Poem | |
You have all heard I am sure of the three musketeers
The group with the swords not the ones with the funny ears
Reminds me of a joke that right here would apply
There are three kinds of people I tell you no lie
Those who are really quite good at math
And those who are not and that's that
They were the three musketeers but they were four
Their math was bad not three, four and no more
I hope you're all still with me, I'm not trying to be a pest
I need you to follow me because at the end there's a test
There is Casarah
Yeah and hurrah
She is a good ma
Then there is Tim
You should know him
He's tall and trim
And finally there is the kind hearted Jan
From England she's the one with no tan
Coy and demure behind her fancy fan
If you kept count that makes three
Who can argue. You'd have to agree.
Now we have arrived at what I am trying to say
I've just joined them and I quite enjoy sword play
Do you see? I am number four.
I'll just walk through their door.
That makes me the best, the fillet mignon
It turns out that I am frikin' D'Artagnan.
Poem | |
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.
That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store
That was your appraised value.
But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.
Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood
“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards
I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter
We scream in misguided nerd joy
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session
Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!
But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!
It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap
My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.
To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”
I chose to be a human this night.
Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall
A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table
Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums
In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form
It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose
At the TOP of my LUNGS,
“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could.
You never responded to my open-hearted palm.
You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man.
But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say!
You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows.
Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday.
So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband,
Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line
Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face
Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall,
With children pointing & laughing hysterically,
“Security” enters the room
As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder,
“Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me.
The Best Man that you will never hold again.”
©Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.
i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.
she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.
i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish
Poem | |
Well, I declare
On artful prints her beauty dwelt,
diffused in haze, a pristine bloom,
ethereal her figure svelte
and French perfume.
Well, I declare, her love I sought;
unplaced on canvas her response,
was diffident her stare and thought
Alike a dancing muse she stepped
her graciousness, a veil of night,
caressing wave, the shoreline swept
her smiling bright.
Upon the sands she coasted then,
of Springtime incandescent beam
an everlasting red cayenne
and fervent dream.
A classic arts connoisseur
well, I declare, my reddened rose,
I yippee yipped with spree and spur
and kissed her nose. :)
© 2014-09-06, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter - Iambic dimeter)
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 | |
you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it
deep inside of me
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift
it's elegant, poignant,
its not erotic
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it
a euphoric chorus
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical
if read, it would become universal
a meter tethered in clasical measure
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
not a single flaw
not a single flaw
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god
me being me i like to tease
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines
blow your mind
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue
"all my cows milk is homogenized
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep
like to stare and creep"
but you'll never see
the rest of my secret poetry
that only exsist inside of me
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah
sheep will always go baah baah baah
and the perfect elagance
of my literary inteligence
will die with me
never being seen
qouted, memorised or plagerized
as i will say with my last gasp
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***
ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.
Poem | |
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Poem | |
Out on the faraway of Spring,
the wraiths tap-dance atop the fields,
their laughter rises when they wield,
and beam to innocent their swing.
Our donkey left the barn last night,
pursuing thus, a gracious mare;
a whir became on stardom glare,
enchanting all jennets in sight!
The chickens started to escape,
because of a bewitching coq,
(with sauce of Worcester, cooked in wok),
- his spook got drunk on Concord grape.
Our precious cow (miss World was called) ,
wore ten inch spikes with a short dress,
and jumping up the barn egress'd,
absorbed by night for e'er un-stalled.
Two versing hogs, were cuckoo-spelled,
and oinking Shakespeare's sixth sonnet,
spiraled afar; a gifted duet
on website poetry excelled.
This Pandemonium's trick song,
our grandma sang while her broom climbed,
with a 'ye haw' she left and rhymed,
new magic flying to Hong Kong.
Nigh this Catastrophe's attacks,
the neighbor's daughter dressed like ghost,
to whistling granted her riposte,
- and much was kissed, on dry hay stacks.
© G. V., 11-19-2013, All Rights Reserved
Worcester: is pronounced "Woo'ster"
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 | |
I feel privileged.
I have been chosen by the Government
as part of a group testing something called
Edible Clinical Marijuana.
Honestly I half expected it to look like a Burrito
because the name sounds sort of Mexican.
It actually looks more like a brownie.
I’m am about to take a bite so hold on.
So here is the point
I am suppose to consume
one half of a brownie
then fill out this sheet
giving them my feedback.
I am going to have a few more bites.
milk would go great
with these babies.
I’ll be back.
(after a long while)
OK, sew sorry I was gonna while
I was staring inside my fridge\
for a while'
tying to remember
I think I wanted a glass of ink%
aktiually I’m dinking from the bodle@
I am eating my forth brownie
as I was instructured to do;
Did they say four or? ate
cause these. are tasty
a program on my compuwhatyoucallit
keeps underlyning my words
with read squiggles=
but it diidn’t underline squiggle#
wel dats stoopid
squiggle isa perfect lee
good underlying word*
stoopid Bill Gated^
sorry I ment Will Gated~
so watt was I saying ]
fill the sheet)
I don wanna sheet,
tha is gaross[
heeres a pen
ansir; yes- please)
?why m i bein so polite
oh wow Blues Brothers on my TV
what was I spose? to do
oh yeah watch tv
why am i so angry hahahahahah++
i mean hungary
h u n g r y
those look good
i con't tipe with mai mouth
full dats rood/rood
i'll get bak too dis later..
sew as they say
two bee contitnude<
hay lookk browniies
Mo Rice Why Vone
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Poem | |
I stepped in for my first colonoscopy. I was nervous everyone could see
I had a choice to be awake or put out if I was skittish...but no not me
I chose the former so I could watch my own ass on TV
They go right up your canal with a camera like an RV
Imagine my surprise when up my butt they found my phone
The tiny ones they use to make before the smart cell phone
But here's the clincher it was set on vibrate. The doc was suspicious
"My wife insisted" I told him "she bribed me with cake. It was delicious"
Then the doctor red faced handed me something, said "what's this"
I borrowed his bifocals. It was a rolled up playbill. He looked pissed.
"I can explain. It's dated Sep. 8, 2001. That's my wife's 40th birthday
We were drinking. We lost it, got a fancy room right after the play"
He handed me one more thing, a broken pencil if you will
"I'm a mathematician. I was constipated I took a special pill
Then I used math to work it out with a pencil. This one I suppose
It broke. I thought I got it all. I guess I didn't. I mean who knows?"
The good news is the test went well my colon was clear
They found nothing threatening just stuff that was queer
I must admit however ever since that very day I live in absolute fear
That doctor knows my wife's father. I tell you this, in case I disappear
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 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!!"
Poem | |
I wrote a poem of despair
My hearts been tossed up into the air
She wrote a limerick that was taboo
She made me laugh when I was so blue
Entering stage left was Tim
Writing of past lovers sins in a hymn
It seems that we laugh or we cry
We live, we love, or we die
The three of us, holding poetic swords up high
Throughout the ages we all do fly
No subject goes unspoken
For the freedom of words we've awoken
No battle to long or too fierce
Our duels are true and unrehearsed.
Through blood, sweat and tears
A bond so strong that sweetens the years
All for one and one for all
Let us carry on and have a ball!
Poem | |
I don't know what came over me that day - an instant of weakness after years of resistance, I suppose.
My beaming spouse leads me, a dog on a short leash, into the forbidden citadel, the sanctum sanctorum of feminine fastidiousness, the dreaded nail salon.
As we pass through the portal, we enter another dimension, one not of Man.
One of Woman.
Overwhelmed by estrogen, like Superman in the presence of Kryptonite, my strength saps.
The harpies in the salon immediately sense fresh meat, hailing my wife like Caesar in a Roman triumph, gleeful in the knowledge of the barbaric sacrifice to follow. Lightheaded, my eyes dart around, a trapped beast seeking escape.
The sacrificial altar is prepared. The torture device is like a dentist's chair, but with a tub for the feet, presumably where they will drain out my blood. Resigned to my fate, I mount the gallows.
Glancing around, it seems that all the employees are Southeast Asians. Mostly young. Reputedly, they own this territory, like Indians in convenience stores or Italian greengrocers. My personal tormentor is the proprietor, a slim pretty Vietnamese woman perhaps in her mid 50's, with cold eyes and a professional smile.
I immediately sense that I am dealing with She Who Must Be Obeyed. I am commanded in that bossy Asian way to put my feet in the tub, as she turns on the water. Apparently, like some feminine droit du seigneur, Dragon Lady reserves the right to draw first blood from pedicure virgins. My primae noctis, so to speak.
As she sits below me and leans forward to grab my feet, I get a good look at her well-formed cleavage. Maybe this won't be so bad,after all...
As my feet soak, I close my eyes and sink into a Felliniesque fantasy, surrounded by Asian houris garbed in short white Grecian gowns, catering to my manly whims.
I'm getting a semi...
Dragon Lady brings me back to reality, placing my left foot on her toweled workspace.
There's another guy here...
and that SOB is getting a manicure from one of my girlfriends!
An older lady enters the shop. She has an experienced and well-traveled look. Obviously a repeat offender, she immediately begins apologizing to Dragon Lady for her tardiness, meanwhile sizing me up like a slab of man-meat. Dragon Lady gives her a proper scolding, then the horny old biddy tweaks my big toe and flashes me a knowing smile. I wonder if she is packing heat in that big purse...
Suddenly, I become William Holden in Sunset Boulevard. As I make a break for freedom, I am plugged in the back by the scorned Gloria Swanson lookalike.
Then, a cold look from Dragon Lady and my spouse re-establishes territory and Gloria backs off.
Dragon Lady looks pleased as she draws out what appear to be farrier's tools for shoeing horses, presumably to work on my virgin toenails, which I admit are heading toward Fu Manchu territory. A pair of evil-looking wire cutters makes short work of my talons, then she pulls out a chisel and begins removing layers of yellowed nail until they are smooth and white.
Nice. I can take this.
Then she removes the cuticles and pushes back the skin.
Holy crap! I think she just popped my cherry! I see blood on my big toenail. I take it like a man. A bead of sweat runs down my brow.
She finishes the flaying job, puts the foot back into the soothing bath and begins carving up the other one.
"And women pay for this?", I think.
"You like massage?", she asks.
"Massage?" I glance at my spouse nervously, wondering if she intuits the direction of my thoughts.
She points to the control panel on the chair.
"Why, yes. Yes I would!", I reply.
Anything to take my mind off my pending amputation.
"All the way?"
I suppress my licentious thoughts.
"Warp seven, Mr. Sulu."
"To infinity, and beyond!"
She got that one, and turns on the machine. Robocop immediately digs deeply into my neck and spine with his titanium-steel fingers, plowing my vertebral column like a John Deere cultivator. My central nervous system releases a flood of endorphins. The cocktail of pain and pleasure is a masochist's wet dream.
The surgery going on downstairs dissolves into the background...
Dragon Lady puts the second foot back in the tub and removes the first. She pulls out a big cheese grater and goes to work on the bottom of my foot. I don't have thick calluses, but she produces a pretty respectable pile of Parmigiano. Makes short shrift on foot two. My smooth feet now look like a baby's.
Not too bad, not too bad.
My spouse shoots me the old Told You So look and smiles.
Dragon Lady now pulls out the pumice for the final polish. As she goes to work on my foot, nerve endings now exposed after many years return me to infancy.
It tickles! Oh Momma, does it tickle!
I'm giggling like a young girl. I can't stop, and I really don't want to either. The entire salon joins in my giggle fest.
Dragon Lady doesn't let up for a second. She is giggling too, and for the first time I see the young, innocent Vietnamese girl buried deep inside.
Then I see the napalm and burnt village.
And all the rest of it...
I see and she sees. We each have seen... too much.
She smiles sadly. As do I.
My next appointment is in a month
I'll be there.
September 11, 2014
Poem | |
He wondered if his verse was made for fools
and cretins that splish-splash alongside whales
composing dull sonnets was chased by bulls
- by elegant giraffes and racing snails.
Amid the chickens in his country cot,
while gulping bourbon the pig-farmer writes
his scribble verse turns to an artless blot
and straight he gulps one more for his insights
Oh, detrimental muse of his confused,
absconding inspiration that evades
his talent which was alcohol-abused,
and like the content of each bottle, fades:
......Inspiring advent of a healthy burp
made pigs and chickens to comment "superb"!
© G. V. 06-27-2013 All rights reserved
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest Name: The Lazy Contest
Poem | |
Mr. Sandman Send Me To Sleep
He came to me, he came by sea
Escaping, he would set me free
Sending me into dreams
Of starlight and moonbeams
The sandman made a beach for me
For contest: A clean limerick
Poem | |
What a wonderful day
I decided to give Peanut my four year old Yorkie a bath which of course he hates
I lathered him with baby shampoo and rinsed him off
Took him outside and dried him off with a towel
Then brushed him and dried him with the hair dryer
Oh, he looked so clean and beautiful with that long silver and golden hair
Decided to take some empty containers in the back shed
My husband mowed the yard this morning with lots of loose grass out on the yard
Which it was ok for him to roll
But it had rained at least two inches last week, so I have some standing water behind the shed
Guess where Peanut decided to go,
Yes into the standing water that is full of mud
So, guess what in the bath tub he goes again
By eve roper
Poem | |
On the Isle of Man lives a Ninja girl
Daring in her act, makes your toesies curl
She has a pretty face
And sips her tea with grace
Be not taken in – she’s no fragile pearl.
Sent with hugs by Lulu` Pascal
Poem | |
A man remembers his first love.
Until he finds his grave.
If he lives to be a hundred.
That's what he'll always crave.
For some it might be a blonde.
A red head or brunette.
Others are still looking.
They haven't found it yet.
For some it is those buns of steel.
We've all heard about.
Whatever a mans first love is.
He hates to go without.
There may be some who's first love.
Is in the color of her eyes.
I'll always remember my first love.
A greasy cheese burger and fries.
Make it a double patty.
With everything on top.
Ketchup, mustard, or special sauce.
Please don't ever stop.
Fries fried to a golden brown.
Thin and crispy too.
A greasy cheese burger with some fries.
No talking til I'm through.
So now you know my secret.
A greasy cheeseburger and fries.
If you want inside my heart.
Make mine super size.
Edwin C Hofert
Poem | |
RING RING...Hello IRS ...
What's your take on a dependant child?
My boys 40, ain't worked in a while!
I got 8 more kids inside da house,
the boys bride and my second spouse.
First ran off with a traveling man,
Raising her kids best I can,
Calling to ask if this is true?
Lost my job!... Can I.O.U.?
Poem | |
Hut Hut one two three one two three went the drill sergeant
And Jan doing 1500 push ups piped, I can’t I can’t I can’t
O’er the tires she jumped, to show everyone she had gumf
Then plastered herself on the floor wit a thud a thud a humf
And then she saw them from the corner of her eye
Dressed in black ready for some counter-espionage
Get up he said we’re gonna infiltrate the enemy camp
Get off that floor, here’s you’re sword and you’re suit
Together they hid in the bushes and espied the mongrel
The one who was going to bring down a world at large
Omi Omi Yack Yack, Wack, she kicked him in the jewels
You should have seen him whine, oh it was something cruel
The Black Ninja saluted her with a gracious wave and left swift
And Jan went smiling home, nothing left of fear, not one waft
She was the super hero of the day, cause she kicked butt…
Poem | |
I set my morning muse alarm for 2am.
But instead, it went off at three.
"Wake up!" he said, "It's me."
I reached for pen and paper. "Stop
fumbling, and turn on the light," he said.
"Or, you'll never be able to read
what I'm putting in your head."
"Why are you being so bossy?" I asked.
"Sorry," he said. "But I'm in a hurry
to get to the next poet's bed."
Poem | |
Love is found in every breath
I take, entering my soul,
enticing hope, love and trust
with every heart beat.
Humour brings chuckles out loud,
gurgling sound of merriment.
ignited by hope and trust,
brought about by love.
Penned 8 February 2015
Poem | |
4th March 2015
Written before dad’s funeral - I'll take my cushion to sit on lol
* not proper footle but I had to add it!