There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener's so long it would stab ya'
but when it got little
his pills became skittles
until he O.D.'d on Viagra
© ~JSLambert 2011*****A classic "stiff" competitor, standing "firm" amongst other "members" in the "thick" of the competition:) hope everyone gets "a rise" out of it!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Millicent Portia Ponsonby-Smyth
Could speak fluent French by the time she was five.
By the age of just eight she was top of her class,
There wasn’t a test that she couldn’t pass.
English and maths she coped with just fine
And quantum mechanics she’d mastered by nine.
Her parents were proud, but a little concerned
That she’d never have fun if she stayed in to learn.
Her father said, “Millicent go out and play.”
“But father I’m reading so here I shall stay.”
“Being so clever is great there’s no doubt,
But once in a while you need to get out.”
She said, ”Pater, please listen I’m happy to study,
And if I go out there’s a chance I’ll get muddy.”
That very night she was taken off guard,
She discovered a sum that was simply too hard.
She stomped round her room in utter frustration,
She just couldn’t do this quadratic equation.
Gnashing her teeth and tearing her hair
She kicked out in temper at her teddy bear.
It flew through the air and bounced off the wall,
So she kicked it again before it could fall.
It bounced off her head and then off her knee
And suddenly Millicent giggled with glee.
She continued all night to kick it around.
For hours she kept it from touching the ground.
In the following weeks she practiced some more
And saved all the money she earnt from her chores.
She went to the shop, bought a ball and some boots,
And learnt how to dribble and learnt how to shoot.
Every day after school she went to the park
And practiced her football until it was dark.
She continued to study the books and the sport
And paid close attention to all she was taught.
13 years later Miss Smyth is delighted
She’s the first girl in history to play for United.
Copyright © Rufus Reed | Year Posted 2011
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods
Copyright © Lee Leon | Year Posted 2011
I fell in love again
Yea! Yea! I know after the last love pain.
But this won’t go wrong, it’s… with … a man so it’s not the same
He loves me… I think…
He gave me a little wink
I was hooked from the first time I saw him
Ok… I know how it sounds and how it may seem
But when I stared into his eyes
I was weak and boy you should see his size
I bet he will make any woman quiver
I saw one woman, when she saw him, you would actually see her shiver
I know that this love is the one
Yes men out there, you ask, How can a man love another?
Instead of having me heart broken, in this case I would rather
Anyway this man, is special… he is the one
He ladies and gentleman is my new born son… ?
*Born 11 November 2010, Matthew Ethan Hall
How do I know he is mine?
He is well hung with big…well he is a Hall after all*
Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2010
Young Father Murphy, Parish Priest,
he rang Archbishop Moore,
advising him he suddenly
had taken rather poor.
"I'll not be fit for Sunday mass
as I'm confined to bed,
I'm hoping please your Eminence
you'll do it please instead."
"Good Father Murphy say no more,
for you should never doubt,
the willingness of love my son
to help a brother out.
So have no fear, your flock is safe,
I’ll shepherd it with love
and while confined you should confer
with him who is above."
Then as the cock crowed Sunday morn
good Father rose in haste
and gathered all his golfing gear,
there was no time to waste.
He parred the first and second holes,
his cheeks were all aglow,
when up in heaven Gabriel saw
the sinful priest below.
He took the matter higher up
for justice must be served.
The LORD said, "I've been watching son,
it's not gone unobserved."
The third it was a par three hole,
so Father gave it some,
his ball it lofted in the air
and Murphy holed in one.
Poor Gabriel he just looked in awe ...
the LORD sensed he was vexed;
How justice had been served that day
had Gabriel quite perplexed.
"Dear Gabriel it may seem to you
the priest has gained the most,
but when it's said and done my son,
to whom will Murphy boast."
Copyright © Merv Webster | Year Posted 2005
I’m a man
In case you couldn’t see
I don’t use the word “poopie”
And I’m addicted to TV
I’m a man
Who doesn't have time to bleed
But who still has compassion
For blind, busty women in need
I’m a man
Who isn’t defined by “it”
Though affectionate enough
To scratch a public itch
I’m a man
Driven by real adventure
Falling asleep on the sofa
Still wearing my dentures
I’m a man
A wild stud in full bloom
Waiting in the Jacuzzi
Picking my Fruit of the Loom
I’m a man
Who hates to be mean
Crying in the bathroom
When it’s time to clean
I’m a man
Nothing more or less
A mountain of masculinity
Who never ceases to impress
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!
And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks,
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!
It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!
Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
As related by my father;
Once, long ago,
he rear ended a cop car
Not a happy thing you know...
The cop had stopped short
But he wasn't the sort
To admit what he ought
He could find little reason
for legal action,
So he sought another sanction
He had my father tested
by a mental doc
Who asked stupid questions
You know that crock...
His defining question,
"What would you do if
you saw a flying saucer?"
Unflinching, my father replied,
"I'd shoot it down with my
The doc scoffed,
"And where'd you get
Quick as a whip, he replied,
"The same place you got your
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
Written 7 March 2014
Bruce and Jennie, both were 10,
Had been playmates all their lives.
One day, Bruce proclaimed,
“Jennie… most good men have wives.”
He professed his love for her.
Jennie said she loved him too.
They decided that getting married
Was ‘the right thing’ to do.
So, Bruce went to speak to her father,
Who was doing yard work at the time.
“May I speak to you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Sure, Bruce. What’s on your mind?”
“Sir, I love your Jennie;
And Jennie, she loves me;
But we need your permission
To be married… to be “We.”
Impressed by Bruce’s courage,
He knew this confrontation must be tough.
He smiled and asked, “Bruce, are you sure
You love my daughter enough?”
Bruce’s face became stern, he said,
“Mr. Johnson, let me tell you…
I love Jennie so much…and she loves me.
We’re both sure it’s the right thing to do.”
He was moved by Bruce’s ardor,
But permission was not his to give.
So, quick as flash, he responded,
“But Bruce…where will you live?”
“Sir, I measured her room;
Then I measured mine.
Hers is 40 percent bigger.
We’ll live there. We’ll be fine.
If we have extra stuff,
We’ll keep that in my room.
We’ll keep our places neat and tidy.
You won’t even need a broom.
And both our parents can save money
On babysitters too.
Even if you do things on the same night,
You’ll only need one sitter, not two.”
Mr. Johnson was impressed with his logic,
But this marriage idea was no longer funny.
He smiled and said, “That’s good thinking, Bruce;
But what are you gonna do for money?
“Why, Mr. Johnson, I get twelve-fifty a week allowance;
And let me remind you, Jennie also gets ten.
Throw in our birthdays and Christmas cash….
Why, we might even have money to lend.”
Desperate now, he thought,
“Next, I guess they’ll want a car.”
Then he asked, “But Bruce, what if you have kids?”
"Aawww," blushed Bruce... “We’ve been lucky so far.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
It’s funny how my father’s hobby became mine. He has been a sportsman all his life, he played basketball, volleyball and softball all his youth, but his real passion is soccer and even though he is 55 years old now, he still keeps playing it and loving it. He has had all kinds of cleats, all brands, all colors, different styles, but it does not change anything, he still plays amazing. But one thing I do find hilarious is that every time he comes from a game, he cleans his cleats, he washes them and takes them with such an unbelievable affection, that I’m beginning to think that he might love them more than he loves me, but now I do know the feeling of a new shiny, hard and beautiful pair of cleats. I still recall when he took me for my very first pair, I could not believe he was doing it for me, I was so excited, but now I realize that what I was excited about is that I could be like my father for just a moment when I had them on. Ever since I was little, I remember my daddy playing soccer, leaving home all dressed up, ready to fight, and win the ball to make a remarkable roll on the field. The playing field that we both love, the field all covered in grass, all green, so delicious and soft, so colorful… being crashed by everyone’s cleats and the rolling ball, feeling the sunlight on our skin, and the wind on our faces. Having a team, an extra family with whom we could find support and create new ideas, new plays so we could smash the opponent. So yes, I loved watching him play and cheering him up more than I could ever like watching official and famous soccer teams. I do find funny the fact that my father’s hobby became mine since everyone says we’re too similar, and even though he also has a son, his daughter is with whom he shares that connection. I love the fact that our simple relationship was started thanks to such a manly sport, and curiously, to transform me into such a girly girl.
Copyright © Andrea Aldana | Year Posted 2012
***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***
"Storm over yet...?"
"Well hay'ell ye'ah!
sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
whadda'bou that boy th'er?
sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"
"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"
na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm!
torna'durr warnin' too!
he gonna have him'a cole burr;
mama, git him'a cole burr!
ta'days father's day!"
© 2011 ~JSLambert Esquire
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Father’s Day was coming and Dragon was already, in full mode.
Hubby was his Hero, a true Papa, like in every story ever told.
Everyone was talking about what’s, to be, their Papa’s Day gifts.
Yep, TV salesmanship had done, on Dragon, a great big, mighty trip.
It had to be a secret, so Grandpa Troll would be the one to supervise.
Hubby’s sacred workshop, found itself, in the making of the prize.
It had to be both: useful, yet, perfect in our little Dragon’s eyes, so…
He picked a brand new, blinged out toolbox, his hands would supply.
Yep, naturally, mayhem ensued, as he ran out of kiddie glue, too soon!
Grandpa Troll turned away, only a moment; it’s true, as Dragon, well…
He picked up a ‘HUGE BUCKET’ of illustriously strong, Gorilla Glue!
He’d blinged out the handle, not thinking, of it’s need to be held, on to.
When he picked it up, the bobbles came unglued so he proceeded to redo!
Yes, using the Gorilla Glue! He slathered it greatly, with a big paintbrush.
It dripped all over, till the open, folding compartments, were solidly stuck.
But they’d never have closed, anyway, with so much bling! Good Luck!
Dripping glue, from the brush, stuck hammers and all, to the new bench top.
Including Grandpa Troll, when he tried to free them, by chiseling them up.
Grandpa Troll, made a mistake, by reading the can, by holding it to his face.
Dragon just then, turned around, knocking the contents, all over the place!
Surely, you knew that was coming! Can’t tell me! You surely didn’t know!
Yes, as Grandpapa Troll fell over backwards, he got stuck now, to the floor!
The can came backward, knocking him on the head and stuck, to his forehead.
He was soundly knocked out, as Dragon knew his goose, was definitely dead.
Dragon got the idea to melt the glue, by adding a little of his fire, to the tools.
Gee, it didn’t melt! Who would have ever known? I wouldn’t have had a clue!
But now, there were great big gobs of flaming Gorilla Glue, on the bench, too.
Fortunately, the ceiling fire extinguishers, rained down on this parade, today!
But then, the glue puffed up, growing in the rain! A problem, don’t you think?
Now, in total panic Dragon decided, the fire extinguisher, off the wall, to take!
He let lose the nozzle, spraying slippery foam everywhere, even on the stairs!
Well, at least it ended better than it did last year. Yep, definitely by compare!
Hubby was shocked as he ran down the stairs, but then slipped, and well…
He’ll be out of traction soon, and I won’t tell him of his tools death knell.
His woodpile’s water logged, and stuck in a glued up mushroom cloud.
But on Father’s Day, Dragon knows: that his Papa will be so very proud.
And the Toolbox is priceless, with it’s stories about the Gorilla Glue foam.
Yes, we’ll replace everything, clearly, before his Papa DOES, get home.
What finally happened to Grandpa Troll? We won’t ask and he won’t tell!
Moral to the story: NEVER underestimate the trouble Dragon can entail!
In parting: Happy Father’s Day… to all of you… my Friends… out there!
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014
To Hurt to say,But I'm sorry.
Do you know how much it hurt.To see you disappear from a memories I have yet recalled.Your heart so ice cold there's nothing I can do for it.
Let me touch your chest and feel the breeze that escapes from if.
Did you know that with ever king there are rebels who dares chain him down.
Everyone person can life is determined by they way the express themselves.
And anyone can forge a fake life to get away and hide from their reality.
I'm going to be you reality has my hand reaches your face let me show you what it means to be hit by reality and take it seriously.Hopeless,Agony,Fear,Terrified, Corrupted.
I haven't had enough of your ego,of your smile,the lies that surround you.
Ha! let me see you fall and crawl don't beg it unsightly but crawl for you are the man the shadow man.
Cling to me as i show you the grief and fear and anger I have of losing you,the only thing connecting me to you is the blood I waste on the ground in the night time wake.
Watch it fall as I cut deeper.How many times did I cry for you and you never even cared enough to answer me?
Your faceless,heartless,cold eyes let me thank you.
Your turning my to stone your helping me write these disgusting feeling down every night.
You gave me something so powerful not even you could destroy them now these hands of course.
As I drink this to ease my pain and free my self of this relapsing phase.Let me be happy let me be sad let me mad let me become depressed for I'm so bipolar it hurts.
How dare you trampled my pride and toss me around like a lifeless doll...Was I really your luggage you tried to throw away?
Be honest lies don't work no more for I've see everything everyone as danger has liar beggar and theive coming after me.Thank you for being my venom.
I'm sorry if I hurt you I never meant to.
Would you forgive me if I laid down to rest and not wake up again?
Please tell me.I can't help but feel like something useless in this wild game of tag and empty felt.It hurts you should know,So don't take to much time and tell me how you feel.
At least then I can dance with you.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
—on daddy’s laptop,
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2011
You’ll never guess whom the cat drug in; have a day where you just couldn’t win?
He came strutting in, smacking his gum loud, dressed to the nines Goth Punk style.
Tats trailed down his left arm, with my notice, he said, saving up for the other arm.
When ask about drugs, his answer to me was: “Yes, I’ll share” most invitingly…
Metal adornments on ears, nose, and lips, didn’t want to know, the all of it, at this.
As I noticed, he smiled most cattily, asking: ‘Want to see where else they might be?’
Hair a Mohawk with a trail down his back, colors of the rainbow, left nothing to lack.
Steel studs on a black leather butt, said, ‘Bite Me!’ with each and every staged strut.
What are you kidding?… Do my eyes me deceive, or did he just make a pass, at ME?
No Way! I’d rather drop kick him from my office fast, didn't he have any real class?
The application, a Sales Manager Job. Who would try to send me over the deep end?
Bet it had been a practical joke, beginning to end, so I simply held on, my friend.
He must've read my face, forhe smirked, I continued to ask for his list of experience.
His experience was none, but he said he managed his I-tune collection, very well.
Of course, he was the Leader of his ‘Chat Room’. I wondered, ‘Who could tell?’ GEE!
Also an impressive set up on his Facebook page, for his innumerable video games.
I ask how he was qualified for ANY job? Said, Dad ‘THE CEO’ wanted him employed.
I verified this with a call, was told not to be too Harsh, he had Potential, after all...
Ask what job he wanted to give his son? ‘Let him chose himself’, came the real clue!
Ask him, what job he really wanted to do, ‘VP in charge of Recreation’ was imbued.
Said he'd check out all the great places, in his Dad’s fancy Porche. Honestly True!
I kid you not! And he wanted his girlfriend, made into his secretary, Yah! No Doubt!
Believe it or not, he got all he thought he was due. All approved by the CEO’s! True!
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better… I began to really reconsider…
Really, who had been clueless… It hadn’t been him!… Which left me in a dither…
Knowing I just couldn’t win! I’d be glad when this day was finally, truly, done…
The kid had probably thought this a great joke on me from beginning to the end!
My perfect job, had just come undone! Apparently, being in HR isn’t always fun!
My college degree, that took so much sacrifice, no longer sparkled, so much to me.
Boy did I now WISH, I was a CEO’s SON! As I simply got all the paper work done.
Later, I saw the family portrait on the CEO’s desk. Lucky me! One down!…
Only eight more to go!
Carol Eastman and Hubby
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good
Copyright © mandy cabral | Year Posted 2012
Everyone is dressed just right,
with our smiles slapped on tight,
we are having a family dinner.
The mood is tense,
yet we have to make sense,
and we can always talk about the weather.
We blow kisses and show our love,
everything is just right.
We shower praises over each other,
and pray that the night is over without a flight.
Ignore the bitter-in-law,
she needs some sugar.
She vowed to deny herself happiness,
since she lost her lover.
Pay attention to the chatty uncle.
He claims to be rich although he eats like a savage.
just nod your head and seem interested,
and hope the topic does not turn to marriage.
Sit away from the young brother,
once an answer to his question, he is on to another.
To the old man he asks,"So what do you do?"
and to the orphan child,"Where is your mother?"
The room is beautiful, the food is delicious,
a night with our near and dear.
This could well be the perfect family dinner,
but only the flowers in the room seem real.
Copyright © Karan Patade | Year Posted 2013
An angry Father, that wore a frown
has watched the rise of the devil's moon
While pacing, he's worn the carpet down
They arrive at dawn, and none too soon!
Broken curfews, her virtue at stake
The stakes are high, but the daughter dared
Dad quickly plans a wedding date!
No explanation or sage to share
They are ushered in, without a sigh
Their vows would choke the most aloof
It clouds the starlight in their eyes,
and shoots the moon, un-bullet proofed!
This patriarch must take a stand
Holy wedlock was in high demand !
Submitted for "Trashed # 4" Contest: Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
I wish I could be a fly on the wall,
When my poor old mother gets the phone call,
“He’s here at the bar
Quick bring us your car,
Your husband just got in a brawl”
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011
As I lie here aptly napping
I heard a sound, like someone lapping
Lap, Lap, Lapping of a tongue, for sure
Must be the dog and nothing more
But soon the lapping , getting louder
Like the lapping up of chowder
I gave the dog the night before
Yes, it's him and nothing more
But half asleep and still quite drowsy
Feeling still a little lousy
I'll lift a lid and spy upon the floor
At the dog's bowl near the door
To my surprise the dog was missing
Then suddenly I felt some kissing
Kiss, kiss, kiss and then some more
But sitting up seemed such a chore
There she stood, two feet eight
With empty cone and chocolate faced
Just in need of, warm embrace
A simple hug we've shared before
So on my knee she gladly sat
We shared the cream, salt, sugar, fat
And we both had a healthy laugh
As the dog lapped up the floor
It was ice cream, nothing more !
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Juice in the video, sick in the car.
Untidy bedroom, scattered toys,
girls playing nurses with little boys.
Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire,
interrupting the moments of love and desire.
Passing the blame for their little crimes,
playing with frogs all covered in slime.
Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant,
having a tantrum when refused what they want.
Arriving home late covered in mud,
not going to bed when they know they should.
Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly,
splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly.
Chocolate stains on their Sunday best,
painting funny pictures on granddad's vest.
Why do parents' voices echo from afar,
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2012
Happy Father's Day Mom,
Without you this day would be,
This day just would not be.
Dad is great, don't get me wrong,
I think that he is grand.
He's always there to play some game,
Spend time or lend a hand.
He taught me how to cast a line,
When we go out fishing.
He taught me how to speak my mind,
That there's no gain in wishing.
I don't think I'll e'er repay,
All that he's done for me.
I know for sure in all the world,
There's no one just like he.
I'd like to give him something,
To show there's none like he;
But you already did that,
On the day you gave him me.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012
fried chicken is good
with rice and beans and butter
ice cold glass of tea
and some football action for me
Copyright © Malcolm Dyer | Year Posted 2007
The people who were still alive
Helped other survivors revive
All this didn’t bother
An excellent father
Who just taught his daughter to drive
Copyright © Martin Kloess | Year Posted 2013
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
The dumbest, smart man
Has bent his last bow
Common sense he was lackin’
But, intelligent, no doubt
His I.Q. was genius
Human nature was low
So much still to learn
But, for him, time to go
He tought me mechanics,
Math, history, and how to fight
Now his fighting days are over
He went on wading to the light
So, I have a prayer
Dear God, it is for you
Please look after my Daddy
As I wish I could do
And thank you for the time
Well spent by his side
I will never forget
The way he lived with pride
Copyright © Wandering Butterfly | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
Oh no!! I forgot –
I had a plate of dessert
In the cool freezer
Oh no!! Dad forgot –
He left his blue bowl of fruit
On the clean counter!
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013
As my father in law's Alzheimer's progressed he became very concerned with the contents of his wallet. We gave him a pretend credit card, fake money and his driver's license. It made him happy.
My first wallet had a cowboy hat on the face and stitching around the side,
It was stamped in gold lettering as being made from genuine split rawhide.
It carried whatever few coins I had then it zipped my money to safely guard,
And in the ID slot I stuffed my Hopalong Cassidy Jr. Deputy Sheriff card.
My next wallet was one that my father gave to me when I found summer work,
I now had a couple of bucks to stash and my new driver’s license was a perk.
My bride gave me a wallet for my birthday when we were just newly wed,
She wrote a note that she put inside, “let’s fatten this up” is what it said.
So it became fattened with pictures of the kids that made up our family,
And to those photos I added the grandkid’s as grandpa became my identity.
This father’s day I got a wallet and my daughter made two cards to use for my ID,
The first one says that if this wallet is found please return it to room 237 for me.
I don’t know why she made the other one, why I need it I haven’t got a clue,
It explains to anyone that if I am found please take me back there too.
Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011
The following poem is based on a true story
We were sitting down one evening when the phone began to ring,
“Hello mum,” said Father, “Can I help with anything?”
Grandmother then answered, “There’s a gerbil in my house!”
“Do you really mean a gerbil? Don’t you mean a mouse?”
“I’m certain it’s a gerbil,” My grandmother defended,
“And the fact you think I’d get that wrong makes me feel offended.”
“I’m sorry, but a gerbil? Are you really sure?”
“Yes I am. It must be one of those they’ve got next door.”
“We’re on our way.” Said my Dad and then hung up the phone,
And then within the hour we were at Grandmother’s home.
“Ok Mum, please tell me, just what did you see?”
“It came out from the kitchen and went under the TV.”
Dad went in a cupboard and then took out a trap,
Set it with some chocolate and waited for the “Snap!”,
It only took a moment, and what do you suppose?
A great big rat staggered out, the trap caught on its nose!
Dad chased it to the garden and gave it quite a whack,
“It’s ok Mum, that gerbil is never coming back”,
“Thank you Son, you know that I’d have struggled doing that,
But it could have been so much worse. It could have been a rat!”
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012