Thea, grandfather Alferd's dog died, she was so old and sick
Now is Thea on the moon, says Adrian who is six
Michael Jackson died so unexpectedly and abruptly
He is on the moon and plays with Thea, says Adrian who is a big fan
Betzy, grandfather Arild's dog died, she was also old and sick
Now Betzy is also on the moon with Thea and Michael Jackson and play all day
Great Grandmother died so unexpectedly and abruptly
Adrian who is six had difficulty understanding
Adrian who is six cried many tears for Great Grandmother
but comforted himself with the fact that she is sitting on the moon and
makes waffles to Thea, Michael Jackson and Betzy.
A-L Andresen :) - A true story -
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!
Since Kash revealed "her" secret, I have turned red.
All day I cried onto the pillow on my bed.
I think the whole true awful tale needs to be said.
A tragedy! I now feel like a blunderhead.
And though she is a vixen, I have to say I led
Kash on that “love rail” with me. Bold-spirited,
with lustful Soupmail, eagerly I visited
this "lass", who seems so manly! Lies had been fed
to me by her. She’s not a man, and I misread
her amorous responses. All my hope has fled!
There’s more! I’m gay. My real name's Andrew. Now with dread
I face the fact I can’t have Kash. My poor heart’s dead.
(I decided I better put an explanation here because I wrote this more than a year
ago for a contest in which we were supposed to write a poem that could be either
a lie or the truth. After Kashinath, my good friend and a MAN, wrote a very funny
poem proclaiming himself a woman, this was my way of doing a fictional poem in
response to his funny contest entry! OH, the poem of KASH POET is called A SECRET FUNNY TALE, I hope you will read it!)
For Shani Fassbender's really cool contest: Tell Me a Secret
And now for PD's contest: Make me Laugh
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
For the last few days
her depression had weighed
heavy, a thick woolen shroud,
her thoughts thickened by darkening clouds,
in an endless tunnel the sides closing in like a narrowing funnel.
She sat, immobile, staring
through the window of the house she'd built with such caring.
It'd started as a shack by a pond on some land
and she'd hammered and built it
with help from no man.
She kept adding on, room after room,
as if she, too, suffered from the Winchester doom.
Eccentric, they'd call her, if she had any bread,
but, since she was poor, she was "soft in the head."
A tiny little woman, emaciated, so thin,
she was not much more than frail bones under skin.
Yes, she was surely a pitiful thing,
shoulder blades jutting like primordial wings.
Like an old phonograph with its needle stuck,
she prayed for death, so far with no luck.
Suddenly there came a tremendous din,
like demons scratching on her roof of old tin.
Startled, heart pounding in her bird-cage chest,
she was suddenly afraid of a cardiac arrest.
Armed with her twelve gauge she crept to the door,
a thousand claws scratching, louder than before.
She'd always been brave and her life had been hard,
so, gun at the ready, she stepped into the yard.
Locked and loaded and aimed at the roof,
she feared for her life, to tell you the truth.
(Not minutes ago, she was begging for death,
now she was worried this might be her last breath.)
Then she looked at the roof and let out a gasp,
the rifle fell heavily from her stunned grasp.
There on the roof and thick in the trees,
was a sight that made her weak in the knees.
HUNDREDS of VULTURES all eye-balling her,
clacking their beaks as they seemed to concur.
Aunt Kate started laughing and laughed 'til she cried,
she hooped and she hollered, holding on to her sides.
The birds, having reasoned she'd make less than a bite,
stretched out their wings and took off in flight.
Her depression has lifted and, I heard a rumor,
that her life had been saved by God's sense of humor.
********Many thanks to Aunt Kate for this wonderful true story.**************
There goes your life
Ain't ya gonna get it?
It's gonna pick up speed
Ain't ya gonna stop it?
I don't know where it's going
But it doesn't look so great
I think you better stop it
Before it gets too late
I think you ought to slow it down
Before it gets in a crash
Think of what may lie ahead
And don't do anything else rash
There goes your life
I hope that it can swim
I hope that nothing too bad comes
Because of your sudden, stupid whim
There goes your life
You set it on it's way
Now ain't ya gonna catch it?
Or shall we close our eyes and pray?
Sitting through this gloomy day
I sit and stare and wait.
My mind begins to wonder still
with whats to come to date.
I sniff the air like a pack of wolves
in search of scent and smell.
My eye's scan round this dismal room
but its only me I tell.
So lets try something new this time
and hope its better yet,
I laugh at this my crazy mind,
I think he wants a bet.
Come on now this could be fun
you might just find a mate.
Let your fingers be your guide
and hope its not to late.
Well here we are the game at last,
he thinks he stands a chance.
What is it then this stench we have?
Or can you guess without a glance?
He tastes the air and fills his lungs
and shouts its apple toffee,
but he lacks a tongue to taste it all,
I plainly say its coffee.
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
I have entered many poetry contests
to display my best...an amazing number of sixty or more,
only one of my poems has won first place;
poets are like enduring athletes who fight to the very core!
One big hurray goes to myself for the first win,
congratulations to the other participants
who are on the top of that list, or have been
awarded Honorable Mentions for their efforts!
When my poem doesn't make it to the finalists's list,
I don't feel discouraged, I brazen out the doubt and try again;
even Lance Armstrong, with his skills, can't always win his race,
and the trophy must be given to someone else!
I rejoice when some of the chosen poets appear
on the winners' list; I am happy for their accomplishment,
and into a word-restricted message's box I gladly comment
on their poetry...with the insight of an achiever!
And for those whose names never made it as previously thought,
I honestly tell you, from experience, not to be a bit discouraged...
your time will come when your enthusiasm will require a big shout;
never put the word, " Winner " to rest, write for fun and persist instead!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I do not know?
If one room of writing I can never leave,
Than faithful I will remain.
Dancing joy in books.
Paint my face with colorful ink,
Scrolls cloth me in bagginess.
Bringing a smile & laughter to overcome the pain,
My Witness indeed.
Looking down from the Heaven.
Lived I did,
Mostly dark moments.
My life past,
Living Sheol I thought could never be broken,
Ball & chain no more.
Welcome little boy in me,
Time to play!
Once in awhile he needs his nap.
Can the man take the pen?
Like every child he desires cookies & milk.
Cookies are the joices of others,
Milk to carry on after the reading in joyful hope.
Here I am Monty Python,
I'm signing on the dotted line!
By the way,
We'll discuss my pay later!
In my next life I want a mother who
loves me like she should,
and a father who is sober,
is that portion understood?
And please give me a brother who
treats me with humanity,
and whose talents do not teeter
on the sharp edge of insanity.
Lord, next time, make me beautiful,
with skin as smooth as cream,
and eyes the hue of twilight
and the riches of a queen.
And, God, grant me a singing voice
so I can rock on stage,
and let me meet my soul mate, Lord,
before I reach old age!
I say, the heck with Karma,
give me one life of pure bliss,
where troubles never find me
and nothing goes amiss.
Things'll be different, next time...