"squabbled" poems
I like making
plans I know I won't make,
I just like they're there.
It's sort of like how we prepare
in our cars with airbags.
Sometimes we thank God
they're there.
I like waiting at
bottoms of skyscrapers to catch
cripples' stares on stairs.
It's living up to a dare
trying to walk with one leg, one
crutch going up, look at their
Stares on stairs.
It wasn't a hippy
in tie dye that gave me
that squabbled piece of peace.
It was a horrid beast
who claimed I was the first
to not shoot, he gave me his last
Piece of peace.
I didn't like the tone
of his voice when he said
you can't bare the bear
Even outside the lair
you'll shave his fur and run your
hands in your hair, you
can't bare the bear.
I have years of your
wind pattern because my
vane detects vain in your veins.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
Seren-dip-me-pity, (she was self-accepting failure, bad luck wannabe, wears black and sniffles)
the ardent opposite
of Seren-dip-i-ty, (she was an accidental discovery, no recovery needed, awe, found objects, in the
moment)
they are part of the
seven sisters Seren,
wherein lies the rub
Saran-wrap, was third (caught up on herself, clean and air tight, fresh as the day, tough like teflon)
in line, (changed the spelling of the family name - to be sooner alphabetically)
Seren-ate, (she sings she dances, she eats, she sings some more, she waits for applause)
does not speak or gesticulate
unless she performs in song.
Seren-ade, used to sing well (jealous, performance orientated, sometime for love, lately for money)
as well but when the other came
along and did it better she got bitter
and moved in to retail sales (lemonADE, pomADE, calvacADE of arcADEs, you get it, everything became a parADE)
And as for the twins who
are always fighting Seren-ity (lacks calmness, lacks peace, wants a piece of you, uneven temper)
Seren-e (more easy to be obscene, like evening air with a heavy chill, not bright).
The seven sisters of Seren,
who were always preparing
for a fight to the right to
the next beau to knock
on the door, but soon they
all stopped calling,
they were
no longer falling,
over one another,
as the Seren-ities
were now old biddies,
no longer remained a
worth-while dowry, befitting
sitting silently as the seven
sisters of Seren squabbled
soiling the solitude of the soul.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
One night in December,
The streets were army gray
And hurrying strangers
Rushed home for the day.
Nimble legged salesmen
Sold flowers by the street
And rhythm was the rumble
Of voices cars and feet.
The young were dressed for parties
Some sang with radios
And over-friendly women
Assumed their favorite pose.
Trashcan colored beggars
Searched gutters with their hands
While uniforms saved sinners
With sermons songs and bands.
Patrolmen sang the pop songs
From slowly cruising vans
As nighttime changes faces
Pushers change their plans.
The movie marquee lightning
Put movement to the sound
As nameless children squabbled
For pennies they had found.
Uptown they're making movies
For Hollywood L.A.
They listen to the sirens
Downtown far away.
The Civic Center phantoms
Are easy to forget.
Folks simply close their eyes
And they haven’t seen them yet.
They haven’t seen them yet.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
The King nor the Queen
wanted the crown.
Too heavy to bear,
it dragged them both down.
The King wanted to drink
and party with his men.
The Queen couldn't manage
and wanted a friend.
The oldest princess
wanted love and money.
To sell the crown
and find a honey.
The youngest princess
was eratic and cold.
She hated the kingdom
but loved the control.
They bickered and squabbled
so no one did see.
The middle princess
picked it up so gingerly.
She placed it on
Her Royal, fair head.
She managed to stand
with courage and said...
'I will wear the crown
that you've all cast.
To protect our kingdom
and serve as asked.'
They all stopped talking
and quick as a gun,
turned their back on her
and continued their fun.
The King kept on drinking.
The Queen hid away.
The oldest spent her inheritance.
The youngest plotted and played.
All the while she fought there.
Defending the walls.
Fighting for their safety,
Pledging allegiance to them all.
The youngest became jealous
Of this brave new Queen.
She unleashed her rage
And beat her senselessly.
No one did anything.
The Queen looked away.
Nothing in it for the eldest.
The King stood & swayed.
Yet here she was alone,
Crying in the crown.
Unprotected and alone.
Slowly sinking down.
The eldest took her energy.
The Queen gave no hope.
The King let her down.
The youngest gave her a rope.
So she hung herself and died,
As they continued on.
Her absence went unnoticed
As their kingdom lived on.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
They discussed Prom and silly boys who talked big, but
couldn’t tear open a ******
They squabbled over pole-position in a race that didn’t matter- And
analysed events made cinematic in re-telling.
I leafed through a magazine:
One Girl’s Plan to Meet and MARRY A MILLIONAIRE (who isn’t a creep)
~How to dress to be taken seriously
Top Career Women Tell Their Secrets
~Hot spring fashion
The TRAP of Living Together
~CK One (selling equality)
For a moment I pictured myself applying lipstick, then thought better not.
It was all ********
I shoved the magazine back in my bag- with Tess, exam texts, and
a clean change of clothes.
The bus stopped right outside.
He made me tea, and I read bedtime stories to his kids.
After:
We drank white-wine in the garden, kissed and found peace-
Searched for stars in a sky the colour of storms.
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Although I’ve tried hard to forget I’ll always remember
With all its glaring effervescence my first ever sleepover
With my friend who was afraid of the dark and as she hung the walls of the night
With lamp light that squabbled with Sleep over my No-Mans-Land eyelids.
I wondered how you could fear something that wasn’t even a something
But a lack of something. Now I read the weather forecast
In the horoscope of Orion’s belt I wonder why we were so afraid
Of a world of muted colours. Like Light was an absent parent
That returned sporadically and left an aftertaste with each visit
And blew cigarette smoke in our faces.
Like Light was a worn-out lover too painful to label as X
Around whom we’d begun to orbit and organise our lives.
I stand in the dark we’re all afraid of and wonder if perhaps
The night is not lonely or cruel but simply wants to kiss the stars.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
I saw the world through different eyes today
There was no clouded judgement, fake, pretentious nature
I could laugh at anything
Be anyone
Pity anything
Yet the moon still carried on shining
And although we squabbled over art I realised
Art is nothing but a squabble
For sobriety restrains the person I can be
And the person I am
And those restraints keep me in a place I don't want to be
They lock me down in fear and in shame
For the person I can be is caged
It screams out
Opinions which deter people and denounce
And as I see you run through the streets
Ever searching for a place to fit in
My ankles become weak
They buckle
They cannot carry me
For I find no easier place to fit in
Than my very own skin
The place of an outcast
An ungrateful brat
Who drools at the thought of an empty mindless space
Where no judgement, snobbery or scoff is placed
For the idea of a flee ridden rug,
A broken kettle,
A piercing mattress,
An unread journal
It SCREAMS to me freedom
A natural scribe,
A just life
An unjustified rhyme
It calls to me
It calls on and on
But tomorrow I will be the person
The world destined me to be
An untuned symphony
Beating away with a monotone rhythm
Because doubt rears its ugly head
Churns a putrid dread
Which I carry to my empty cage of a heart
And I carry it on
And on
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Scorpion, scorpion, who brought the pen
The tip of its tail, the needles sharp end
Poisonous dagger, To write all your wishes
****** soiled, bundled up tissues
Issues and cashews and nuts
Insanity.
Rhinoceros, rhinoceros, have you the tusk
The one on your nose, the jungled rough musk
Broken and bleeding torn from your face
Now beautiful laced girls
Discover your pearls
Thieves.
Fathers and mothers, did you bring the child
Shattered, broken, seen with both vile
Bangs and pangs broken dishes, birds sang
That night along with the screams
Did you believe
Destruction.
Artist, artists, have you the pieces
The ones of your life, sadness, defeation
The black strokes, lonely tokes
And pills and late sat to smoke
What does it all mean, by life
Uninspired.
Dictators, dictators, did you bring your people
The hobbled and squabbled, who prayed in the steeple
Who hung from the rafters, and rang with the bells
For whom it tolls, well, no one tells
And lost citizens
Vanish.
Butterflies, butterflies, did you keep your promise
Mottled, and bottled, spread across lawn mist
To be beautiful, shiny with no varnish
Your caterpillar state should not tarnish
The wings you have now
Growth.
Children, children, did you steal the money
For xanax, tricks, and acid, your'e funny
Brain dead generation
Same dread, memorization
Of all the dead jokes
Sad.
Villagers, villagers, did you burn the witch
The bloodied open stitch
That tore the wound of the town
And they all began to drown
In truths they didn’t like
Characters.
Kitten, kitten, did you trick the boy
Into finding your, mangled, ticked, body
Squashed, splattered, with marks in your back
Circled rocks, flowers, hit and smack
The dirt down flat
Betrayal.
Conscience, conscience, did you make me feel that way
For something I thought, for something I might not say
For something I did, and something I am
Why do you threaten
Why do I listen
shiver.
Ghosts, ghosts, do you really terrify
Blankets, and behind walls spy
Sheets, and bags of treats
You saw it all, naked
Through the clear square wall, sacred
Innocence.
Creatures, creatures, you dwelled in the cave
Red, glowing eyes. Blue burning rave
You crawl out at night
To get a good sight
Of all of the people passed out drunk
loneliness.
Beware this place.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
I remember when I was a teenager ya know playing sport eating junk food oh yeah
Yes it was fun being a teenager
Being as cool as they come
You see I was a very good worker and I was as fit as well
You see I was a cool teenager
Yes that sounds real cool
We went to see the raiders from Canberra oh yeah
And we waved our flags and yelled out to make sure everyone hears
We celebrated new year at the with some sugar or alcohol
Yes it was fun being a teenager
Yes I was so cool
You see I was in the basketball team and I was very fit
And I was with the bowling team
And at that stage I wasn’t very good but when I got back into it as an adult I became the best I can be
You see it was fun being a teenager you see I was wiling to learn
You see I did bushwalking and I mucked around in school
Getting detentions and ****
I squabbled with another bloke who wanted to show how cool he is but me, being a teenager
I showed him I can be cool too
Yes it was fun being a teenage boy and I had a lot of fun
I had sleepovers with my mates and boy I had a great time
We watched movies ate pizza
Without worrying about our weight and our birthdays we had parties enjoying it yeseree
But it was it was it was fun being a teenager still having fun
Loving life, yeah mate it was fun
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:50 AM UTC
I’m learning a lot, dating Peter. For instance, I have a whole new awareness of how clueless older Americans, like people in their mid-twenties, are about things in the modern world.
I think Peter’s learning things too. Like the other night, I was 30 minutes late because I was gluing little, glittering rhinestones to my eyebrows. Was he mad? Yes, we had a little drama, but that’s just because he hasn’t learned to respect my lifestyle choices.
“Don’t be mawkish Peter,” I softly advised him, while fixing the caller of his shirt, “look, let's just pretend that we squabbled over this, and I won?” I suggested, helpfully. “It’ll save us time and WOW, we’re running late, OK? Seeing some small, lingering irritation, I promised, “We can still makeup later.”
The rhinestones looked spectacular, I got a LOT of compliments and in the end, I think he liked them. You know, sometimes I’ll catch him looking at me, like the moon or something, like I’m out of reach.
Guys are so.. (searching for a word).
Sep 9, 2022
Sep 9, 2022 at 4:05 PM UTC
They all smoked in the garden
that night. Inhaling the chemicals,
the manic whirr in the lungs
of something toxic. Everybody there
wanted a piece. Their own segment
of you to cup in their hands,
taste whenever they pleased
as if you were red wine.
They wore woolly shirts
and stonewashed jeans. Bare feet.
Looking at you, a valuable gift
up for grabs. Voice like liquid gold.
Wishing you’d pick them
over the others, point a finger,
claim your prize. You had a hold
on their heartstrings and didn’t know it.
They said you were unattainable,
that you were hidden behind glass
and couldn’t be touched. Anger bubbled
between them, red kettle-hot.
Raised voices papercut the air.
I could understand.
You were glorious, untarnished.
A cleaner mind and cleaner arteries.
It was a rare and confusing thing
for them. Blonde hair, blue eyes
made their thoughts turn to flour.
You were sweet when all
they knew was acidic,
like a chunk of lemon
under the tongue.
As they squabbled in silence
we spoke. And still
they continued to smoke.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Who knew why such ruffians
Squandered and squabbled
Dear to me their brutish good looks
Pulling out pockets' linings
Showing how no cent remained
Not a **** dime to their name
Chasing absent dreams called fame
Just deterioration
From what was once
Gleaming teeth
Combed hair
Finer threads
Now cement beds
Lay them down at night
Oh what a sight
My parlayed partners
Still jiving and hustling
Crackling and busting
*** for that quick fix
Sick, I tell you
How glory appears in their eyes
It's a story of addiction's surprise
That grab on you
How it happened to him too
Gleam!
That glisten and sheen
Then sweat
Soaked in an essence we've set
Of our inner spoiling
Tormented toiling
When we shoot that boot to get
That desperate need never met
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
The dawn has turned the dimmer up
Painting the watery sky grey
And the dew hangs everywhere
Like polished tears glinting
And an early sign of impending spring
As the birds begin their choral efforts
Later in the year they will sound like
A busy open air market
As the business of the day begins
And breakfasts are squabbled over
By Phil Roberts
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
I can never come back,
I will not be your ham-hock,
a bone to be squabbled over,
and buried as a trophy,
gnawed and *****
Its the hound dog moaning,
when it loses the battle
that grinds me up the most.
The avalanches of sadness
heaped up like earth
kicked up by a dog,
who is searching for the bone
it buried so long ago,
leaving muddy holes
all over my once pristine lawn...
that is what hurts the most.
Its better to be the dog
that loses the fight,
than it is to be the bone.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
The dawn has turned the dimmer up
Painting the watery sky grey
And the dew hangs everywhere
Like polished tears glinting
And an early sign of impending spring
As the birds begin their choral efforts
Later in the year they will sound like
A busy open air market
As the business of the day begins
And breakfasts are squabbled over
By Phil Roberts
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
You are awesome
You are awfully up or down
Shall we clutch?
Then it's a shy frown
And it's a shabby shame
I will wake the birds
They are barely screeching
It will be a screech indeed
Just a crazy race around the floor
Around the corner
Around the map I walk
Around the crowds
The only people those in rags
The screeching friends
A scintillation of the flesh
Yet they are rough
It's a crazy ******** picture:
The flying birds around the razor shimmer
A frisky fleece now shorn
******
The floating plumage of the sister
Everyone is rough
Altered by everybody else
Rocks and a crazy breeze around us
It's been sweet
Squabbled frowns off the floor
Singing around us
The screeching scintillating people
Singing apart
Then the false raising of a floating voice
The funny fools singing about the trash
The screech scattered around
It's faulty; it's obsolete.
It's gotten stupid
Got a burn but the gut's rubbed raw
Got stuffy but got strewn about
I got stuck but I got struck too late;
The scarlet satin about to be scattered
Got struck; got a bad character; got a bad grip
It's been strewn around us
Now the scenery is rough
Bins stinky with dismantled hearts
Swaggering in vain
Everything rubbed to a high shine
Everything to hide behind
But a stray smile but a hahaha
A bad story but a hahaha
A struggle but a stray cat
Sweet as usual
But a struggle / but stinky / but a hahaha
Array of ******* bins
Waiting collection
As birds swoop screeching
And pick at debris
And nibble on us.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
Searching to find myself assuming I was lost
Reality was no more or no less than my thoughts
I searched far and near only to find I was nowhere near lost only mistaken
Visions of who I am and how I should be
Remained squabbled and tossed inside of me
For the way I wanted and expected my life was the furthest from the way I could see
Atlas now I know I can find my way although I no not to where
I found I was no longer lost , only mistaken
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC