Best Call Up Poems
My dear brother Butch,
Hair are the highlights of my week:
I got a job at the Hairway to Heaven salon!
Our motto: "We color your hair or dye trying"
When the interviewer said "I mustache you a question..."
I answered, "May I mullet over?"
Seriously, working there is a shear delight,
with some nice fringe benefits
They're a real cut above the rest
and I shave a lot of money on hair products...
I bought Dad a comb for Father's Day… I bet he'll never part with it
It is a long drive to the salon, but now I know all the short cuts
Oh hey, I know hair-growth seminars are not your style, but
call up your receding hairline buddies and comb on over!
It was great to see you last week, you are looking so trim!
I still feel terrible about the curling iron incident…
You can rest a-sheared I'll straighten it out
but I mussed warn you, you might get fro straighted
Just remember, $15 for a hairpiece is a small price toupée
You may not like short hair at first, but it will grow on you
...that's the mane thing
Did you hear Mom and Dad had a brush with death?
It was a very hairy situation with a real twist:
buzzing down the highway at a decent clip
someone tried to cut them off
Mom was ready to wig out, curl up and dye, but thankfully
Dad went to great lengths to avoid an accident
so there was no permanent damage
you had to see it to be-weave it
Ok, time for a couple of jokes to lighten the mood:
How does the man on the moon trim his hair?
Eclipse.
Why did Pavlov have such fabulous looking hair?
Conditioning.
Why do felines groom with their tongues?
They can't find their catacombs.
Why did the little girl watch "Black Stallion" more than "Babe"?
She liked pony tales more than pig tales.
What was the barber's sign before he went on vacation?
"Hair today, gone to Maui"
Did you hear about the novelty store selling fake piles of dung?
It was sham poo.
Just teasing!
Take hair,
Curly
First off let's make it clear I ain't funny
And I don't start conversations out with bonjour
But there comes a time in every mans life
Where he needs a good Man-icure
When you hit the age of me on the same feet
It's time to give the old dogs a break
Empty out your calendar this will take all day for sure
And you don't want distractions in the way
Cause when the hair on your toes could keep an Eskimo clothed
And carpet his whole family's igloo
That's when you know it's time to call up your Bro's
And go visit an Asian or two
A pedicure for a man to remove the toe jam
Like they would weapons of mass destruction
But let's not call it a date cause that just sounds gay
Let's say outing or a manly luncheon
Like a kid in a candy store given chocolate galore
With no earthly thoughts of calories
Signed up for the 5 gold star plan soon to be a new man
Where you're bound to not recognize me
From hot wax to cream to all things in between
Why they even buffed my buff
From bottom to top they did the whole lot
And yes I liked it...thank you very much
As we went through the day the new me being made
Rolling me from dock to dock
Then came to the time we stopped short of a dime
When they wanted to give me a bikini WHAT?!?
That's where I drew the line there's just some things I find
That a Manly Man would never stand
We went back to the front, that's enough of this lunch!
THAT gold star wasn't in my plan
Would I do it again? All you gotta do is say when...
But next time round believe me
When it comes to the stars I'll stop at the 4
Which I believe is the boxer instead of bikini
Ghosts of Glory
They came to Auschwitz and Treblinka...
they tore down the walls that confined us.
How we wept with joy as the SS officers
were taken away - we spit in their path,
those of us still able to call up sputum
from lungs tortured with malnutrition
and iron beds that bore no blankets
for our bones.
My sleeves are covering the number
they burned into my arm, taking away
my humanity and rendering me nothing.
A young soldier takes my arm,
he has tears in his eyes as he
tells me he is from Texas...there are
no other words he can pull from his
young, shocked brain.
When you see this picture -
remember these words:
“All it takes for evil to flourish
is for good men to do nothing”.
Sad Thought Came To Brain
Found this sad thought on my brain;
Effort to find good priest was in vein;
We pulled off shelf;
Loves hearing self;
Listening to his sermons we refrain.
Sermons priest must be sure to record;
Relationship only casual with the Lord,
And if grim,
Blame them;
Was all that vestry board could afford.
About new priest we have been bitter;
Always wants to be an attention getter;
Voice be heard,
That is absurd;
Only few here we know need babysitter.
Service overburdened with technicalities,
And of life seem to be one of the realities;
When knelt;
Difficult;
Both knees were creating many fatalities.
Jim Horn
A member at Large
Who does embarge.
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You can call up all of my poems at this website locxation.
Breathe on Me Sweet Breath of the Spirit
Breathe on me breath of God
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what thou wouldst do. Robert Jackson
Light a sanctuary candle of new fire in me
With your breath call up purifying flames
Ignite dying embers, not consumed, but set free.
Breathe on me sweet breath of the Spirit
Send before my steps fiery desert whirlwinds
Incandescent fireworks in valley darkness
Fan your holy inferno of blazing grace - blessed crosswind.
Breathe on me sweet breath of the Spirit.
In a fireball transform my fears with your divine fire
Burn away impurities leaving only glowing faith
That welcomes all to warm beside my hearth - heart's desire.
Breathe on me sweet breath of the Spirit.
Leave your neon signature emblazoned on my poor heart
Luminous conflagration ever warming - a lantern
For pilgrims seeking your eternal fire to impart.
Breathe on me sweet breath of the Spirit.
8-21-20
do me the honor
of being my wife
love me forever
us together
as man and wife
together
us together
in a union of love
who knows what tomorrow brings
it's more than the weather
you and I together
making our way thru the days
we can be apart
and have things
go some kinda way
but if you say
i'm yours forever
then you can make me
the happiest man around
how does it sound
me and you together
ain't gotta be fancy
something simple
just call up some friends
and a preacher
we can keep it nice and simple
get it right
or don't do it at all
thats what folk say
let's do our thing
do it up our way
let's marry one another
some might find it
easier to take advantage of
you in this type of circumstance
i wanna keep you way from those harms
if only you give me the chance
just give me the chance
let's leave this place as
fiancees
and start creating our tomorrows
if you break someone else's heart
to be with me
then i'll have tomorrow
do it right or don't do it t all
someone needs to recognize
i'm the man for you in all circumstance
just say you'll be my wife
. BUCKET LIST
Early dawn I find myself,
wondering about my health.
Journey, through the morning mist,
overwhelmed about the reason I exist.
Without thinking of my past,
worried my future will not last.
All my life I have reminisce,
at what age to start my BUCKET LIST?
First, I will work on getting my tickets dismiss.
Then I will take a trip down to the dentist.
Call up them guys who got me piss,
punch them one by one, with my fist.
I do not wannabe be an old geezer skydiving.
I want to live my old age surviving.
I might be brave enough to climb a mountain,
maybe I will bungee off the Niagara fountain.
Checked out that bump that everyone thinks is a cyst.
It will be to late, if the army wants me to enlist.
If I want to travel far,
on my list I will add a brand new car.
I will enjoy eating all the fried food, I resist
even if it brings me closer on DEATH’S LIST.
Close the door to my demons who at once preexist.
Before my family thinks, I need another exorcist.
Thinking how I never did any of the above got me piss.
I will just wait another 35 years to start another BUCKET LIST.
for contest
I have been privileged,
To hold in my life,
The title that’s known
As a truck driver’s wife.
Now, women all know
Being married is rough.
But, marry a trucker,
And then let’s talk tough!
The miles that they run,
And, the job that they do,
Gives us grey hairs,
And fries our nerves too.
And when they get lonely,
And call up the house,
Who’s there for ‘em to turn to?
it ain’t Mickey Mouse!
But, through all the turmoil,
The stress, struggle, and strife,
Those men appreciate
The finer things in life,
And they’ll thank their lucky stars
For a truck drivers wife!
Nona is love with a spoon in her hand,
To stir the pot or smack your hand.
She's free with her hugs, her stories, her food,
But if your bad she comes unglued.
She hustles and bustles all over the place.
She fusses and worries and gets in your face.
If she can't solve your problems with food and a hug,
She'll call in a priest and get down on the rug,
To pray for your soul and your problems she'll share.
With the priest and The Lord she'll lay her heart bare.
If you don't have a boyfriend then she's sealed your fate.
She'll call up her nephew and get you a date.
Never tell her you're hungry 'less you want to be fed.
She'll feed you till your eyes bug out of your head;
And when she feeds you you'd best clean your plate.
If you don't eat it all then her food you must hate.
Then her feelings are hurt and you feel like a cad,
So eat till you're sick so she don't feel bad.
She's the queen of the guilt trips and the queen of hearts,
But she does give new meaning to the phrase,"Ow! that smarts."
Her eyes still twinkle though she's withered and old,
But when God made her, He broke the mold.
DISGUSTING COMMERCIAL
As one gets older things begin to sag
Belly hangs over, energy lags
Better take thought for your health old man
Heed this add, start our diet plan
Oh, there’s fat-free, sugar-free, freedom from gas
Beach ball bloating a thing of the past
Darlene B,, bikini beauty, she lost fifty
From obese to trim now aint that nifty
I tell ya, gordo, though you may resist
Fifty off that paunch will never be missed
If going cold turkey has failed in the past
Cash on the line will save you at last
Our plan now comes with money back guarantee
So what if you pig out – go on a spree
Nothing’s lost but your self esteem
After the orgy macho bod only a dream?
No! Shovel in the junk food one last time
Then start life over, call up Trim Line
Dave Austin
It was a tin-roof wooden house standing
Across the red brick cobblestone street
Adjacent to a wide open field full
Of shady live oak and sweet smelling tangerine trees where
My father’s boyhood home was nestled
Quietly in his home town.
Often times we’d travel to visit
The grandparents still living there
In that Americana corner of our lives.
We didn’t know much of anything at all except
The sky was blue, love was true and we
Youngsters were the apples of the old folk’s eyes.
We’d sit for hours in white wicker rocking chairs
I helped paint one time with newspaper on the floor
And a horsehair brush grandma gave me
To teach me that painting needn’t be a lesson
In staying between the lines. “Sometimes,” she’d say,
“It’s better to let the paint flow
And speak for itself in time.”
And granddad liked to watch the sky – especially at night
When stars were burning bright and would point towards Polaris and say:
“Heaven’s over that a-way.” And during daylight hours
When storm clouds appeared and we could hear
Thunder and lightning all around, he’d laugh and dance
As if the circus were coming to town.
We watched mocking birds and blue jays flying in and out
Of all the tree top branches and leaves singing
Their love making lullabies to us and one another and then
As quickly as they arrived,
Disappeared into the wind.
It seems we’re not much different
Rather family, foe or friend.
Accordingly, the old house still stands today
But the dear old folks have slipped away.
Perhaps to the place once pointed to
High above that night sky view
Where comets roam and grandpa liked to call “Up yonder,”
Leaving me with thoughts of gold
And memories made to ponder.
Does the whole world need hearing aids
Or am I just that Dumb
I was trying to get hooked to the internet
But I was sure something was wrong
"I've got you signed up.
Now just hang up the phone
And redial the technicians
Just follow their instructions and you're on."
So I hang up the phone
Go to the computer room
And since it isn't wireless
I check out the phone jack.
Whoa, something isn't right
There is no cord to the phone jack
And thus none to the computer
By heck.
I call up the tech and he says
"Don't worry about a thing
That's my job to connect you
To the phone line."
"But" I try to say
"You don't understand I'm not connected to the phone line."
"That's my job," said he
"Just follow my directions and you will soon be."
"But I think I need help."
"That's why I'm here" said he
"I'll connect you if you
Just follow my lead."
So I shut up and he walks me through the steps,
"Just hang up the phone
And push START
And you will be on your very own."
Summer's nearly over,
Fall's around the bend;
Fire up the family grill,
Football's back again!
Call up Uncle Benny,
Bring Aunt Lucy too;
Don't forget the "doggies",
We've got lots of brew!
Popcorn's on the table,
Burgers on the bun;
"SHUT UP EVERYBODY!!"
The game's just begun!
Grandpa's on the sofa,
Fiddlin' with his crotch;
Grandma's in limbo,
Staring at her watch!
Benny's passin' gas,
Aunt Lucy's joining in;
We make a hasty exit,
Departing from our den!
In the living room we sit,
Wrapped up in the game;
Here comes Uncle Benny,
With a rather silly claim!
"They won't shut up talkin!"
"Can I sit in here with you?"
The game's gettin' good,
Then grandpa walks in too!
Between the fiddlin' and fartin',
I think we're getting sick;
Something's gotta happen,
And it's gotta happen quick!
A bar down the way,
Alone on Maple Street;
Halftime's nearly over,
It's time to retreat!
Among screaming fans,
The QB throws a pass;
It's football season, baby!
Let's have ourselves a blast!
(Dedicated to Folake)
Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.
Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.
May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.
Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.
Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.
3.
Death, the Master, wears a thousand faces.
The white smile of the skull
Lies behind the 5 O'Clock shadow
Beneath, perhaps, those laughing eyes
Looking your way across the bar.
When the shock begins to fade I turn off the news.
I turn once more to the business of living.
To ponder overmuch over why such things happen
Is to invite the spirit to drain down to hollowness.
Before we cast off at night
Onto the uncertain seas and shores of dreamlands,
We might do well to take a long look down within,
Call up and kiss the swarming demons goodnight
While they stir in the strange shadowgaps of the long dark
Resting there on the fringes of consciousness.
Give ear to the language they speak down there,
Learn dark things from the rumble of their mystic, thunderous litanies.
Call for an uneasy peace with the Legions within,
Hold them back, if you can, with our talismans,
The magic words: Reason, Judgement, Morality.
Tumble then into a warm bed
Forget the Furies roaming just outside
Awaiting dead hours to do their work.
The deeds of the night
Will be revealed
When the mist wraiths steal away,
When the sun bleeds rose light
Across the white face of dawn.