Best Booed Poems
FRED THE PERV.
Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue said that red pair were mine.
LARS.
A young astronaut from NASA called Lars
Blasted off from Cape Kennedy to Mars
But then there was a glitch
When he pressed the wrong switch
Last seen heading at warp speed to the stars.
PETE.
A young pianist from New York called Pete
Could play William Tell using his feet
But he fell of his chair
And he started to swear
Was booed off and thrown into the street.
JOHNNY GABLE.
A mean old waiter called Johnny Gable
Saw a man choke to death on a bagel
He then shifted his body
To the side of the lobby
Said forgive me but we need the table .
O'TOOLE.
A forgetful pilot Johnny O'Toole
Was over the north sea flying to Bule
Then both engines spluttered
Under his breath muttered
Looked at his gauge and screamed no ruddy fuel.
OLD GANGSTER.
An old gangster rose from rags to riches
Got rid of all his traitors and snitches
They'd find in their bed
A racehorses head
Or find themselves sleeping with the fishes.
THE BAKER.
An unwashed old baker from Idaho
Had filthy fingers when kneeding the dough
Folk choked on his paella
Some died from salmonella
Got closed down and ended up on skid row.
O'KEEFE.
A fella by the name of O'Keefe
Was the long serving town's police chief
Someone stole the mess cookies
Everyone blamed the rookies
But it turned out O'Keefe was the thief.
AMOUROUS MICHAEL.
Amourous young Michael from Mayo
At a girls house he tried to stayo
She started to shouto
And then kicked him outo
Said she" you're not staying no wayo."
NIGERIAN POEM THIEF.
A sly poem thief from Nigeria
On the soup caused a mass hysteria
He stole soupers work
Soupers went beserk
On the run now cos he's in fear of ya.
Written 18th august 2019.
Act One: the stage and scenery are set
I was told the play, I'd not soon forget
But if truth were to be told
More like the game, whack-a-mole
I needed a hammer, not a lorgnette
Thespians were vying for the limelight
Popping up everywhere, ready to fight
Sarcastic words ill spoken
The golden rule was broken
A princess rudely slandered by a knight
Act Two: the actors wrote their own stage play
A long soliloquy to have their say
The audience booed and hissed
"Put that one on the blacklist!
Kick that charlatan out," they did convey.
Someone had to quickly close the curtain
'fore the crowd decided they'd be hurtin'
the actor they were jeering
with sidelong looks of leering
meaning, "Fit for a role by Tim Burton!"
Act Three: Then Queenie tried to take control
Each part played, she admitted that she stole
Just another know it all
Boring with each scribbled scrawl
Showing up everywhere like whack-a-mole
Bad actors can't write plays worth a ripe fig
But criticize others to make a dig.
Negative comments given
Are they jealousy driven?
Wantin' to make the rules like a bigwig
The play, though not very well attended
is being recast with those commended
who are never rude and crude
and have a kind attitude
Instead of those whose words have offended
The next play is about a new dog breed
I heard it's called a boghound with a need
to chew on a bone until
its nibbling has caused ill will
and seats are all empty; audience freed.
for it, the hot-blooded campus youth
booed and cheered, fought and cheated;
adrift in the hysteria of intramural sports,
the losers wailed, the victors jubilated;
now dusty, it leans on a heap of rubbish,
the Overall Champion trophy once golden,
lost in the rubbles of the demolished gym,
a relic of a youthful season long forgotten!
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do”
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
There once was a very fine rooster.
He would strut with his wings spread out wide.
The hens in his pen called him “Brewster”.
They liked to flap around at his side.
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!! The day's light grew.”
Quickly off to lay eggs ran the gals.
He flew to his perch; boasted anew.
Protecting hens meant no time for pals.
One day he sat proudly on his roost,
Curious, “Grandson” came; he was three.
Brewster stretched out his neck, his craw loose.
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!! Listen to me!”
“Grandson” loved to watch and feed the chickens.
Brewster crowed; the boy ran to the pen.
Neck stretched. Beak aiming. “Brew-roo” peckins’-
Little man. Boo-booed hand. Kiss would mend.
Brewster's life would never be the same.
Feelings hurt. “Grandson” sobbed for a while.
Grandma soothed at boy's side, rooster blamed.
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!!” Sung in exile.
All the hens in the pen played and lay.
While inside, “Grandson” stayed well as new.
Quietly heard in the distance, “Hey!”
“Cock-a-Doodle-Do!!! Boo-hoot, I’m stew!!!”
He spoke above your heads
And was amazingly funny to himself.
We did not laugh for we did not recognize the words.
He thought everyone knew them.
Everyone’s mother is not a lexicographer.
We knew them not.
He was totally disappointed.
Tried to do stand up
But was booed off the stage.
In order to become funny and be successful
He had to learn slang and modern day lingo
Like the rest of the successful comedians.
We saw his show two years after he decided this
And nearly fell off the stage and wet our pants.
It was the same material,
but this time we understood the words.
"Joe Willie Namath"
Joe Willie Namath
Super Bowl famous
shaved his football legs to sell pantyhose
wore white mink coat on sidelines for camera pose.
Broadway Joe Willie
drinking booze made him silly
on ESPN ..Suzie refused to be kissed
captured on sports video fans booed and hissed.
*For P.D.'S Clerihew Contest.
A festive Jewish holiday*
We celebrate today,
When children dress in costumes
And much merriment holds sway.
An evil man named Haman
Tried to have the Jews all killed.
The king, whose wife was Jewish,
Saw that deed was unfulfilled.
Since Haman wore a certain hat
Triangular in shape,
We eat three-cornered cakes to honor
Our too-close escape.
Called hamantaschen, they’re delish
And filled with fruit or “mun”
(Which translates into poppy seeds,
And that’s my favorite one).
The Purim story’s read each year
And Haman’s name is booed,
But afterwards we nosh,
With lots of hamantaschen chewed.
Commemorating history
With something we can taste
Takes a little of the bitter
And with sweetness it’s replaced.
*called Purim
Smelly Nelly was quite a charming girl,
She wore her hair in braids instead of curls,
Bathing several times per day in the Jewish way,
Yet many scoffed and sniffed,
exclaiming she smelt like manure in hay,
Nelly used expensive oils and attars,
some came from lands very far,
Her raiments were made of the finest silks
but people still told her she smelt
like days old milk,
They shunned and booed her,
talking behind her back,
hoping and praying she would have a heart attack,
The gripe they harbored had nothing to do with
Nelly's smell, it was because her family owned
several oil wells,
Neverthelss, she brought her own lunch which made
her naysayers feel as if they were incompetent bunches,
The farce of living as the Joneses do, never appealed to
Nelly because she knew the value of a dollar,
So while folks snickered and stared, corking their noses
causing her despair,
She sat and ate her snicker doodle sandwiches with her
little pinky waving in the air,
Smelly Nelly they chanted everyday, but she shrugged
her shoulders and continued on her merry way,
Cartier, Chanel and Youth Dew were always in her backpack,
but she knew it was hard for critics to understand her modest lifestyle,
They all rumoured that she lacked!
Afterall, she rather "enjoyed" their ignorance,
watching them treat her as if she were a rotten as mere happenstance,
But Nelly soon conquered her critics by blossoming into a
lovely swan, forgetting about the negativity, and meanness,
leaving the penny section to stew in their own mess......
To get it, the hot-blooded campus youth
booed and cheered, screamed and shrieked,
fought and cheated.
It fanned the hysteria of intramural sports
where the losers wailed, the vicotrs
jubilated.
Now rusty, it leans on a heap of rubbish,
the Overall Champion Trophy
once golden,
lost in the rubble of the demolished gym,
a relic of youthful seasons
now forgotten!
THE COACH
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Went to an alumni meeting last week
Looking for solace, the outlook was bleak
We lost a game we should have won
A total disaster to all not just some
Cries of anguish torrents of pain
“How the hell did we lose that game”
Three close calls in the recent past
Defeat was looming, the die had been cast
We were favorite to trample that team
What followed next was strictly obscene
No confidence in the coach, zero trust
A new powerful resurgence is a must
“Fire the coach, we need a new spark”
Call the chancellor a search to embark
There’ll be plenty of coaches to interview
At the end of the season there will be a slew
Most will have been fired that’s for sure
Same kind of let down we’ve had to endure
Appoint a committee to find a coaching ace
Got to expunge this humiliating disgrace
While we’re at it the assistants they must go
They haven’t inspired the team as far as I know
Need to raise cash something we’re lacking
Buy out his contract and send him packing
A new coach will cost us a hefty sum
A sales job needed to convince the alum
All must partake in any new proposal
Resources will be placed at our disposal
A few claimed it was to soon to act
Hissed and booed told not to come back
The coach (2)
All that remained were anxiously waiting
Are there any coaches, we’ve been baiting
A new coach will surely demand success
All in favor pledge support in this quest
Days later the finals were slated
Consensus was, we won’t be elated
To our amazement, it’s hard to explain
Out team executed a perfect game
I went to an alumni meeting last night
Everyone was joyful in utter delight
Many were boasting and sipping champagne
Alas we were conference champions again
We need to make sure we continue to cruise
Complete confidence in the coach and his crew
Upgraded facilities, haven’t you heard
Call the chancellor pass on the good word
Our coach is a winner to be sure
Esteem and respect for him to endure
The backers are ecstatic bursting with praise
Throw in some perks add in a raise
Extend his contract for a many a year
Act fast our rivals might get his ear
Those remarks from last week , bid them adieu
They were made by an uninformed few
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Country this guy they detest,
And save armpit noises he talent had none,
He thought they were funny and thought they were fun.
He thought that his 'talent' would make him a star,
But no one did care for the young Lochinvar.
He left San Francisco and charged straight ahead,
To Lower Manhattan is where he was lead,
But ere he was granted his first interview,
Producers were tipped-off and everyone knew,
His act was so silly and really bizarre,
They wouldn't audition the young Lochinvar.
Yet boldly he walked into Carnegie Hall,
And tried to astound them and tried to enthrall,
He made armpit noises and tried to impress,
(The day was quite sunny, but here I digress),
They dropped him in feathers and rolled him in tar,
'Twas nearly the end of the young Lochinvar.
"I won't be discouraged", he told them that day,
And then made his mark as he waddled away,
With sticky black footprints of feathers and tar,
He walked to the corner and bought a guitar,
Thinking, "I will be wonderful, I will go far",
But life would get worse for the young Lochinvar.
He took a few lessons, the Chet Atkins way,
With that and his armpit he started to play,
The audience booed him and tossed him outside,
He fell on his ass and it injured his pride,
And Lochinvar whispered, "Twere better by far,
Had I stayed with the armpit and scrapped the guitar."
He went to a bar and he drank a few beer,
He thought it would help him and give him some cheer,
But all it did give him was heartburn and pain,
And from that day onward, was never the same,
He'd never be famous and never a star,
'Twas the end of the line for the young Lochinvar.
He moved back to 'Frisco and rented a room,
Was the height of the Hippies, with flowers in bloom,
At Ashbury Avenue, corner of Haight,
They thought he was wonderful, thought he was great,
Now people throw dollar bills into a jar,
It's life in the '60's for young Lochinvar.
Learn not too late to halt the hate,
Bound to be ground in the dust of disgust
We're pierced and fierce, fulla rings and things
We're blued and tatooed and God is booed.
Crude dudes are misconstrued
with actions vulgar,vile and lewd.
We're found down ground in sound,
totally tatooed in terrible taste,
in a mindless race for the loudest base.
Hate to dis your myth but God exists,
'Tis a truth deduced by the less obtuse,
You understand He did become man
For His love of us all because of the fall.
He suffered and died being crucified,
He pulled His people from the pains of hell
and rose from the dead He's alive and well,
I tell you no lie He's got no rival,
It's right there written in the holy Bible.
He arose to heaven so to send the Spirit
to His brothers and sisters who wished to hear it,
He said I leave you my Love I leave you my all
but you gotta say yes to heed my call.
Don't follow the world that ain't the place,
You want to be with Me when you finish this race,
Orphans you're not you have been taught,
I will help you find Me if I'm sought.
Amen
Deep pain and sorrow I suffered
Joy and rest of mind you offered
This opened my blind eyes to see
My lord Jesus ,I will praise thee.
I labor day and night in vain
But you comfort me without pain
From bondage of foes I broke free
My lord Jesus ,I will praise thee .
You died and took my sins away
Haba! Lord! What else could I say
For me, you were hung on a tree
My lord Jesus, I will praise thee.
Your love and care can`t be measured
This true friendship must be treasured
You were bruised and booed because of me
My lord Jesus ,I will praise thee .
Evil can`t bear to hear your name
Your might and touch remain the same
True and faithful you will always be
Jesus! Forever will I praise thee.
CONTEST:"poems of Praise" sponsored by Catie Lindsey .
With everybody often so late
I am on a war path with loneliness
Been booed deaf by the lazy wail of curtains
And the chime of wall clock in recent days
Today I shy away from the beating
A gracious relief, with a light heart, eye carts me
Out of the eye of the house, a mean aperture at first
Till the image of red sore light zaps on my retina, a lone star
On a dome shaped hill where the telecoms planted it.
Close by, a homeless bat flaps wings in the
Gathering dusk to convert it to a dark night
The lone star on the mast, now must contact those late
My lim’ricks, though racy and lewd,
compared to Jan’s gems I have viewed,
are really quite tame.
Her lines are not lame.
Those fun poems, I've never booed.
March 11, 2022
entered in the Paean on Poets Poetry /contest
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico