Best Bouncer Poems
you're a D.J
you're a preacher
a carer or
a teacher
you're a painter
you're a builder
you're a bouncer
or announcer
you're a chef!
you're a doctor
you're a dentist
you're a chemist
or a nurse!
you're a lawyer
you're a sales rep
or a vet!
all having your possesions
all having your professions
JACK OF ALL TRADES
you're chillingly funny
dramatically humorous
inspirators,patriots
historians,lovers of nature
dark poets,light poets
amazingly great
JACK OF ALL TRADES
verses flowing
stanzas moving
you're poets forming shapes!
i'm the reader!
you're the writer!
you're WILLIAM of my kind
SHAKESPEARE of my days
touching hearts ,feeding souls
for you i give my praise
JACK OF ALL TRADES
To all my souper friends
who blend the soup so well
-----------------------------------------lyours charma
11/17/16
He did not hit no home run, it was a grounder
How many cabinets or counters
Have some sort of white powder
Many meals cooked with flour
Familiar with the Two Towers
As well as Wario and Bowser
Head up, regardless of any times being dour
Nagivating around sharp objects that could be eye gougers
In certain waters, swim flounder
Certain individuals working as a bouncer
Or with web browsers
And many more, but I'm not going to name them all like an announcer
Some just want the money and power
She wanted exotic flowers
And a dog that was a schnauzer
Objects being restored and scoured
On a planet with unexplained mysteries and strange encounters
There is so much you can do in twenty four hours
See for yourself unless you want to be a doubter
This place by the ocean has some of the best chowder
Classic like "Wallace and Grommit in the wrong trousers"
Nocturnal hunters and night prowlers
Wolves are quite the growlers and howlers
By black holes matter being devoured
That which does not can ouster
I always like rain and thunder showers
Girl, of you I could not be prouder
I'll buy, now let's go get some sweet and sour
By: Dalton Ogletree
A story in The Times about
Admittance into clubs
Discussed the people who’d get in –
No luck for average schlubs.
You have to dress in certain clothes
And have the right cachet;
If not, you’ll not get past the rope,
No matter what you say.
What really got to me the most,
Describing women’s dress,
Was mentioning the shoes they’d need
To guarantee success.
Of course, they must be “Christians” -
That’s Louboutins, soled in red;
Or else Manolo Blahniks
May be strutted in, instead.
In either case, the shoes should have
No less than five-inch heels!
I wonder if the bouncer at the club
Knows how that feels.
‘Cause even in my younger days,
When cool styles I’d embrace,
If I wore five-inch heels, I’d end up
Flat upon my face!
I hate the whole idea of clubs
Where bouncers pick and choose
The patrons they’ll allow inside –
Based solely on their shoes!
The vicks
Johnson is me poor old name,
Brisbane town is where I’m staying,
Had 100 jobs I’m saying,
A some times Diversional Therapist.
(entertain the old n decrepid)
Tried burying for half a week,
Wouldn’t let me smile, or squeak,
Drove a council bus,
punched out a few,
Who’d fight, no fuss.
Bouncer in the Valley,
Loved the chicks,
Woke up in strange beds with hicks
Accidently used the vicks,
Talk about the ring of fire?
Don Johnson 21-july-11
tracie edwards
Contest Name Getting to know you
Patrick O’Flanagan’s covert shenanigans
Make people ask where he gets to at night
There’s a perception that Patrick O’Flanagan
Visits a door with a glowing red light
What people don’t know about Patrick O’Flanagan
Is he has only one goal
Each night at ten to ten, visits his gran again
She does a dance with a pole
Old Ma O’Flanagan dances for Stan and Ben
Over in County Kildare
The nurses and carers all turn a blind eye
As Stan sticks his pension ‘down there’
Pat’s her announcer, he's also her bouncer
He keeps them old fellas in check
Old Ben can get frisky and that’s a bit risky
Unless he desires a sore neck
These is the rules says Patrick O’Flanagan
That shrivelled todger of yours
Grandma will make that old thing come awake again
And you place hard cash down her drawers
But Ben said those wrinkles don’t pep up our winkles
We only watch her to rehearse
For what we might see on the CCTV
When you nip out back with that nurse
Life Weary, So Hungry I Could Eat A Dry Bone
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due
I recall all hellacious bad times that came
The motorcycle wreck when I was but fifteen!
All those shots that should have given me greater fame
Those barroom brawls, man that one dude was so damn mean
I laughed, I ran full amok, a bit crazy
I cried like a baby when they shot down Dean
I raised hell doing farmwork but was not lazy
School was a blast but math work I wasnt too keen.
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone.
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone one.
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-08-2023
16 VERSE SONNET , WITH 12 SYLLABLES
EACH VERSE
Note_
My life in my youth was anything but dull.
I worked as a club bouncer, farmhand, factory working manager 4 times, carpenter, roofer, bricklayer, metal fabricator, even worked at a car repair once.
Moon-bouncer
never high enough
to let go.
SPORTS INJURIES
I come in at number seven for Wanoona cricket club,
to face the bowlers from Dargetta, a mob from out the scrub.
I was doing pretty good, right up ‘til I was forty-four,
and then a bouncer dropped me cold, so I couldn’t bat no more.
My world was spinning ‘round in circles; I’m in a gyrating waltz,
until confronted with the first aid box and the evil smelling salts.
I was feeling like the morning after a night out on the grog,
and with nine down and six runs needed, I’m back batting in a fog.
Just hold your end up urged my partner; he’ll knock off the needed runs,
but I kept seeing two balls coming, as if they’re fired from guns.
Dargetta showed no sympathy, they still bowled at quite a pace,.
When another bouncer got me; me nose was splattered ‘cross me face.
This time it was more serious, the first aid box was useless now,
for a broken nose and flowing blood, needs more than they allow,
so it’s off to to the outpatients, to see if they can fix my nose.
I held a towel up to my face, and blood covered all my clothes.
I booked in to see a doctor, but then sat out in the foyer,
and half a dozen people passed and suggest I see a lawyer,
then a bloke who’s anxious joined me, and so for what it’s worth.
I watched him pacing up and down as if his wife is giving birth.
He was dressed in golf attire, so had come straight there from the course.
I tried to calm him down a mite and seek out to find the source,
of this fellows agitation and why he’s in this panic state,
but when a nurse confronted him, I heard about his nervous wait.
The nurse asked the bloke if he’s okay and heard his shaken quote.
“My golfing mate needs to remove me golf ball, driven down his throat.
He’s being operated on right now”, and then I heard him drawl.
‘I hope they’re bloody careful, and don’t do damage to my ball.’
You know, I thought changing one’s job would be easy,
To start a new vocation would be breezy.
I got me local newspaper, looking for a job as a sparky, (electrician)
But I said “what the F-ck, these ads were written by a sarky.”
The first job was an “Almond Knocker,”
Now this sounds as sleazy as sniffing used jockstraps in a locker.
Who wants to look for an almond the shape of a woman’s top half of her anatomy,
But, looking at women’s breast to find one that looks like an almond, appeals to me.
The second job was a “Blind Hooker,”
Now what can I say, that’s a woman’s job and boy she’ll have to be a looker.
She would be the cheapest thrill you’d ever have
You can imagine the police chasing her as she is lead by her all eye seeing sat nav.
Nope not for me…
Uuhh! Here’s one for me, “Bosom Presser”
Squeeeezing them breasts from the largest to the lesser.
I gave them a call straight away
Only to find out the job was not really that way
Dam!
The next one was, what the f-ck? a “Dike Stoneman”
Well I don’t think any man can
This must be a woman bouncer for a happy club ( I hope this is more politically
correct than saying “Gay”)
The one you greet say “Hey Bud”
Well later I googled the titles and yes you right, I was wrong,
I suppose me old job will be lifelong
Overworked, under paid
Oversexed under laid
Here are a few more jobs I came across, an “Egg Smeller, Chicken Sexer, Pillow Girl
:-) , Butt maker, , Fire Drier (never heard of wet fire) and for all you animal lovers out
there, Frog Shaker, Monkey Tail Puller and those who don’t change their underwear,
a Skid Marker
Vulpine barhopper
bays pick up line to new moon
Mama-dum-day-do
Feline target wails
unsheathing sharp claws to show
Hatee-hatee- ho
Grizzly bouncer comes
rescues feline in distress
Pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!
Counting imaginary sheep
Hoping to persuade my mind to sleep
Anxious and terrified to step on stage, tomorrow,
Its three am and I'm already searching for courage
Fast forward freeze frame,
My stomach feels like there's a butterfly on flames,
Sweaty palms and salty saliva,
Really wishing I was only the receiver
Not the deliverer,
My alias is called out by the announcer,
But I pretend to be someone else, call me the bouncer,
Piercing eyes in curious skulls loiter,
Searching for this petrified poetic potter,
My soul gathers its last ounces of bravery,
I grace the lime light like I am abolishing slavery,
Testimony, that was a lame first impression ,
So I dice my conscience to amuse your expectations,
For charmed by your gaze you are my inspiration,
Liberation, transformation listen to this elaboration,
Without you there wouldn't be this lyrical respiration,
For my words are transportation,
Your longing hearts are my destination,
I am a citizen and you are my nation
My nourishment when I'm facing starvation,
I'm out. Standing ovation!
Flim-Flam dances to the beat of a drugged out drummer
Her moves are suggestive and sometimes vulgar
Her hands are soiled and damp holding onto the grimy pole
She’s topless and her dancing is like a listless puppet performing a role
She has a striking body and her hair is curly and luxuriant
It makes patrons’ thoughts lean towards prurience
As the evening lumbers on, Flim-Flam’s dancing slows to a crawl
She’s tired, hungry and wants to curl up and bawl
A huge man approaches the stage sneering at her with tight dark eyes
He’s obese, sweaty, dirty, and wears an obscene leather tie
Flim-Flam looks down and backs up in mortal fear
It’s her stepfather; he’s found her; he staggers as he leers
He hollers. “Got ya, Gal, you gonna be sorry you ran away – you hear?”
He grabs at Flim-Flam, but a bouncer steps in with a bone-crushing slam
Her stepfather pulls a hunting knife bellowing and slashing
But the bouncer is bigger, fitter, and not afraid of grabbing
Crazed bullies, liquored, riled up and flailing
The bouncer drops the stepfather to marry the floor
Disarms him, pins him while hollering, “Flim-Flam, get out the back door”
Slamming into the bouncer’s 4x4, Flim-Flam hunkers down weeping
She hears sirens, people shouting, cursing, tires screeching
She hears the Miranda given just before she slides into oblivion
A gentle hand shakes her awake, it’s the bouncer, his name is Jake
Her new husband smiles with kindness, his love shining forth
“We’re going north to the farm where I was born and want to live my life
With you by my side, not “Flim’Flam”, but Grace Marshall, my wife
He holds her close whispering, kissing, reassuring
“Va-Va-Voom” disappears; a happy ending, a promising beginning.
My deathbed piano sonata
Fond farewell I say to a lotta
A bouncer with fist
By the door has a list
Of any persona non grata
Author's Note: This was inspired by my neighbor Lillian. We were talking the other day about dying and the fact that certain relatives would not be welcome at the party--the ones who have been nothing but trouble in life. Can't we at least enjoy our own demise?
Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name
For Love of Language
Cricket-Rounders
A new bloodsport in the town,
We call it Cricket-Rounders,
The bowler runs up to the pitch, (22 yard run)
And the bouncer surely crowds ya, (rising ball gets ya)
A cricket ball as hard as iron,
At a hundred miles an hour,
If it gets you in the head,
On ya grave we put the flowers,
So ya better wear head protectors,
Good gloves upon ya hands , (broke fingers)
Borrow Joel Garner from the West Indies yes, (world champ bowler, cricket)
He’d bowl ya outa the grand stand.
When ya run tween the bases, keep ya eyes upon the flic,
The ball is coming to knock ya down , with bruises bloody quick, (knock down yer out)
If ya hit the ball over the fence it’s a bloody six,
And to the boundary only four, so eat your weety bix, (3 strikes yer out)
11 men a side till they’re bowled or caught/knocked out,
Bruises are good for heroes, yes no bloody doubt,
A world wide game it is to be, a war on the field of battle,
Don’t forget to duck your head for sure,
Or yer brain might start to rattle…
Cricket bat or baseball bat for the batter. … Pad up…
Don Johnson invention 3-nov-11
Say good morning to the cold bathroom floor-
mouthwash tastes like a reused mojito
vomit erupting from a molten core-
in the sink, fermented blood starts to show
from sacrament taken on Thursday night,
my last supper. Judas, feel what I feel-
whiskey nailed to a cross, my final fight.
No more beer or tonics will make me kneel
genuflected for a porcelain god-
today I will rise steady on two feet,
not carried by a bouncer as he plods
to a dented cab in a smoky side street
My dear friend, you dined silent at my side,
But under your thorns I cannot hide