"squiggly" poems
Gay.
Gay.
Gay. Gay. Gay. Gay.
Gay. Gay. Gay. Gay.
Gay.
Gay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(squiggly lines look cool)
~
Gay.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Someone stole the last piece of my turkey sandwich.
I bet the ************ put some pepper on it.
I hope it was pepper from that
***** *** pepper-shaker that is no longer see-through.
That ******* left me with one poker-chip pickle slice and
Those pieces of potato chips that you
Have to spear with a fingertip to eat.
That son-of-a-bitch!
I am sure he put mustard on that last piece of turkey sandwich;
In that delicate delicatessen squiggly pattern that is all in the wrist.
-And, speaking of wrist, that ******* forged my signature perfectly.
He even put another Lone Star bottle on my tab then
Neatly arranged the bottle caps next to four toothpicks.
*That suave ************
To honor him, when I get home
I am going to smoke his ****
**** his girlfriend and take his ****
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
It’s bad enough I’m just known as
that squiggly piece of the alphabet
but what’s worse are the jokes of
Why the long face Kevin?
Those are the times when I wish
I could give as good as I get
it's not as bad as facing the guys
with bloated stomach and ***
and have the amoebas ribbing me
incessantly
****** single celled creatures**
They have an idea, but they can’t guess
Poseidon take you Janet!
for leaving me in such a mess!
You take all of me without leaving
just a single ounce of pleasure
and I’m left birthing
your demon spawn
You were just a mistress Seahorse
in disguise weren’t you?
I’m no longer an oddity
now I’m something less
*Seahorse blues
a male in distress*
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
What in these symbols has power?
None of my letters could build you a tower,
But something within the screen of my phone
Has mass, has inertia, has song, has tone.
Where are the electric lines?
Neither hither nor thither, whichever one signs
But for some reason, I can't help but feel
That my electric lines are something more real.
What are the squiggles that wave from afar?
A symbolic cookie from an imagined jar?
Or are they a prize for forming a speak
That, through my squiggles, may squeak?
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
"Mama... Mama!"
Mama sometimes doesn't wake up when I want her to.
Mama must be dreaming about the ocean.
And there are waves in the ocean.
And the waves are outside my window.
And I hear them.
Swoosh... swoosh... swoosh...
I draw the waves for Mama everyday.
They are squiggly and big,
like the messy lines on Mama's forehead.
Mama's forehead is big, big!
And the waves are big, big like Mama's forehead!
They are blue like the sky.
The sky is blue because blue is your favourite colour.
I like blue too, because Mama loves blue.
I want Mama to know that there are waves outside our house.
I can hear them swooshing outside the window.
Papa says: "It's just the wind."
But he's wrong, Mama.
Wind doesn't swoosh like a wave does.
I know, because I hear it.
You hear it too, right, Mama?
And you dream about the waves too.
And in your dream, the waves are swooshing outside your window.
They are squiggly and they fill our room with the big ocean.
They can even touch the sky.
And the window can't hold the ocean anymore,
and their hands go-
BAM!
Mama mama,
The waves are coming into our house.
Wake up.
They're coming.
They're coming in Mama.
The room is so small, and the ocean is so big.
Wake up.
Isn't blue our favourite colour?
Don't you want to see the blue sky again?
The waves outside our window are coming in.
And you sleep like they don't.
Mama.
Do you know?
I can hear the waves in you
Deep, deep inside you.
They are big, big like your forehead.
Bigger than the bed you are lying on.
Sometimes
you don't wake up when I want you to,
But it's okay.
Mama must be dreaming about the ocean again.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
An ****** haircut,
she does give,
that only a lover can;
sweetly amatory
are the cuts and nicks,
that heighten
my sensual pleasure.
click of scissors -
the sound her lips make,
when we hesitantly unlock,
after a long, squiggly, sloshy kiss.
*now, her scissors
get busy, giving the
tips of my hair
sweet pain of love bites,
my ***** are on fire,
goosebumps sow desire,
my eyes, wink and shut,
if I swoon, no wonder,
this sweet torment,
brings me to the limits.*
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
*"Once upon a time there was"
"no"
"No"
"NO"
"Many moons ago"
"There was a dreamer"
Who wished with all her heart,
To find the gold at the rainbows end,
She would look for clouds
Bursting
Up
High,
Her mother smiled.
"Are you still searching for that rainbows end"
"Pamela your dreams are the clouds"
*"Mummy a *** of gold I will find"*
"For if you latch on to one"
"You will find yourself upon the other side""
Then one morning awoke to find a rainbow
Moving over her lawn,
Blouse,
Trousers,
Shoes
On too, she had packed a case
Encase this time did come true,
She slid down the banister
"Whoooooosh"
Through the front door,
Just as it was fading
Hands did grab hold,
She was surrounded by colours
Red,
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Indigo
Violet
All were pure and bright, then with a
"Thump"
On her bottom she did land, surrounded
By beauty, plants the colours of the rainbow
"Blue leaves"
"Grass was orange"
Sky was all shades of the rainbow too,
A *** seen, gold did gleam,
Mouth wide open,
A violent fly flew in then out,
"Gross"
And she then quickly shut her mouth,
She was over the moon, the rainbow too,
She picked it up,
Lighter than she thought??
She picked one up
Put it too her mouth,
And bit,
It was squiggly in her mouth
"Gross"
Twice in two minutes,
She was
Sullen,
Grumpy,
Tears
Did cascade from little eyes,
They came out
Colours of the rainbow
Which lightened her mood,
She wiped her tears looked once, twice
Then hands upon the rainbow,
And whoosh, she landed with a
"Thump"
On next doors cow,
"MMmmmoooooo"
Went the cow,
"AAaahhhhhhh"
Went Pamela,
She ran with a
Scare
And
Fright,
As in the distance still hearing the angry
"MMMmmoooooooooooo"
She ran to her house, opened the door,
"MUM"
"MUM"
"MUM"
With a fright her mum ran out,
"Pamela"
"My baby are you all right"
"I found the rainbow"
**"I found the ***
"I found a land of colour,"
"But the treasure wasn't right"
All said with in one breathe,
Now breath my angel,
As mother did take a coin
Opened it carefully and with the tip
Of here finger tasted it,
"MMmmmm"
So creamy, so light,
As she took her in the kitchen,
And the toaster minutes later
POPPED out,
Spreading it evenly, and eaten was
The toast crust and all,
"Mummy may I try one"
Pamela said
"Magic words my honey bear"
"Please may I try one"
And with that the toast again
POPPED out,
"MMmmmmmmm"
"My gosh mummy this tastes divine"
"You found a golden treasure that's for sure"
As they had toast each morning,
Opening a coin spreading it evenly,
"It was a taste to behold"
The treasure at the end of the rainbow,
Wasn't money, but I was something better
A taste that put a smile on faces
Every morning at breakfast time.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Those squiggly tresses adorned by bluebells,
are dark serpents in prowl or just an illusion of my mind?
*they slither over my chest,torso, and downwards-
as in progression you kiss, hell bent to transport me to bliss!*
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
Anyone can share their body.
But to bear ones soul to the eyes
of another is the epitome of being naked.
To expose your barriers,
to open up to that person,
knowing that at any moment they could change their mind.
Looking past make up,
skin tones,
weight and self esteem, there lies an entity all in its own.
Strong, but yet a piece is missing.
A piece where you find you fit perfectly.
If only they would allow you to cradle and nature their soul
with the care of a mother to an infant.
But then you spot it,
a hint of distrust.
There is no such thing as free lunch, or so they say.
You cut down your barriers,
Pushing past the walls you’ve built up,
And past the trust issues.
You lie there, open, vulnerable,
Just as they and you understand their distrust.
Distrust not for them but for the carelessness of man.
To carry a soul is not like carrying a purse, or a knapsack.
You swallow it.
It becomes a part of you, and you apart of it.
You find yourself becoming one with something bigger than yourself.
And it’s terribly frightening, isn’t it?
You can feel it can’t you?
Two hearts, and yet one heart beat.
Four lungs, and yet one breath.
You can feel the blood gushing to your ears as you carry
Around this burden if you think of it that way.
But it’s a beautiful burden, one you nurture, you allow to grow,
and yet it scares you as it grows.
As you can’t find yourself as yourself.
It becomes “we” and no longer “me”
It becomes “Us” and no longer “I”
The change in the air is palpable.
It’s frightening,
For both of you.
You can count the heart beats of a lone cricket until you meet again,
Until you kiss again.
But the kiss is different, not entirely in its taste but in it’s dress.
It’s like being kissed by a star.
You’re not sure where you begin and it ends.
You don’t want to, do you?
Now there’s a permanent lazy smile plastered across your face.
As if you’ve got a secret riddle that no one can solve.
But you don’t.
You’ve found it.
THE IT.
What scientists search for.
The meaning to life resting in your heart
and dancing just on the outskirts of your sanity.
It’s funny.
Soul mates always sounded like something Hollywood
Would use to get you to purchase a ticket.
Now your soulmate has brought you to purchase
An Investment.
An Investment in them and life.
*When I typed in the title, the read squiggly line came up at the bottom, I realized soulmates isn't a word it's a concept. Possibly might change the title later.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Don't waste your days away
write bad poetry
I mean absolute garbage
and draw stick figures
with squiggly lines
and paint with your fingers
and laugh when you ****
and blame someone else
for the terrible smell
and sing and scream
whenever your driving
to wherever you may be driving to
and stay up too late
and get up tired
and nap
and sleep through church
or at church
and snore really loud
and day dream
and live dreams
and when the nightmares come
enjoy the fear and the rush
and the pouring sweat
on your forward
as you wake up screaming
but don't look out the window
because there isn't anything
out there that is more scary
than your imagination
and make a deal with the devil
and cheat him his dues
and leave a rubber corpse
on your death bed
and live another day
and out run the sun
and give a butterfly the moon
in exchange for
the hidden treasure map
painted on its wings
and hang that map in the sky
to cover the hole
where the moon used to be
and don't worry
no one will notice
because they look exactly the same
and ask the stars politely
not to tell anyone
and don't forget to say please
and thank you
for stars never ignore a request
for a favor that is asked
with a manner of grace and kindness
and build sandcastles
to close to the shoreline
and watch the waves
wash the towers and walls away
and listen to the mist giggle
at the mischief it has done
and fold a boat
out of the song
no one else can hear
and give your hopes and prayers
to the wind
and sail away
and find yourself
and lose yourself
and give time and love
your full attention
and no matter
how bad things may ever get
or how good things may ever be
I will always be a fool
and a dreamer
and a magic bean believer
and I'll write you bad poetry
really bad
absolute garbage
whenever you need
because I can't think
of any better way
to waste my days away
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
tickling tape worms living in ape arms
squiggly shapes getting fat like grapes and
traveling in veins like a gutter swallows rain
like an utter in pain painting pitchers so milky white
tight like an overstuffed mite
bee or egg infested
ceiling unappealing
but
crack is revealing my
inner thoughts
statutory holocaust
saturated oil spots
aggravated foil plots
plotting for a battle
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
I tried to draw a cloud.
I really did. with trembling hands that black pen found my wrist
but they were always too squiggly
or too big or small
never just right, the way they must be for you.
I always thought that clouds were a thing of happiness
of joy, and birthday parties and wishes
but
not for you
all the clouds brought was a sick sort of happiness
the kind of happiness that you have when you get a
"i'm sorry" card about the loss of your grandmother
they only brought that idea that they were there becuase
you weren't going to be there, so painfully soon
so I tried with tears, and screams and sobs
to draw a perfect cloud
with a perfect color on the perfect day
it was always wrong though
my hand didn't like the way that you were leaving us
leaving us on a cloudy day for somewhere else
somewhere else from that place we met
where happiness was
darkness was there too, but I hope you always remember the
happiness, wherever you are now
and I hope you know that we miss you
even though I'm not able to take a pen to my skin
and etch your final wish, a cloud,
I still think about it
about how the clouds stole you away from us like a blade tears my jean pocket
but were are you now
they say that you left us
before august 31st, the day you told us
oh how I wish that august 31st was just a madeup day
a day that never showed up on the calendar, because it was
all a lie
perhaps on august 31st
there will be clouds again
clouds drawn on eager hands with eager tears
that still flow after you've gone and
only the clouds remain in your place,
reminding us, that you were here, we didn't make it up
it wasn't a dream.
how do you draw clouds for someone you never really knew anyway?
how do you show that you care when you do
but you don't know it
how painfully it is to draw a cloud on your arm
for someone who will never see it
perhaps you'll see clouds there though?
maybe you'll see the way that my clouds never turned out right
how they twisted and turned and broke into little pieces
how they were too big and too small
how they held too many sobs to even look like real clouds
how the clouds themselves were pain;
which of course, was the problem with your clouds
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
*Wanton moonlight,
filtered through a fine white net
of cirrocumulous clouds,
so delighted by their caresses
splashing noiselessly
in to the blue pool,
wears an alluring tiara,
a crust created by fine foam,
does a squiggly dance
in the heart shaped pond,
where waves make beams
swing around non stop.
The silver white lilies,
one by one touched by this magic,
comes alive, open their eyes
drink from the fountain of
moonlight and join the dance.
The love pair, in their nocturnal
love games are lubricious to the core
having lost their hearts to both
the ethereal beauty and the arrows of cupid*
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
.Arabic in write to tried I
My mother wasn't having it
The right to left was just too much
It wasn't the squiggly lines as such
And so to her delight, I changed my mind.
"Don't worry Mum, I'll learn Dutch."
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
in a squiggly
hole
in a silly
wood
in a spock inventor
planet
in a spiffingly spotty
universe
there lived a
space alien
...his name was Bob
and he liked haloumi
...he liked observing
humans
serving haloumi
on a plate
with crackers
in their sooty restaurant
under the sparkly stars
...
one day he changed his name to Greg
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Fixed on salad ******* armpit ****
Passionate diaper ***** dodging queefs
**** fat farts and **** sipping
Squiggly nips dangling from a pig
coffee spitting ***** kids with sticks
sticking sticky ***** in **** like a *****
*** cream pageant queens spewing ****
Chris Kringle's candy cane **** tip dripping on lips
sweet **** water for your daughter
************ to Aaron Carter
**** the rest
I'm all out of ******* to step on
best be getting home to *** on my own chest
test the taste and throw out the rest
I tickle my intestines till I **** out hot stew
putrid black goo with nut chunks and fiber skins
stretching ball skin over my **** rim till it's all one
sack
use bread and sauce from a snack pack to make a sack
sandwich
hold the lettuce between my cheeks and toss my own salad
picturing *** ramming ***** spewing out tasty *****
gluey pools of chlorine smelling salty bliss
I picture gargling ***** while lesbians crawl all over me
vibrating fake skin ***** deep in my **** cave
if you misbehave I'll rip off your face while I squeeze your
**** in my teeth and make you sit on my face after you clean
your *** crease bleached and sweet
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Squiggly Wiggly
The good little squid named squiggly wiggly
Wasn’t always such a good little squid
Squiggly wiggly had to learn her lesson the hard way
She used to go about her business all Wiggly Jiggly
She didn’t have a care in the world she always acted like a kid
Her parents never knew what she was doing or where she would stay
Whenever she was on the playground she was always a bully
She never tried to be kind or polite she never did anything fully
Then one day she had a shock
She was out playing around the block
Along came a shark who gave her a blow
She fell so hard she had to stand up slow
Off she went to complain to the others
Everyone ignored her even her brothers
And so she learned from that mighty shock
That its never nice to hurt or mock
From that day on the squid named Squiggly Wiggly
Was always a very kind squid
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 9:53 PM UTC
the dregs of your spotted smiles somersaulted in an elegant arc
fell in helpless array and landed nine planets away from my feet
and something slightly old still feeds my anger at your impatience
I forage through my grace to keep my tongue from spilling mess
and my heart feels all squiggly as I sneeze my way to your mocking silence
I gladly offer sweet indulgence while you openly despise my faults
I forage through my fantasies, not wishing to appear so trivial
lesions swell on the plastic head of revulsion
let not depression eat at your sweet magical pulse
still strongly beating in the sometimes sepulchral coffers of life
scorn not the honey bee buzzing or the hummingbird flitting
embrace the nuisance of calamity
for it helps along the way
to make vigorous the spirit
to wedge a cardiac space in place of pillowcase full of stones
where giants sleep in silent meadows across the land
sensing no sharp slingshot from no nifty bottle legged creature
and disappearing into the thicket would be the right time
on a heavy back, a child carries a burden made of toxic crayons
to melt away the awful prejudice of its forbears; undo the chains
the bringer of rain stands alone in a puddle, or is it a lake?
are YOU awake?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
My fingers have ribs
directed inward, the squiggly lines
that make up the prints
on the walls with eyes
face to face with the mindful trees
nature listens to my shriveled cry
as morning breaks into an evening sky.
Christmas is done with
the new year is gone
boredom sings its sadistic song
frozen beneath the empire’s lies
the truth is fading in the mire
smoothly set in place
set pieces are falling away.
If this won’t sustain
I can find my way back again
I won’t be blinded by illusions,
indifferent to the calendar’s milestones
and get away from this confusion
for once, I’d like mourning to feel
not like another gloomy dusk.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
The vagaries of a boyish heart
penciled her squiggly name
onto this warped white sill;
they can also reduce it
to the cryptic black crumbs
his soft-puff of a sigh will
spill into a gulping down
by the floor's shy crevices.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:31 AM UTC
everything has the potential to be ridiculous
- even your pain.
this you must accept
and then,
the terrible is only
ungainly and awkward,
a bad storyteller
in a squiggly dr. seuss adventure-scape,
full of ears and fascinated minds.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 3:36 PM UTC
It has been years
But I found an old
Birthday card you
Sent me when
I just turned seven
Wishing me luck,
Health, and a
Long life.
You never were blessed
With any of that
But you didn't know that,
We didn't know that
Yet.
It was written
In your favorite color
Blue, that is also
My favorite color,
In squiggly cursive,
P.S. you hope I get the card
And you hope it has
The $20 in it;
You never trusted
The postal service.
I forgot that $20 was there
So I never spent it;
Fourteen years later,
My finger tips
Pinch it tight
Once again
And with tears streaming
Down my cheeks, I read:
"Buy yourself something pretty".
I can't buy you back.
It's like I lost you
All over again.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
These people...they're obsessive. Hoarders of memorabilia associating success with handshakes, photographs and play-dates. I'm surrounded by squiggly lines vandalizing art and silhouettes of super-heated sand granules encasing a substance so vile that it permanently damages the frontal lobe of the collective consciousness. Inspirations float helplessly about the sea of underachievers and people-pleasers. What is success? Is it simply to impress the people around you? To instill envy upon your enemy? I won't even begin to dissect the differences. I can't even begin to protect the witnesses. The costumes are insignificant. The same tired, scared, eyes stare blankly at themselves from behind every mask. The ladder needs some broken rungs. The bladder bleeds; soaked in *** People milling about, spilling their sins. Reaching out sure looks a lot like clawing, and what is the difference between pleading and begging? May it be the same difference between dancing and squirming? No matter what we do, we all feel unworthy. So, I guess all that's left is: Learning. Teaching, not preaching. Boy, this place sure is unnerving. A shuffling mass of introverts sent into a downward spiraling life of discomfort, soon to be snuffed out with possessions. The empathy for the undead is utterly apparent, and arguably, inherent. Looking for answers in dusty pages and plastic heroes. Punks, Drunks, Nerds, ***** Women with bright hair and crooked teeth. Men replacing the hair they've lost on their heads with that which sprouts from their chins. I need a drink, I think. But in actuality what I need is a warm bed and a couple centuries of sleep.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
Whatever happened to one?
One telephone company –
Ma Bell!
You picked up the receiver,
Attached by a squiggly wire,
And dialed the phone – literally.
You put your finger in the hole
For the number or letter;
Rotated the dial and back it came,
Rotating in reverse, and making that wonderful sound:
Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka
Then the person on the other end answered
And actually said – Hello…
No lost calls – no breaking up…
Simply one –
And it worked.
Bleach is even more confusing.
If you wanted clean clothes
You went to the store and bought
Bleach.
You did have a choice –
Bleach or Bleach.
One!
It was easy
You picked up one bottle or the other –
Either one – they were both the same –
One!
Easy.
Today there are 7,826 ½ choices!
Bleach that smells like flowers;
Bleach that smells like fresh air;
(I’m not sure how that’s possible)
Bleach that’s like a cool, refreshing stream;
Bleach that spills and splashes;
Bleach that doesn’t spill or splash.
Bleach in colors –
Liquid – Solid – Powder…
Will there be decaffeinated bleach next?
(More about coffee another time)
I’m beginning to understand
Why people take drugs –
The bleach aisle alone is
Enough to torment the brain!
One was simple.
One was effective
Choices are nice
But better left for the
Wine list.
http://www.leaves-of-ink.com/2019/06/choices.html
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC