Best Captions Poems
The Mane Event - On The Catwalk
And now for something completely different! I invite you to experience this unique blend of music, where this dynamic video brings to life the essence of anthropomorphism, in an entertaining portrayal, highlighting creatures with human-like traits - a total figment of my fertile imagination.
Meet a lion 'With Attitude' so regal and fierce, as he prowls and sets the 'Catwalk' ablaze with his mighty roar, leaving a trail of awe, admiration and respect of the other jungle animals, and capturing the hearts of the lionesses. It's an auditory and visual feast, playing with themes of royalty, bravado, and humour.
Step into the vibrant spectacle of a jungle runway, 'The Mane Event'- On The Catwalk, a Blues Rock anthem bursting with charisma and wit, entertained by an elegantly dressed animal band and set to the gritty and soulful sounds and combines electric guitar riffs with stomping beats and deep, smoky vocals, inspired by iconic figures like the MGM lion. It combines realism with playful, cartoon-like elements set in a fantastical realm.
How does this bold and cheeky lion 'With Attitude' resonate with you? Could you see him becoming a legend on the animal runway?
Follow the lyrics on YouTube CC (closed Captions)
Written: October 28, 2025
I press my palm against your shoulder,
dust-streaked and aged
You unfold before me.
Heat rises from the folds
between the tendon and the tender dough.
I savor a bite of the dough.
reminiscent of the stars I once folded,
now scattered,
akin to lost receipts
in a tempest.
I arrive with my stained skin, as a flyer
marred by hurried typos,
hastily printed
by a restless intern.
Here, I consume you wholly.
A vendor presents grief in palm-sized parcels,
with you wrapped in sensational headlines
That twists the truth.
I swallow every piece of you,
even the mustard staining the captions.
But then the rain begins—my likeness of you blurs,
my ink a wing in flight as a winged creature.
A man in uniform smiles and brushes
the sugar from my scalp
casting it into the tide, a final farewell.
It’s Memorial Day
I thumb through my high school yearbook,
Soiled, unpadded from another day.
My children don’t know of our mindset then,
The second war all wars to end.
Daily goodbyes to the boys we loved,
The face of the first one to lose his life to war,
In my yearbook.
Pages and pages of lists to follow,
Names of those then serving,
The movie news theater down town,
Hiding no graphic battle scenes, and
Finally showing those terrible discoveries
Of the Holocaust, a mad man’s horror show creation,
Once we were at a dance,
Three months later you were dead,
Any boy that held a teen girl,
Insecure, frightened, excited, clutched,
He must leave all he knew,
And fight for you.
Pictures from my yearbook,
Nearly all of you are gone by now,
Heroes, memories, when the newspapers screamed
“Anzio – The Bulge, The Bombs, Normandy The thousands!”
And then The Bomb.
Still not the end, for
Many yearbooks have followed;
Korea, Vietnam, El Salvador, Bosnia,
The Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan;
It’s as if my tattered yearbook meant naught,
We thank you again and again.
We love you, our boys and girls,
And yes, you, too, old commanders and generals,
Who loved and love us with your last full measure.
So when we hear a roar at night,
It is only thunder because of you.
We pray your faces will never be
In a yearbook such mine –
That your captions will always be;
“Most Likely To Succeed,”
Thanks to those who have gone before,
Freedom will always be.
Self knowledge equated to the encyclopedia
and perceived facts, products of personal reasoning
the efficacy of thoughts should not be questioned
and assumptions simply made real and absolute
Typical of such a thought stamps on convictions that
the banana and plantain are the same
a superior race surely exist
leg size has a great correlation with the male’s genital
the measure of one’s success is solely factored
in his accumulation of wealth
and money is the root of all evil.
This mindset can walk on hot coal just to prove these points
Columbus was the first European to visit the Americas
bulls are colour blind and bats are completely blind
women are subordinates to men
and a pure heart is one which covers its body from head to toe
This mind can even tear its clothes to rags
in displeasure to your opposition to issues such as
Sydney is Australia’s capital
the earth’s evolution is the cause of day and night
Africa is a country and its inhabitants exchange
morning greetings with the Lion and the Chimpanzee
and Neil Armstrong is the first human to journey into out space
Despite carrying the internet even to the dreams
and having global captions mixed with daily breath
assumptions such as these are nurtured
religiously, with rigidity and military acceptance
the biggest illiterate of the 21st century is one
who cannot learn, unlearn and relearn
so said Alvin Toffler, the Australian Educationist.
Oh sorry! The American futurist
I stay late to steal the night air to owl cry, looking on the virgin ideas to rainfalls. August augmented my hope to millennium laughter. Bell rings to escort the escapees from scandals to bloom as blouses, under virgin legs.
I chain ideas together to fix fact from fiction to whistle blow. I dissolved salt to salute the King on his reign of majesty in the Island to the Icelander. Robb not the knot tied in the heart of bride to the bridge.
Diamonds to dinosaurs from brew of coffee to cough mixture to euphoria hope. Ballad gossips to the failure of adjectives to describe my desire to discrepancy velvet. Penultimate to penguin loves with pedophilia and conversion from deceit to delicacy love.
A family gen that cemented us together is thicker than water fractured by crack of gun sinister love. You refuse to references the refugees on the red light alert.
Label the talents to termites’ hearsay, somber to saga poem that powers my element of thinking to the twinkle of bell to strategic maneuvers
Yelling to yellow leaf yonder aspirant astonished to dangling wire to the wild lives. Courthouse cut courtesy captions in the newspapers very special hot tea in the morning. Dictum the dog master sneak virgin Island and excursion bodyguards to curtail the escalation of situation under gunpoint.
United Nations while the institution is divided by the languages they
Speak the food they feed on prepared by different chefs.
They proclaimed unity but wars didn't end within the jurisdiction of
Institution there is mountains of answers have been asked, but non
answerable
The institution disguised behind democracy to desecrate the innocents to
Nonsensical meetings with the hope of different approach
United Nations but dictatorship still the cultural of many countries the
Poor pay the price of emaciated bones in war torn, the ribs of children
Are the captions of the newspapers?
United Nations is institution of imagination where boiling ideas collided
Under the sycophant of being able to remove the bullets and bombs inside
Guns
I pay tribute to all those who paid their souls unwillingly to the
Senseless wars grasping the world.
Driving
Roads North to South
Panoramic art by God
Signed human captions.
I close my eyes, and the FYP still flickers.
A faint grid overlays my internal vision:
profile icons, captions crawling sideways,
the heart button pulses in phantom rhythm.
Swipe—
an old video appears unbidden,
a raccoon washes a grape to a looped remix
of something I don't need to name.
Even in its absence,
the feed remembers me.
I catch myself waiting for a voiceover
to narrate my steps to the fridge,
for text to appear above the sink:
POV: you’re hydrating, finally.
Ads linger in the margins,
selling me things I didn't know I needed—
silicone spatulas, trauma therapy,
a sense of being seen
for $19.99 plus shipping.
Swipe again—
and there’s nothing to catch me now.
The app’s gone dark,
yet its framework remains,
ghost-phoned into my muscle memory:
flick, pause, scroll, double tap.
I try to think of something else,
but the burn-in is stubborn.
I see viral dances in my peripheral vision,
imagine a soundbite stitched with my mind's eye.
Somewhere, a raccoon still washes its grape.
In the space where connection once was,
only the wanting remains—
a phantom architecture of edges
that once built something real
from the chaotic communion of sharing
oneself and seeing the same in return.
What do we do with the framework
when the picture’s gone? What do we make
of the void now that we know its name?
(Adventures In Geriatric Land)
Does your dentist have money for Porsche that you’ve lost?
Is the hair on your head now the color of frost?
Is the zip in your life only internet speed?
Do your savings accounts all too easily bleed?
Does your bladder evacuate slower than sound?
Do your friends all speak louder when you are around?
Is night driving more difficult due to the glare,
Do night road signs all seem that they’re needing repair?
Are closed captions de rigueur while watching TV,
Spicy foods mean you’re somewhere you don’t want to be?
Do you now find you look at each phone number twice,
Does it seem you’re less trusting of stranger's advice?
Does high fashion place second to comfort these days,
Shoes that tie seem they must be a teenager’s craze?
Does your body seem more like the shape of a pear,
Are there times you’re not sure if your feet are still there?
Does your nose know what septum that deviates means?
Do you find that you’re now not so jealous of teens?
Does your back really hurt at times, knees always ache?
Do you sometimes feel drowsy when life needs awake?
And do taxes now fill your whole body with dread
Are there days that you feel like you envy the dead?
Can you look at your life and still think it well spent?
Does it seem now that multitudes live in your tent?
Well if all this is true and you still greet the day,
If you don’t let the little things get in your way,
If you’ve learned to accept and you don’t fear the end
Then rejoice in arrival of mensch-hood my friend.
Brian Johnston
January 22, 2016
I haven’t written in a while
I seem to have lost my voice
I'm not sure where or when it left me
Or where to find it
I have a feeling its in different pieces
Shards of echoes
splattered inside old notepads
pressed between the cinderblocks of 10th grade biology
Humiliation is a powerful numbing agent
Paired hand in hand with cheap liquor
I can’t remember who I was angry at
I wish my face belonged to my brain
I wish my brain belonged to a body
That wasn’t itching for eternal rest
I wish my bones didn’t feel like shoes that don’t fit right
Too small, but you pretend they will stretch
Up until the point that the blisters can no longer be ignored.
I wish I hadn’t stopped reading books
I wish my parents watched sports, and smiled, and owned decorative pillows
I think my voice was suffocated
By boys who saw nothing but a mouth
I can talk now, but I’m mute
On autopilot, with closed captions written by you.
Graffiti on the wall that you call yours for your communication;
Someone else paints it all over, different lines, zigzag, splodges, splurged, fiery captions
Can I not erase my own wall and start all over again?
Imagine a woman peeking out from the shower curtain…
Accompanying captions on the side appear
“I asked 100 women what shampoo they preferred?
The #1 answer to my survey was certain,
How’n blankety blank did you get in here?”
Managed perception creates confusion;
the picture plays a neat trick on the brain.
There was no survey, just a joke that's offbeat.
The words and the wordster are in collusion
like men who have an image to maintain.
What appeals to men is her ballyhoo.
Are they looking for shock, dismay or fear?
In the photo, she's a picture of "discreet".
"Survey" has nothing to do with shampoo,
when in doubt, turn his question on its ear -
"Why do they put directions on shampoo bottles?”
Reading captions besides smiling lips.
Reveiwing lifesyles and basics.
Choosing in a moment or over quiet deliberation whether
to reply to a flirtatious glance.
Finding, more and more, that I have little experience at this game.
In its ruless, non-conformist, strange land.
Where one easily becomes prey to wolves and vultures.
Some introducations drip of the bitter venom;
Others no etiquette with little skills of we social animals.
Regardless, we all call out seeking some one to fill the void prior relations left.
Some were a literal " Yikes!"
Their manner seemed afraid that smiling
would either break the camera or their face.
Others were the hearldings of wounds previous relationships had inflicted,
leaving them open to fester, ooze, and putrify.
I do not wish to be the antibiotic they need;
a Florence Nightingale they want to tend and bangage these sores.
Others have no interests save the industry paying for this lot of cyberspace.
Fairly boring not much to say.
I would not be able to carry on a conversation beyond pleasentries and introductions.
Though I do not understand if it is me or them at fault
More to the point when I allow myself to be taken by the hand by another touched on theneck by a gentle hand A kiss so soft so warm melting the icy armor,
coolness of my demenor.
Diva gladly abdicates her throne.
Needy for a touch of a lover, consistant and sincere.
More cautiously do I proceed; not to let anyone, just anyone, in marring up my house.
Too many years I have tucked away
these true feelings boiling deep with in me.
So very few in the world can hold a candle to my expectations.
For the moment diva will keep her crown.
Today's the birthday of my gurl,
I must go out and shop for her.
Some perfume or jewelry, I must get,
A bracelet she will like, I bet.
Dinner with soft music, might do,
With a dozen of roses, or two.
We must definitely dance for a while,
I like the way that makes her smile.
Long, before it starts to get late,
She will, carefully, cut the cake;
As she closes her eyes to say a wish,
I'll stand close, for a hug and a kiss.
I'll take some pictures of this day,
To share them in a very special way.
I'll add captions and a word or two,
Then place them on a background of blue;
Of the pictures that I'll take for her.
Yes, to show her that she's my gurl -
And she will remember this day;
With the hope - more will come our way.
Panda Bear adorns horizon
For one brief minute
Then Great Blue Heron came on
Suddenly a rabbit
Mom would say wild imagination
Only in cobalt blue
I really saw all these captions
Now they're gone it is true
The golden sun dominates scene
Those animals seem but dream
Life is here now warming up alive
Mist rises from creek jive