Best Cream Of The Crop Poems | Poetry

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The Cream Of The Crop by Ellison, Jack
Inbred White Trash Cream of the Crop by Carmen, Eugene

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The Best Cream Of The Crop Poems

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Banana Split

A banana split can be a work of art. With the fruit cut lengthwise in half is where we start. Three scoops of our favorite ice cream go on top. Whatever flavor, use the cream of the crop. On each scoop go toppings of pineapple, chocolate, and strawberry. Above that go generous mounds of whipped cream and a cherry. A split is good enough to change the most dour personality. Serve up this treat, and see them become merry.


Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014


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THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP

THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP Anita’s eyes were brown. She was the kindest of angels. Her speech firm with authority but reassuring with a glass- like sensitivity; she seemed to know all. Prompt as a rooster's first crow, that's how she is. She stands like a lioness ever ready to act, a channel to prolong the patient's life. Her heart is a captive cog of dedicated compassion: as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean, Professor, and as a nurse. She stood always regal in white. Bearing a sanction of life and death with each shot made by her gentle hands. She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms; sponges to absorb order and pressures, she was simply a lamp for a sick person. Our batch, she handles with iron fist. Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us are noisy cans but empty inside. Black sheep but later turned into the cream of the crop. She stood as our Samson pillars then despite canyons of doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds. Yet, one day a snapshot happened – She fainted while teaching. She was brought to the hospital, scrutinized and observed like the frog in my sophomore year. I was one of the nurses who rendered care. I watched, how the shining light in her eyes turned to stormy sadness. I have heard how her sturdy voice now sounded a tattered tape only syllables and groans, no more. Her before supple glowing skin turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone. Finally, she needs only bags of blood in two days her life passed my Anita... _______________________________________________________ Sponsor Thomas Martin Contest Name Show but Don't Tell Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 5:15 pm, May 19, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015


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Debbie Guzzi

Around the Soup Kitchen, she stirs up the prose,
tasty, with succulent verses and thyme.
She simmers a brew, which helps us to grow
Will sponsor a contest to stretch appetites

Heaping a spoonful of sage and her spice,
to season our poetry with words of advice
A dollop of cream, where our muse needs some steam,
a suggestion or two for the best tasting stew
and a pat on the back when we get the taste right !

Her words flourish ripe, she's the cream of the crop
She gives us applause, with a cherry on top
She takes out a moment, to nourish our pride 
Deb's poetry tools have been sharpened by time 
She fills the Soup kitchen, with versatile rhymes..
...
Her poems fill our cravings, when we're hungry or blue
They are never too mushy...., offering plenty to chew
They are filled to the brim with metaphorical herbs
It takes one awhile to absorb all her verbs
but taking the time, we'll relish them too !

Like jewels on the vine, her heart on her sleeve
she is gifted with excellence, can bring one to tears
With skill that she's got, she's the queen of the lot
She's the gourmet creator of the Poetry Pot !!



_________________________________________
Written In Dedication to Debbie Guzzi
For Tribute Contest Sponsored by Silent One


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015


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My Tribute To Our Becca Teagan

I'm so happy I checked-out a recent e-mail from the Soup
By doing so, I was privileged to read some of Becca Teagan's 
work, I know I may have gone over the top with my
little tribute, but I write what comes to me. 
I never say this lightly ------"She's a MUST read" 





You're far above that upper class
Unique among themselves
Most I view as Top Drawer Poets
But you my friend, Top Shelf

You're the bell of the ball
The cream of the crop
The tip of the tip
of the tipious top

The shine on the shoe
The stick in the tie
The ultimate answer
To that old question "Why?"

You're the crown on the Queen
The jewel of the Nile
You're Aces to me
Cause you write with such style

Don't shy when I say
You're the best of the best
I've strained all the soup
And I've read all the rest

You write like an Angel
With paper and pen
You know what to do
So, just do it again


Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2016


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Saved By Rhyme

I wrote one rhyme one day to express my misery 
and the rest is history. 
It remains a mystery, 
how this ability, 
was literally in stealth for a whole generation 
and only found penetration 
when I sat in true isolation. 
To let go of emotions 
with this written expression 
was a form of stress relief 
that unknowingly helped me turn a new leaf. 
Had I not found poetry the power of my grief 
would rival the power of the great barrier reef, 
if I carried it with me it would summon evil and be lethal, 
with the fuel rushing at breakneck hectic speeds 
and dropping thousands of volatile feet. 
I'd be on a rampage to make people bleed 
and I'd have no remorse of the damage 
as I manage the spree. 
Without poetry I'd have turned deadly and dangerous, 
but instead I write rhymes and am courageous, 
believe me, it's not easy wearing your heart on your sleeve, 
I write the things that others keep inside, 
but I say, why hide? 
My openness is my pride, 
the access is not denied, 
and that makes me smile while others have lied. 
You must be brave to pave the way with thoughts and feelings, 
or fears and healings, that are saved 
in the waves of this worldwide net and surfed daily 
by man and lady to be a renegade. 
I was always a loose grenade 
that when fuelled by sugar or Lucozade 
was ready to rage 
or "seek attention", often forgetting my age 
as I boldly took centre stage. 
I'm actually impulsive and opinionated 
to some I'm repulsive but it's just how I've always operated. 
I don't look for opportunities 
to be at the centre of communities,
it just happens all of a sudden and I can't stop it. 
I'm clever, I'm stupid, both sprout out, 
I can be a lairy little lout, 
that's both arctic and tropic 
as I comment on any topic, 
sometimes I speak so quickly 
that even I disagree with me. 
The vocal cords are outspoken 
and the filter in my brain is broken 
so I'm naturally quite open 
and that is embarrassing but I've become good at coping. 
My title is mister but should be sir, 
as the resistance is blistered 
to the provoking thoughts I stir, 
the power of words. 
I can't imagine being unheard, 
but I speak then retreat, 
as I give you my word, 
it's not your focus I seek. 
Praise never gave me a raise, 
it's all about self satisfaction
that comes from my actions 
and creates my own reaction.
I don't need to travel the validation maze, 
my Facebook page is a mix of sarcasm and lazy, 
social media doesn't faze me, 
if you know me you won't let my status portray me. 
I rhyme just fine, 
some might say sublime, 
while others can't read or rhyme the lines. 
Wordplay is in my core, 
it lives in my spine 
and as it shines through my rib cage 
it always harnesses the rage, 
and this organisation 
and configuration 
makes me a rhyming sensation, 
when I could have been throwing hissy fits, 
but instead I twist my wrist 
and push the anger behind the mist. 
I was heading towards crimes 
but instead wrote a rhyme 
and fast forward to now 
I've been rewarded somehow. 
I learnt to rhyme through rap, 
where you hand out an insult and take one back, 
you don't mouth off behind peoples backs 
and this makes it a competition between two witty chaps. 
Banter is hated but it is not hate, 
it is a culture that is revolting to some, 
it is not the actions of vultures,
I'm fortunate enough to appreciate face to face slating, 
that is only ever after laughter 
and not out to cause an emotional disaster. 
Maybe I'm a jock 
and it's in my nature to mock, 
but now I've gone from athletic 
to academic 
and found there is sensitivity 
towards this creativity, 
and to me that's a shock, 
when creative poetry is cream of the crop. 
If it was not for poetry I'd be nasty, 
so don't get upset by words when gashes are more ghastly,
and lastly don't grass me, 
speak to my face if I have been naughty
I'd rather you harass me,
reporting is a cowards sport,
so come to me as an adult,
it really isn't difficult,
only report as a last resort.


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


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Accept my Apologies

I’m sorry that I had to rob a bank
To buy your lavish aquarium tank
     Starkist rejects share a cell
     And Charlie’s begun to smell
Our debtors’ prison is bleak to be frank

If you can find a way to make my bail
Criminal activity I’ll curtail
     I’ll acquiesce to your wish
     Bid adieu to this foul fish
And worship you like you’re the Holy Grail

I’ll never mention the credit card fees
That swelled from your holiday shopping sprees
     You’ll find I’m truly contrite
     For snoring all through the night
And inadvertently cutting the cheese

Can you forgive me? I don’t deserve you
You’re the cream of the crop; I am just pooh
     Thank you for pointing this out
     Let’s put an end to this bout
To make reparations, I’ll ingest bamboo


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010


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"Freckles Brown". The Legend, The Bull Rider

Born in 1921, somewhere in Wyoming, born to ride wild stock
Started at sixteen, hung up his spurs at 53
Thirty Seven years  of riding broncs and bulls
Made his home aboard outlawed livestock
Riding with broken bones and paying his fees
Night after night, on them old bone breaking bulls

December 1, 1967, was Freckle's biggest night of all
National  Finals Rodeo, Oklahoma City, on a bull, Tornado
No ordinary bull, no ordinary cowboy
The two were the best in the world, who would take the fall
The test between Freckles and Tornado
Who would win, beast or cowboy

Tornado, 1850 pound Braford stick of dynamite
Never had been rode in 220 times bucked out
He was out of World Champion Jim Shoulder's bucking string
Brown was forty seven at the time, was in the spot light
Had a broken neck the year before, he had little doubt
He wanted the eight second bell to ring

A full house that night, waiting for the cream of the crop
Then the explosion out of Chute # 2, Tornado came out high and wide
Into a spin and wrapped it up tight, trying to loose his load
Freckles riding the horrible hurricane, was still on top
One of Rodeo's most famous bull ride
Tornado knew that he had been rode

Spurs dug into the rope, toes turned out, free hand in the air
Victory was his at the eight second bell, life was never so sweet
Freckles rode the baddest of them all
That night Tornado never really had a prayer
The King of Rodeo rode him to defeat
Freckles Brown was to rodeo as Babe Ruth was to baseball


Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2009


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Sex, sweat and perfume

Sex,sweat and perfume
Still consume this room
The sheets washed a thousand times
Yet laced with our swansong

I lay on pillows new
But just like morning dew
As droplets of us are evaporating 
I'm left...with all the aromas...and envisage what they bring

But there's nothing left to anticipate 
A swansong heard now on death we await
To feel your lips upon mine one last time
Delicately parted by my tongue

My muse...my Alice Prin
Who brings forth unadulterated sin!
For the amount of canvases who have felt my strokes some may deem me amateur
Yet through constant connective awareness,readdressing and adjusting minute details
I have intensified my masterstroke so i fill the canvas and it swells to produce
Cream of the Crop

They said love conquers all
To believe that are you a fool?
To be questioned on passion, lust and love coexisting?
A question only asked by those still searching!!

For I won't settle for anything less

X


Copyright © Ben Massey | Year Posted 2015


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Goodbye

I’ll always remember the things that we did,
When you were my dad and I was your kid.
You were everything then that I wanted to be,
And you’re fully the reason why I became me.

We drew Indian villages on big cardboard sheets,
And on Sunday evenings we’d have midnight feasts.
You would toast us a crumpet on the fire with your fork,
You would play the Atari whilst I would just talk.

I would sit on the side while you made us both toast,
Whilst I told you wild stories of some made up coast,
You encouraged my dreaming and imagination,
You helped me to learn and embrace education.

You worked all hours going to put food on the table.
But you always made time to play games when you’re able.
All the kids in the area joined our huge snowball fights,
And most still remember you taught them to ride bikes.

We had all that we wanted and then some more on top,
With a legendary dad who was cream of the crop,
And as we grew up, and as we became men,
You were best friend and confident and then dad again.

If ever I needed advice or a moan,
You would always be there on the end of the phone,
You would listen for hours and though nothing was solved,
You would focus my mind, my belief and resolve.

You’re my teacher, my mentor and my happy place,
And though you leave us too soon there’s a smile on my face,
For your legacy shows how you’ve relished this life, 
Leaving four loving sons and your Gail, your wife.
  
It’s so hard as I write this and say my goodbyes,
I will miss you for always and have many more cries.
But I want you to know whilst you’re leaving is sad,
How grateful I am to have had you as my dad.

In all I’ll achieve and the places I’ll see,
You’ll always be there seeing it right with me,
And if I’ve one regret, one thing I didn’t do,
It’s becoming a Dad who is loved just like you.

I owe you more than words; till we meet again old man.


Copyright © David Horne | Year Posted 2016


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Football Potpourri (A Souper Collaboration)

Switching channels, trying to stay on top
Mannings and Favre are the cream of the crop

Afraid to miss a single great play
Is this how a lady should spend her Sunday?

Vikings fans stand up and cheer
Purple and gold are winning this year

Look like dem Saints gonna 'Brees' (Understood?)
No more bags, no more 'Ain'ts" (Better knock on some wood!)

Not much success for the Tampa Bay Bucs
But faithful fans are still wishing them luck

The Giants appear to be bouncing back
Eli and team mates try to regain their track

Great quarterbacks like Luckman and Tittle 
Let's hope our Giants remain "fit as a fiddle"

Touchdowns and field goals get fans outta their seats
While I scream and applaud, my cheerleading repeats

Reviews and replays are part of this game
As great football legends, their names shall remain

Let's get ready to watch game of football.
It's the number one game to watch in the fall.

Choose a team that will be a winner.
Watch the game just before dinner.

Oklahoma sooners is my team who's yours?

 
Many thanks to the football fans who contributed, including Linda-Marie Bariana, Karen 
O'Leary, Tim Ryerson, Matthew Annish and Teresa Skyles (the Sooner fan!).


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009


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Betch Please, Really

I simply love being me for I am so good at everything step into my city and they will tell you who is King one day when I am hungry I will swallow everything then and only then shall I inherit the stuff I dream even then I promise not to settle for satisfaction at any instant half a second I could spring into full action so go against me? please, you do not even measure up to half of the goodness that I hold tight like my treasure still spreading rumors about me to try and destroy my life can't believe I let myself get beat by a stripper and my self-intended knife try and say I'm gay even though we both know that isn't the truth just ask any woman I been with if they ever needed proof they'll say I was the cream of the crop as they took it all night knowing I just may never stop I own the status of a legend now what you got left to say when I bring it twenty-four seven?


Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013


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THIS THING CALLED LIFE

This Thing Called Life'

This thing called life, today's tomorrows,
cheating Father time, we beg and we borrow,
for one more day to feel the sun upon our face,
knowing borrowed time,, we can never replace.

We position ourselves as the cream of the crop, 
this thing called life, we know ultimately, will stop.
In the blink of an eye, we no longer exist,
this thing called life, we should never resist.

Man has pondered their plans that recede,
yet deep in their soul, they'd only deceive,
all those around them, but not Father Time,

So, live today, like there is no tomorrow,

'This Thing Called Life.....


Copyright © THOMAS CASWELL | Year Posted 2015


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The Cream Of The Crop



What a bunch of sweet people on The Soup The cream of the crop and that's no poop A great place to reside You'll be bursting with pride And that long face of yours will no longer droop © Jack Ellison 2015


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015


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MY DEAR NANA

MY DEAR NANA
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
 

A tiny gardenia sits in her hair
A twinkle in her eye, a rapturous stare
There’s something she’s savoring
Of moments gone by 

A little girl grooming her little doll baby
An orchid corsage for the senior prom, maybe
That summer in Paris, the weather so mild
The pushing and blowing with her first child

Her little girls’ first piano recital
Her little boys surgery a success so vital
The first time she was called grandma
Brought tears to her eyes 

All wasn’t  rosy there were heartaches as well
Some were so painful, and so hard to quell
But those are the passions in every life 
The ups and downs, the laughter, the strife

She handled them well and ended on top
The family she raised, the cream of the crop
Ole gramps strutted about acting large
But everyone knew she was in charge


She bested the challenges she had to overcome
They’re all behind her, the mission is done
She’ll close her eyes now not to open anew
My sweet and gentle nana, I bide you adieu








 





 


Copyright © John Arribas | Year Posted 2016


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The Babe, Ted Williams, And The Mick



Remembering the days way back when Baseball was what made life tick Lived and breathed that wonderful game With the Babe, Ted Williams, and the Mick Jackie Robinson breaking the colour barrier Sweet memories inhabit my brain Jackie was the absolute first hero of mine Brought equality to this time honoured game Stan Musial, Bob Feller, and Joe DiMaggio From a much simpler era, these names When salaries hadn't yet become astronomical They played for the love of the game How many remember the powerhouse Yankees Every year the cream of the crop They were always a perpetual Series contender Seemed like the Yanks were always on top Those days are gone but sure not forgotten In the recesses of this old mind Can still see Ted hitting one over the fence In my mind, it's nineteen-forty nine © Jack Ellison 2013


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013


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Am I Crazy

 Am I crazy?        
so I've been fucking told!        

You'd be crazy too if you had to listen to your father fucking anything that moves        
        
Try watching movies at the drive-in with your parents        
kids in the back seat - close your eyes kids - this is gonna be rough        
But there's NO WALT FUCKING DISNEY for us        
the documentary about sadism and masochism playing in our ears        
Like my father really needs instruction        
        
Try living with the crawling hand worse than the movie one.  
Sit on my lap cream puff, where's the Vasoline?        
God, I hate the non smell of Vasoline, his lotion of choice.        
        
Oh mama mama, where for art thou, mama?        
mamas cooking, cleaning, going to church.        
R U Praying to god for my evil soul, mama?        
        
We're going on vacation kids...Whole Family Fun.
What's wrong mama, why won't you look at me during the drive
WHAT? You can't see daddy in the cars middle seat with me? As I plead with my eyes "please save me mama,". You avoid the rearview mirrored glance cause you're a worthless Mother aren't you.      
Him smothering me because I bite hard?      
him smashing my lips with a hand full of "This will hurt me more than you daughter"        
NOW I GET to wear a permanent crack in my lip 
to forever remind me of our LOVING family camping trips
THAT'S RIGHT DADDY!  I'LL BITE THAT MOTHER FUCKER RIGHT OFF

Mama stops the car, so I can puke his cream of the crop out the door        
watch it, Shaunda, those could be your future  brothers or sisters your puking on the ground       
FOR GOD SAKES, HOW MANY MORE DOES HE NEED ?  

You force feed me alcohol as you hold me to the ground
and pour it down my throat  until I'm puking
way to go Daddy! THE DEAD CAN'T FIGHT BACK.    
        
I gladly pee and shit in a can in my closet because the bathroom isn't safe, 
I see you waiting in the dark hall by the bathroom daddy        
I'D RATHER SHIT AND EAT IT before I use that bathroom again.        
        
What? If I  don't let you do me,  You'll get my baby sister?        
and when I hear her screams, I'll know it shoulda been me!        
        
As daddy smugly smiles        
and mama hides her eyes        
        
I'm just a little girl - I'm so afraid -i'll just slit his throat while he sleeps    
PLEASE HELP ME GOD!  
  
And mama wants to know how I ever got this crazy?            
Am I fucking crazy?so I've been fucking told!        
AND I SMILE.


Copyright © shaunda lindsay | Year Posted 2017


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The Under Cover Cop

He is a special breed, for a special deed
You would never know by the way that he looks
He has nerves of steel. heart becomes cold
But his goal is a special deed
A renegade, can't always do it by the book'
His life is always on hold

He dress he dresses like a out law, still inside the law
He has to blend in and not be found out
No matter what kind of crime, he has to talk the talk
Make them think that he is out law
No room for any doubt
He is dead if he can't walk the walk

Gets down in their cesspool
Smells the same smell that they do
Walking a tight rope all the time
No room for any kind of fool
Not the regular man in blue
But he knows how to get the slime

The thing that they hate the most is a :snitch"
If found out he could get blown away
In my book they are the cream of the crop
He loves to tell a criminal in cuffs,"Yeah life is a b...tch
You could not get me to do that on his pay
Thank God for the under cover cop


Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010


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I am bored with rain

I am bored with rain
Everyday, that I awake I'm drenched
How amusing it must be for the water
I feel that it is laughing as it pit-patters my nice clothes
My hat becomes drenched, almost to say "Let your bald spot show"
Well, Mr. Rain I am just sick of it
I'm going to invent something so incredible that I can't even think of it right now
But I will and rest assured your days of drenching me and my plans will be through
I guess for now I'll stick with my umbrella
So the jokes on you because I have a state of the art umbrella recently bought
It is the cream of the crop, exquisite in all of it's glorious details
It is so......wonderful.....how does one open it though?
Haha! You win the battle this time rain, but I'll win the war
As soon as I figure out this silly umbrella!
You know, I'm not bored with the rain anymore: I can't stand it!
Written By Robert Matthew Hunt a.k.a R.M. Hunt on 
5/2/2011


Copyright © Matt Hunt | Year Posted 2011


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Spilled Milk



I said, “You’re the cream of the crop!”
You called me your buttercup.
Emotions churned.
I milked the situation for all its worth,
As my dreams sat splendid before me.
Then, your life spilled out into the world,
And I became unwanted;
A container of spoiled passion
And curdled desires.
You dashed my hopes,
Leaving behind, 
The tracks of you,
and Bessie.
That old cow!


Copyright © Virginia Mitchell | Year Posted 2010


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Not In Quiet Slumber

Not in quiet slumber spend time alone
Or in rich places with societies'
Cream of the crop, but in reading tone
Upon tone of richness; varieties

Poetry penned for fun among poet friends
That soupy mixture of different beans,
Peas, corn, carrots, onions; those soupers tend
To bless, nourish, mend by gleans

Gleaning of rich blessings from their humor
Political astuteness, knowledge, love
Those that describe like gifted costumer
Whose costumes they talentedly wove

Poetry soup gathering place to uplift
Like minds, rich with societies' gifts


In honor of Carol Brown's contest

Written by: Sara Kendrick
Date written and posted: January 14, 2012






Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012


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Inbred White Trash Cream of the Crop

You call the police on my son 
You pull a knife, he has a gun 
You call my wife a tramp, I call you a loser 
I drive an Escort, you drive a junked up Cruiser 
I ask my wife what's for dinner, she says slop 
We are inbred white trash cream of the crop 
We finally move in together and become one 
We do the horizontal bop until the morning sun 
We are now husband and wife, sister and brother 
Our kids won't know what to call us, maybe father and mother 
She is now pregnant with our child 
We are exhausted from our rituals and breeding style 
The neighbors say this is wrong that we should just adopt 
We must have our own or there will be no inbred white trash cream of the crop 
Now after 19 months, we have 2 
We steal from the goodwill box to get clothes for me and you 
We use electrical cords for belts and to discipline the children of ours 
We always encourage our kids to reach for the stars 
Their potential has yet to be achieved 
My wife says she has something up her sleeve 
We believe our kids will always be on top 
It helps to be inbred white trash cream of the crop 
Billy Sue is twelve and in the fourth grade 
Charlie does addition, he's got it made 
Our kids will bring us fortune and fame 
Too bad all kids ain't as talented as ours, what a shame 
Now our son hosts an AM radio program called the Swap Shop 
Our kids can feel privileged being inbred white trash cream of the crop 
The love between us is very strong 
We feel as inbreds, it's where we belong 
Our kids have impairments, which brings government  funds 
We keep our inbreds on the priority list they are still number one 
Now my daughter does unbelievable hip hop 
All other kids are jealous because they are not inbred white trash cream of the 
crop


Copyright © Eugene Carmen | Year Posted 2008


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FORTY-EIGHT BARS an ode to hip hop

First, give me your ear, while I make this clear,
One bar, thus far, just put me on the clock,
Rocking my verbal gear, on a new block
This year, making my presence known right here.
Yes, the moment that "rappers" feared is near,
Ending shocks that they were sending their flocks,
Intorducing them to the POET, Doc,
Getting "jocked," like they were waiting to hear.
Hip Hop will never stop expressing words!
The top prospects are the cream of the crop,
Beating the flops, that all get shot like birds,
Arresting the cheats with their heat like cops.
Right now, the best test his right to be heard;
Sonnet style strong, until the next verse drops!


Copyright © dakarai cobb | Year Posted 2011


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Open the Door to a Candy Store

Would you like to have a lollipop? You get to choose from the cream of the crop. We have many different kinds of flavors galore. There are your favorites and many more. Kids are not the only ones who think they are swell. Lollipops are a sweet eat for adults as well. Inspired by another member's poem.


Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012


Details | Cream Of The Crop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

wisdom

Wisdom protect

Imagine you are
Cream of the crop to her
To see totality of bar
Will you ask the dead to bear?

Knowledge

Store and preserve
Storage of a small head of fox
Preserving of the knowledge in the box
She has a lot of the marks
To see the tricks 
Let you know nothing not everything
Because, everything is wrong
The nothing is correct

Hard working

Manual worker, the hard worker
Muscles contracts to observe the energy
Muscles relax to portray the out comes
Rise skills to keep up working
To keep up helping
To keep up giving
Show like you have
Sympathy you deserve
But, empathy you preserve

Strengthen relationship to keep up develop
In making an envelope becoming a lion


Copyright © Abed Anthony | Year Posted 2015


Details | Cream Of The Crop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When i was a wean

When i was a wean we got everything free.from first bras to high heel shoes. ma mammy 
thought she had the cream of the crop, five braw weans what a jaw drop. dad wasn't 
working, money was tight, out came the sewing machine, she peddled all night.we awoke in 
the morning new togs to put on, no designer labels but she was dead on. we would fly up the 
stairs to try out our gear,kick our brother out the way,and give him a thick ear. Back we 
would come, twirl for ma mammy,our pals would say yous'e are really jammy.they pulled at 
our clothes looking for a tag,but our clothes you wouldn't find in no mag.


Copyright © Kate Mcnaughton | Year Posted 2009