Poetry Funny Poems

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Details | Prose Poetry |

From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.

We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.

Seven!  I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.

Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race.  I entered with Lisa.
 You gave me that look. Oh that look!  And you  left without a word.

At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically.  How it made you giggle to make fun of it.

It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance.  You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.

Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.

Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.

At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.

Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
 tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.

Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked 
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.

Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly 
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.

I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke. 
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.

Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our 
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?

Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice. 
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.

Not everything  is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.

I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!

and I...

i think of you.



March 29 2015
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015




Details | Prose Poetry |
6:35 A.M.

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.

Bastards!

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,
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
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

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, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
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
shut.”

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.

Mission accomplished.

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, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
      and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy      This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name

(we don't need a reason)

And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.

No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.

But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire      The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)

You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria     it's just a phase

(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)

And yes of course      It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say

(bweeding like wabbits)

Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor

(I saw what you did to the snow)

It can all be forgiven though      Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out

            (but all the cool months are doing it)

... 'tis no excuse      you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?

(they annoyed me too)

And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?

(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)



Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey

Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016

Placed 8th

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016




Details | Light Poetry |
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 aka ladydp2000 copyright@2005 October,19,2014

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
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,
my skin,
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.
Thank God!
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.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“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

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.  
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe; 
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.

A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:

“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,” 
Quoth the driver.  “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs, 
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”

He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My  light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”

Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told, 
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar, 
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”

“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.

The driver continued.  “I don’t give an airborne 
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.

Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:

“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating 
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.

Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist, 
The best around, indeed.”

 “I invite you to  perform an antatomically 
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”

“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out, 
and I plan to continue my route.”

“And as far as threats go, 
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”

“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”

Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe.  “He talked such a good line.”

Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a 
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.

3/2/16

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
One dark night a saucer crashed; the military quickly cleaned up the trash. In the distance, what they didn’t see; a thin, white face between the trees. Once all was quiet, little Gili-ok crept, from the woods where he had slept. The rising sun, he felt was great, but without his transport, he’d met his fate. A distant farmhouse, he drew near; he’d find food there; the scent was clear. To the doorway he did head; but he was overcome by sudden dread. Standing just inside the door, a human creature loudly warned… “Come no closer, you little freak, or I’ll put a bullet, a’tween yer teeth”. Gili-ok stopped dead in his tracks; he thought about just turning back, But reading farmer Jones’s mind; he beamed his message, oh so fine. “I come in peace, my human friend; I only want my wounds to mend”. Old farmer Jones, lowered his gun; He said, “I see that you are wounded, son.” Into the house, Gili-ok walked and they ate breakfast, as he talked. Old farmer Jones, then smiled and said, “It’s a wonder, you ain’t dead!” Guli-ok was soon patched up and graciously, he fixed old Jones’s truck. One finger touched the clunker’s hood; the old sparks fired and that thing, ran good! “Say, yer a fine repairman son and I could use a hand on this farm. Would’ya stay a’spell; help me plant seed? I’ll give room, board and feed.” Now Gili-ok knew he’d have to wait for friends to rescue him from his fate. Into the barn, he did go and soon the tractor…out it rolled. “I’ll be.” Said Farmer Jones, surprised; he really couldn’t believe his eyes. Little Gili-ok thrashed a ton of wheat; he filled the silo, nice and neat. The hogs and chickens were swiftly fed, when Gili-ok simply turned his head. Old Jones, he watched with shock and awe, as hay bales levitated into the barn loft. Week after week, Gili-ok did work, fixing equipment and working the dirt. The one year there, Gili-ok spent; made farmer Jones, a rich old gent. When Gili-ok’s pals finally arrived, they gifted Jones’s truck with a new hyper-drive. On his tractor, they added super-warp and on his house, they zapped a porch. As Gili-ok waved a sad goodbye, Farmer Jones began to cry. Into his head a message was beamed, “You must forget all that you’ve seen”. Never again did old Jones need to struggle planting all his seeds. His new warp tractor would miraculously plow and seed his crops; how he was, “wow’d”! A lesson Jones did learn from this; to befriend aliens, can be bliss. He was so happy that he didn’t shoot; he gave Gili-ok a brand new pair of boots. As Jones sat up watching the late, late show; his HDTV began to glow. It bleeped twice; the pixels morphed and on the screen was Gili-ok, of course! Gili-ok winked one oval eye and Jones waved back, with a sigh; happy that he’d gotten to know, that skinny little, alien soul.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
It’s not enough to have a Dragon plus his penguins and pigeons, too?
Darn it! I had a limit, until a cute Cuddling Cricket found my shoe.
He was just a little baby, who saw the pigeons and decided to hide.
Now, he won’t let go of my pants leg; he’s definitely along for the ride.

The first time I saw him, I Eeekk’ed and I jumped, yep, about to pounce.
But at my response he sighed, and slumped, and he began to cry, at once!
At first I couldn’t believe it, so I pulled out my magnifying glass.
What I found were soulful eyes, and a face, so very cute, but sad.

So now when I stand, A Cuddling Cricket, comes along for the ride.
Yeah, he’s now part of the family… Well, of course! Sigh! I replied…
He sleeps in a cute little plastic bug box, with a matchbox for a bed.
But it’s hard to explain, to others found, in my life, which have fled.

I bring a magnifying glass, so they can see him bow so proper and nice.
But carrying my Cuddling Cricket around, does have a certain price!
Food stores aren’t very understanding, and restaurants, Not At All! Truly!
But the paparazzi seem to understand a Cuddling Cricket, completely!

He does have his own type of novelty as he carries around his blankie!
And he’s just a baby, who needs a Mom, and of course, his little binkie!
Honestly, I’m not kidding! There’ve been a few, strange turns, in my life.
But, if I have Trolls and Dragon, then a Cuddling Cricket seems, so right!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
The town was all a flutter; Zombie the Musical, was coming to town.
We all signed up as extras… Yes, as Zombies… here we did come.
Bruce Willis was the hero, with the Mad Scientist Z, for all to blame.
Dragon wanted to be the hero, but became the Evil Z. OH! Poor Thing!
His penguins, the perfect zombies, chased across the screen, so berserk!
The director wanted his zombies to twitch, but all thought he said, twerk!

Someone turned on ‘Thriller’, and amid the music, things began to work.
The penguins were endearing, as they stole the show. Wouldn’t you know!
As they did the: step left, step right, Shuffle, shuffle, twerk, twerk, twerk!
Dragon flew on the set, but things got wonky, as the set, in flames, went up.
He crash-landed in the fire works, which scaring most the towns’ zombies off.
All was meant to be dark and scary, but naturally that came out, sooo wrong.

The witches decided to dig up zombies, for the flash mob scene, to work. 
The new zombies, did their own thing, chasing more town zombies away.
The witches got them from the cemetery, not telling those alive, today. 
Bruce Willis, by now, was really banged up, as he fought the zombies off.
Everyone knew something was so wrong when one bit Dragon in the butt.
Thank goodness that fricasseed Zombie, couldn’t bite thru Dragons Scales.

Well, everyone made a run for it…as the penguins steadfastly twerked on…
At this time, some say, the director was straight out seen, pulling out his hair.
He was yelling: Dumb Zombies need a brain! & They’d head to the cemetery… 
If  ‘they only had a brain!’ So someone added the song ‘If I only had a Brain’. 
The director wanted Die Hard, but got ‘Die Hard without a Brain’. Yeah, Way!
Tho some would simply end up calling it, ‘Die Hard to Twerk another Day’.

The director decided: if he couldn’t beat them, join them. Yes, he surely did!
With the ending credits Dragon twerked. Groan! For shame!  Nobody Look!
That’s when Bruce Willis called Chuck Norris to help round the Zombies up! 
The Zombies wouldn’t take their cues! Well, not, until, it was time to Twerk!
Then they all just joined in, as apparently a real Zombie…Can Indeed Twerk! 
They were all, finally sent home, with smiles upon their face. Uh... we think!

The witches put them back, by order of Chuck Norris, in any case! It’s True!
For a witch can mess with a director, but No One messes with Chuck Norris! 
What! You knew? And the after show party, with Chuck Norris, had such flair!
He even ask Dragon for an autograph… Now, Dragon’s head is in the air!

And Note: Not a single Zombie was hurt in the making of this musical…
          Though, many a one, did fall down, when Dragon flapped his wings.
          The fricasseed Zombie liked his suntan and new hair style, it seems!
Written By Carol Eastman 1-22-2015 

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
This year I turned the big ‘5-0’
And my body is acting strange
So I went to see the doctor who said
Not to worry, as I was going through ‘the change.’

“Is there anything I can take?” I asked
He replied, “There’s HRT
But I don’t believe in prescribing it,
Let’s try to deal with this naturally!”

You could have knocked me backwards
And I thought, all well and good for him
It wasn’t his raging hormones 
Making him feel like a stranger within

He doesn’t get narked, by the little things
That before would go over his head
Or wake up at night, in a lather of sweat
And have to get up to change his bed

It isn’t him having palpitations
Which make you feel like you’re going to die
It’s not him, who feels angry one moment
And the next as if he could cry

He’s not lapsing in concentration
Or feels like he’s his losing his mind,
Because he put the milk in the washing machine
And it took him an hour to find!

It isn’t he who keeps feeling so crap
When a ‘monthly’ is missed or comes late
And I bet he never just has to look at food
In order for him to gain weight!

He’s not always taking medicine for thrush
Or constantly needing to pee
So I bet he’d be first to pop the pills
If it was him going through this, not me

So I looked at him and said “I’ll give it a go
But I don’t really hold much hope”
And walked out of his surgery, feeling as though
I could have hung him with some rope!

But off I went and months have gone past
Of getting worse doing - ‘naturally,’
So I’ve made an appointment with a lady doc
Who might take pity, and prescribe ‘HRT.’

Copyright © Janette Fisher | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Got home awound twee (I was dwunk as a wouse)
Awose pwomptly at six wit' dwy cotton-mouth
I knew wather soon my day was gonna' bwow
When I stwuggled outta' bed and stubbed my wight toe
Fwopped back on the mattwess cwying and twitchin' 
Staggoid back up and wimped to the kitchen
Stumbled to the counter to bwew Folger's bwend
Spiwwed it down my Hanes and boint my widdle fwend
Hobbled to the bathwoom to wustle up some Tums
Twipped on my fwip-fwop and bwuised my weft bun

Should not have cawoused wit' owe Bugsey wast night
Now my head hoits and de wight is too bwight
If I had not dwunk gin for my mowale booster
I coulda' swept in trew 'dat wascally wooster

(Don't feel wike wunning dat siwwy wat-wace
Tink I might caw in sick at the Woony-Tune pwace)
 







Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
As the hourglass gets filled with sand,
they take time to ask me who I am,
but who are YOU?      to ask such a question...

Did I invite you into my world,
with bright pink signs pointing to my direction?

>>>> OVER HERE! INSANITY BY THE BUCKET! <<<<

BUY ONE GET ONE FREE      (what a steal)

Is that the way you feel? Am I just a novelty
for your ogling eyes?

(well judging by my pretty face --- I'm not surprised)

But there is such a thing as common courtesy,
though considering your modernity
I doubt you even know how to do a curtsy
with your LOLing to the moon and back

*deletes evidence of acronyms
in a flash*

...... getting back (ahem)
to the point.

I really ought to stop while I'm behind
before people start questioning my modesty

(are my metaphors too revealing?)

GOOD one!      (yup ... I'm stealing!)

And before things go from bad to worst
you really ought to knock first,

catching me in poetic undress

(how embarrassing
when people see your haiku
aaa-HA!)

And did I say you can come in?

(slick intruder that you are with feline finesse)

I should be downright insulted by your nonchalance
to rifle through my cranium, feather duster in hand,
taking advice from the motel maid

      (don't try to hide it)

We all know you can't get enough of it,
so what's the big deal?

(are you still reading this ... FOR REAL?)

Wow! What a champ!
Do you want a golden stamp?

(the universal postal service is outrageous
anything past Mars is too far)

Now what rhymes with far?
Bar, Car, Star, ... OOOO CZAR      (bet THAT hasn't been done before)
Are you having fun yet, just like a kid in a candy store?
Are you addicted yet ... do you crave more?
Thinking of the best way to rot your teeth to the core?

      (pick your poison peeping tom)

... wide open eyes through the crack in the door,
getting looksies at my under

lying meaning.

Sometimes I get tired of your probing!
Your seeing of things never meant to be known,
your x-ray vision analyzing my bones.

I suppose it can't be helped though,
it's just how it goes, you know?

I never meant it to go this far ...
a handful of lines was all I asked!

Now look at the poetic aftermath.

This is how it is in a world full of noise,
if I didn't want you to hear my voice, weeell

(perhaps I ought to reconsider my career choice)



NOTE: I thought it was fitting to add a picture of me given the subject matter.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
The name's Ike.
Some a ya might a met me before,
in my very first write,
and knew me as the stalker with the walker.
"Retired Romance" was the name,
Spoke about meetin' my wife,
She's here with me, name is Jane.
I likes ta call her the Mrs.,
cause I never thought that would happen again.
Now she like ta near smother me with kisses,
but gives me room ta write now and then.
We had us one of them honeymoons,
she says it ain't over yet.
But dang, if'n it ain't over soon,
we'll have ta call me in a vet!

Ennyways, I wanted ta give y'all a heads up
that I'll be a writin' from time to time .
We'd like ta thank y'all for the nice thumbs up,
'bout our first little Retired Romance rhyme,
and let y'all know that me and the Mrs. .. well..
.                                                  ..we doin' just fine !
.                  "Nite nite darlin."

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.

I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.

He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.

The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.

He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.

With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.

But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon… 
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!


Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Two riding on a single
Man! How fast that bike will go
Down the hill around the curve
Blow wind blow

At the very bottom piled up
In a culvert drain
In great agony and pain
Totally distained

Crumpled metal, torn clothes
Bleeding and blood stains
Harsh words from parents
Tears as soap and water cleaned

All the cuts and bruises
And clothes that had to be changed
What an ending to Christmas
The joy of Santa's gift

Lying dented and scuffed bent
Beside the porch needing to be fixed

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
She jiggled like pink jello into the store
with platinum blonde hair and red rouge on her face
the shoe clerk mumbled it must be 1950's day
watching her strut around with a hanky made out of lace

She said hi hon you know why I'm here
he replied let me guess, you wear a size eight
she said well if the shoe fits I might as well wear it
and maybe later if you get lucky you can be my date

So she scouted around and found a pair
and sat down with tight dress flair
he thought to himself I think I'm in love with Mae West
looking her up and down and at her chest

He gently took her foot and slid her old high heel off
his hand sliding up and starting to cruise
she batted her eyelashes and said oh keep it coming, she toyed
saying, why don't you come up and see me later big boy

With that he winked and slid the new heels on 
watching her walk around like Mae West
she said you know I know you like me big boy
but my eyes are up here and not on my chest

With that he gave her a long wolf whistle
and said you know I just can't resist
now stop acting your shoe size sexy
pulling her towards him giving her a passionate kiss

She whispered hon is that your gun
or are you just happy to see me
he said guess what my little chickadee
tonight you can be my Bacall and I'll be your Bogie

With that she left the store with customers galore
staring, whispering and looking aghast
he said out loud, come on... get a life...
I know we're a little kooky, but she happens to be my wife!



2-7-18

Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2018

Details | Light Poetry |
With your red rubber cup that makes suction. 
You have come in handy many a day, 
when there has been a flushing obstruction. 
I think you deserve hazard pay. 

You've saved toys, an unfortunate cell phone or two. 
Then there is always the times your needed, 
when we are visited by You-know-Who (pweh). 
So your heroics bears being repeated. 

Your sacrifice it knows no bounds, 
entering murky waters, stopping floods. 
Or pulling to surface the items you found. 
Now aren't you glad you don't have taste buds? 

Some seem to see you as just an extractor. 
Yet in movies, your comic timing is beyond belief, 
when your stuck on the face of a leading actor. 
That you didn't quit your day job is a great relief. 

Though everyone knows you on sight so well, 
To be an unsung hero, seems to be your lot in life. 
Taken out and plunged into porcelain hell, 
Where only you would dare to dive. 

So Plunger, Oh Toilet Plunger, 
as we kneel here before the throne. 
Let us sing out your praises, 
well, maybe after we can stop these groans. 


Entered in the contest: 2nd chance
Placement: 10th

Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
LOVE IS LIKE.........................

Love is like a pair of shoes!
Easy to abuse, or tossed in the trash when over used.

Love is like fire,
soon you'll get burn, or the flames will just simply turn off!

Love is like a car,
always finding ways to get it fixed, or searching for a better one!

Love is like a calendar,
changing days, weeks in 12 months, with resolutions never accomplished!

Love is like dirty laundry, you put it to the side!

Love is like a song, winds up all kinds of emotion before it ends!

Love is like a teacher, never appreciated!

Love is like dirt, easy to step on, or sweep away!

Love is like make up, easy to remove with tears!

Love is like a battery, draining all it's juice till it runs out!

Love is like a model, full of $h*t!

Love is like a Doctor, dumping hurting news with a cost!

Love is like a remote control, to many buttons to push!

Love is like the universe, confusing without knowing what's out there!

Love is like power, to hard to handle!

Love is like a fart, it really stinks!

Love is like a coloring book, scribbling pages to get it over with!

Love is like a flower, that will die eventually!

Love is like an egg, one way, or another it has to break or rot!

Love is like a shadow, it only happens with light!

Love is like a roach, waiting to get crushed!

Love is like a unicorn, does it even exist!

Love is like a heart beat, easy to stop!


By; p.d.
**********(LMFAO)*************** 
I think I had to much fun demoting love.
...........Instead Of promoting (LOL)........

Love is like wow! if you really must know!

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
A little grey mouse snuck into the house to get himself out of the cold. Then the house cat Who saw where he sat pursued him I am told. The lazy old dog who sleeps like log was startled by the chase, So she woke up her own small pup and they joined in the race. My sister the baby decided that maybe she would give it a try, She started a spat And was scratched by the cat and then she started to cry. That’s when mom called to Uncle Tom to come and lend a hand, With a straw broom mom circled the room knocking plants from off a stand. In came my dad and he was quite mad because the house was in disarray He was vexed with what happened next But it happened just this way. Our two brave bowsers chased the mouse up dad’s trousers He thought he’d be safe in there. Until Dad started to dance with the mouse in his pants Then he jumped up on a kitchen chair. Mom smacked dad’s seat and then came a repeat And the mouse climbed out of his pocket. Unseen by all he started to crawl into the wall through an open socket. Later that night, With no one in sight, I put out a nut for the little mouse. I had no hate toward him, And I tried to reward him. Even if he was trapped inside our house. I told him my name, And he did the same, Then he stuffed the nut into his cheeks. He said thanks for the food, And I don’t mean to be rude, But that was the most fun that I’ve had in weeks.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
I come to you with humble thanks for all that you’ve delivered, For Englishmen to walk the planks and for timbers left unshivered. I thank you for a glassy sea and the steady blowing breeze, For giving all these things to me without making me say please. And I thank you for the horizon where sea and sky do meet, For every new sun that I watch risin’ is a day of fate I’ll cheat. It is my hope dear loving Lord that I can bring you pleasure, By throwing someone overboard and stealing all their treasure. And when I navigate at night you send the northern star, I feel then that I’m alright and it’s to you that I’ll say ARRR. There’s a lesson that some people teach about the carrying that you do, But I knew that the footprints on the beach must have belonged to you. ‘Cause I got a peg and there’s no doubt it would’ve got stuck into the sand. I couldn’t have pulled myself back out because I got this hook for one hand. I’d like to see you but by some quirk my good eye got covered by my patch, I know that I’m just salvage work and it’s you who’ll batten down my hatch. So Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum and raise the Jolly Roger to the sky, And praise Him from whom blessings come the one who reigns on high. For I am grateful for the gifts that you have granted me, A pirate ship that is so swift and the blue green open sea.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
 Sublime

Short  rhyme  .

Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
You know we’re very poor, of that we have certainly, never denied.
Then the ‘Obama-I-don’t-Care’ gave us another whammy, Yes, indeed! Oh My!
Now, it’s Peanut butter we will have for supper, and even that we’ll spread thin.
And the little birdies we gave a cup of bird seed, occasionally, when we dared…

Well, this morning they got a handfull of Fruit Loops, and they were really stale!
With the sugar they have in galore, now birdies are doing cartwheels at my door.
All that crazy energy, they’re acting just like my kids. Hey! Is that my old phone?
They’re texting wildly! Not watching where they go! Hey! There’s a tree! Oh No!

Some are doing cartwheels… While others are staggering back and forth!
But bird seeds not an option, under Obamas new plan, now! Don’t you know!
We ate it all last week, on our free cheese, from the Food Pantry, Not! A! Joke!
He was supposed to make it affordable, now he put food… WAY out the door!

Hey! We WERE the poor ones! Now we’re worse, as he runs away! By Darn!
OOOPPPS! Maybe Fruit Loops weren’t such a good idea, after all, I surmise!
The Dirty Birdies, are walking upside down, in circles, saying they want more!
If only they had hands! I’d get out my camera, but I hocked it, for the food store!

We had good insurance before the ‘Obama-I-Don’t-Care’! But Now it’s gone…
And our small paycheck was cut in half! So I stopped my cable!… Well, Darn!
Hubby walks miles to work, in the snow, backwards, no shoes, uphill! It’s true!

Excuse me! I have to go! For it’s off to the Food Pantry, with others I am bound!
I’d impeach that silly idiot! But I’d rather, he had to eat, just like us, at our house!
Hey! Maybe that explains his crazy actions… Take his Fruit Loops away, By Gosh!
And when you’re done, make sure he uses the same ‘Obama-I-Don’t-Care’… As us!

Then take away that raise from Congress… to fill the Food Pantries… Yea! I SAY!
When you’re done! Remember to vote Them ALL OUT! For what they have done today!
Then send them Dumpster Diving with me… Because they’ll need to learn the art!
Darn! What Now? Oh Oh! Those little Dirty Birdies… Have learned how to fart!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
The British call it maths,
but the Americans ditch the s
causing much international scorn.
But for our sake, p'raps it'd be best
to keep subjects
only halfway grasped
in the singular form.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Oh the Ghosts, Oh the Ghosts!!!
The Ghosts of Christmas shall haunt the wicked
They shall haunt the bitter and sorrowful decrepit creatures
Your hunched back and wallet will be no shield
For the three ghosts of the Christmas past

I Sir am the ghost of the Christmas past
Fear not I shall do yee no harm
That, you have already done upon your own wicked soul
Yes, that is you, as a young man, full of piss and vinegar as they say
Oh I know, you young ones then called it love, sore sight that was

I sir am the ghost of the Christmas present
Fear not, the bitter cause their own harm, not I for sure
They seethe within their own discontent and folly
The chains you hear old scrooge, are not mine
They are the irons that chain your heart to the wheel of wealth

I sir am the ghost of Christmas future
Fear not, for there is hope for all mankind
Even you, who counts coins like lovers count kisses
When you wake, you shall remember not, all these wise illusionary dreams
Old scrooge, the gift of mercy shall bestow a last grasp at happiness, take yee    hold!!!

The most festive of December days, the sun rose in the cold brisk air
Scrooge awoke, and the inexplicable sound of laughter filled his dreary bedroom
Pure unadulterated joy from the grumpiest of old men
The maid fled in fear, what insanity must have possessed this bitter old lard
Ah but happiness was indeed in the air

On with his topcoat and hat, nary a moment to ponder
Of he went to his secretary’s house
Carol, Carol !!!! He exclaimed, yes, I am not mad not crazy nor insane, open the door!
Possessed maybe, but only of joy, that I, the one so filled with animosity
Now I see, by the grace of the god, the love before my very eyes!!!

Well Carol and Scrooge passed a very Merry Christmas indeed!!!!!


Notes: This take of “A Christmas Carol” is from fond memories as a child, when our Dad “made” us watch this movie over the years! Blessed are those with such fond childhood memories of Christmas! 

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
One night while stargazing, Dragon and I, got to see a falling star… descend.
I thought that would be great, so I told him he could make a wish on them…
But Dragon’s are really quite unique, and don’t always think, like you and me. 
No, NOT at all! And you should believe, things began to unravel, immediately:

About to make that wish… He realized the moon descends every night.
And the sun descends, like the moon… every single day, at every Twilight.
Becoming horrified that so many wishes had gone by him, totally unused!
He decided to wish upon the star, that all past wishes, can now come, to be used.

There is logic here, I think, as Dragon hordes things; he’d do it with wishes, too.
When I tried to explain, that’s not how wishes work, they have to be rare and few.
With falling stars, it has to come from one, that came to ground, willing to share.
Now Dragon is a stubborn thing and decided, I wanted them all for myself, to snare.

He stomped his foot, as the 2 year old he is, crying he didn’t want to share not one.
So I patiently explained that there are bigger stars everywhere, bigger than our sun!
He was sure I’d done him wrong and had lied, after all, his eyes are very keen.
The bigger, the better, and our sun was the biggest thing, that he had ever seen!

It’s brightness has gobs of power, in fact, I’d said it powers all the Earth, he recalled.
So its wish couldn’t be small… he said it’s not nice, to not share, with him at all.
Now a tantrum was about to ensue, from our 2 year old who’d skipped his nap.
And don’t forget he’s a Dragon, too! It wasn’t a good idea to fall into this trap!

Some things are better to not go through. Why fight the battle, if you can stop the war?
In the end I took that wish… and wished I’d never took him on that wishful tour.
You know what? I did find that peace finally came back and did preside, in a wink.
As I got his blankie for his bed, and tucked him in so nice and neat, I paused to think.

Next year would be a better time, to view the meteor showers, after we both have…
A well-deserved nap. Don’t you think? When he’s a tad more grown up, I did add…
Besides my wishes, in the past, have served me well, as they brought him here to me.
And I ’d need one more wish this year, to help him when flying… to not hit the trees!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
"Oh, The places You'll Go!"

Dragon was in a slump as the kids all left to go back to school.
So I read to him:“All the Places You’ll Go!” by good Dr Seuss.
He loved “Oh, the things you will find if you don’t stay behind!”
Now, the school needed Crossing Guards. It was in the news times.

So Dragon volunteered… What else could he do?
After all, a Hero is a Hero- No matter what you chose to do.
Now Dragon read the rules. All that they got.
So Dragon marched off to be a Crossing Guard, at that…

Now Dragon Knew what DR Seuss knew.
“Out there things can happen, and frequently do,
  To people as brainy and footsy as you.
  And when things start to happen, don’t worry, don’t stew.
  Just go right along, you’ll start happening too!”

But traffic was too heavy, to cross the street, to the schoolyard!
And yes, one car, really, did run over, his feet and his tail!
And his Super Hero Cape got snagged by a car!
He was drug down the street, tho not very far…

But do not fear for a Dragon like ours…
He never gives up… so he reached for the stars!
As, yes, he remembered what Dr. Seuss had said.
“Think left and think right and think low and think high.
 Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try.”

So Dragon took the kids and sailed up to the sky.
But parents don’t like their kids to go sailing by,
Or for cars to get rained on, by hot Dragon embers, from up high.
And his boss didn’t think him… so very clever… by far!
As Dragon was fired on his… very… very… first day so far.

And Tears rained on everyone as Dragon sadly flew away!
As he went off to sit on the hill, over looking a highway, further away.
But Dragon so wise, remembered what Dr. Seuss said:

“Oh the things you can think up if only you try!" And
“It doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is what it will become.”
So at that… Dragon began to look around…

Life is in the journey he’d often been told, or so he thought,
As he watched butterflies trying to cross the road below.
Then Dragon knew Dr Seuss was: “Truer than True”, 
when he said:

“Don’t grumble! Don’t Stew!
Some critters are much-much,
Oh every so much-much,
So muchly much-much more unlucky than you!”

So Dragon went down to the edge of the road.
And he flapped his wings harder- harder than ever before.
His wind threw the butterflies… higher and higher into the air.
To where they could safely cross the road… to way over there.

He remembered that some times you just, won’t fit in…
“Because sometimes you have to be odd to be number one.”
And he had to agree that: 
“There is no one alive who is youer than you!”

Now he had a job to help butterflies go to where they would go.
And he smiled as he said to the butterflies… it’s true!
“Oh, the places you’ll go!”
Then he realized he’d done, all that is needed,
As he told them and agreed.

“And will you succeed?
Yes! You will indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed)"
Be you bigger than big or smaller than small… 
You are you but with your mind, that won’t be all!

And that’s the best thing of all! So remember…
"To the world you may be one person; 
But to one person you may be the world.”
So never give up and never give in… For
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, 
Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

Now he realized he had become a true Crossing Guard.
And during the months that the butterflies fly by…
He is their Crossing Guard who sends them along.
Thank you Dearly… my Dear… Dear Dr. Seuss!
No one could have explained it… as perfect as you.

Written 8-15-2015

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Sir Homophone came to meet the maid that somehow stayed so slim.
Her feat was to stay chaste to him and yet by his feet be chased by him.
She had recently lost some weight by refusing to partake in evening sup.
It seemed the more that she pared down the more likely to be paired up.
All night the weak maid prayed so meekly for the Knight that she sees.
But the Knight preyed to be made thrice weekly and she at night to seize.
She hoped he would meet and see her and then choose to wed,
But it was the supper meat that saw the sear that he chews instead.
She sewed her dress then pared the wood and the holy altar made, 
He sowed distress when he prepared his wood to wholly alter the maid.
“Maid please tend to me now you’ve said you weekly have sordid sex.”
“Knight please you misunderstand I said I weakly have sorted sox.”
She begged, “Please be discreet with what it is that we’ve discussed.”
He shrugged, “You are awfully discrete in what it is that you disgust.”
But love conspired to steal, his heart soared and they were off to wed,
Then lust transpired to steel his hard sword and they were off to bed.
He was happy because of her sighs and she was happy because of his. 
This concludes my good Knight tale and all of this good night tail biz.

You read it didn’t you? Shame on you, I had to read it because I wrote it 
but you had a choice. Benny Hill would be so proud.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
Mountain Lake is my favorite place to write
under shade tree are my pencil, paper, and pole.
Scribble down words while waiting for a bite
fishing my most popular angling hole.

Fish are jumping all around hook and line
small cork sits still and does not move or fade.
Patiently I sit in wait for that fish to dine
beneath weeping willow of cool tree shade.

Inspiration overwhelms biding snare
while creative mind laggardly transcends.
In far distance I see lone grizzly bear
and leave a good fishing pole to his friends.

Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Fourth Place Winner ~ "Inspired” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Miranda Lambert
July 20, 2011

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
I am a fat oriole from Baltimore
With baseball cap and baseball mitt
I became a star cause well I could really hit
Made my money, to build my nest
Never grew up, cause I was born with good luck
I am a big fat Oriole I say to you
Now I am retired
So I sit in by chair
Eating my Oreos, double stuffed flair
Oriole oriole eating my oreos
I am fat cookie, a Baltimore storio

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Robin Hood, man in tights Julius Caesar, might makes right Alexander, called "the Great" Sitting Bull, righteous hate Robert the Bruce, Attila the Hun Charlemagne, Napoleon Hear the call of the alpha male! Warriors leave a bloody trail. George Washington, man on the spot JFK and Camelot Thomas Jefferson, renaissance man Abe Lincoln took a stand Ronald Reagan, Richard III Henry VIII, Harry Byrd Hear the call of the alpha male! In politics it's all for sale. Hemingway, Shakespeare, Kant, and Plato Chaucer, Shelley, Cicero, Cato Voltaire, Dickens, Rene Descartes Byron, Lawrence, Jean-Paul Sartre Hear the call of the alpha male! Some prefer to write the tale. Wolfgang Mozart, dead so young Leonard Bernstein's song is sung Picasso, art you love to hate Ludwig Beethoven, voice of Fate Bach, Lennon, and Shostakovich Monet, Manet, Buddy Rich Hear the call of the alpha male! Art and music fill some sails. Joe Montana, football star Michael Jordan raised the bar Wayne Gretzsky, Hall of Fame Jesse Owens changed the game Rockne, Ruth, Gehrig, Orr Chamberlain, Beckham, Man O' War Hear the call of the alpha male! Athletic prowess up for sale. Tyrone Power, Harrison Ford John Glenn, Sir Thomas More Edmund Hillary, John Donne Albert Einstein, Brigham Young James Dean, Alvin York Margaret Thatcher, Robert Bork Audie Murphy, Mohandas Gandhi Chris Columbus, Walter Ralegh Hear the call of the alpha male! Now it's time to end this tale. Woe to she who hears his cry, Destined, like as not, to die; For alpha males blaze bright and sweet, But she-moths burn inside their heat.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015