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Best Poems Written by Copland Rose

Below are the all-time best Copland Rose poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Hattie

Hattie gladly had a fatty patty.
If a bad fatty patty had Hattie,
That fatty patty would’ve made Hattie batty;
But, Hattie had a rad fatty patty!
The fad-clad Hattie is also a caddy.
“And gladly,” chatted Hattie, “I take after daddy.”
Hattie’s daddy, Mattie, was a caddy as a laddie.
But once Mattie had Hattie, a bad caddy was Mattie, and now the caddy’s Hattie.
But Mattie chatted, gladly, “Me Hattie’s a natty!”
All the laddies were gladly mad for Hattie, and turned caddy.
But Hattie’s chatty daddy chatted, now batty,
“Stray from me Hattie, laddies. Me Hattie is gladly a rad-fatty-patty-eating caddy     
     that took aft’ her daddy!”

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Joan Jones

Joan Jones hates scones.
She throws, at them, stones.
She throws those stones with all the tone in her bones.
Her angry moans as the stones had flown
were as a drone of an off-the-line phone.
For Joan’s lone loathing of scone’s she’d known
since childhood’ve grown, and since infancy shown.
And if one’s not careful, their cover is blown.
A scone makes its way into poor Mr. Jones;
why couldn’t he have eaten a few ice cream cones?
Joan said, “I thought I knew you, Mr. Jones.
Your consumption has shown that I should now live alone.”
For making snap decisions Ms. Joan was so prone;
but it at this point, Sir Jones has the long-piece wishbone.
She minds not trombones, clones, cologne or calzones,
but here in Joan Zone all scone owners disowned.

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Fred

Fred’s bed is a sled.
Fred’s sled bed is made of lead.
Fred’s lead sled bed made Fred’s head red.
Fred’s red head meant Fred’s head’d bled.
Fred’s head bled red, then Fred sped, by tread, to the med.
Fred’s med, Ted, said, “Fred’s head’s bled red!
Fred’s lead sled bed bred Fred’s red, bled head!”
Fred’s med threaded Fred’s red, bled head.
Fred’s med said, “Fred’d b’dead by how much he’d shed.” Fred rejecTed.
Fred’s med pled, “Fred, if you hadn’t fled, sped to the med you’d b’dead!”
Fred’s med fed Fred bread in the med-bed;
Fred’s dreaded lead sled bed and the landfill are wed.

Details | Copland Rose Poem

Jane

Jane complained, "Pain!" on a chain plane to Maine. 
Insane Jane's feigned pain was the bane of the plane' she main. 
Jane complained the veins strained; unwaned, gained Jane pain. 
Jane complained, 'twas engrained in the brains of the same on the plane. 
The sane complained, "why not a train? Or a drive down the lane in the rain?"
Jane's head craned- "but trains and down lanes in the rain to Maine are mundane!"