Best Bopped Poems
Coco the chocolate bunny,
was so soft, furry and funny.
Loved to fill her little tummy
with green veg ever so yummy!
A little shy with big brown eyes,
loved to read, so she would be wise.
But other bunnies were afraid,
with Coco they never played.
They were white with eyes of blue,
didn't like how loud she would chew.
Told her that she needs to change.
Thought her colour was a bit strange.
One day a new bunny came to stay;
said: 'Hey Coco let's eat and play.'
'My name is Empress, I love to hop,
lets see who can bop to the top.'
Her fur was brown with a blonde brow,
with white patches just like a cow.
The other bunnies looked on in awe,
at how high they jumped from the floor.
'Hey you guys come bop and hop.
It's so fun we don't want to stop.'
As they bopped and hopped in the game,
they realised they were all the same.
Is dance a metaphor for sex?
You’d think so if you knew my ex
(at least the barflies all believe
she’s hoarding something up her sleeve).
But what makes people want to dance?
An aural frenzy? True romance?
Would Hamlet, Shylock or Macbeth
ever dance themselves to death?
Strasbourg is the kind of town
that’s unassuming, buttoned down.
These people don’t let down their hair:
rarely reckless, somewhat square.
The year before a reign began
(that’s Charles the Fifth – the Habsburg man):
to celebrate Saint Vitus’ Day
a Strasbourg woman’s new ballet
was launched in Rue des Hallebardes
(a strange event in all regards).
Right outside her Strasbourg home,
a stone’s throw from Strassburgerdom,
one Frau Follea hit the street
(and man, that chick could move her feet!)
We don’t know what her motive was:
perhaps she did it ‘just because’.
Did she deserve the looney bin?
No - other folks were joining in!
With twisting torsos, poor and posh,
the city streets were soon awash.
Without the need for record player,
the followers of Frau Follea
bopped and boogied through the night,
as hot as Rhineland anthracite.
Did scruples sting at morning mist?
Did conscience prick them to desist?
Did people halt their hellish dance?
Not one mosher! Not a chance!
On they conga’d, rocked and rolled,
oblivious to heat or cold.
More Alsace dusks, forever amber,
reverberated to their samba.
The local grapes are full and juicy:
the people step a mean watusi.
There’s such a thing as civic pride,
but this lot cha-cha’d till they died!
Housewife, beggar, baker, barber
were parties to the danse macabre.
Was their motive pleasure? Fear?
Penance? Sydenham’s Chorea?
The reason for the quick-quick-slow
I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
As I enter the volleyball game
I hear
The hustle and bustle of the crowd
Shuffling towards their seats.
Everyone settled. The audience marvel and chit-chat.
The judge raises his hand.
A hush fall over the crowd.
“Whree-” the game starts.
Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter- Boof!
The ball sails over the net and is
Bopped gently back.
It’s tossed high and
Bam!
It’s a goal.
The spectators roar, and some sigh.
Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter- oof!
The ball hits the net.
Some cheer, some huff.
This goes on until the last goal is scored-Thump!
The crowd squeals and laughter rings with claps.
The winning team’s shoes skeet as they run
And thump each other’s backs, bursting with laughs.
The losing team pads back with sniffs and sobs
But swears to take revenge.
Betty Boop’s Beaver
The brazen Billy Bailey,
could be such a bad bad boy.
One day he bopped a beaver
who was busy working by the bay.
The beaver then bit Billy
near the bottom of his butt.
The beaver’s big bright teeth,
left a big bright bleeding cut
Then poor bawling Billy Bailey,
was bouncing by the bay
Just as beautiful Betty Boop
was passing by his way
She said “It’s best not to bop beavers,
be a gentle boy instead.
Drop by my boudoir later
You can caress my beaver in my bed.”
December 12th 2020
For Eve Roper’s Alliteration contest
They thought in a dance they'd engage
As they lumbered about in a rage
These two with their scales
Thrashed about with their tails
Shook the ground in this pre-human age
They be-bopped with all of their might
These beasts that were really a sight
Not known for their grace
These giants saved face
By causing each other dire fright
So into the night they would dance
A sort of behemoth romance
They made history
An unsolved mystery
And quite a bizarre circumstance!
There was a small creature from Mars
Who was fascinated with all of our cars
He took one for a spin
And got bopped on the chin
Now he just flies among the stars
Yes, I must confess that I did that ish…
I watched as he crawled across the place
The bug-a-boo had the nerve to try and touch my face
With shillelagh in tow, I just knew he had to go!
I caught the angle where his many eyes couldn’t see
Yes, I was determined this would be the last time he’d bug me,
I’d ask for a stay of execution but what could I say
In this big ole bug-eyed world I was as guilty as…. Hey
Wait a minute; call for my chef, tell him to send everything on the menu
And tell him to make it a grand table setting fit for two,
Send me the best bubbly non-alcoholic of course
And two large fruit pies big enough to choke a horse.
Maybe even throw in some chocolate mousse.
Now, Warden Wilner and Goober--ner Fairhaven please be seated and feast
And listen to my story whilst you grease won’t you please.
You see, I was sitting watching a game with my dear friend cricket,
When the lord of the flies kept a buzzing in my ear ~
Obnoxious words I just could not bear to hear.
Yes, I confess his dialogue was quite wicked!
I first opened the door and bade him kindly to go,
But then he decided to put on a show…
I opened the window and he still would not budge,
I thought to myself what’s wrong with this bug!
Then he bit me, Oh it was on I would have rather he’d tried to hit me…
It was a crime of passion truly I tell you both
I bopped him with one swift yet mighty stroke…
Truly, I do not mean to offend, but that bite hurt so bad I hit ‘im again …!
I am not one to bribe, however I want out of this mess and that’s no jive!
Well, after much deliberation, such fine conversation and a fantastic meal
The Goober—ner Fairhaven and Warden Wilner shook hands and sealed the deal,
I’d be free before the morning ink on the parchment could dry
This knowledge was enough to make a poor soul cry…
Instead I got down on my knees and gave thanks for such an act
Could have found me on my way to being quite dead; Yes, I confess I did that ish!
When I went to bed that night I didn't feel quite right
Tossed and turned, tried to sleep with all my might
I thought the upset might be from the cookie dough I ate
Baking chocolate chip cookies until well after eight
Finally I fell into a very deep and troubled sleep
From my subconscious crazy thoughts began to creep
In the kitchen a huge and terrifying cookie burglar stood
Stuffing in his mouth as many cookies as he could
Crumbs were scattered on the floor and everywhere
Fury burst inside me and I started to cuss and swear
I grabbed an old curtain rod and bopped him on the head
And much to my surprise-.that cookie monster fell down dead
About that time I awoke with a loud and frantic scream
Thank goodness, the whole thing was just a silly dream
I really don't think I could ever murder any one at all
But that old curtain rod is standing there against the wall....
You Never Know......................
All in fun for the Murderous Thoughts Contest
Part of this is true..I did dream of the Cookie Monster
Barbara Gorelick
Rudolf got his big red nose
From Vixen in the snow
They had it out one foggy night
Beneath the mistletoe
She bopped him once good and hard
Which caused his nose to grow
She bopped him twice around the yard
His nose began to glow
Then she buffed it bright and red
So everyone would know
Rudolf got his big red nose
From Vixen in the snow
Melded with raindrops -
the juiceless earth fruited lusciously
and the roaring lightning pops -
the vehement clouds sparked abundantly.
From time of summer -
for the juvenility they long expected
over the awash field they bopped over -
alike the sweetness of wintry roses, the zestful aroma contrasted.
Here and there the lively music got wind of bongs -
when the rain waved by the wind so heavily
the splashy whispery voice sung like yuletide carols -
with roasted chicken along with champagne, savored blithely.
All of a sudden the sun peeped out in between,
reckoned alike to chance once upon the Kris-Kringle's camion
Over the sky it arced with orange violet yellow blue red indigo green,
glowed as if presents wrapped along with gleeful horizon.
The sky that outraged fell out the factual consequences,
Around the globe masses fantasied the season to be resurgence
Palsy-walsy rain was alike the snow flurry occurrences,
Jejune July was abided by the Holy Christ's renascence.
Went for a walk, couldn't find my way home
Finally walked into the wrong house as I roamed
Naked lady screamed
Threw a hand mixer machine
As I ducked, the mailman got bopped on the dome
The mirror just told me that he could feel my hair grow,
And I was like, "hey man, me too, it's trippy, you know?"
"Let's share a beer!" The mirror eagerly suggested,
And then I failed a quiz of the addiction inhibition he tested.
Crap, it was a bad idea to cheers the mirror over the sink,
Although it was funny to him, he cracked up and turned pink.
Oh my gosh, I'm going nuts, is that a cat inside the sink?
It winked at me with fiendish eyes, I think I need a drink.
Oh wait, I have already had two times two,
And a puff of some fluffy funny stuff,
And bopped my head on a bricked cube,
And out popped a mushroom that I'm gonna huff.
Can psylicybin be huffed?
We'll find out soon enough.
Just kidding those are all terrible things to do indeed,
Except for the cannabis; all ya' need is a little weed.
Bong voyage! I'm sailing to Sicily with the Wolf of Wallstreet,
Where I'll gulp some 'ludes with Leo, who I sorta wanna meet.
He told me: "I can feel my hair growing.
It feels like how I imagine a pineapple feels like, just inside my head,
And nothing at all like a pineapple."
And then I was like: "no way the mirror just said that,
But I can hear your hair going bald,
And taste me getting fat,
And actually see it too there Leonardo deCueball."
Do pineapples have feelings?
Can they feel your hair growing too?
Hold on, I think I can smell colors with my breath.
At the last day preschool picnic
There were blankets on the grass
Which the tots ran over freely
If that way they had to pass.
There were pastel-frosted cupcakes
(Health food banished for a day)
And the slides and sandbox filled with kids
In joyous outdoor play.
But the draw for my two grandkids
Was the singer with guitar
For when music's in the air, I know
They won't be going far.
So as Henry spun and boogied
And his sister bopped along,
I was grooving like a back-up singer,
Knowing every song.
Three days back I was in Venice
And the vistas were entrancing
But there's nothing that looks better
Than my grandkids when they're dancing.
Not everyone's enamoured by my humour
At risk of my head being bopped
Say things in jest that are taken as serious
Chancing a punch in the chops
Like when I once said to a very large lady
Pressing two in the up elevator
“That's just one floor, you coulda walked!”
Almost ended up on the floor
Another time down in Old Cape Cod
In a store getting out of the sun
A lady knocked over a large display stand
Yelled “Now look what you've done!”
Dear Cathie turned ten shades of purple
She was just about to blow a gasket
However, luckily cooler heads prevailed
Considered myself quite fortunate
“Look before you leap” as the saying goes
Often insert my foot in my mouth
Runs the risk of hard blows to the head
And injury to my parts down south
© Jack Ellison 2013
Fat you were, beyond description.
Jabba the Hut had nuthin' on you.
From a scruffy little Brillo-pad sized stray
Your appetite ballooned you
To an incontinent continent of feline adiposity.
A fur covered Butterball turkey
With attitude
You never failed to fall below expectation,
Seemingly unable or unwilling
To grasp the concept of the litterbox.
To think we named you Shadow.
Even that part of you looked heavy.
You'd just sit on something that groaned beneath you,
Paw draped across that vast white belly,
And look at me like, "Well?"
Then one day,
Too chubbed to make it across the street in time,
Some car bopped your noggin
And knocked the life outta you.
They brought you to me
Unmarked yet dead;
I crammed your soft bulk into a bootbox
And buried you under our big tree out back.
Death gave you a measure of dignity
Unattainable in life,
As I suppose, in the end, it does us all.