Poem | |
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Poem | |
**"And his name was Jack"**
No one perceives what abides above the clouds.
A giant, a harp, maybe golden eggs.
I demand to see and feel, before I believe.
A castle, a dream…. I want the magic beans!!!
I'm the daughter of a farmer.
I have a donkey to ride, a story to tell.
“Jack and the Beanstalk”; my favorite tale.
Once upon, a morbid dawn.
I inhale a tiny simple yawn~ I levitate like the sun.
I head out the door, towards the markets shore.
I grabbed my ass to stroll along the open path.
My shoes aim out to the nearest creek.
My ass and I desired a drink.
There I saw an old Englishman, sitting on a log.
It looked as if time was approaching his brink.
In his hand, he had a sack.
A bag, a bag, embroil of ivory and black.
His eyes were not from this ground.
His body fragile, he uttered a moaning sound.
He was of dirt.
I was pure.
He pledged his life to me.
I debated.... with many thoughts,
Although his eyes...
My eyes... Will never meet again.
I want what is in the bag!
He said, "I'll give you anything for that ass.
My legs and bones can’t hold up on their own, no more!”
I knelt down to where he sat.
Smelling his essence of rot.
I reached forward and grabbed his only baggage.
He said, "This bag is all I got!"
I answered, "And this sir is a fine ass."
He replied, "I have no cash."
Scowling at him, “No I want your demon seeds!"
How my blood grew thin...
Inhaling and exhaling out his sin...
The old man all shriveled and timeworn,
Propose the birthright of the seeds.
Yes, plant them! Plant them...
I cried excitedly!
He pats the field.
Said there I am done.
Now clock as it expands.
To breed this story short...
He dispense his seeds.
AND, I GAVE HIM MY ASS.
Lol... BY;PD (for seed contest)
Poem | |
"I dream of Candy!"
Sweet cakes and peanut butter squares
A living diabetic's nightmare
My heart sings to the beat under the Newton stars
Sweet sugar cookies and peanut butter bars
Dancing dum dum's,
The sweetest shadow silhouette in my room
Dreamy, Creamy Cupcakes in the afternoon
Cinnamon Cheerios cascade on my spoon
Sweeter than my sweet tooth
Now and later - a forever honeymoon
Jiggling my jelly belly boo berry butt-erfinger delight
I'm in love, licking icee icing all night
Extra freshness once I pop a top off of a mountain dew pop
My eyes sparkle like diamond dazzle razzles in the sky
I live to fabricate my own personal sugar extract R.E.M. Sleep
Savoring the sound of water lingering in my mouth
This night, ovulated buds, await to feast
Enjoying a delicious dulce music sleepy symphony
I'm here to brag and embrace a pinata pillow escapade
Enchanted by a cotton candy crave -calling my name
Lalaloopsy licorice and lemonade, tea
The best wet dream I'll ever see
Marshmallows of solitude dulcify every single fresh fantasy
Imbibing a bright slushy skittles daydream freeze
One fat sunny bowl of mix cereals and cane
Crackerjack jail and chocolate chip swirls,
Caramel lumps constipate the brain
Sizing up -peanuts and candy, popcorn party payday
Wild winter fresh, Wrigley's Spearmint Breath parade
Gummy bear Dessert, Fruit Ninja hair
Watermelon Taffy stuck on the top of my gums
Swallowing and indulging the witness of a whistle pop bar
Super bubble sweet tarts embedded deep down in my heart
Bubblicious, mint twist, Sunkist the best Twizzler breakfast
Yummy in my twinkie tummy, drooling over frosted pop tarts
One more strawberry smoothie 44 oz cup
Counting each and every Pez popping up
Goodnight my friends,
It's time to get lost under a midnight moon pie sky
SELFLY- Hugging and snuggling to a new sugar rush high
Poem | |
GREEN, GREEN, GREEN!!!
My name is Jade Shamrock Green.
I will not eat one single green bean.
When I get mad, I turn green.
I wear my favorite green jeans.
I am hypnotize by the color green.
Not every green path leads to a flowing stream.
I lay on the grass so green.
I won a jackpot of green.
To visit the Green Mountains in Vermont is like a dream.
My eyes are shaded green.
My jealousy comes in the color green.
I diet on green veggies that are lean.
The Green Bay Packers are my favorite team.
I believe all frogs should come in green.
It’s a family gift to carry a green thumb gene.
My garden has the greenest life I have ever seen.
Lemons are yellow, but limes are green.
The Irish do not all believe in green.
In my greenhouse all, the plants are full of good self-esteem.
I'm the jester who wore a green beret for the king and queen.
The unripe sour apple is moldy green!
Flicking me a green bugger is gross and mean.
Why do all leprechauns wear color green?
Not all clovers have only three leafs of green.
Green is the middle color of the rainbow team.
Good Luck, Care Bear's charming eyes are emerald green.
My favorite color has always been green.
This is all about wearing green on March the seventeen.
. (a) S.K.A.T. POETRY (re-post) by;p.d.
. 3-17-10 (update) 3-17-11
Poem | |
Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.
I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.
I needed it.
Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.
And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.
Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!
But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.
Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.
“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.
As she held me,
with puppy love warmth.
Even the rainbows fell to its knees.
She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.
But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.
It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!
As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.
My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.
“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.
Boys will fear her.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
After two moments of silence,
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.
“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.
10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”
I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.
And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”
But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.
For it was my inner child,
© Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.
The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.
Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!
I think it’s time for you to finally go face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!
“Oh my,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”
Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.
They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.
The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”
Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.
We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat.
Peter trembled and grew chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”
He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!
“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you both help me!”
Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.
For he ran across a guy named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!
Written by Andrea Dietrich and Jan Allison, for the
Halloween Co-Writes Poetry Contest of Diane Locksley
Poem | |
"A cappuccino would be nice
And thank you Anne dear friend.
Since Bert has died I've felt quite lost,
But time has helped things mend."
"I guess what hurt the most dear Anne
Was finding in Bert's will;
To me he never left a thing;
A truly bitter pill."
"He never left you anything!
I thought Bert more sincere,
But is that diamond ring not new
You're wearing sister dear?"
"Well let me put it this way Anne.
Bert's will did leave a bit;
Five grand for a memorial stone
And this dear Anne ... is it."
Poem | |
I have borrowed the first line of this piece from the"unknown scribe" , which I
read many years ago.... The rest is for ALL the great mothers who are SOUPER.
Who took me from my cosy cot
And sat me on an ice cold pot .
To make me pee ,when I could not.......... My mother
Who fed me from the very start
With bosomed milk , straight from the heart
Then burped me, 'till I'd belch and fart...... My mother
Who warmed me from the Winter breeze
Dried the blood from my skinned knees
But told me "fibs" 'bout birds'n bees..........My mother
Who healed me when I had a chill
And nursery rhymed me Jack and Jill
But lied to Dad , about being on the pill...... My mother
Who coaxed me past the school day bell
Smiled and said .. all would be well
But then went home and cried like Hell.......My mother
Who was protector from life's curse
Was doctor , dentist , priest and nurse
Friendly Bank ,with open purse...................My mother
Who lies beneath this cold grey stone
In peace ,at last , and all alone
The first true love that I had known.................. Mam
Poem | |
BLACK and BLUE
Today I wonder,
You hit me in the eye,
you made me cry.
My eyes are brown,
Now they're black and blue.
Is that what I get for loving you?
My lips are pink, now they're bloody red.
Is that what I get!!!
Do you wish I were dead?
My teeth are white,
I just lost three,
Is that what I get over a little fight?
I see a smile underneath,
I see you leaving with the police.
I finally got rid of you.
I can't believe I waited,
UNTIL I WAS BLACK AND BLUE.
NOTE: True story, I finally did the right thing and called the cops
Poem | |
Zuzuni on the badlands
Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before;
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.
An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God,
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode,
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.
I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart:
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes!
My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.
Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.
Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.
© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Poem | |
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
Entry for Sidney Lee Ann's "All About You" contest
Poem | |
I was changing a tire and the neighbor walked by
Stood and looked a while, then he said Hi
Got a flat? he asked and this made me grin
I said no, just changing the old air and putting new stuff in.
Was coughing and sneezing. My throat was on fire
Got a bad cold? My wife did inquire
No, it's not really bad. It is a good one
I love watery eyes and watching my nose run.
I was on a bus and on my newspaper I sat
The guy next to me asked "Are you reading that"
I said yes. Reading through your butt is all the new rage.
Then I stood up and turned the page.
Dentist hit a nerve and I came up out of the chair
Did that hurt? He asked as though he really did care.
I said no, there was a spiritual woman I used to date
And she was teaching me how to levitate.
I hit a pothole with my car one night
It made such a loud noise it gave my wife a fright
Didn't you see it she began to cry
Of course I did. I hit it. Didn't I.
Once I tripped on one of my little guy's toys
Fell down the stairs and my wife heard the noise
Did you miss a step? She screamed from the hall
I said "No Dear, I think I hit them all."
Poem | |
There was a winsome writer named Andie
who wrote poetry really Jim Dandy
with pencil or pen
she'd write her amens
For our Andie was truly not randy.
Poem | |
You question duskiness "Whereas he be?"
Be careful pal; he hides behind the tree!
Inside the sneaky shades he aptly lurks
because you've drunk too many Cuty Sarks.
You, silly chump! You're shaking on your feet;
Contele Dracula* and tough tidbit
exists inside your foolishness' resource
and punishes your wrongs without remorse.
Excess in drinking could be bad for you;
tis not that you'll become a drunk boo-hoo
but he'll metamorphose to baseball bat
and if you drink again, he'll kick your butt.
I know you're stupefied and very scared
cause Gigi hides in pizza boxes where'd
jump up, if thee besotted be and fool,
and then consume your pizza, super-cool.
Admit it, dude! You're shivering in fear!
But if you prayed he would disappear,
expect him to start dancing everywhere-s,
and jingle, so, his spurs upon your stairs.
Ha ha! Hill Billy, you! Outside your house,
behind the pumpkins, sound the irked meows:
bewildered Gigi cats will jump ahead,
inside your car and on your empty head.
You should, thus, paint your house pistachi'o green
cause if you stall before your PC screen
he'll haunt the lines of your poetic calls
and bats will eat your order of spring rolls.
© 10-02-2014, G. Phookan, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
* Contele Dracula = Count Dracula in Romanian
Poem | |
Clothes all clean
but the washing machine
ate up all my panties.
Raced to the store
to buy some more,
But bought instead some brandy.
Stopped at a shop
for a lollipop;
a treat I find so dandy.
My skirt fell down
In the middle of town.
Now everyone's eyeing my candy!
Poem | |
Yesterday I saw a very creepy mouse,
Sneaking right through my front door,
He was wearing tails and a top black hat
And dragging a large suitcase too
When he saw me, he run inside,
And past me he sped so fast,
Into the kitchen he went in,
To a tiny hole, with suitcase and all
I tried everything, to flushed him out,
From the hole just as fast.
I played him music extremely loud;
And even called him on his cell phone
So I ordered him some cheese pizza,
Provolone and jack cheese by the pound,
And placed it close, for him to come out and eat,
But...he grabbed with him in a flash
An email he sent me later on,
In which this certain note,to me he wrote:
"This's Jack,thank you,for giving me more food,
Now I can stay with you, for another three years.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Poem | |
That he planned his funeral is factual
And being a prankster quite actual
He prerecorded his voice
So when we kneeled on the joist
He said, "Hi there! Don't I look natural."
Poem | |
So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.
As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.
This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.
Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left.
So, now, I had plans!
But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.
A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.
She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.
Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Cause I never did like clowns.
After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.
She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.
So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout.
There she is.
Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.
Now it’s my turn.
With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.
She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.
As if she read my mind,
“Are you feeling warm now?”
“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.
But, “Now I am”, is uttered.
As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.
As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.
These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.
I locked myself out of my heart.
I turned around to go back inside.
Only to discover,
she didn’t have the key.
© Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
POPPIES & MUSHROOMS
I want a beautiful sky.
One to inhale with my big brown eyes.
Fly like a kite,
under the midday light.
Join me in this lollipop flight.
Till we say goodnight.
Lets sit on the floor Indian style.
Passing around the same smile.
Taking each other by the wing.
As we take a puff and sing,
a song about: Poppies and Mushrooms,
Lets hold hands and enjoy the fumes.
I rub my naked body with poison ivy.
A poisonous Vera with Aloe so deep and spicy.
I enjoy the penetration under my earthly skin.
With the goodness of a sneeze that feels like sin.
With Poppies and Mushrooms,
my hair I groom.
An inviolate flight on acid.
Skinny dipping in the calmness placid.
I wanna touch that elephant in the sky.
Before the illusion vanishes before my eyes.
Pink clouds and fluffy marshmallows.
Purple kittens and rainbow shadows.
Liquid bamboo, and poppies too.
Cocoa mushrooms, to get rid of the flu.
Poppies and Mushrooms, in a jungle beat.
Down my legs, like a dog in heat.
Poppies and mushrooms, and a giant balloon.
Pop one for me, and act like a baboon.
Walk with me across this gingerbread bridge.
Lets eat all the cake in the fridge.
Graffiti and skittles,
While I sing "Hey Diddle Diddle."
Lets follow the unicorn, with green feet.
Poppies and Mushrooms ever so sweet.
Here Kitty Kitty, feel my heart beat.
Hear me meow and tweet tweet tweet.
Kool-Aid and Hawaiian punch for lunch.
How about some orange Captain Crunch.
Poppies and Mushrooms, from the sky I fell.
Footsteps down the yellow belly tripping trail.
Skip to my Lou, it's time to swallow another pink pill.
And sing me this song, where all these illusions are real.
Poem | |
Wilma cried, “We are going too slow!”
But poor Flintstone could no faster go.
Not because of a flat.
No, for nothing like that.
It was just Fred had stubbed his big toe!
Written Nov. 14, 2014
For the Limerick Clean and Clever Contest of Roy Jerden
Yabba Dabba DOO!!!! And Boo Hoo Hoo!!!
Poem | |
I have tracked my New Year's Resolutions
over the years these are my fantastic results.
2011: I will try to be more attentive to Lauren.
2012: I will pay more attention to what's her name...ah...Lori...I know I'm close.
2013: I will try for reconciliation with Lo.
2014: I will try to be more attentive to Carol.
2011: I will walk 35,000 steps a day this year.
2012: I will definitely start my walking routine this year at 10,000 steps a day.
2013: I will walk once a week.
2014: I will try to drive past a gym at least once a week.
2008: I will not stare at women's cleavage .
2009: I will cut down the amount of time I stare at women's cleavage.
2010: I will stop being so obvious when I stare at women's cleavage.
2011: I will attempt to stop getting caught staring at women's cleavage.
2012: I will stop increasing the time I spend staring at women's cleavage.
2013: I will seek professional help as directed by the courts.
2014: I will try to stop starring at the female prison guards cleavage.
2011: I will not let my siblings push me around.
2012: I will stick up for myself with at least one of my siblings.
2013: I will not let my siblings bullying depress me.
2014: I will talk to Dr. Potter and the group about my siblings.
2008: I will read Clarissa this year all 1534 pages.
2009: I did not read Clarissa I will read Varney The Vampire all 866 pages.
2010: I will read the first 50 pages of Varney The Vampire this year.
2011: I will read some articles in the newspaper this year.
2012: I will try and finish the comics section this year.
2013: I will read one strip in the cartoon section this year.
2014: I will read the fortune cookie thingy the next time I have Chinese Food.
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Contest Name: New Year's Resolution
Poem | |
I was at my favourite restaurant and had a lovely meal
If I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat
The dessert menu was on its way, Oh I couldn’t wait for that
The waitress bought the menus and I rubbed my hands with glee
Oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do
She finally turned to me and said ‘oh Madam what can I get you’
Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply
I didn’t realise what I’d said till I saw the tears form in her eye
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh
At my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe
The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave
I choked on every mouthful and my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day
If you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!
N/A in 'random mix' contest
- now submitted to N/A contest by Jerry T Curtis -
Poem | |
A foggy Cuervo morning
I crawl out of my bed
Stagger to the bathroom
With a pounding in my head
It’s just another Sunday
Things can’t get much worse
I think i’ll write a poem
Yes, another drunken verse
Tiny glass of 80 proof
What courage you gave me
To dance upon a table
While crooning karaoke
I truly thought that I could sing
I could hear the people cheer
Then I lost my footing
And fell right on my rear
Now falling off of tables
Isn't really all that dumb
Cause I got such a chuckle
Telling everyone to kiss my bum
I kissed a man I didn’t know
You think that’s absurd
Well his wife was rather angry
When I flipped her the big ol bird
When Jose takes control of me
I have no pride or shame
Doesnt really matter much
Cause no one knows my name
I drank until the wee hours
Things were going great
Until that final shot of gold
That sealed my eveings fate
I spent some time talking
On a ice cold porceline phone
If I survive this night
Tomorrow I will atone
Well today is tomorrow
So forgive me for my sin
Never again will I drink tequila
Instead I’m drinking gin
Poem | |
Some say my work's artistic
Some think my work is plain
Some say my work is brilliant
Some are convinced that I'm insane
Some have called me romantic
Some have called me a beast
Some go into great details
Some are brief to say the least
Some use fancy punctuation
Some capitalize everything
Some offer me hugs, even kisses
Some others are down right mean
Some feel things I'm writing
Some just cut and paste
Some make me want to dance
Some others are just a waste
Poem | |
I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves orgasm so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following;
"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown orgasm."
We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated.
Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them."
Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, orgasm.
Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"