Abbot Poems | Examples

Cat

Cool
Alchemist
Tender
Candid
Abbot
Tabby
Calm
Aboveboard 
Talent
Capacious
Able
Terrific 
<
Therapeutic
Nostalgia
Swift

A Walk Under A Ladder

Roll back the tides of time, and tell,
Of ancient books of myths, of hell,
Of temperance, nuns succumbed to gloom,
Entombed within their living tombs,
Of monks, and saints, and gospel song,
Born gently by the breeze, along,
Of deep toned organs' peeling swells,
Of virgins, Mary, and funeral knells,
Of dim-lit cells and penance loaned,
Which can for one's darkest deeds, atone,
Look back and lift the veil of night,
And view the man, the anchorite,
There he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at superstition's tale,
Crossing his chest with meager hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Array before him to urge their claim,
To heal, in the Redeemer's name,
To climb the heavenly ladder, made,
By every patron, of every grade,
From wealthy abbot, fat and fair,
To starving child, withering there,
All of them eager to usher in,
The soul, ransomed by It's sin,
And tell me hapless bigot, why,
For what, for whom did Jesus die,
If pyramids and statues of saints must rise,
To form the passage to the skies,
Would you think man can wipe away,
With what but penance, day by day,
One single sin, too dark to fade,
Beneath a bleeding Savior's shade.

A nun drove over a rabbit

A nun drove over a rabbit.
She said to herself, "Yikes! This is becoming a habit.
Like, last week it was four.
And this week, already one more.
But, hey! Makes for plenty of stew for the abbot.”

At Easter dinner, she said, "You know what, honey?
Your verses ain't all that funny.”
I said, "If you ask me, 
I tend to agree.
So, what do want? The leg or the thigh of this bunny?"

Moanastic

A perky young lady named Babbit
found humor in teasing the Abbot.
She thought ’twould be fun
to dress like a nun,
but he got her out of the habit.

Tracery

Bejeweled, in and out of the Gothic architecture, 
Conceived by Abbot Suger, through a constant conjecture;
With perfect glasswork etched out of the then-time silica,
Found its place In Saint-Denis Cathedral Basilica...!

Modestly outsized splash-smeared gorgeous goblet casements, 
Renaissance classic styled stone accent wall sacred basements;
Prettily pointed piercing cumulative curly curves, 
Rib vaults great and small intertwining like the war of nerves...!

Soaring airborne ramparts; metaphysical adornments;
Perpendicular proportions; lopsided floral fronts;
Steady solemn designs that flounce upward in height and grace;
Domed arched ceilings that charms of times, ages, and eras embrace...!

With no shrinks and wrinkles like the perfection of pure youth, 
Enticing grand elegance like the fullness of the truth;
Tracery is a treasury of architectural forms,
Within which dwell, fine ethereal elemental norms...!!!


26 January 2023
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

Shut Doors Later Fly Open

Shut doors later fly open:
Sometimes do so by a half;
The half is but a token;
Not a large-horned cow; 'Its calf'.

All about' How one wants it',
Still,Man should not dig his pit,
Many dared burying shame
To naked go after fame;
Abbot once Paper Pusher,
Abbot now Cocaine Pusher
"In life quite a lot to pick;
  After death 'Motionless Stick..."
  
  Still,shut doors can swing open
  For one,at heart,the broken;
  There was some talk from a mount:
  Unless Christ's speech should not count.

Busing Blues

I hate to see immigrants used as pawns,
driven in buses, dropped on people’s lawns.
It seems so easy to pontificate,
but sh*t gets real with people at your gate.
I feel for Texas and the border states;
I feel for those who get in line and wait.
I feel for refugees driven by force.
For sanctuary towns, I’ve less remorse.
Easy to sip tea on the ivy’d green
and theorize on problems, sight unseen.
So Abbot and DeSantis brought it home;
it’s time the east coast learns this on their own.
The policy must go from open, wide,
to limiting the numbers let inside.
True, immigrants have made our nation great,
but now, both sides use them to fuel more hate.

Clerihew Mcneill

James Abbot McNeill
aesthetically art made him feel
Visual pleasure in great detail
with a 'butterfly'*he left a trail
rather than as a snail

*https://artvee.com/dl/butterfly-2/

Out Came a Rabbit

Poor Nog Rafi had a funny habit
Unzipped his pants and out came a rabbit
   This really wouldn't do
   For the monks in his pew
You see ~ Rafi was their new head abbot

Who's On First

it's been
so often
done and
did but it
always in
whatever
form is
schtick

listening
to Saint-
Saëns and
asking what
is the score
i've never
heard this
before

you know
the one

which one?

that one
this one?

yes

what?

that one


which one
is this one?

you know
that one

and Abbot
and Costello
live on and 
on and on and...

Just a Few Clerihews

Warning, if you are under 60 you may not "get" some of these.

Mohammad Ali
taunting with poetry,
his opponents he'd zing
as he danced 'bout the ring.

Graham Kerr "The Galloping Gourmet"
oft with our minds he would play.
Why else would he pick
the dessert "Spotted Dick"?

Ichabod Crane
rode down rode down the lane.
From the Headless Horseman he'd flee
while on his saddle he peed.

Abbot & Costello,
two funny fellows
were very immersed
into whose on first.

Ed Norton
couldn't laugh without snortin'
which would quickly annoy
old Ralph Boy!

Professor Irwin Corey
told confusing stories,
You'd listen and listen till your eyeballs would glisyen
and not understand what you're missin'

Don Rickles
would offer a nose full of nickels
and got plenty of yuks calling you a schmuck
and dumb as a hockey puck.

Giuseppe "Peppino" Mazzullo,
the voice of Topo Gigio
on Ed's final night
said "Eddie, kessa me goo' night!"

Jack Benny
wouldn't lend you a penny
nor spend a dime -
died when he was 80 at the age of 39.

Knocking In a Basin Filled With Leaves

A potatoe cake bathing with an onion ring is an iconic sealed ring in a genuine abyss of calm. But an abyss is neither an abbot nor an abbess. For pretty tunnels created in a monastery clap link out to wave wreathed gardens bursting with hue and fauna. So a garland weave can be made into the form of a forty thousand foot ibex. And this can be achieved quite quickly. By placing bees in soldier lines. That normally has the desired effect. Oh wow. A little bean with a fruit cup is arriving. Look how sparkly the costume is. Lovely lingering linguistic lounging linking. And a stick smiling from an antique wooden chair in a mountain forest haze. Hahaha raisins racing radishes. Hahah pointed playing field. Xxxxx intellectuality z

Monk Camera

watching a documentary on Netflix a Saturday night alone
to my surprise the main character I know in his a viscose robe
his brother will bring him along regularly to the place I worked
hostess, bartender and waitress I served them for years
the restaurant closed but not the friendship 
the brother found me one day toiling in a different joint
and brought the monk to say hello a few days later
I moved along to better earnings and we lost touch anew
only to discover that he was deep in the wearing of the robe
the Dalai lama making him the abbot of the temple
I wrote him a note with my thanks for the discovery
no expectation of an answer he did reach out 
the next day my email with enough details that I knew it was him.
life a bliss if you take the time to smell the roses or look at the trees
and your heart open to embrace it all.

Liberal Tory Predjucide

Liberal tory predjucide

457 visas 2 help the jobless score,
a hundred thousand jobless,
upon our Aussie shore,
one hundred thousand imported,
by howard the duck billed rat,
{still here}
fat ole bat got 30 thousand more,
are you aware of that?
so special working in the mines,
the greed of ancient whores,
class distinction aint it grand,
no work for the Aussie poor?
So keep em working part time,
no holidays evermore,
no hope 4 a house or car,
ground down to serfdoms' floor.

Rabbit abbot opened the flood gates
with china, and they will bring their workers with them to work
 at chinese wages in what was our country..
.like the Aboriginals we have been bypassed ?
 And manured on from liberal heights...

Joined Spirits, Shared Will, Loss of Name

After so many years in the monastery, Monty 
wants to use his name which 
is never allowed due to the 
pledge of anonymity. 
He owns nothing there of course, 
no one does. It all belongs to God. 
When Monty sleeps he enjoys 
the only ownership. Even selfish 
singularity in meditation is denied him 
since the monastery assigns him a mantra. 
Monty does treasure his dreams, 
dreaming as he curls on the narrow bed 
in the concrete cell the abbot assigns him. 
He enjoys the memories that flood 
through the irrational narratives of sleep. 
He knows, in spite of the prohibitions, 
that these are his.

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