"tattles" poems
He has one eye missing
And a patchwork ****
I tell everybody he’s winking,
That he has one eye shut.
He’s lost a lot of hair
And he no longer sits up
Like he used to before.
But whenever I see him
I am never in doubt
He is still the bear I adore.
Bubby Bear is a very good bear
The best friend there ever could be.
He sleeps by my side every night
And Bubby never argues with me.
When things get too scary
Or out of control I go and
Grab up Bubby and hold him.
He’s always warm and he’s
Sympathetic, and so I never
Feel the need to scold him.
I can always talk to him
And explain things out
Because he is so very patient.
I think it is because he
Is such a very wise bear
And always there waiting.
Bubby Bear is the finest bear
He always right beside me.
I don’t have to worry that he
He might want to abandon me.
Some people like to tease me
About the way Bubby looks
And make fun of his condition.
But they have to admit to me
They don’t have a friend who gives
One hundred percent permission,
And never gets tired of them
Or tattles their confidences
Or gets bored with what they say.
That’s why Bubby is my best friend
Always was, always will be
All night long and every single day.
Bubby Bear is a very good bear
He puts up with my every whim.
I feel sorry for anyone who
Doesn’t have a friend like him.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
*I lay, of my own volition, in a space meant for her:
a confined and achromatic scene.
My hands, malodorous, muddy and splintered,
leisurely rest on my chest, free from labor machines.
Here I rest, hackneyed and discouraged
in a pitifully human attempt to simulate death
I curse my virtue; it chastises back as it
mourns the curious exploitation of my health.
It was meant to last only a minute,
as sorrow chains my putrid despair in place.
Yet I, to this day, cannot begin to explain
how the darkness manifested itself a face.
I attempted to strike a movement but remained still
as the daemon began to smile.
The plan was to endure without oxygen for seconds,
yet the creature stayed my conscience for a while.
In a surprising and trepid consternation,
I find myself in service to mendicancy.
The creature, a devil with venetian red oculi,
salivates at its newest and prized delicacy.
I cry at the fleeting mastery of my faculty,
yet the tears remain inattentive and departed.
Time blesses the creature with a dominant sentence
as reality registers a dialog that I had started.
“Where is my daughter? I demand to know.”
The creature’s smile grows ever wider.
He then takes the form of the stuffed turtle toy
that used to sleep right beside her.
The creature, in a droning and unmelodious voice,
utters a perplexing, yet commanding noise:*
“ATIV ARETLA NI MAN ES ED OLEF”
*Frightened yet discouraged, I aim to find the sense
in the puzzling command the creature produced.
“She’s been missing for days! I need to know where she is!”
The beast speaks again, letting its anger loose:*
“FELO DE SE NAM IN ALTERA VITA!!”
*Suddenly, albeit boundlessly, the stillness was lifted,
and my structure was free from this tenebrous stead.
I raise myself and clasp at the summit’s precipice
after having danced with a beast in this wooden bed.
The vacant coffin remained pristine,
fitted with natural calico cotton lining.
The devil you fear the most is the one you create
and mine emerged with impeccable timing.
The creature’s malevolent ballad persistently tattles
as The Lapse rebroadcasts the “truth” it wanted to utter.
It had told me, “Become a felon of oneself,
and thine own life shall be traded for another.”
I refuse to concur with the creature’s decisiveness
as my unyielding faith will ensure my daughter’s return.
Her weighty and boundless absence must cease
and lead to the terminus of my inexhaustible concern.*
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
You know the one,
One who blathers on... and on;
The one we'd rather not.
One prattles like a rattle,
Tattles and gabbles,
Babbles and jabbers,
Chatters til we frazzle,
Twaddles til we drop.
One never seems to stop.
One brags
One talks
Bark off trees,
One argues
With a knot.
One can't stop.
One drops names
Like cloud bursts;
One day
One will
Be caught.
One has diarrhetic run-on.
One's opinion's seldom sought.
Finally, at the end of bray,
One has only nought to say.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
You say ***
I say tat
You say come, and I say go
Will they ever get along, they don't know!!
I try to tell you what I really say
as I react to you acting this and that way!!
All I hear is how you want to stay
but I'm calling you back every other day!!
I want to trust and I want to feel
but its the attention you want to steal!!
I try to talk and I try to be real,
you reply "we should eat more kale"!!
I go right back to feeling deprived
As I give and give to make you feel alive.
It is me who is supposedly the one who should be blamed
because I give to get love but feel ashamed.
They say to give and expect nothing in return.
How are you not supposed to feel the burn?
I was taught to compromise and pick your battles
So why are there so many **** and tattles?
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Here is the difference between the t and the t:
Although they are alike, here is what you don't see.
You could see both in this war fought amongst leaves;
One's made from being crumbled while the other's from being beat.
Tyranny or teams, threats or truce,
Time, tattles, the, tame, though, this, tells, the, truth.
T is meant for drawing while t is meant to lose,
They both wanted peace; just one couldn't choose.
One gave you a gift and that gift was a cup.
It said "World's #1", but number 1 what...?
T, too, gave a present and this was your relief.
This gift was so grand that you let out a big scream!
I hope you guess the riddle and I hope this makes you think.
Because, t, is, the, tinker, the, tocker, in, the, tick.
T, thinks, thought, politely, through, thin, than, through, thick.
Or t doesn't think at all. Now isn't that a trick?
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
~ A Nursery Rhyme ~
By night the lamplights bloom in blue,
and Squinty Bat comes lurking through.
A flicker, a whisper,
a crooked spin,
she twirls in the hush where dreams begin.
She nibbles moths that orbit the glow,
grim as the gossip graveyards know.
Around the lamp
she loops and slides,
a velvet ribbon on moonlit tides.
At morning sun - dreadful, bright! -
Miss Clara Parrot claims the light.
She squawks and scolds,
so green, so loud,
a herald of day to the mortal crowd.
She tattles from trees with her feathered choir,
spilling the secrets that night conspired.
Their laughter clatters
like shattered glass,
naming each sin the shadows let pass.
Neighbors groan and pull their sheets
as Clara reigns over waking streets.
While Squinty swings
in her secret nook,
dangling like crime in a dusty book.
By day, it’s Clara, gossip and glare,
by night, it’s Squinty, a ghost in the air.
And before you ask:
Which one is blessed?
the sun and the moon will refuse that test.
Jul 30, 2025
Jul 30, 2025 at 7:49 PM UTC
From the bottom of my lungs
Smoke sits
rising falling like ashes from misquite pits
Them blunts stay lit
Enticing spiritual fits
As I
Contemplate on which move to makes
For heartsake
I ain't no savior just coming outta line like behavior braver
Than the rest of the simps
Acting like brain washed chimps
I broke out the cattle through galaxies I battle
Just to shatter your rattle
Now its nothing but tattles
Tails who put you in jail
It never fail
But society so lost who can I call to bail
Me out this system stuck in a prison
With no where to go my flow
Be mojo tearing up tracks like flow jo
Keep y'all in slow mo
Peep My scenario
Reaching through all Barrios in the ghetto
Don't be dead rose pedals
When things come to settle
We taking thangs back
They way they used to be
Just ask the past ancestries
Breathing through the wind
Here I come again strapped up
For Armageddon
No more letting up soon to abrupt
Wicked politics ******* devils *****
Now there's an uprise surprise
The revolution won't 've televised
Right before ya eyes
We set bullets and guns by our side
Now where you ******* can hide
Once we collide
For all the homicide ya did and hid
My history from me ***** please
We ain't taking no mercy
Leave ya beggin like Percy
Stiff as Lurch See I be the revolutionary
Only way I die is young in the cemetery so you enemy
Can follow me
But I'll be back in the form of energy crumblin empires with My next of kin
Indians Blacks and Mexican
Coming to atone America for all there sins
Soon to be Wailin' ever since Trump got the win
Hahahahaha times up clock is tickin
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC