bicycle Bert was a fixture in this small Iowa town
We waved to him and yelled happy thoughts, all around.
Bert rode his bike in parades, all decorated and such.
The town truly loved this unique individual, very very much.
There was once a man called Bert
Whose feelings of others he hurt
There were those who ignored
Others who on him deplored
That he curb his need to be curt
Bert was the head convent
An arrogant cocky little squirt
His belligerent feelings were often hurt
Because he was rude and often curt.
His wife was tidy, neat and pert.
Her talent was ironing his favorite blue shirt.
About them both we liked to blurt
For they were rather awful, Mert and Bert.
My friend Bert the Twerp was a real jerk
Small things at work would make him go berserk
Told his boss off
At the water trough
For not allowing Bert to wear a pretty skirt
Bert was a little Brontosaurus,
and his appetite was amazing.
He liked to chew and munch and slurp,
Bert never stopped his grazing.
But one day after eating,
he felt a little strange.
Something was brewing in his tum,
and Bert didn't like the change.
In little Bert's guts, there was gurgling,
and his mouth he opened wide.
And from it came a ginormous burp,
that caused a small landslide.
As the jungle around him fell silent,
Bert clearly didn't know what to do.
He didn't like the other dinos watching him,
so he opened his mouth and yelled BOO!
Well the dinosaurs went running in fright,
as Bert smiled a nice toothy grin.
It just goes to prove, no matter how small outside,
what counts is what comes from within!
Entered into: DINOSAUR(S) - FOR CHILDREN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
3rd July 2019.
Placed Joint 3rd.
Old Bert the Twerp was a real jerk
Things at work would make him go berserk
Told his boss off
At the water trough
For not allowing Bert to wear a pretty skirt
© Jack Ellison 2015
He is a fuzzy orange creature with a big nose.
On blocks of a pyramid is where he goes.
He has to change the colors to make them look the same.
When he does this, he goes to the next frame.
However, red balls are falling from the sky.
Purple creatures are lurking who want to see him die.
Our hero cannot touch anything that is not green.
Slick and Sam are green guys that are not mean.
Coily is a snake the shade of a concord grape.
On flying discs are what our buddy makes his escape.
The little saucers take our friend back to the top.
Chasing Coily misses and off the pyramid he will drop.
Since the early eighties, this has been a video game.
What about our orange friend? Q-bert is his name.
Your fabulous career started in Minnesota.
It ended many years later in California.
Your statistics included sixty lifetime shutouts.
You had over three thousand seven hundred strikeouts.
A power right-hander considered among the best,
your accomplishments placed you above much of the rest.
Well Bert, despite your amazing prowess for the game,
I cannot believe you have not made the Hall of Fame.
Your lack of recognition appears as quite a shame.
With two hundred eighty-seven wins in your career,
you had a lot more than many other pitchers here.
Why don’t I see your plaque? The reason is hardly clear.
Like many others who follow the game of baseball,
I want to see your name enshrined in Cooperstown’s Hall.
Bert Blyleven was finally elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame this year after thirteen
straight years of unsuccessful attempts. He will be enshrined later on this summer.
I wrote this poem back in 2004.
Now Bungeye Bert was a bit of A SQUIRT....
And came from the bush you see....
Had a squinty eye an open fly....
Was bandy round the knee....
He came to Brissy town this day....Brisbane
First time in the big big smoke...
Rolled his swag out in the park to lay....
Till the evil thugs did croak....
swag on fire, soon it was a blazer ....
They started kicking him around...
He groped in his boot, the razor ...
He slashed any hamstrings that he found....
Slashing just above the heel....
They started dropping all around....
Good old Bengal razor steel....
With 3 hamstrung as they kicked him....
They weren't too happy hey....
They lay screaming on the ground with him....
poor thugs just crawled away.....
Don Johnson....
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
MY MATE BERT
I have a very special mate
A flea whose name is Bert.
He lives upon my old dog's ear,
With his dear wife named Gert.
My Bert is such an athlete too,
He loves to somersault.
Does singles, doubles, sometimes threes,
I've never seen him fault.
'Till yesterday, while showing off,
He sprung into the air.
And jumped too high and landed in
Young Bobby Millers hair.
I searched and searched to find my mate,
Then found him on Bob's shirt.;
But when I took a second look,
It wasn't my mate Bert.