Best Butlers Poems
Little Tufty Dore Mouse.
Little Tufty Dore Mouse lives on the Butlers farm.
He spends his day a scurrying between the house and barn.
But Mr Butler farmer got tired of Tufty's mess.
So he got himself a big black cat and named his black cat Bess.
Now Bess your jobs to catch Tufty Mouse and send him on his way,
cause I'm tired of the mess he leaves when he drops by every day.
Now Bess, I don't want you to kill him or even cause him harm.
He's just a little Dore Mouse who leaves a mess upon my farm.
The only problem with Tufty Mouse is the mess he leaves behind
so when you catch Tufty, Bess remember to be kind.
Tell him he must leave the farm and find himself a home,
where no-one else minds the mess where ever he may roam.
So Bess, she lays in wait to pounce and catch this Tufty Mouse.
It's not long before she catches him and says, Tufty leave this house.
Cause him indoors gave me the job, by the way he calls me Bess.
So Little Tufty Dore Mouse say that you will go and farmer sees me being kind.
If I have to catch you again it won't be kindness I'll have in mind.
So Little Tufty Dore Mouse said with a little squeak,
but Bessy I've been messy cause I've been moving out all week.
A company wants naked butlers,
all handsome, well toned, looking tough,
to carry out duties around people's homes
besides apron, they'll be in the buff.
I've not filled out an application,
my chance of success being slim,
unlike, I must say how I look nude today
as my Doctor would tell you, it's grim.
My complexion's generally pasty,
the same sort of white as a fridge,
and the varicose veins you'll have
seen on the tube as directions to
Blackfriars bridge.
A victim of male pattern baldness,
on the back of my head a few locks,
I look like I once bought a 'bullworker' kit
but could not get the lid off the box.
Still, I just plod on along, and not moaning,
one thing in my favour I'll say,
if I did get the job, with a beer gut like mine
I've got somewhere to balance the tray.
Blood shall ring the butlers call
Step into the parlor
the fires spent, still burn
Painted in the faded tint,
nightmare shades to turn
Broken slabs of conscience,
rotted to the core
Splintered in a thousand words
never heard before
Gears abide the grinding,
slapping to the beat
Shards of incandescent lights
flavoring the meat
Slicing as you swallow,
whispering refrain
Caught like someone else's fate,
filtered through the pain
Dressed along the hallway,
mirrors shout their fear
There among the carpet stains,
distant as is near
Gasp for all you bother,
feast that final breath
Blood shall ring the butlers call
long beyond your death
Of
splendid
thrones of
gold
Of
treasures
manifold
Of Sultans
and Shahs
Of Emirs
and Rajahs
Of
jewelled
caskets
or lavish
banquets
Of
sparkling
crowns
and
flowing
gowns
Of kings
and queens
Rulers and
emperors
Of their
subservient
stewards
and
obedient
butlers
Or the
servile
knaves
and
stalwart
squires
Of the
peons and
minions
pages and
pavilions
Of castles
and palaces
of
abounding
gold and
silver
in
ostentatious
regal
splendour
Ah the
fanning
maids in
waiting
Yet to me
one thing
worth
more
noticing
The poet
minstrels
who came
to sing
from afar
for the
queen and
king
For I'd
rather be a
poet for
kings
so to my
tunes
swayed
the
kingdom
than I be
the king
of mere
subjects
and be filled with regal
boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores
For words are the heart of imagination
Inviting to poetic fascination.
(form Troubadour) Ars poetica
Drama centered on an aristocratic British family in
Old times- early twentieth century
Waited on by butlers, footmen, maids and valets
Noble families lived wrapped in luxury, night and day
Tale of young suitors, attractions, loves and marriages
Of young Ladies with service class rocked the family carriage
Not uncovered till late-child out of wedlock added to the disparage
As World War and other world events stirred awakening
Barriers between lord and servant started fading
Butlers sought jobs as teachers, cooks sought education
Erosion of aristocracy was inevitably writ in the nation
“Yes My Lord” would not be heard by future generations
Written on :07/18/2016
Contest: "Your Favorite Habit-forming TV Show" by Tom Quigley
Turkeys in November
the horrors they remember
The definite dinner plans
that turkeys just don't understand
This dining for a cause
Thanksgiving a regretable clause
a life that finds a sudden pause
And yet one turkey in wait
may avoid the dinner plate
And recieve the Presidents pardon
for the sake of so a few so ardent
One turkey sitting in wait
in lew of a terrible fate
While time sharpens it's claws
and tradition notices it's laws
Will the President forget such a cause
the turkey and that sudden pause
While it sits in terrible wait
The President who loves turkey
considers the turkeys fate
Meanwhile the chef had definite plans
A picture with turkey with knife in hand
Dressed in glorious white
maids and butlers on left and right
posing for the picture
as he sharpens his knife
A photo opp with the Presidents wife
something to remember
for the rest of his life
All the papers nation wide
wittnessing his glorious pride
Suddenly the phone rings
It's President Obama
like "Let's make a Deal"
he delivered a lama
It was nothing less than certian trama
All the kings horses and all the kings men
couldn't put chef together again
He looked at the turkey
with tearful eyes
And delivered the message
of his reprise
"You've been pardoned by the President
and that's no lie."
'Twas at the home of Governors
with pink champagne in hand
I asked them all to take their chairs
still restless, I did stand
I began to speak on modern times
and Pinner's mind to tax
and laughing as they sipped their wines
I felt the more relaxed
As caviar was ushered in
no one the least perplexed
still rattling on about our age
until I mentioned sex
The chandeliers began to shake
the butlers 'loosed their ties
what in the world was happening?
why all the constant sighs?
I merely mentioned the metaphor
to stress the women quaint
when Mr. Belaire
dropped his cigar,
the ladies began to faint
No need to get hysterical
I can explain you see
Sex is but the small word SIX
except you use an "e"
age 16
Fell out of a limousine
Drunk out of mind
Spoiled
Filthy rich
Child
In time
He loved
All his toys
Then a woman
Showed him other joys
Sweet, just close your eyes
On champagne dreams
Wearing butlers shined black laced shoes
Away they went
From here to the moon
In love, their passion heaven sent
Taking the train ride of ones life
Bubble baths, there is no more strife
Pleasures surround you everywhere
Magical is the feeling of loves truthful desires
Falling in, like two young doves
New York City bombed
Devastation lingers in the air
No more love stories
Only dead widows and widowers
As infants tears fall on rainy graves
Now I, Arthur
Alone
Cringe
Staring out my window
If I was a doggy in a rich family ~ most certainly I’d be pedigree
crowned in robes of exquisite luxury ~ diamond studded collars
chauffeur driven Bentley's
Butlers would serve me on platters of silver and gold~ I’d snub the commoners
with an airy nose ~surely other tails would want to steal my throne ~ so hold
ya doggy bones~ I’d rather be alone
if I was a doggy in a poor family~oh my God ~ that would be catastrophe
not a single bread crumb wouldever fall for me~ I’d be skeleton and bones
roaming aimlessly ...
If I was a doggy in a happy family ~ my joy would be waging quite excitedly
my tongue would be hanging out ~as I run and play ~ my bowl of chow would
include ~ warm smiles each day ~ ya know
As long as hugs and pats keep coming my way~that’s where this doggy is
gonna stay~ what ya say
Old McDonald had a farm
I visited one fine day
Coerced the animals into my van
Then quickly drove away
Drove them all back to my house
To be Butlers and Maids
Now doesn't that sound much better
Than domesticated animal slaves
Feeling so good about myself
I should have done this years ago
Not realizing you can take the animal out of the farm
And that I was about to eat some crow
Cause the Cows broke more dishes than they cleaned
The Pigs were nothing but a mess
I asked the Sheep to sweep but all they did was bleat
Never understanding a single word I said
The Chickens grits were always lumpy
And they wouldn't dare fry an egg
No matter how hard it is I tried
I couldn't get breakfast through their heads
The Horse's dusting job was a disaster
Tails sweeping everything on the floor
From picture frames to books and lamp shades
Knowing I couldn't handle this anymore
I packed them all back into the van
But not to set them run wild loose
There was a certain giggling madness to my plan
As I pulled up late night to the Zoo
Let's call it a little midnight finagle
A semi sleight of hand
It wasn't like I was stealing
More like a trade or a transplant
I left behind all those worthless farm animals
Since no one was considerate enough to warn me
I'm sure the Zookeepers will be mighty surprised
When they arrive in the morning
And find roaming in all the cages
Old McDonald's farm animals, no thank you very much
While I'm at home with the Lions mowing the lawn
And the Penguins gladly making me lunch
The Giraffes out back trimming the tall shrubs that I have
With the Rhinos washing both the cars
It's only been a day but believe me when I say
This is much better by far
I think here a valuable lesson was learned
Far be it for me to do name dropping
But if you're ever out and about needing help at the house
Do yourself a favor and start off with Zoo shopping
An Unwelcome Surprise at the Family Reunion
By Elton Camp
“We certainly do hope that all his descendents will choose
To attend the reunion of the family of Grandfather Hughes.”
The newspaper announced the gathering’s time & location
To recall and praise a man so distinguished, with admiration
Grandfather has been a prominent and wealthy physician
Who had all that was expected of a man in his position
He and Grandmother resided in a most imposing estate
They were tended by maids, butlers and servants galore
For an honored ancestor they couldn’t really ask for more
But I must admit that most relatives looked down their nose
At those who didn’t have, as a noble ancestor, one of those
For snobs to say, “Of course you know that I am a Hughes”
Was a request for deference that very few would dare refuse
The family gathering began in the ballroom of the finest hotel
Men with tuxes and women in long dresses, looking so swell
All, their professions, wealth and accomplishments did mention
To inspire jealously with pretentiousness was their intention
At that moment, a family of blacks walked through the door
Their very presence the Hughes family did quite openly abhor
“It is obvious that you people made a mistake in coming here.
The service entrance for menial hotel workers is in the rear.”
“You mean this here ain’t the Hughes family’s big meeting?
I thought it was high time that my relatives I was greeting.”
Through the room gasps and expressions of outrage spread
Two fine ladies fainted away almost as if they were dead
The oldest Hughes came over and quietly grasped his arm
“Let me show you out so that the reunion you don’t alarm.
Your mistake is natural and it’s not any cause for blame.
Many unrelated people actually will share the same name.”
“No, no this is the place I meant to come I definitely know.”
The black man then extended his hand and called him “bro”
“You are mistaken man, for it is clear that you are a spade.”
“Only partly, bro. My father was from Mr. Hughes’ maid.”
Because of that, the reunion was never held any more
The Hughes clan felt it couldn’t be as it had been before
Bigotry was proved stronger than family ties that way
At least that is what all others in town did laugh and say
While Walking Through The Meadow.
While walking through the meadow I heard the strangest sound.
What can it be? I cannot see, is it underground?
There it goes again I feel it drawing near
is it coming after me? Where can I hide in fear.
I could run toward the hedgerow or onto Butlers farm.
Why run? I hear a voice say, I won't do you no harm.
I'm looking for a red fox I saw him run this way.
He stole the chicken on my plate, it's him that I'll make pay.
So sorry I must tally-ho I'm rather in a rush.
I have his scent of where he went, he's hiding in a bush.
Sorry I stopped you with my plight and frighten you my dear.
It's Mr Fox I want to box, I'll catch him do not fear.
So I'll be off, as I'm done with talking
Please don't let me stop you dear
carry on now with your walking.
SLIDING FROM THE MOUNTAIN TOP
(APROPOS MLK: 3)
Lingering in the spaces of time, standing
On the muddy banks of reality, wandering souls
Chase the dream of Moses: the gleamed glory
From the mountain top veiled by the inept web
Of deceptive policies of the word-weavers .
Dew-clawed changes have lost their mesmerizing
Magic; reality having waved its wand of truth
Revealing the smiling facades of justice.
Yes we have overcome cowering iniquities
And have reached the valley of the promise land;
But Aaron’s reprieve does not abide here: its asphalt
Altars soaked and stained with the dried blood of our children.
Here in the shadow of the valley of death, we continue
Marching and singing anew; our feet wearily worn
With the mud of deceit; vague chants mimic lost
Freedom songs blowing in whispering winds.
Today, the Movement is just a passing scene
Played out on the roller coaster stages of history:
Praising maids, butlers, buses, bridges…ghost cities…
And the nation mocks the birthday of its Prince of Peace
With black sales days; stirring the painful blood flow
Of memory of buyers feuding at the auction block.
But steadfast we must stand; our audacious God cannot be mocked.
The Dreamer lies dead but the spirit of the dream soars higher
Than the fist of clutched hope; and Sartre’s are still ringing
And their resounding echoes cannot ever be undone!
This is still the land of the free and the home of the brave;
Sweet land of liberty; and where love and peace abide
Evil injustice cannot hide; the dream is everywhere:
May we forever be worthy lamplighters of the trust in the Dream.
Here is the sad tale of the moronic bullfrog king
He may be royal, but he is a ding-dong-ding-a-ling.
He cannot tie his shoes, drive a car or even sing.
Whistling is out, he is a lackadaisical old thing.
He has a name, but he does not answer to it.
For he does not remember it day-to-day, not one bit.
Majestic maids and butlers are much smarter than he.
He does not even hit the toilet when he takes a …..
He has no friends, but his court is always full.
People can steal his riches with a tug and a pull.
For he does not notice as they grab his watch.
No robbery there ever had even one small botch.
Lickety-split here he comes, so pretend to bow.
He will either ride in on a donkey, pelican or cow.
He is the oddest bullfrog king we have ever had.
And this was all said by his mom and dad.
as I jogged down lakeshore dr
i drank hot chocolate as swan
took a dive the water was so cold
as old men played chess
the ferris wheel spins
blowing off hat's and up
the rich lady's dress
lakeshore dr you see
is all for me the white horses
pulling the carriage im not home
I don't miss my marriage
three butlers and two maids
swing the Wellington kid
another kid waits
for he haven't even slid
the light house shines
my eyes follows the breeze
deep into the pine trees
the crows perch away
from the city and thats
what I call hospitality
WRITTEN BY YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN