Best Bunions Poems
The female onion was crying while on the stand,
testifying agains't the indecent celery man,
saying he was always stalking her to make a raw deal,
claiming she had way too much onion sex appeal,
Watching her at the Sweet Onion Club and following her every night,
he thought her onion dancing was sexy and out of sight,
being a go-go dancer she definitely made the cut,
her onion perfume business being in the rut,
All the russet potato eyes at court were on him,
they all thought they were going to fry slim,
some were baking while some were boiling mad,
you could tell by the looks on their faces that they were mad,
The plum tomato judge got red in the face,
thought the celery stalking her was a big disgrace,
stewing about it along with the dozen jury eggs,
they quickly scrambled to get an over easy verdict read,:
Celery man found guilty for stalking the female onion,
will have to stay away forever from her and her bunions,
and for his punishment will have to watch dvd's all day,
of chef's chopping up celery and using it in various ways.
11-1-16
PERSONALS:
Must love raw onions
Void of toe bunions
Must have personality
Live in reality
Must enjoy long walks
Void of stalks
Must not smell bad
Take bath, be glad
Must say, "I love sex"
Never be complex
baggage to be rid
Absolutely no kid
Must love to dance
Wear dry pants
Pay half the rent
monies well spent
If now you think you qualify
check my photo with your eye
Make no mistake I kid you not!
I get a little, You get a lot!
2/16/16
I have grown old and twisted with all my living;
my limbs gnarled and arthritic,
my skin rough, sometimes peeling,
turning dark beneath the sun.
Bunions and corns decorate my feet.
What a life I have lived!
In my youth, young natives sat on tender grasses at my feet;
i sheltered them in coolness,
i listened to their vows of love.
Months later, they returned to me holding the joy of new life.
I rocked their papoose in my arms,
the wind sighing lullabies through my evergreen hair
making the silver moss, hanging on my tresses, sway.
I saw them leave before the growing strength of new settlers,
weeping as they walked away from this beloved land.
A wealthy man settled the grounds where I spread my roots;
I grew and wrapped my arms around the home he built.
I was young then, strong and full of vigor;
I was the watchman at the door.
I enjoyed many years with the family,
playing with the children,
giving shade and shelter.
Early one morning, the sounds of war disturbed my sleep;
all day the battle raged.
Cannon balls ripped through my flesh;
I heard the anguished screams.
When the sun set,
the ground beneath my feet was littered
with the broken bodies of men,
dead and dying,
soldiers uniformed in both blue and gray.
Our beautiful home was nearly destroyed,
our land ravaged.
If men could only learn, as I know,
to respect and care for one another.
As time passed, my limbs healed,
through scarred, just as my heart is scarred.
Generations have come and gone,
each one passing close to my heart in fleeting succession,
but I live on.
Age shows on my body, yet I cling more tightly,
stretching deep into the ground, sucking the earth's sweet nourishment.
My arms droop low, hanging heavy with sad and happy memories.
I do not want to leave this dear, fair earth,
the tears of heaven fall,
trickling down,
bathing me in dewy sadness.
A thousand years is not enough.
Copyright, August 22, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Hard of Hearing.
I went to visit Gran
to brighten up her day.
But that crazy batty women
never hears a word I say.
She moans and groans of aches and pains
and how her bunions hurt, then she'll ask,
"Who is it? Is that you my darling Bert?"
"No, I'll say, it's Sunny, Grandson number two.
I thought I'd pay a visit and spend the day with you.
I've put the kettle on Gran, I'll make a pot of tea."
Then she shouts.
"There are Hob-nobs in the cake tin enough for you and me.
Fetch them in please Keith put them on the floral tray.
Now where's my bloody teeth, I had them earlier today."
"It's Sunny Gran, I tell her. I'm not Keith and I'm not Bert
but there's your bloody teeth Gran in the pocket of you skirt."
I don't mind Grans muddled mind the fact she forgets my name
she can call me what she likes I love her just the same.
Now my Gran is hard of hearing
and batty half the time.
But you know I wouldn't swap her
cause Gran is Gran.
She's the best because she's mine.
what you will
when over that hill
well your feet will swell
and body might smell
your hair will grey
want to be lazy all day
tummy will sag
eyes will bag
get bunions too
on heels how shrew
lose some teeth
OMG good grief
so if you will
take it slowly up that hill
Entry For Brian Strand's
What You Will Contest
I chose Footle
Is it fair that youth is beauty
That the best we can ever be
Is before we are twenty three
Why can't a wrinkle be sexy
Who says grey hairs are icky
Contact lenses are too tricky
Comfort and ease of eyeglasses
Tri focal eyeglasses
But why, but how, when
Did youth escape and old fogey begin
The burden of life's responsibilities
The worry of offspring indeed
The need for success
The desire to impress
That weather our smooth silky skin
Into worn leather feel rough and thin
Tooth loss and baldness
Nose hairs and body aches
Disease and numbness
Hot flashes and body shakes
Dimming of senses
Enlargement of ears
Shrinking by inches
New things are fears
Tired blood and blue veins
Forgetting whats her name
Corns and bunions
Yelling at them youngins
Jello instead of steak
Maalox replaces milkshakes
Eat dinner at four asleep by nine
Can't believe the speed of time
Is it fair that youth is beauty
Why can't being old be better
Then aches from change of weather
To using a cain instead of raising it
Gumming a steak until you can't spit
Just think how sexy you will be
If you finally reach forty three
Lets change our perspective
Not be so narrowly selective
Enough of the smooth shapely firm
Cute bouncing buns we had and yearn
Let's hear it for the pale faded
Wrinkled saggy way nature made it
Posteriors of the more mature crowd
On second thought without my glasses
Youth is beauty
Enjoy while its yours
To see old relatives can get you thinking
if your health will also soon be sinking.
Will you get their shingles, bunions or bad knees?
Will you get dementia or need some surgeries?
And if afflicted, will you face it well or will you cave?
Or might you be the lucky one to go
"relatively" pain-free. . . to the grave?
'Everything Aches'
Oh my arms do ache as I write down this prose
Most days it feels like the pain goes all the way to my toes
Bring me back lazy days lying in the sun
Or the age when being flexible meant so much more fun
Living with aches and strains and all things stretchy
Remembering a day without pain seems so sketchy
From my head, to my ankles, hips and back in between
They say it would help if I could be more 'lean'
But extra movement above the essentials feels unfair
It even kills me each morning just to blow dry my hair
So please understand how hard it can be every day
When all I want to do is stay in my bed and lay
I know you may find it hard to understand
That even the slightest pain in the knuckles, the hand
Can be overbearing, and so unforgiving
But still have to work, still make a living
If only you knew how hard most days it becomes
Just to text and email, how much it strains ones thumbs
Childbirth may have been so much faster and slicker
But ageing of the pelvis and hips comes much quicker
My pelvic floor and backside have certainly seen better days
My moaning and groaning you must hope is a faze
Shoulders forever, feeling so strained
My legs constantly looking blue veined
Cramps in my arches, IBS in my tummy
Hereditary illness, blame my flexible mummy
Bunions will scream, Bulging discs take my power
It even pains me just to stand in the shower
Tired and sleepy I need to relax
Even those days that I rest to the max
So just bring me your patience, comfort, understanding
Even when you hear my joints creak more than the landing
You know it's me, 'crackling' just walking downstairs
The lack of sleep again bringing nightmares
Thank you for listening, for just being here
Not having you close to comfort is my biggest fear
I know I go on, my frustration and tears
Must be hard work for so many years
But knowing you're here to carry the weight of my head
Even on the days it feels heavier than lead
Gives me the strength to be strong, keep me moving
Your love and support it just keeps on proving
Thank you again for holding my hand and week wrist
Even though my pain must never seem to cease to persist
'Everything Aches' by Victoria Payne
Ladies and Gentlemen, good folks gather round!
What I have here to show you is worth every pound.
It will soothe your dry bunions, seal your canoe,
Moisten your leather, and stretch your shampoo.
At my own huge expense, from India to thee,
The famous, spectacular, Big Jumbo’s Ghee!
I’ve used it as wheel lube from here to Mumbai.
It can quiet your babies at night when they cry.
It can mollify itching from poisonous plants.
It will ease the infirm of their ravings and rants.
No sir, not a swindle, this is no evil boast.
You can even put Ghee on your pancakes and toast!
Just so, Sambo travelled from hamlet to town,
Selling his Ghee; a half-cup for a pound.
Word spread like wildfire, for this was no hoax.
Just a golden-brown product that’s good for all folks.
He lived very simply, for Sambo was blessed.
And sent home his millions so Mumbo could rest!
5/30/17
For the contest “Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman”.
Sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
Although I’m no spring chicken,
I’d really like to say.
I finished my spring-cleaning,
only yesterday.
I sprung around the house,
cleaning high and cleaning low;
Stood back,
admired my work with face all aglow.
Then I went into the garden,
To plant out my spring onions.
But had to come inside,
To rest my feet and bunions
Some food into my tummy
would be rather nice,
so I picked up the phone
to order spring-rolls with rice.
I thought I’d put my feet up
on my favorite couch.
I sat upon a broken spring
and I let out a great big ouch!
Oh yes, spring’s a lovely season,
of that there is no doubt.
Enjoy all it has to offer,
that’s what life’s about.
T oday is Duque’s Birthday.
H air is turning grey.
I ncontinence is threatening;
R est homes and decay.
T oday is Duque’s Birthday.
Y a Yas with Ya Yas
E ar hair and some nose hair.
I rrational chutzpah
G out, bunions and arthritis.
H earing aids and blindness.
T oday is Duque’s Birthday
If bathtubs grew onions
then feet might have bunions
that stink as well as get sore
If you can't remove all the dirt
your toes will sure hurt ~
that your husband
will ignore as he snores
This 'Heroic' Crown of Sonnets, I am posting as seven separate Sonnets, for ease of reading. This is written with thanks to a fellow poet, who is most likely too modest to be mentioned, but whose great mastery is evident in everything he writes.
ONE
I come home, and she’s cooking in pajamas,
She’s overjoyed, she’s out of bed, at all!
She handled it with no qvetching, no dramas,
She wasn’t ill, but she was never well…
I smell rice, olive oil, garlic and onions,
She makes food simple, clean, wholesome to eat,
She weekly went to doctors – not for bunions!
She had long, skinny, happy, healthy feet!
I kiss her like I ne’er before have kissed her,
She hugs and lets me hold her by the door…
She dealt with life so wisely – how I’ve missed her!
She had to keep both feet firm on the floor.
I come home, and she’s in her fuzzy jammies,
SO beautiful, and cutting up salamis!
A is for amber ambition and amethyst dreams
B is for believing in yourself and becoming
C is for creativity courage and celebrating
D is for developing Deja vu and dancing
E is for engaging and encouraging
F is for fun flavor and fulfilling
G is for greatness and God and gifting
H is for happy holy and having
I is for interesting introvert
J is for joyful jokes and chicken that’s jerk
K is for kind kisses king kente
L is for love lavender and lake
M is for magic moon messenger music
N is for noon night now do it
O is for onyx oxtails and onions
P is for purple peace pinky toes with no bunions
Q is for queen quiet and quest
R is for red riot and required rest
S is for soul singing song
T is for Teal Taj Mahal tone
U is for Universe understanding
V is for violet vote and victory
W is for winning wholeheartedly writing
X is for xenophobia isn’t that exciting
Y is for yes yellow and you
Z is for Zulu people with eyes like moon
The pointed ears of a snail can be quite ornate really. Especially if adorned with precious stones as earrings. Buffaloes bulbous brows bear banging bunions. Marvellous. Just marvellous it is to watch the glass moving etiquette of a toque faced turtle necked triangular train man. And train men are neither neutral nor at an elevation of sixty feet for sixty feet are reserved items for the rare caterpillars whose boots are ordered from on line specialists particularly at festival moments of a calendar month. Months are neither mints nor metrosexual mines. If the stem of a flower is acidified then surely the dew from a mountainside would circumnavigate a pea. Coo coo a blossom bird is calling very very loudly like coo on a roof could be a complete song to sing. Coo coo coo then. Fantastic auric and radiating repetition of a coo. But not akin to a sauce. For sauces ate stripey bases of pans and swirled in an interesting light show of iridescent woven brown creases. Wow. Wow. And great. Eat then a canopy of tissues dangling from a stripped out washing line on a hill. Cheeses choosing coffee carefully, crispy crackers crumbling constantly. And the policy of a pelican us to peck prawn. How petrifying to be a small pink one. Oh dear. Playing then peck. Gone. Determined deletion determines deathly drive. And a stronghold of a striped shadow is coming over there and waving so wave at it. Go in wave. Out layer outfits organise official over oversized overspill objectives. And a fat cat laughs in the frying pan. Eating pizza in a bin on a petrol station forecourt is akin to a maggot laughing at a butterbean. And using a car ss a heater for multipurpose functions in a house is about as useful but as common as using a lawnmower to hoover the carpets. Sew that then. Hahaha the dancing of the bricks haha and no ho ho elephant wading birds xxxxx inconceivable z z z z z aaaacchooooo z.
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