in Seattle
no matter how pale the days become
drenched in pollution and smog
the rain would wash it away and highlight the bright colors of my rain boots
splosh splosh splosh as I walk through the busy streets
and since its raining I'll be sheltered with an umbrella
it'll act as a shield, as if I was a knight in Renaissance days
maybe not a knight exactly, but the days and nights might get confused with the lack of sunshine
but I find I work best when I'm a little confused
because being confused gives me an excuse to sit down and think things out
and when things don't work out, I can go out and buy a new pair of rain boots
there are few things shopping can't fix
but when I don't have the money or energy to go shopping
I do have the rain
which sadly, is a reminder that nothing lasts forever
because on a random Tuesday the sun will peak out from behind the clouds and take place of my bright rain boots
click clack clack as I walk through the busy streets
no rain boots, no shield
just myself and the sun
and the slight sun burn from that day will remind me throughout the week when rain is falling that all things, good or bad, leave scars
the pink on my cheeks from the sun and my shriveled up fingers from the rain tell me that I can't shield myself from everything
some days I'll get caught in the rain without my umbrella
and other days the sun will catch me off guard, leaving my cheeks flushed for days;
letting me know that yes
if rain was happiness I'd live in Seattle
but Seattle rain isn't a constant
sometimes your cheeks need to feel burned to remember how nice it is to be drenched in happiness almost every day
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
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
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
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.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
*I like the dark, I like the cold,
Away from life that makes me old,
To stop and ponder what should be,
And escape the life that's crippling me.
I like to sit out in the rain,
The splosh of droplets, relieve the strain,
This crash of water, the growing puddles,
Oft clear my mind, and all it's muddles.
To sit and feel the pelt of hail,
That crisp, sharp sting and blast of gale,
The swirling wind, no sounds of man,
Here I can work out who I am.
I want some time from behind the mask,
I do not think that's much to ask?
I like to get away from it all,
For chance to be the real Paul.
Working out which path to follow,
To stop me feeling empty, hollow,
Where to go, to do what next?
This age old problem leaves me vexed!
From within my soul I feel its growl,
It's evil, demented, cavernous howl,
It's mere presence chills to the bone,
This demon follows, wherever I roam.
Controlling thoughts, fuelling fears,
Crippling ambition, driving tears,
My plans to go forward, it brings to a halt,
As everything in life, is always my fault.
My future remains lost in the haze,
Living with this darkness for all my days,
All that remains, is my epilogue,
I'm living with the big black dog!*
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
This year make your Christmas merry
In your trifle stick that lovely red cherry
on a thick layer of cream
Next to the angelica of green
followed by a splosh of extra dry sherry.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
In English there is a kid named Josh
As a lifeguard he goes splishy splosh
An old man dropped his gown
His smile turned upside down
What he saw made him say, "Oh my gosh!"
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
**** the flour till its dizzy
Until it is fed up going round
with the egg to make it fizzy
and your feet have left the ground.
Splosh in the milk all creamy and white
wait till there appears bubbles on top
that is the time to give the old arm a rest
and to tell the mixture it's time to stop.
Now throw in a bit of oil to the pan
fire the old flame till it's blue in the face
drizzle the mixture in like its silk on sheets
and the kitchen becomes a cosy place.
Grab the handle of the pan and give the wrist
a quick sudden flick in the air
The pancake will leave the pan for a while
and probably land on top of your hair.
More often than not it lands back in the pan
cook for a further two moments or so.
Slide onto a plate with lemon and sugar
and now down the hatch it will surely go.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
There's something so enchanting
About a summer rain shower
It transports me back to
The days of joyful puddle-jumping
I'd put on my galoshes
And splish, splash, splosh
Giggling gleefully
As water went everywhere
Yes, there's something so enchanting
About a summer rain shower
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC

Raincoats and Welly Boots.
Go together like
A pantomine tale and mother goose.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Little girls and little boys;
playing in natures endless supply of toys.
Walking through puddles, almost knee deep.
Splashing in mud pools, mud covering their feet.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Wearing Raincoat and Welly Boots
Splashing, laughing not a care in their world
Should be the entitlement of every boy and girl.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
For just 5 minutes
Discard your black shiny shoes and Italian suit
Put on your Raincoat and Welly Boots
Remember when once you were young
Splish, splash, splosh oh what fun
Raincoat and Welly Boots
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC
i’ve blown all my dosh
on a brand new Bosch!
my clothes will be super clean
with this amazing new machine
i’ve burnt all my dosh
singing swish, swash, swosh,
singing splish, splash, splosh,
a ladies got to wash!
i’m in love with my new Bosch!
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 4:07 PM UTC
Far, far away
Deep in the woods
Filled with thick trees and tall grass
Lived a man named ‘Saga’
Short and stout
Noisy and loud
He lived alone
Screaming at the air, talking to the rain
Saga lived in a cave
Posing to be brave But, afraid of the loneliness How naïve!
Living in the wild
Far away from his tribe
Alone through the woods he steered
Saga was afeard
He missed his wife
His old, happy life
And cursed the dusk
When he lost his way, following the musk
He cursed his daughter, Hilde
Deeming her the reason he was lost in wild ‘Why did you have to be so obstinate?’
‘Spoilt as hell, brat, ****** arrogant”
Mumbling under his breath
He was lost in his wrath
Crossing the same eerie desire trail
With misty fog and traces of hail
“What a horrifying path to take
Death be waiting for all treading this way”
Shivering and afeard
He walked rapidly till that path disappeared
Days passed and nights went by
He lay on the grass
Watching the drifting sky
Change its color from blue to brass
The trees rustled and wind blew
As the storm brewed
Sky thundered, rivers creaked
Saga listened to the forest screak.
“Hellish! I am lost in these labyrinthine woods
With cimmerian paths and Styngian brooks”
He started towards his aphotic cave
“Someone come for me and save!”
The forest grew murkier and dark Deafening sounds of storm, hark!
A whip just cracked
Echoing the sound of a thousand claps.
Saga fastened his pace
In terror and haste
Mud laved his feet
As if mocking Saga’s hysterical retreat.
“Oh! Get out of my way you muck”
As he fell on his face – Shmck!
Thud! flumb! squelch! splosh! deign!
He flushed through the water of rain.
For hours he struggled against the gush
Louder and louder grew brus
With each passing minute, the storm soared
The forest rumbled and sky roared.
Saga brawled and bawled
As if trying to silence the stormy howl.
Alas! all his attempts failed
Unconscious soon, he sailed
Where to? He would never know
For the forest had already beseeched his breath
Saga swam through the wild flow
Into the comfortable arms of Death.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC
there is a leak
in the roof
of our house
no doubt
caused by,
the winds of the past week.
now
the rains
are coming in.....
one drippity
drop
at
time
we put a bucket under it, at
first,
splosh, splosh
but
now have replaced it with a
glass bowl
plink
plink,plink
plinkety
plink
tommorow my husband
will climb up and fix
the roof
until then, we will listen to
the rain's
song
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Drip drop, never stops
Puddles formed are now the norm
Splash splosh, day's a wash
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 9:55 AM UTC
grumble, rumble, crack.
god in heaven, stretching his back
spit, splat, splosh
out goes god's bathwater
with a great heaving toss
wind blow, seas squall
rivers rise, mud forms
oh gosh what a summer storm
lightning forks in the sky
jagged streaks,
thunder speaks,
from clouds of grey
glad i'm home,come what may
on this sultry stormy summers day
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
The bristles on the boulevard clicked and clopped
splattered into flat rain drops
sped to join bodies with other playmates
now rushing to the rivulet gathering
into a big bang of floodwater
which nobody watched
with physics and formulas.
The pin-striped drops that caused
a rising revolution, spears dangling
for brief seconds in a war cry of splosh-splashes
finally raced to lower ground
to bring down the dam and city
and invade peoples front porches
and backyards
armed with mud and silt
and strawberry colored slime.
The night was camouflaged
with raindrops on the roof
all with the same intention.
Children went to sleep
as parents drank whisky and prayed
for such a thunderous night
of rhythmic staccato symphonies.
Tomorrow the rain would recede
and the fields would be fertilized
down to the roots. Or so they thought.
The flood crept up to their toes
and emptied the refrigerator
of its half-eaten sandwiches. The carpets
soaked up the spilling sauce
and ironically the windows locked
tight to keep out the rain!
As the floods subsided
the newspaper got their headlines:
ONCE IN FORTY YEARS!
it shouted for a dollar and twenty
Everyone read the papers
on how the neighbors got caught.
Cruel ********
always poking into other peoples business.
Two days later the sun returned
to cause a heat wave.
And everyone prayed for rain!.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Connections seem to slip
through my hands.
And I feel myself disappearing
with every splish-splosh.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
She lives
in some other place
man let me tell you
she like no other child
YOu have EVER met.
That's Splosh LIZ.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC