"watertight" poems
Often I get messages
That say this site is not secure.
Frequently, I can't sign on,
Which is a bunch of steer manure.
The site creators ought to fix
The problem. Could it be that hard?
I think that hackers could break in
And leave a nasty calling card.
So, site creators, do us a favor
And do what it takes to secure this site,
Making it less vulnerable
AND a bit more watertight.
-by Bob B (9-7-25)
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 2:27 PM UTC
When clouds are overhead
It doesn't bother me,
I lay my weary head
Right on my lover's knee,
With her fingers in my hair
To soothe away dull care.
I go walking in the sunlight of dreams
In the sunlight
Radiant sunlight
In the ultra-white
I'm alright
Sunlight of my dreams.
When lady luck won't smile
I send her on her way
The weather may be vile.
All the livelong day.
But if wintry winds do blow
And summer doesn't show
I go walking in the sunlight of my dreams
In the sunlight
Happy sunlight
In the living right
Watertight
Sunlight of my dreams.
Where skies are darkest blue
And trouble's far behind
Young love is ever true
And hearts are always kind.
Everyone has time to spend
And pleasures never end.
I go walking in the sunlight of my dreams
In the sunlight
Laughing sunlight
In the dynamite
Golden bright
Sunlight of my dreams.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
Caulk these broken bows, please
whether salt or fresh water,
it has weight, presence
and if allowed to pour in
it will sink me
Trying not to think too much
won’t work
as the only perpetual motion found
in this empirical life
is in our anxious minds
so as life jackets go
it’s a no no
To ask for a shipwright is unfair
but to have you there,
tar brush in hand
is enough
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 5:25 PM UTC
Itching, itching
in unending irritation,
eyes puffy and leaking,
spilling salt
over molten cheeks -
bed-bound and awfully weak.
I cannot stand it;
I am a shell, broken
my pieces are very light
and punctured - not watertight -
I let in a virus,
vicious, with the waves
I languish; only
a withered cord tying me
to life.
For in a few weepy blinks
I might die.
It comes to me as no surprise
this disease -
please, it speaks no lies,
it eats my brain
just like some blind child
that’s starved and so senselessly wild.
No memory, no hesitation,
this is me - alive,
afloat with those ****** bubbles,
those parasites
that gloat and bruise my concentration -
wreak hell upon my mind.
So see me, here,
flattened,
by the potion of alienation
I am pie-eyed, senseless;
a study for your contemplation.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
may we have some nicer weather please?
At least some sunnier days than these!
It's been so cold and unbelievably wet,
it's horrid enough to get upset.
It's a bit like April but in reverse,
instead of better it's getting worse.
Can't make any plans to go outside
for a short walk or bicycle ride.
Whenever I get ready to leave the house,
heaven looks like I'm in for a douse.
Sometimes I go out in spite
and realize I'm not watertight.
Then I get drenched to the bone,
it even destroys my mobile phone.
Worse yet after it's been warm,
the sky rips open a nasty thunderstorm.
That's the part when danger lurks
with thunder lightning and the works.
Because holding up an umbrella
can sometimes torch a poor fella.
But wait, before I get into hail,
earthly tempests like heavy gale,
tornados, hurricanes and the likes.
It's definitely not worth it, yikes!
Instead of giving myself a permanent frown,
I put the kettle on and try piping down.
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 3:27 AM UTC
I was born as a chaste Hindu
And hated its watertight caste system
The rigid ritualistic custom
I became a cosmopolitan Christian
The Christianity always discussed forgiveness
I did not have that much greatness
I was fed up with its teachings of kindness
I converted my self into a Muslim
I grew a long beard and traveled in a costly car
And believed in the inspiring holy war
The police put me into a huge prison
The best place for my enlightened vision
Which God would save me from this cell?
I did not know if I would go to heaven or hell
The only thing I could do was to yell
Into a bottomless pit did I eventually fell?
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 4:32 AM UTC
~
*With all too
familiar moorings,
holding fast the chain
of sons and daughters,
this hiding place
isn't watertight,
life trickles in everywhere,
hopeful to the bitter end.*
~
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:28 PM UTC
stand like that, babe,
don't undress, tonight
stand, looking at the moon,
stand, turning your **** to me.
oh as I imagine the
moist gingerholes that lie
behind those cheeks.
oh the borderline:
mezzanine - that's polite
for everything fine
on the bottom floor, isn't it?
what's the word for it -
paroxysm? stand that way:
no sight like hindesight,
as they say, flashlight,
watertight, those plugpoles
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
I used to think that thunder was
The sound of the Hammer, Thor,
He’d beat it up on the clouds above
Each time he was waging war,
He’d quell his foes with a lightning strike
Or drown them all in his rain,
Whenever he came along at night
His purpose was always pain.
For we lived down in the valley where
The tendency was to flood,
Whenever the river was swollen with
A squirt of his enemy’s blood,
We’d have to climb up to higher ground
And sit there, soaked to the skin,
With lightning flashing around our heads
We’d need to pay for our sins.
‘Pay for our sins,’ my father said
In a voice that rumbled and roared,
He’d pull a hood up over his head
And speak to the god called Thor,
Then Thor replied with a mighty blast
To drown out my father’s cries,
As if he answered him there at last,
‘All that you speak are lies!’
While mother sat in a silent weep
As often she’d done before,
‘Why did you have to build our house
Way down on the valley floor?
We would have been safer, further up
And still walk down to the stream,
To carry a bucket of water up,
But all that you do is dream!’
That was his sin, my mother said,
He didn’t know black from white,
He never looked far enough ahead
He didn’t know wrong from right,
Dreaming up schemes that failed, it seems
Like a prophet, living in dread,
That one black night at the river’s height
We’d all be drowned in our bed.
‘Not that his bed means much to him,’
My mother would often moan,
‘Not since that gypsy girl, that Kym
Stayed in the valley alone,
He spends his time in her caravan
Drinking her gypsy tea,
And letting her hold and read his hand,
He never did that with me!’
And so it was on a cold, black night
He’d gone to her caravan,
‘Just to check that she’ll be all right,’
He said, just playing the man,
The thunder crashed on the mountain top
While we prayed, and gave up thanks,
To the mighty Thor beating at our door
That the river not break its banks.
Lightning flashed though the vale of trees
Where she’d parked her gypsy van,
And then my mother was on her knees
As we heard a mighty bang,
For lightning struck at the heart of sin
And it set the van ablaze,
While both the sinners were trapped within
And paid for their sinful ways.
We buried him on the valley floor
For my mother said, ‘It’s right.
He doesn’t deserve a headstone
Nor a grave that’s watertight.’
Whenever the god of thunder calls
And the river overflows,
I think of my father down below
And I wonder if he knows.
David Lewis Paget
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
A husband -> a wronged wife
"My dear take a chair
Your affair is unfair
I can't stand
A suffocating air
This way you and I
Could no longer continue
A loving pair
Soon to my parents
I must repair!
How come for love of a ****
A marital vow
You thwart? "
This way since
You decided me desert
For what I did spurred
By transient lust
Chagrin my soul has hit.
As usual in deep slumber
When I extend my hand
To ascertain whether
You have slept sound
And stir you up
So as we sleep entwined
Yet get awake to a tragedy stark
That I but draw a blank
My heart indeed
Incessantly bleed
From the loss it incurred
Your obeisance and love divested.
If you can't find it in your heart
My folly to forget
Forgive me my dear
For without you near
My life turns insufferably sour.
A wronged wife—>A husband
After your body you befouled
And proved a down to earth cad,
After your spirits perfidy you debased
Impudently you demand
As before I should you hold
An esteemed husband.
Indeed this I will not!
For rancor laden my heart
Bleed incessant
It mustn't!
Away to my parents I fled
For you failed to abscond
After what you did.
'Once bitten twice shy'
Forgive you how could I?
A husband—>A wronged wife
Your forgiveness but
Nothing depurate
The blot
In your eyes
Down me brought.
I hope
Forgiveness is the least
Your impeccable heart
Me could grant.
Even the ocean of tears
I wept
Whitewash me still not
My dear there is a second
Man goes wild
And commits a deed
He condemns absurd,
My perfidy to nothing but
To this folly could be imputed.
Man is prone to err
So you should consider
What matters is his bid
Improprieties away to clear.
So my dear
Give me a chance second
To prove, you loving husband.
Your forgiveness will be a credit
That surely you catapult
To ensconce
In the apex of my heart.
A forgiving personality
Is a virtuous quality
Besides your heart
Me 'love' that taught
Which is also on me soft
Won't follow a policy
Watertight and
Once for all me smite
A wronged wife—>A husband
Raving ans volleying
Boisterousness nay, nay!
You stultify
Must not I.
My mind is bedeviled
Since you I missed.
On your misdemeanor
Brood I shall no more
To night
Come to the cathedral
We first met
As a jump-start
Together out
We have to spend the night.
The night's Zephyr wet
Will wipe away
Our disagreement!
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Yeah, right now I feel alright
I feel you here tonight
Missing you, my sweet starlight
Fill my darkness darling bright
Against the roar you're my respite
Against the storm you're watertight
Despite no happy end in sight
I won't lose you without a fight
To keep you here I have no right
So until dawn I'll hold you tight
And love you dear with all my might
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
My first time at a High School Dance
I went alone.
Me, the new girl at the high school who
Hadn't quite found her sea legs yet
Who slipped behind
Forgotten, as the crew sailed through
Hallways and lunch lines
Always stuck on the outside,
Looking in.
I went alone,
But someone did ask me.
A boy in the Junior class
Who was missing a forearm
Asked me if I'd like to be his date.
I said “yes”
But he warned me he might skip
The dance entirely and
Go to Worlds of Fun instead.
I didn't care,
I was ecstatic someone
Had finally asked me, or
Even noticed me
At all.
At the end of the day
He walked me to the front
Doors where my
Mom was waiting to pick me up. I wasn’t
Sure if he liked me, or if he just was
Being nice. He never did ask me
For my phone number, so I assumed he
Was merely being nice.
The night of the dance came,
And we had not discussed any details
Or even spoken to one another since.
So I assumed he would be riding roller coasters
Rather than slow dancing with me.
I didn't blame him, really. I wasn't hot stuff and
Neither were Christian high school dances.
At the dance, I tried to enjoy myself
But I felt so out of place
Surrounded by people
Who had known each other their entire lives.
I was a sea monster,
Begging to be taken aboard
As they readied their harpoons.
The night dragged on, and the music grew louder
And I sunk lower and lower.
It occurred to me that the pit of pulsating teenagers
Might swallow me
And I'd disappear once and for all
So I pulled off my heels and sat
On the stage at the front of the room.
I could feel the beat of the music
Bounce around the inside of my rib cage.
The room seemed to grow bigger
And I felt smaller.
Like a faint wave lost in
A sea of bodies
Going whichever way the current pulled them.
And while I sat there on the stage by myself
In my fluffy green homecoming dress,
Watching people I didn't really know dance
I realized it was possible
To feel alone in a room flooded with people.
So I shut my eyes,
Watertight portholes to the soul,
And let myself drift off at sea.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Afire, alight, the hunting stone
The flame burns down deep through the bone
But none may see the tragedy
Of all the hunts gone fruitless.
I don't know how, it's good for I
To try to fret over the sky
For hope and fate are growth and hate
And now I'm driven clueless.
I saw the light of promise die
Those without eyes fall and cry
But this cold night was watertight
My torch still shone the brighter.
I danced around, with light and sound
And without aim an arrow's found
But now the smoke has ceased to choke
I became more the fighter.
The empty space of battlefields
No more is mine to watch and yield
I left the war, but not before
I had my fill of riches.
My comrades fell, alone and cold
I had to leave them, I was told
Their ghosts may chase me through disgrace
Each one left many stitches.
A brief melee, but now it's passed
The future calls, it calls at last.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Just sitting there last night by the fire watching the sunset over the trees
Another pleasant evening, a cool breeze, peaceful. Or was it?
A few dark clouds overhead, they'll come to nothing
But then....Patter patter patter down came the rain
So what, I've experienced worse
So into my shelter snug and warm, a little rain will cause no harm
But then came the wind, not just any wind but a tearing screaming gale blasting the rain with the force of a bullet. Tearing at the skin, numbing the flesh
My firepit now a pool of ***** grey sludge, cooking kit scattered far and wide
OK, drop the sides so I'm watertight, one last warming scotch then I'm in for the night
Close my ears to that wild banshee screaming out there in the dark
0545am
The wind has lessened but still the rain is pouring down, a muddy swamp where was once hard ground
The gentle stream where I keep my beers cold now a raging torrent of ***** brown water
(I never lost my beers though)
I have a routine I rarely miss, a hot mug of tea after taking a ****
And I won't be beaten by a small summer storm
So into a dry bag where I keep some stuff, a few bits of wood and tumble dryer fluff
Between the roots of a tree a fire soon takes hold, on goes a *** and soon steam arose
On goes a pan with some bacon and beans
And then, out came the sun
To be caught in a storm like that isn't much fun but it's all part of the wild camping game
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
It was only fifty quid to join.
Looking For An Affair.
So is the girl next door.
What I could do with the girl next door.
Joined immediately.
Met big Mary the wrestler.
Lost that fight.
Moved onto Jill who told me it was such a thrill.
Told me her life story twice.
Rechecked website just to make sure I didn't get affair mixed up with affliction.
Third time lucky, met Jasmine, her husband didn’t understand her, fantastic I thought, now we’re talking.
Three hours later we were still talking.
So double rechecked website just to see if I was due a counselling fee, complained no end to them.
Was promised immediate action, they would hook me up with sultry Sandra.
So anyway it was a real shock when I met the wife, who I certainly would’ve demanded an explanation, if a watertight alibi was at the ready.
The no wonder I need a woman cos you’re never around just didn’t seem appropriate at the time, and for once she was lost for words.
So anyway, we decided she would join another website.
I would take up counselling full time.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
My life is dripping out of my hands
fingers aren't watertight
sticky palms
sticky jeans
red streaks down my shirt
Just a little puddle, cupped
and the **** thing's dripping out.
Run down my wrists
smear in my elbows
stain my shirt sleeves blue,
my tears are chapped
lips run dry
watch as I drown
in my favorite hue.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
Owner of
Eyes that even fish envy
For the allure they own
Holder of
Lips that even bees lust after
For the honey they always bathe in
Possessor of
A voice that even parrots adore
For the jolliness it embodies
Governor of
A fragrance that even flowers fall for
For the happiness it carries
Heiress of
A waist that even goddesses praise
For the curves of the world it can construct
Dear oh my dear
You are the only soul in the world
Who can mutate my madness
To a level never before seen or heard of
As you maneuver my fate
To the enamoring realm of rapture
Asthore oh my asthore
Come and pour your sweetness
On this sad shrinking heart
And breathe life into it
By branding me with thrilling bites
As much as you want
With no qualms or second thoughts
And drown me in the sea of love
Bound by a watertight embrace
Until we sink to the deepest depths of idyll
And explore all there is to experience.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 10:59 AM UTC
Do you want to lose your self in the labyrinth of life
The door has been open day and night
You can be red or you can be blue
and you can decide everything that you do
The world you saw wasn’t really here
your black magic made it appear
Undo that dream, the one you don’t like
this world is not watertight
Though it seems like a circle going nowhere
in the end you will travel from here to there
Leave your car and your cases behind
they won’t fit into your new mind
Bring your umbrella and your chapeau
the one that looks like a rainbow
Bon voyage your journey now must start
as you descend down to your heart
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Two people cannot run towards each other blindly
without colliding at some point, maybe breaking
each other just a bit, cracking all the boundaries
we have built for structure and protection in this
confusing world. I understand that you need
a bit of time, to teach yourself to either become
watertight again, or to at least appear so, or maybe
to live with these small vulnerabilities. So hey,
I'm opening my eyes. I'm not running, unseeing, at you
(r core), anymore. Take your time, take some
air, learn the feel of you(r walls) once more. I'm
walking carefully, now, feeling my way around
the painfully invigorating reality I couldn't see
before. When you are ready to see me again, I will walk
to you, and meet you halfway. Until then, I
am just waiting. And that's something I need
to teach myself to do, too. And that's
okay. I know that if I see you again, our eyes will be
clear, and our smiles honest, and our fissures healed, or just maybe
they will have become another essential opening, to let
the other in.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
I am taking sweet sips of you
Stalking your infinite breath
Always leading me back to those eyes
watertight and obvious
You were the one who saw thru it
My superman but
I am the heroine
You’ve bled from the
marrow into the split lip
I am nothing without these fists
You drove into me
as if you were stone and
I sunk into you like rain
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
Reptile skin, thick and watertight.
Nothing penetrates.
But you are warm.
Weak and porous.
and everything sinks in like
gasoline penetrating wood.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 7:03 PM UTC
Arranging for a ******
in ****** land-
to buy peace.
Human voices were
forbidden.
You look absolutely
cozy in fragrant mode,
sitting eyes wide open, under
the jasmine shrub.
Raising the conscience
money for no guilt.
Now sit beside me and
listen to the pinnacle crumbling.
Naked as a moon, I don't need
clouds to cover my scars.
A watertight, flawless promise
with destiny was made of-
Incontrovertible friendship.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
The truck was crushed and dented
Almost beyond recognition
When the county boys reached the scene
(Though, as one of the deputies remarked,
Having seen the vehicle tottering around town
For virtually all his born days
Still ain’t much worse than when it started)
Apparently having slid off the Stamford Road
Then down the embankment
Where it had made an unhappy embrace
Of a utility pole near the old Ulster and Delaware tracks,
A rather unhappy ending to what had been
An arguably equally unhappy existence,
Though old Doc Benner had surmised
The junkman had probably been dead
Before the truck had made the shoulder,
Or so he had said at the graveside service
(He being one of the three or four in attendance
Feeling that one who’d been a common thread
In the existence of so many for so long
Should not go without some commemoration
In this already frayed-at-the-edged little town)
And he remarked that the old man had once told him,
When the doc noted the old saw
That one man’s trash was another’s treasure,
*The main diff’rnce ‘tween trash and treasure
Is just a matter of expectation*,
And it would have been most poetic if,
After the reverend’s perfunctory hand-off to the Almighty,
The clouds had broken and a thin shaft of light
Had fallen upon the junkman’s stone,
Or perhaps a gentle rain commenced
To heal the disturbed sod,
But the skies remained a slate-gray truculence
As the sexton’s ancient pickup tottered away,
The ropes and shovels tossed higgledy-piggledy
Under an ancient and somewhat watertight old tarpaulin.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC