Best Crocks Poems
Claustrophobia no,not afraid of close quarters
Love sharks and crocks and all in the waters
There's one thing I fear
So listen up here
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia non-supporters
*****Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is the fear of big words****
“Times have passed cheques (checks) are surpassed
We now have online banking. In my day
if they didn’t wanna pay, all you heard was The last line of this poem” ~~The Poet~~
Warned of the crocodile,
The tourists began to smile.
We will sunbath for a while.,
From Czechoslovakia he came.
Boris was his name.
The Frenchman was game.
Swimming in the river.
They saw two crocs sliver.
They began to quiver.
The biggest croc gulped.
Swallowed the tourist whole.
The next man met demise.
The crocks shot by locals.
Who had been searching.
They took the crocs skin.
And what they found.
Frenchman in the female croc.
And the Check was in the mail !!!
I pick up little treasures of poetic swirls
like heavy cream on a sundae, here at poetry soup.
Rich meaty soup, a bean mix from around the world
Seasoned with exotic herbs from many nations
Shaped in crocks from potters hands uniquely molded
Ladled and tasted across the ocean
Shared and savored
Favored and cherished
Poetry soup friends!!
Observe the bending of tree & flower.
To rages; a gale… in tempestuous hours.!
Rain deep in curtain, makes interplay;
Fresh night skies, await the sun in power.
Morn air stirs, Lady’s chinking; breakfast crocks.
Day-streams 'cross backyards, endless blocks..
Splashes as sound; tables, are scrubbed..
Cars all hues; white thru red, too! radios rock!!
Sprinklers now silent; birdsong calls,
Gardener’s clipping the creeper on walls
Children’s cries are echoes around
Fountains splash in foyers & malls!!
Gundog flushes the dove; white ahead!
Tools are re-sharpened in timber shed,
Lilac buds blossom! Midst threaded verde,
In abundant gardens, Man & Woman wed.."
© Joe Maverick.co.uk
To know more about this poem (well you know)
Wrap, rap a Christmas wrap
open the mind turn on the tap,
a roll of paper with colouration
metres or yards without perforation,
to be carefully folded with a gift inside
a present for the season you wanna hide,
it'll add to excitement on Christmas day
when the careful wrapping will be thrown away
after being opened by rip and tear
to reveal slippers, socks, or underwear.
Rap, wrap a Christmas rap
not quite a minefield but still a trap,
would you begin with 'w' or wiith an 'r'
because starting with a 'c' would be a carp too far,
so rap or wrap it's a dit's time to nap
and when you awaken from the alcoholic cup
it's time for you and the washing-uo,
the drying of the crocks will be the last lap
it's time to slip into your Christmas Wrap,
now cosy and warm and the whiskey in reach
as once again you've missed HM's speech,
the broadcast and your nap did not overlap,
surprise, surprise, you missed her Christmass RAP.
So this must do there's no need to clap
it's only twelve months to pick rap or wrap.
now is the time, it's over, this is a WRAP.
On my left the full silver circle of the moon
Just risen in the east
And on my right the mellow sun about to swoon
Provided a rare feast
But, without you, I shunned them like the sun at noon
And, ah, I cared the least.
The music of the ocean that broke on gray rocks
On lengthy moonlit nights,
And the cool summer breezes near the eagle flocks
On far-off mountain heights,
Without you were like worthless bits of broken crocks,
Devoid of all delights!
The best of foods, fruits and drinks tasted just as mud,
Disgusting and loathsome,
The murmur of a stream was the roar of a flood
And of a grating drum.
Without you, I did not enjoy a blooming bud.
I felt utterly glum.
I never knew who you were or who you would be
Yet I always missed you!
In foul weathers I wished you were near me to see
How I was feeling blue.
You would certainly set my exhausted soul free
Whether you were a Jew,
A Christian or a Moslem or an infidel.
But now naught can avail.
Weary and old, leading a life in boundless hell,
Or just living on bail,
I've lost all I once had due to what I can't tell.
I'm dead as a doornail.
Farewell, O world! You took back from me all but pain;
Ha ha! no pain, no gain?
Did I not toil for you night and day all in vain?
Why did you crush my brain
And pay me back with your fetter, shackle and chain?
I'd better not complain!
7.1.'11
No comments, please!
(Tribute to the movie “Out of Africa”)
I gave my heart to Africa…
There, on a farm,
In those vast green plains,
With coffee perfume in
The crispy air…
I had a farm in Africa…
Where the gazelle dance
In the sweaty breeze,
Grazing and jumping and kicking
Right into the lions’ claws…
I lived in the very soul of Africa…
Where the giraffes reach
High above the stars
And the moon lay
Carelessly on her back,
Watching over the savannah.
I had a farm in Africa…
Where the jungle would
Sing its song for the
Prudent bush-hunters.
Where buffalo and wildebeests
Cross the blue
Into the waters, giving themselves
To the ancient crocks…
I left my heart in Africa…
And now she sings a song of me,
The air shivers with the colors
That I had on,
And children play in the fields,
Looked over by the eagles
That once soared for me…
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
Standing in line like good little crocks
They argued about who'd get his socks
They didn't want meat
Not much of a treat
But crock socks would cause 'em to talk!
THE LOST WAGON TRAIN
Last fall, hurriedly clearing the attic,
We were packing lots of books and crocks
For the church rummage sale frantic.
My son grabbed a book from one box,
And threw it on the heap marked “low priced stocks”
Cowboy book, hardback with title unheard.
It was a small novel, really cheap you’d say,
With some handwritten word
On the home-made dust cover gray:
THE LOST WAGON TRAIN by Zane Grey.
I said no, son, gimme that please - that stays with me.
But dad, it’s only a Zane Grey book.
Son, its gran’s handwriting don’t you see?
The dust cover was made by my mother - look.
. . . . . And when she went, it’s just about all I took.
He gently blew the dust off, and gave me it clean.
I had mislaid it and never would have guessed.
Time stood still : it seemed only yesterday I had seen
Her write it - she loved Zane Grey stories about the West.
And I realized how much I loved cowboy movies best.
C’mon dad, he whispered, I ought
To get this stuff packed quick and on the road myself,
Seeing me daydreaming in deep thought.
I went and put it where it belonged itself,
On our living room ‘s central bookshelf.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Paula Swanson’s Contest “Yard Sale”
AGONY OF RIVER NIGER.
These morning as the cock
Crocks
In need of tasty quality maize
Not minding a truck load,
No hipped infected grains
Mounted by the new cross
Road,
The river is infected with
Small pose,
That blocks many infants
Nose.
I fetch the black spots
Into my clay pot,
A single effort for dust
Not to overflow,
I understand so many source
Forms up her liver,
Presently she’s huge to
The collar bone,
Let me extinguish this
Fever,
The speed is like a thunder
Boat.
Few cups to waste
Wouldn’t dry up her sliver,
Its the same again
Nobody wants to be told.
To achieve mirage
Is the principal,
She quardinates other
Teachers
To illuminate as crystals.
I bite my finger,
A pretty sister
Without slippers,
Now this lime taste bitter.
I will capsize beautiful ships
Filled with blisters.
River Niger is a believer,
I see the dirt escaping
With no hindrance.
Words will never come
From peter,
It’s a crime not to
Get opposite of sinister,
Every Ester we pray
For glitters,
At this time of Islam
We scarifies the
Huge rams,
No more distance
In changing ignorance
To substance,
Cleanse the trance on
My land,
Laughing to a dry tap
Must end after this
Chat.
AKEWUSOLA HABIB.
The humans were gone from this island for twenty million years
Its twenty million years in to the future and those islands are new frontiers
The mother giant lemur her children rears
One of lone lemurs nearby cleans his ears
He jumps on large baobab tree
But this baobab is not the largest tree
He will see
There is one right next to it and related but ninety meter tall beauty
He climbs up and looks at the appearing visage of majestic moon
It will be lemurs’ time to go to sleep pretty soon
The silver blue light of the full moon
Illuminates the deep lagoon
This is the time when like a shadow from the dark
Giant relative of fossa looks to make his mark
In his powerful like moving train but very elastic gate he makes an arc
He is relative of mongoose looks like a cat dog cross but does not bark
Instead he howls like a demon at the night
To fear this animal for any creature would be right
The moon is shinning bright
But even in total darkness fossa has incredible sight
But unlike human age fossa this one is over three meters long not counting the tail
And it looks like it came straight from hell when its teeth it will unveil
His claws also the prey can impale
And prowling this primeval looking forest is this sleek and very dangerous male
He sees a lemur in moons light
He stalks him during part of the night
With fear hundred and sixty kilogram lemur’s face turns white
When giant fossa begins to bite
The fight goes from tree tops to the ground
But other predators hear the sound
The giant crock does not waste time to sit around
He wants fossas’ prey that’s sent he smells like a bloodhound
For a moment fossa is dumfound
Fighting off another predator by fossa gives lemur time to escape without a sound
The crock tries to grab the fossa but fossa jumps back just to rebound
By the demonic agility of fossa the crock is spellbound
Fossa grabs the crock and with enormous strength of the jaw she bites through crocks’ head
Just like that the crock falls dead
The ground turns blood red
And primordial predator continues ahead
Once again he looks to the mysterious moon
Howling to it with melancholic and dreadful tune
He will find another prey soon
Chasing after it with a force of typhoon
Shoes.
Red shoes,blue shoes
some are black or brown.
Flat shoes, heeled shoes
some to walk around the town.
With pointy toes or square toes
round toes or peek-a-boo toes
stilettos six inches high made for you and me.
Small shoes, big shoes trainers help you run.
High boots, low boots,
fancy slippers made for fun.
Even crocks or sandals and flip-flops, for wearing in the sun.
I love all my shoes and its so hard to choose
just what pair I should put on.
Flourished forrest's beyond outstretched hills,
send trees reaching as felled by hell.
Required life's forces of watered stench...
Drinks fro' the housed waters so foreign and secluded,
hopefully cleansed and non-polluted.
A darkened sky all barren of hope...
Drives man away from one'futured down-hilled,
slope.
Trapped atop one guiltless spirit...
So paranoid and dillusioned, watchful of rage and hoping to not fear it.
Man's own ego kills off all breathing living beings...
Begets all hope of chanced fleeings.
With sword in hand and about one's throat...
Off comes the head, rolled into the moat.
Gators and crocks, surround' by fire...
Landed about thee arrowed most dire!
King and queens rule this kingdom's state...
Forever slaved to misfortune's matched mate.
Death is but one exit by all...
'Last won by, a peasant's own fall.
'Head up, head out,
This be knight's final last call'!
I fell asleep in a wondrous glen
that seemed so full of sparkly things
Trees here, over there a unicorn what?
Yes a unicorn perched on a grassy rock
I looked at it, it too looked at me I say
how do you do? well ty. how do you?
Fine I reply. but why are you here?
I am your guide between our worlds
my name is pukka and first we go to
the high priest's hall where all is decided
So together they set off passing trees
shaped like crocks, elephants and birds
Most would talk to them of scandalous
things but Pukka rushed him past then
they were there. what do you think we
should do with the thief Simba they asked
Peg him out in the desert for one night
let the animal's decided his fate and so
that was what happened and entered
into the good book as the punishment
Right best be bustling along right fast
in a flash they were back in the glen
Simba rubbed his eyes in disbelief
Pukka had vanished all seem the same
Simba found some sparkly hairs call me if you need me
I heard there were horns on an Iowan fox.
This went around the circle of kids wearing socks.
In front of a time piece that had out of sync tocks.
The circle was strange, most nurses wore crocks.
The gossip went haywire, ending down at the docks.
Bass fisherman parked to say this on the rocks.
Beware of sharks, they are arriving in flocks.
All because a unicorn had arrived out of a box.
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