Best Bookie Poems
When you're wanting to bet
On a racehorse, don't fret.
With this tip from the stable door.
Pair Wunwun with Tutu,
A double that's for you.
It's a wager you should not ignore
Wunwun won,one race,
And Tutu too, her chase.
That has left one bookie,quite sore.
1 1 is a racehorse. 2. 2 is 1. 2
1.1. 1 1 race 2. 2 1. 1. 2.
Wunwun is a racehorse. Tutu is one too
Wunwun won one race. Tutu won one too.
11 / 2 / 2016.
I've been told I'm much too sensitive
my eyes leak tears like a used sieve
I cry over sad movies, words in a book
so go ahead and give me that 'look'
Sometimes I cry goodbye on the phone
So what? I wasn't chiseled out of stone
Tell me I get my feelings hurt too fast
I'll say I cry from memories of my past
Don't tell me I need to restrain the flow
Maybe I've suffered more than you know
I can take being knocked around by my foes
those who bitterly want to step on my toes
But words from someone I really care about
cause me to frown with my mouth in a pout
I'm a sensitive woman who tends to cry
if I tell you I don't, I've told you a lie
I would never intentionally hurt anyone
If I like you, I'll tease you, but it's in fun
Falling tears may not be in fashion
I don't think it's a crime to have passion
So please don't think I'm being a grumps
if you do I'll get down in the dumps
I've been told that I'm a tough cookie
you can make bet on that with any bookie
I'll be your friend, honest and true
but don't hurt me 'cuz it'll make blue
If Death in time should somehow find
I'm running just a little late.
I just realized to my great surprise...
I have an expiration date.
I pace the floor with Death at my door
With no out that I can see.
But I've thought it through, I have things to do
Before I embrace immortality.
With one last breath, I entreat with Death
If I might linger just another day.
I have family and friends... to make amends
And a bookie yet to pay.
But Death will brook no tardiness
As they seem somewhat understaffed.
So I accept this judgement
Knowing well my Government
Will have one less soul to shaft.
The End
Here lies the bookie Reginald Dodds,
Trampled by a horse, what were the odds.
Entry for
An Epitaph to Make Us Laugh 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jesse Rowe.
11/4/19. Placed =1st.
Sexually Gamble
nookie
bookie
Hangover in the Suburb
alcoholic
bucolic
Just trying something different
When stretched forever is my day
I while the empty hours away
in courtrooms dank with men of silk
proud and tall
lawmakers all
step lightly lest you meet their ilk
Attorneys and stenographers
lawyers and interpreters
each word they spake is tongue-in-cheek;
lear-ned judges, advocates
prosecutors, barristers
spew Latin which could well be Greek
The courtroom's packed
the gallery stacked
the charge is one of pilfering
the bookie sets
last-minute bets:
"10 to 1 his head will swing."
From the ord'ly
fing'ring his rosary:
"Court's in session! Silence! Zip it!"
His Lordship enters
sans his dentures
sucks his thumb and looks decrepit
Eyes his gavel
sneers: "You're evil!
my thumb is swollen and beet-red
you'll be detained
when next again
I miss and hit my thumb instead.
"The weather vane
predicted rain
today I'll suffer agony
you caveman's hammer
how did you
till now escape technology?"
To put it mild,
the crowd goes wild
but for the shifty-eyed accused
Judge Weatherstorm
stays true to form:
he keeps his audience amused
Th' accused meanwhile
with comely smile
winks at M'Lord to cut him slack
he'll cop a plea
of not guilty
tho' evidence against him's stacked
The star witness
non compos mentis
brain well-addled by Alzheimer's
mounts the stand
bows to his fans
with clenched fist vows the truth to utter ...
(PART 2 TO FOLLOW)
28.04.2011
(This is a work of fiction in its entirety and merely a satirical look at our corrupt
justice system.)
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So you bought a curse named Ruth
Not to mention 26 Octobers to boot
Did you do it to spite this game
Integrity sold for the price of fame
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
You built a cathedral from which to boast
Helped the Babe exorcise Gehrig’s ghost
Buried Maris beneath a Mantle of shame
Sleeping with a bottle and two dames
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Joltin Joe swinging that Marilyn clout
The mighty Casey you struck out
Too old for a springtime affair
Welcome Jeffrey Maier
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Three times a charm in the Bronx zoo
Reggie’s knockin them out, Billy too
Who needs a bookie if you have a boss
You can bet you’re fired after a loss
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Beware the seduction of pinstripe sin
Immortalized by Jeter’s cocky grin
Four more pennants in five years time
Selling out is winning’s soul crime
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So tell me George, when will it end
Is 200 million a salary cap or a trend
If it’s a general manager you seek
I hear the Devil comes real cheap
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I pray
Damned Yankees
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
I had climbed the steep stairs two landings to the top floor
Paid the two dollars for my bed in the dorm as I had several nights before
Now you were not allowed to sleep here if you were rowdy or real drunk
You had to have the "once over" and then take a shower before you got a bunk
Lock up your gear and clothes and shoes and get a cotten gown and pair of flippers
And if you needed a haircut they had a man with a pair of clippers
The requirements were that you get there no later than six at night
They sold sandwiches and chips and hot dogs and burgers and the price was alright
Another room that had a small television and a few chairs and an old grey rug
And also was a bookie who took your bets if you had faith in the mouse called Pug
Every evening the small crowd would gather for this special event
You had to bet at least a dollar and was worth every red cent
For little Pug had been doing this every night for a couple of months and had no fear
Except when he would pick a winning piece of food and would be a little tiny cheer
The men bet to see what piece of food little Pug would pick and take under the wall
Where he and his family lived and he was the provider of food and gave us a ball
Been many years ago that I took Pug to dinner
For he picked my piece of a cheeto one night and made me a winner
‘Twas the season to be merry, and playing around,
shirker Fred was in Vegas; from work he had played hooky.
Asleep in his hotel room, he strangely dreamed about
a man that looked like a galloping gingerbread cookie.
Fred was startled awake by a knock at his door.
Yelling at him for money he owed was his bookie.
Having no cash, Fred ran from his room. Then he saw
in the hall was the galloping gingerbread cookie!
The gingerbread man – gigantic- said, “Hop on my back.
Your best Christmas gift awaits, and her name is Sookie.”
Away Fred fled to the girl of his dream’s sugar shack
on the back of the galloping gingerbread cookie.
The gingerbread man dropped him off with a wink and said,
“She’s under the mistletoe, and she’s wanting some nookie!’
Christmas cheer filled Fred’s heart till he woke for REAL this time.
No girl had there been, nor galloping gingerbread cookie.
Dec. 16, 2018 for the Christmas Cheer Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Tom Thumb got caught peeping
Now his life is on the run
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep
On a gambling junket she was on
Little Miss Muffet is having to tuff it
Out these days in jail
Selling ecstasy to undercover police
And now can't pay her bail
Little Jack Horner took him a corner
Of the Mafia drug trade
Once you are hooked on the Meth that he cooks
There's no way of escape
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
Humpty Dumpty's more than broke
But not from any fall
He couldn't pay his bookie
And his legs were first to go
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Where forced to sell their wool
To pay for all the damages
While they were in school
Jack pushed Jill down the hill
When he caught her cheating with Little Boy Blue
Now he's paying her doctor bills
Which has left Jack blue too
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
(written to go with the tune of "Under the Boardwalk")
Oh, when you’re strapped for cash, and your rent is coming due.
If you gambled badly, and your bookie now is after you,
Down at the pawnshop, you need to be, yeah,
Where there’s laptops, old comic books and fine jewelry.
(Refrain)
At the pawnshop. Oh, what great fun!
At the pawnshop. You can see lots of guns.
At the pawnshop, buyers look all around.
At the pawnshop, losers look at the ground.
At the pawnshop…. pawnshop!
If you’re soon to wed but can’t afford an expensive ring,
It’s the place to go; they don’t deal in really cheap bling bling.
Down at the pawnshop, you need to be, yeah,
Where there’s laptops, old comic books and fine jewelry.
(repeat refrain)
Check out the song I had in my mind at this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjD0Ne3CuaY
Buick leathered quickie
she was awright a hookie
she was lace traced
and he was dollared
looking for a bookie
green he flashed
green she cleavaged
then it was
humpy thumpy
they went
and car was alive
in the the corner
dark, making sound
in just another
Business Round!
So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly
quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named
Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely
battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly
in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy,
bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to
all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply
choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty
creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the
gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby,
ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy,
flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy,
dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky
donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the
daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely
droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly,
goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur
day.
Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but
that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun
reading for all here.
Note: Any one can be a Bookie, regardless of age, sex, or race!
With no regards for my life, or anything else.
I'm usually doing something silly
to make me feel good about my self.
A negative person, with nothing good to say or do.
My calamity just doesn't affect me,
but the others I come in contact with too!
I love who I am & don't wanna do better.
I despise progress,
I'm the epitome of a true Nigga!
Yeah, I said Nigga, N.I.G.G.A.,
Never Interested in Getting Goals Accomplish,
is what my cousin use to say.
But forget him, i'ma sell me some dope
until I come up!
& after a decade in the game, I just blame my misfortune
on bad luck.
They say life doesn't owe you nothing,
but that law of logic doesn't apply to me.
I'm content with a fine freak, a thousand dollars,
& a dime sack of weed!
But, every year I be wondering why am I in jail?
Consciously realizing I created this tiresome & infinite
hell!
Hell on earth, & it seems like a unreal Jason
nightmare.
& you can talk about me all you want,
cuz I really don't care!
Cuz, I feel life owe me something,
& I want mines plus with a extra cookie.
If you can't tell by this poem:
I'm just a stupid & pitiful nigga name Bookie!
It was late into the night
When Bert Ernie and I
Were traveling across the plans of Nebraska
Much to my surprise
Bert looks me straight in the eyes
And says Mike, I gotta question to ask ya
With Big Bird wrapped up in the trunk
You'd think that he'd already thunk
About this night long before it already happened
When we took Oscar the Grouches can lid
And whacked Big Bird smack dab in the head
Then tied him up tight while he was napping
We rolled him out to curb
Believe me it looked quite absurd
Ernie grunting with Bert complaining as feathers went flying
But as would be our fate
Able to make our planed escape
When Count Von Count took time out to do some feather counting
So this is now where we are
Bert, Ernie, Me, and Big Bird in the trunk of our car
Not really knowing where it is we are heading
Our thinking went only as far
As nabbing Big Bird and the get away car
Putting Ernie in charge wasn't such a good idea is what I am betting
Ernie says he's figured it all out
Bert says we need this, but still has his doubts
Cause Bert owes back pay alimony and Ernie his bookie
We head to Ernie's planed drop off spot
And of course it's swarming with cops
While our inside man " The Monster " gave us up for Cookies
They let Big Bird out of the trunk
Who proceeded to slap us punch drunk
Then straight to the judge to pay for this hideous crime
I can't think of any worse fate
I now know this was a fatal mistake
The sentence...
Banished to Sesame Street for life, now that is hard time