Best Bone(A) Poems
Napoleon Bonaparte
1769 Corsica is where he got his start
One of the greatest commanders in history
His manner of death a 200-year-old mystery
Napoleon played it close to the vest
With his armies he was always the best
But 'twas nothing he could do
When he met his Waterloo
Lived his last few years under house arrest
Napoleon drank the water and headed for the loo
He did nothing different than you or I could ever do
Be kind to your skin and protect your bone-a-parts
Remember that's where good hygiene starts!
I tickled funny bones of five Souper men
So I gave thought to trying it once again
In the order they replied
My sarcasm was applied
As I gently heckled them with ink and pen
First, Tom Cunningham, who "liked my collection"
To femme limericks he had no objection
But now it's his turn
Tom, forgive the burn
I heard you're headed for a house of correction
Jerry T Curtis said to "keep them coming"
But I think that lately he's been slumming
He's all aflutter
And starts to stutter
When his lady friend starts his heart strumming
Then there was the poet of romance, Tim Smith
His sweet words of seduction are not a myth
I know it to be truth
Don't ask me. It's uncouth
I don't kiss and tell so I'm pleading the fifth
John Gondolf said my limericks made him "chuckle"
His comments are always filled with honeysuckle
But if he wants a date
I'll have to castigate
I have a black belt in the use of my knuckles
"I needed smiles and giggles," said Greg Barden
His poems are flowers blooming in a garden
But some words are couture
Fertilized with manure
Now I guess I'll have to beg for Greg's pardon
Gentlemen, I ask forgiveness for this spoof
My humorous parodies should be the proof
That I like all of you
And don't mind if ya do
Get even in your own limericks of reproof
There once was a fine buxom lass
who wrote poetry with real class
and though she was sly
real foxxy and why
that fair buxom lass was a gas!
Yes PD was not a late bloomer
her pages were full of rare rumor
she told bushy tales
of boys who ate snails
and ran from the po-po’s cruiser.
Well, foxxy ole PD’s so tart
she raised that low bar from the start
bringin’ on game
no man could tame
Unless, he’s N. Bone-a-part?
So, Linda we beg you to stay
do not leave us alone come to play
streak your hair red
get up from that bed
you know we all love your foreplay!
Tap that type, blow that screen, shred that page
yes, Miss Foxxy the world is your stage
I’m truly amazed
at your subtler ways
Your mischievous heart's all the rage!
What more can I say, I not her proxy
cause all of you know I'm not that foxxy
I’ll have to give in
end up with a grin
and beware of all the kits with her Moxie!
*6 Foxxy Limericks
Dad's bark is worse than his verse.
When he hits it doesn't really hurt.
The dirt outside the house is soil.
The mouse inside the house is life.
Can't escape the printer or the car, IV
bag, heart monitor, a billion trillion stars.
Snow descends, each flake unique.
My sons' friends, each infinitely
a Greek or Trojan hero. Our morals:
hit not the girls, nor rape. Love more
than you are loved, by a little. Give
but stop before it hurts. Stand together
or fall apart. Which candidate you vote
for less important than to vote. Don't
depend or dote on leaders, housekeeper
and president are gods equally
remote. The human body is a thing of
bone, a strange upright animal, and the
telephone a mystery to other animals.
Everyone and everything is spinning
electrons and the space between.
A great crunch, inverse of big bang,
yr big sister told.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
A chill to the bone, a fall to the depth
a longing to feel the warm rays of day.
There was but one road which ran to a church.
There was many roads that ran far in the wood.
Like a fool I have run past Elm and Birch
this lost road turned to a trail where I stood.
A dark cloud now forms a narrow cold sky
a wind from the North, which blows coastally.
My choice brings no answer only a sigh
it made years ago and so willfully.
Weary am I of a life on this path
wishing to visit my option again.
Fearing my Lord or fearing His wrath
I backtrack this road but only in vain.
Before me a puzzle of rock and stone
reaching far back before a road in time
planted me deep in a mist with no tone
searching for a life, that I could call mine.
This narrowing track turns back on itself,
the undergrowth soon will stand in my way.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
Lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
A dog and his bone was on the roam,
Where can I find this bone a home?
Will I bury it next to the tree?
No, too easy for others to see.
What about next to the garden shed?
Maybe in the middle of the garden bed,
Behind the sty where the pigs all are,
What about somewhere right away far.
I think I know what I will do,
I'll just sit down and have a chew,
Tomorrow will be another new day,
I'll find a spot then for the bone to stay.
Poiseidon's waters roil and roar
Up and down the craggy coast;
Their winedark waves have brought the host
Of foreign men all drunk for glory,
For the sake of one man's vanity
They traveled to your alien shore
To write with blood and bone a story
Of the Gods' capriciousness towards men,
Of passion's triumph over sanity
Which they shall repeat: again, again.
The men will surge against your city walls
Ten long and doleful years;
Your children, born to violence, shriek, widows' tears
Appeal to you, their hero Prince,
To drive them back to whence they came
As your father walks the palace halls,
As does his shade now, ever since -
Ever since you went to face the foe
To pass to time your noble name,
Their legend and their martyr, hope, and woe.
It was asked by what Creed you chose to live
Before you fell to Fates' perversity,
Before their undeserving Champion dragged you 'round the city.
"Honor the Gods", you said, cruel though they may be.
"Defend your Country", you said, though it be doomed.
"Love your Women", you said, as only they can give
Meaning to the madness from across the sea.
Your father forced to beg your battered corpse; so many dead,
Their faces still now, 'neath the swaying plumes
Of shining helmets, others waiting in their stead.
"Honor the Gods
Defend your Country
Love your women."
- Oh you grey heads who start your wars for Pride,
Go ask Andromache's ghost
What it meant to her.
LA CHUPACABRA
In the thickets green, it waits, hunched
On all fours.
Leering, its piercing eyes set aglow,
By passing cars headlights.
Slowly, the creature moves, almost
Without a sound.
Creeping across the road towards
Its quarry, and salivating.
It's a sharp-toothed critter, the size of
A small bear, lies in waiting, for
His victim to take a misstep.
Weaving back and forth, it
Strikes against the prey,
Until satisfied at the raw
Experience of death, has
Been concluded, to it's
Bloody satisfaction.
Flesh to bone, a killer
Feasts in the night, leaving
Devastation in the wake behind it.
Claws dripping, with leavening remnants,
A vile thing, an experimental
Chameleon blending into it's
Surroundings perfectly!
It hides in the shadows unto dusk,
Stalking, ambivalent to danger,
And ever aware of its surroundings.
The La Chupacabra, sits motionless,
In the underbrush waiting.
Where does it come from, is it
Fact or myth?
Evidences wrongful creation by
Misidentification.
Only future generations may
Discovery the truth.
But until then I'll watch closely
At night, and if I were you,
I'd do the same.
One never knows, what may be
Lurking the darkness?
Or whom might be looking,
Right back at you,
Hiding in the black shadows of night!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A ball of twine, a washing line
A bag of peat, an old dust sheet
A rope
Some wire
An old flat tyre
A roller-skate, a garden gate
Some dry grass seed, a millipede
A sack of sand, one glove, left hand
A torch
A mallet
A painters pallet
A cracked fish tank, a broken plank
A headless gnome, some dried out loam
An old bike bell, a snail shell
A spade
A fork
A champagne cork
The dogs toy bone, a traffic cone
It's cleared away, it took all day
I find it is, quite safe to say
It used to fit, But who knows how
My garden shed is empty now
Dog Gone , Bone Search
Seeking, this yard, looking for a bone
not a cool drink, just not for me
A bone, a bone, master still on the phone
but, there, there is my favorite tree!
Sweet release, now back to my hard task
cat races away, why I have no clue
If only there was somebody here to ask
and where hides a big bone they knew!
Over there, fresh dirt shows a treasure
buried beneath must be a large bone
When I dig it up I can then just measure
while master stays busy on the phone.
Mine at last, the great prize I so graved
so tasty, this delicious treat
Should I keep it and have it engraved
or yield to hunger and just eat?
Great quest it was, certainly no lark
a bone, a bone found was this food
Time to scratch and let out a loud bark
this delicious bone sets that mood!
Master races out with same bowl of crap
bone now gone, I ate it so quick
Time to ignore him, pretending a nap
I may be only a dog but I am still slick!
R.J. Lindley
Jan, 22nd 1971
Note - Old poem, light verse and bored, goofing
around one night.
Blunt deadly weapons of mass destruction
electrify, fracture, and
jeopardize *****Sapiens
species (and entire biosphere)
continuity rent asunder
doomsday declared (nuclear winter
gallows humor spelt
with eternal snow day)
dystopian authors outflanked
nuclear fallout wreaks worst
rocky horror picture
effected upon mankind
global (worldwide)
big screen radioactive
wee willy weber webbing
materiel severely seared
sepsis poisons deoxyribo
nucleic acid future generations
organic fiber cursed
simultaneous single simulcast
broadcast airs live after Royal Wedding
audience participation demanded
bumping ugly fleshless
formed fruitless fatal fumes
anomalies all – blinded
beastial begotten bemoan
brethren brood
brutal burnt offerings
crackling, snapping,
and popping surreal muck
shapeless liquified populace
sloshing helter skelter
quests slither towards
aimless destination
bone a fied skeleton crews cruise
crying cretins creep cavalierly
crepuscular cratered city
cruel mushroom clouds
cloaked croaking cellophane charred
cancerous clumps career,
clomp continuously
chaos charts choking climate
cold comfort commanded collusion
commander in chief concurred
crumpled coveted constitution credo
crass conceit communicated
cooly came clean concerning
consensual coital cavort
crazy cream craving characterized
condoned combined crunching
crotch crab free **** -
condom free crux
contractual commingling
cashiered coverup
chic chica chick
cigerette chewing
clutched cocked club
choked chicken concluded
das capitol business
before he returned
to regularly broadcast program
the sea son finale
last chapter of human race
no winners, nor survivors
bleak contaminated Earth gasping
heaving jackknifed lost in vape
nonpareil planet reduced to vapor!
You want to know about it
The bad memories, the pain
Ok just wait for a bit
Ill have to jig it out my brain
It happened in the middle of May
Glen my friend was off to Spain
I remember it was a sunny day
A few months before I dated his sister Jane
“Come around please, pet sit”
“Jane and I will be gone five days”
“It will be only for a little stint”
“The dogs just eat and want to laze”
So off I go up the hill, House No 7
A beautiful mansion, the best on the road
You could almost feel as if you were in heaven
With a gate that had a 6 digit code
An eloquent man answered the door
Handed me the leashes and said he’d be back a five
“Don’t surprise them” and he said no more
I heard the car as it left the drive
Sniff, Sniff, then, it happened
A huge black object almost snapped off my nose
I caught the rottweiler by the skin of it neck
The chiwawa was dangling from my nuts and my hose
I screamed colourful words but for you I’ll use “What the heck”
I could not let go as I kick the rottweiler in the nuts
It squealed, then growled it went wild
I punched it as hard as I could right in the guts
Then I ran upstairs with a chiwawa hanging screaming like a child
I dove through the upstairs window to the grass
With a chiwawa squeezing my bits
But this time with a rottweiler attached to my ****.
The rottweiler landed first with me on top as we hit
I suffered a broken collar bone, a leg and an arm
The rottweiler was out but the chiwawa was hanging on
I didn’t think the chiwawa would cause so much harm
Till I ripped it from my loins and with my good arm threw it far and long
I fell on the ground in pain, I thought this was the end
And as if a miracle an angel stood sent from heaven
It was the familiar face of Glen my trusty friend
He said what you doing at no7 we waiting at no 11.
This love
wants nothing.
It just happens
like a ray of the tree-tops
or of a temporal bone a palm.
This love
is not a centenary tree keeping
secrets –
open and clear is shining
the grass on the hill.
It stays quiet under the stormy wind
it bears under the fire of the sun,
in hollows of the nights long
tells fairytales.
The world changes. – It does not faint.
It grows up higher than it
and shorter than the stone.
In the church a thunder falls,
but She is praying…
She is Her temple
and the temple is Her.
And Everything!
Blue cheese doesn't sound good to me
Food should never be blue!
Orange and red and green are okay
To mention you just a few!
A man's suit should never be pink
It gives off a certain vibe!
It portrays a kind of effeminate touch
A thing you might want to hide!
You be the judge, what about ice cream?
Would you order a flavour called cow?
Probably not, but you never know
Could be the next craze after sow!
One more thing then I really must go
What would you think of purple fudge?
Not your thing? Doesn't turn your crank?
Just give your funny bone a nudge!
Why are we bound by customs and norms?
Why can't we step out of the box?
Like a body builder wearing a pink tutu
With pink and green polka dot socks!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.