Best Continued Poems
She's Wet VII Continued
When she gives a cough or a sneeze
Some wee trickles down past her knees
Her knickers are damp
She smells like a tramp
Dashing home so nobody sees
Written by Jan
Inspired by Arthur
Continued by Mystic Rose
She does a little peepee in the bowl
Voiding her bladder is her only goal
Then out comes a fart
Fresh and a la carte
Followed by a turd down the hole!
Continued by Sey
A sigh of relief she wipes her red rear
as the monstrous turd starts to disappear
much to her surprise
it has too much size
and shoots out and hits her left ear
Continued by Steve
Dear lady of the house please don't send me to hell
I know it would get rid of that awful smell
But I have an idea for some fantastic cons
I will be a banker in stocks and bonds
And should I fail and the flush you administer
I will pop out downstream and become a Prime Minister
Continued by Nonsense Alley
Get antibacterial Wet -Ones!
Use plenty for cleaning those soiled buns
Got turd in the ear?
Please! Have little fear.
Buy Wet-Ones for poop- ear ala runs.
Continued by Kimberly
Good gracious this lim'ricks a foul one!
With peepee, a fart and a brown one
Now all has been voided
Smell can't be avoided
So snap on that clothes pin for more fun!
Continued by Eve
Oh! Dear! I guess I am going to have to get some
Depends custom
made,this is just happening too often
and I’m losing too many of my good chosen
underwear in the garbage can at Wal-mart and spending a fortune
Drunk and hung over
I began making this awkward ride
I began to make conversation and joke
About how drunk I was the past night
But a smile was not present
Nor a little grin on that side
I suddenly began to wonder
If everything was alright
So we continued
Continued this awkward drive
My attention began to turn
From the car, too the outside
The outside was very dark
Clouds surrounded the sky
It seemed everything had stopped
It seemed everything had died
But at the end of our drive
My grandmothers we would arrive
To see with my own eyes
My whole family standing outside
As we get out of the car
I put on a disguised smile
For I was still hung over
Got out and said “Hi”
My three uncles walked up to me
With a tear in each one’s eye
They put there arms all around me
And stuttered “Lee died last night”
So I pushed and I shoved
Uncontrollably began to cry
The only thing I could think of
Was the one to blame was I
I began to look for my father
To make sure he was alright
I noticed him by the old Sycamore tree
Staring up into the sky
As I started walking toward him
I noticed a car parked that was white
My mother jumped out and ran toward me
into my arms she cried" Why!!!"
The only thing I could do was hold her
With my arms I held so tight
She said "why did this happen"
"It just doesn’t seem right"
As I broke away from my mother
And walked over to my dad
There he stood crying
With a look on his face that was sad
It looked as if something had left him
Like a little piece of his heart
Now every time I see him
My crying begins to start
I said “Dad remember the good times"
“Remember he's still your son”
He said" yea I know Cody Bo
But the good they die young
The good die young son"
Form:
Breathe ~ Continued
Yes breathe…
Deeply, then allow your lungs to exhale
as your guide glides your weightless form through the whitest shades of pale
Do not resist, do not fight the feelings of ecstasy night wants you to behold
Yielding to a greater force, at times, is more profitable than gold
When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old,
the smoothest seductive music will gradually unfold
Let night en’trance you, rid you of any mal thoughts or frights
Relax and enjoy a plethora of magical sounds and sights
Yes, hold all your questions until the end
then let night’s metaphorical ears bend!
Navigating you beyond wildest dreams
gold is a burden to carry as you peruse yet unseen, crystal prism-speckled streams
When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old
Carpe Diem for your trip will be repeatedly told
Breathing almost back on auto now,
be still, snap a mental picture of the experience of which you now endow
yes exhale…
Sunshine Williams
* This is the continued story from my Haiku ...Where is my food? About Woody the Woodpecker.
So, hungry Woody the woodpecker was yelling at the empty feeder for food:
Clearly that day, he was not in the greatest mood!
I was held up with a health issue, so a friend went to buy the suet block
I am not sure what happened, but he picked a box of many in stock!
Then, the cashier couldn't ring up the bar code, you see...
And imagine this...gave this long box to my friend for free!
I was surprised I ended up with a box of 12 suet blocks inside!
So no worries now, Woody has plenty of food to replace outside!
He talks a little different tune, when he arrives with food there too
- I take that as a happy Thank You -
Heidi Sands
11/3/22
Well it was another one of those days
Where the devil had come about
I was trying to write about the beauty of women
And the words just came right out
What I was trying to say was their all beautiful to me
And most men that I know would be sure to agree
But the words that I wrote that flew out so free
May have started a hate for me that I shall soon see
Now I'll spend my days all alone,and affraid to leave this house
For a woman might sneak up and try to strangle me with her blouse
I should have never wrote those words because I'm a spouse
And now my wife probably thinks I'm nothin more than a louse
But what I was trying to say was somethin most men will all agree
You don't need to always compare yourselves for it's something we all see
Your shoes,your clothes,your hair,your nails, it all just drives us so crazy
You all have your own beautiful look so please accept it and just let it be
I never meant to degrade you in anyway or to cause you any alarm
But the hits those words received seems like I may be heading for some harm
So I ask for your forgiveness and please don't send out your women of arms
Because I told the men in my neighborhood,and their quite handy with their charms
DannyBoy 1-17-13
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXII
IF ever I had a country with or without nationality
And if ever I were elected or nominated Chief Patriot of this God-forsaken mis-carriaged country
And if ever my country - minus the nation - were to be on the verge of being invaded by other countries which religiously subscribe to the notion of " God-bless-us-first " in all exclusivity
I would make it the point of utmost urgence to challenge such insolent uppity countries on their concept of nationality by tabling a motion on the definition of patriotism as opposed to that of nationalism in the United Nations General Assembly
All at the risk of being expelled from that august self-effacing ineffective body and my own blasted country in utter ignominy
And I'd command all patriots to take up arms against and shoot at sight the back-thumping nationalists within my country for fear they may join hands with the invading xenophobic nationalists to enslave and throttle all patriots - y compris the Chief Patriot - in my dear old patrie
And this, even if I were to be unconstitutionally nominated Chief Patriot by all die-hard nationalists in within my own country
Even if I never ever had no country not legitimately sworn in at the United Nations General Assembly
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 20, 2018
Lifted into the eternal,
Peter walked through Heaven's pearly gates...
Greeted by his name's sake.
Ushered into the city of golden streets,
Meeting up with Jesus Whom escorts him around personally.
Manor houses arranged beautifully throughout this Holy city.
"One of these houses are yours Peter," Jesus said to him.
"Which one?" Peter asked the Lord of all.
"All you need to do is follow the song until you come to the house
that is singing to you," the Lord replied.
Peter stood for a moment while tuning into what was sublime,
Sung by a voice so sweet... beckoning him to follow where it would lead.
The streets of gold connected to a road of masterfully tailored, bejeweled cobblestone.
As they made their way further along this road... city turned into meadow,
Wild grass... the blades the color of emerald yet soft to the touch.
Making their way along this road, Peter noticed calves grazing... this grass was delicious to them yet even so their heads lifted up in greeting as they remembered Peter who had taken care of them in that other time.. that other place.
Continuing along their way a beautiful chapel came into sight... not unlike the one Peter left behind it was his time to take his place in this world.
Not far from this chapel which contained a barn underneath it stood a large manor house. There were giant trees of all kinds surrounding this property.
To the left a brook which was fed by delicate streams of living water. This water comes down from Mt. Zion itself.
As Peter along with Jesus drew closer, Peter's loved ones and church family... the ones who had gone on before came to greet him with overwhelming warm loving cheer... a reunion of great magnitude did take place.
Peter radiant with joy is home.
Jesus said to Peter something we all long to hear, "Well done my good and faithful servant whom I am honored to call my friend, my beloved."
So now we all know that there is no end to our time with loved ones and friends.
There is no end to our life with Father God, the Lamb of God, the Holy Spirit.
Farm Chapel Continue is a dedication to the Late Peter Smith of Southfield Chapel in Lancashire England. Farm Chapel is the second poem in Farm Chapel
which was also prompted by beloved friends Pastor Barry and Dorothy Dickinson.
Now that I have gotten that over with,
Being straightforward as a piss-ant on fire,
Telling you it just is what it is,
That behind all the frizz,
Is a beardless fake whose heraldic bearings
Are the arms of a sickly snake,
And that all this derogatory self-derision is decisively the result
Of a disease smitten assault by a prodigal bug
Whose virility is known to create sterility of poetic taste-
Oh what a waste to find oneself in such a caste,
Outcast in a landless mire of sea,
Where there is no Sea king to lead back to land,
Where seeking leads not to seeing
But only to being the miserly plot written by this poetasters hand-
Now, to repeat, that I have gotten that over with,
I can really try,
Once and for all,
To really get it over with.
Like really really real.
So here it is,
In medias res,
The big ordeal:
Merde! Merde!
J’ai oublié on this very day,
To have taken my ressurectine,
The nectar which this fool requires with some dismay
To not forget his pointless points.
Where is my medicine Edison?
Where is my pill?
How shall I cart this over the hill?
O’sir,
Dear sir,
For in the middle of this rabid petri dish of sheer excitement,
Close to moiety’s shribble,
With voice shrill,
Ready to take aim and avoid all shame,
I was, I was, I was, I swear
Almost there,
But alas,
I am,
Now out of gas,
With nothing more to gain,
A timid loveless swain,
A witless poet with no further words to amass,
A neutered puppy in a jungle,
Without a rumble,
To stumble upon just the right word,
To close off looking less like a turd,
Then this early morning bird,
Preferably one day,
Could theoretically mumble.
Did I mention that between finding Absolute Knowledge,
And miming Absolute Knowledge,
I would like to find myself snuggly ensconced in the arms,
Of not only Winnie the Pooh,
But surely Yogi Berra too?
Continued:
So, there I was on the porch standing in shock
This Big Mama Bear sitting right in front of me
On her butt on the grass! Just feet away!
I thought something was wrong with her
It was a hot day, she was breathing heavy
I tried to open the door a little to get a photo
But my hands were shaking and my heart racing
As she moved, I couldn’t keep it steady
I was in a ‘once in a life time moment’ right then
I had never been so close to a bear that big
Then she got up and I realized she was ok
She turned around to walk across the yard
As I fumbled with the door still shaking….
I finally got a photo, from behind in the distance
-----As she entered the trees to leave---
----I said goodbye to my friends---
----Until next time---
Heidi Sands
6/16/17
you kiss me goodbye
only for a little while
to be continued
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written on 2nd December 2022.
Your furtive glances
darting the nape of my neck,
making skin tingle surreptitiously
in sideways advances
charismatically bourgeois,
nonchalantly flipped dark tresses
playing demurely duteous coy games,
irreproachable attentive longing
toying 'pon lashes fluttered fluster,
back's curvature arched a trifle in
heaving breasts' concerted efforts,
pheromones released the sweet spot
as seduction's scent wafted,
blushing moistly parted rosewine lips
licking whetted possibilities of
hitherto untold steamy stories,
yielding beyond curiosity's fiery impulses
unfurling the twinkle of a dazzled eye
to be continued...
Freedom is an alter ego like a mask
Behind which censor has no eyes, and balm its blood applies.
Poetry is my freedom when wings cannot fly
The pain of the arrow in my solitary eye ...
You wrote me as a poem, I write you back so I
Can write a poem that invite your poem to tea.
I sometimes see me in the mirror of words
And cannot recognize who I am
How many points of light forms my face alone
Making a fable on the faulty foundation of sense
Are these suppose to be revelations
For I have longings carved like a Grecian Urn
The stillness of that eternity frightens me
Like is a simily ... a wave of action towards a full intent
So many symbols, and everyone alienating
Why can't we tell truth in Images
Like eggs. A cycle from essence to existence
And through all the purposes of each motion
Phases of a common solution?
Mirrors are not reservoirs, you know, they preserve nothing
Let culture preserve what it will
My art shall do the selecting of what the will must be
For I must preserve truly if only preserve me
And do not fear now, some conflict between you and I
That my preservation can be your destruction is such a lie
Broken mirrors make distinctions
A thousand shards point their image at a single eye
But feel, when you cannot see
Feel the universal solution ... for we are only solutes
In the solvents of our meaning
You and I the tangents of a simple circle converging
I love the breaking of isolation
The conversation dissolving us again
Into a common brotherhood, beyond the blundering pain
Our life is fragment of everything now
Politics, economics, physics, dreams and faith
Word is but a mirror before us, the senses little gates
The mirrored shadow has only one moral imperative here
To haunts us till we make it right
I exorcised the ghost that bind us up with fear
And long to break the mirror too
And feel my wings flying in the perfect nothingness.
Wait for me, brother. I am coming too
Swinging on a beam of star, sipping on love's dew.
Measured in unmeasured meter
Defying our partition into syllables of spoon
Rhyming to mate a synonym exactly to the moon
Everything in this solution is never abstraction
Never more a ritual of dump imperial traditions
I shall break the mirror then, the first act of our liberation
And the water shall turn to wine.
Listen, I know the game
don't give it up now.
I know my words don't align
with popular culture
and cut deeper than a two edged sword
and may cause discomfort but not
as much as the pain when he doesn't call again
and it was a fraud
There is no time for learning the hard way
Don't give it up now!
Form:
(cont..) He removed his Stetson cowboy hat and placed it gently on the bowling ball he
had mounted just for that purpose over the heater by the door. He probably didn’t take that
good care of himself, ..but his white Stetson; …that was another story. Scanning across
the room he noticed a folder placed on his old wooden principal’s desk which was a carry
over from the school days complete with carved in initials, misspelled cuss words and the
like. Some day he would paint it….. Yeah, sure he would. He had had all he could do just to
scrape the gum off of it. The folder had a few sheets of paper in it dated just after he had
left for vacation. “Dam! That was a short vacation! ”, he mumbled to the folder as he
opened the flimsy cover.
Just then there was two sharp raps on the door and a uniformed policeman waltzed in sporting a big grin and hollered out, “hey there cowboy! Heard you were back. Ya just couldn’t bear to be away from the action anymore, could ya huh? “
“Hey yeah Tom, I just missed you guys ugly pusses so bad I had to get away from all
those swimsuit clad babes in Florida just to come back to see you! How’s everything been
here Tom….and what action you talkin’ about? Same old sweet vice, theft and murder?”
“Yep and more. It’s all in that folder you’re knuckling onto. Hey I see you ain’;t got your
coffee perking yet. What say I let you catch up on your reading and I’ll go grab us a cup a
mud.Be right back soon as I take care of a little paper work of my own on a little hooker bust
we’ve got goin.” …er.. black right, Bill?
“Huh? ..yeah black. That’d be good…thanks.” Sgt Bill Lipton was already absorbed by the
report staring at him in the folder. It was from the twenty third precinct. He knew a few old
boys over there….He was so intent on what he was reading that he didn’t notice Tom come
in with two cups of hot coffee and a newspaper.
“You lost in that folder, Sarge ?”
“Huh?…ah no…I mean ya,. I guess” , Bill said while frowning at the contents of the folder. He slowly looked up and rubbing his unshaven chin he said…
“Tom,……What the hell is a …Shogun?!
(to be cont. in unison with Richard Pickett Shogun/Samauri Story) Taz says" hey all!"