Best Doctored Poems
In a little West Texas cow town years ago
There was an old doctor by the name of Hill
Little man, mild mannered, cheerful until made mad
He doctored old cowboys and drunks when things got slow
His usual cure was a kick in the butt and a pill
He had some regular people that weren't to bad
Doctor Hill had some that lived far out of town
On ranches and God awful places Doc was carried
There was one family that lived on a ranch way far out
There name was Brown
An old mother and two daughters not married
The old mother complained to hurt everywhere about
She claimed to be bed ridden, could walk as good as you and me
She fell out of bed one night, the sister did not know what to do
So the called Dr. Hill at ten
So late at night the got in his car to go see
He had been there five times before, he knew what to do
Laying there on the floor, she had done it again
Doc told them to get a blanket and a pillow and put them on the floor
He made a pallet for her and ten he said
"Let's roll her over on to the mat
Put the pillow under her head , then headed for the door
His little round face was turning blood red
Then he said, "Now damn it fall off of that"
Form:
Not even a ballot box can change the word etched
when God has left man to his own independent council
Choice of error has crept into every corner of society
rights have been turned upside down undervaluing natural law
Which in it's content is engraved deeply and implanted for a genuine reason
vices are desires that sickens even demons
Ruling against eternal justice reeks of an awful sinful soul
what is wrong with the world today let us see
They are afraid to speak the truth openly and democratically
instead virtues and morals are fed to the lions
The first victim removing freedom
weighs heavy chains attached anchor dropped
Because of them having very little faith
sinking beneath par they applaud the sinner
removing peace fire breathing with shame and hate
Condemning everything which is good
with twisted malice beastly shaped with doctored views condemned
it will end soon when everyone awakens
from their sorrowful pitied state
Hard Time With Statistics
People had hard time believing latest statistics
Made by morons who must be marvelous mystics
All of the relationships with everything is inverted
What is disturbing is distorted and perverted.
Some whose census was taken were way over 65
And was said they had new born babies still alive
Here is one that aroused me and my curiosity grew
Was a family full of girls that totaled twenty-two.
What we also heard when money people were saving
Children who they had were always mis-behaving
When people went on various voyages on a vacation
Husband could't stand it and was found on sedation.
There are those mean men who are fully grown
Whose wives quickly forced them to live all alone
Because of all the totally bad things they had done
When their census was taken lived in a family of one.
Another thing had attracted me as well as allured
Up most of the strange statistics had been doctored
They were also asked a question about majority rule
And they were found to be a fool bearing a loose tool.
Now here is when I really would get extremely excited
They wanted me to be a census taker and I was invited
And luckily I discovered you strictly had to be a man
When they said I had to be a Republican away I ran.
If you can't laugh at all at least you can smile a little.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
And guess what? This is my first poem exceeding 2,000
which is quite an accomplishment if I don't say so myself.
Heney Penny spent her money
On a hive of buckwheat honey
But the bees were not so friendly
They chased off poor Heney Penny
Left of her money, she hadn’t any
But of bee stings, she had many
She was doctored by Mcclenny
They were married in Cal Genny
Now her thoughts are full and plenty
On her clutch of four and twenty.
Not Be Another
No matter what may be Patriot's Play scheme,
None if it ever would spoil Seahawk's dream
And what appears to me to be amazing
Is having a football that people were hazing.
What unpleasant things to a football could you do?
Making it take a bounce not known to be true,
Or suppose something to football you applied
Which made ball slick after it had dried.
How about discovering a doctored up baseball;
Started to curve and then downward would fall,
After surface someone started to scratch;
Maybe for me they might make up a batch.
What if my basketball was underinflated?
And for a while longer we all had waited;
Ball now was much narrower each shot I took
Even if a free throw or could be a hook.
Who me my friend have an unfair advantage;
To my cruddy character apply a long bandage.
And when in Super Bowl, Series or World Cup,
Should never again be another cover up.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
http://www.story-telling-around-the-world.com/Military-Memories.html
PS. Check out military memories above.
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
You talk about a woman great, I talk a legend
A man carry in his heart from childhood to years
Not come as yet. Our culture by captivity rend
Without liberty, and unpreserved in scars of tears
We gathered apart from village smoke and dust
To mend and make in new language that healed
Us to laugh again. The nights had God to trust
Alone, and the radio around which we squealed
Our belief in what she taught us. For I find there
That I can love this self after holocaust and whip,
Use the new tongue to balm me where I am bare,
While she doctored us with potions of vision. Rip
Not the past yet, it was tool stitching us together.
And all our present we can use like she shew us
A rich heritage of materials from us drawn together
To hear it, again Liza singing the people's chorus
Making Boysie run from flatboard liberating joy
As the colonial idiom doomed, chafed in the alloy
Of memory. We blend to make Africa, and preserve
Miss Lou's legacy from which self to us was served.
THE MEDICINE MAN
When I was a girl,
We lived way out back,
In the swamplands where life,
Was hard but no lack,
Of love and good humor,
And inventive fun,
We were tired but happy,
When day was done.
One evening my uncles,
Were chasing me,
In a game of tag,
Near a big Oak tree.
I couldn't see,
The tree in the dark,
So I hit it full bore,
And there made my mark.
I was down for the count,
Out like a light,
They took me to Grandpa,
Who, seeing my plight,
Set to work right away,
To bring me around.
He reset my nose,
Made sure I was sound.
My face was a horror,
A regular mask,
But with his tender care,
I was soon the same lass.
He made poultice, used herbs,
To take down the swelling,
Relieving my pain,
And discomfort quelling.
He was quiet and gentle,
And didn't say much,
But he knew a lot,
And he had the touch.
He doctored our family,
He doctored our friends,
And many an animal,
He came to tend.
He was just an old Indian,
But I never forgot,
The things that he did,
Proved he knew a lot.
He lived his life quiet,
The best that he could,
And he did his best,
To live like he should.
He never stole,
Wasn't given to drink,
Said too much booze,
Made it too hard to think.
Didn't hold much store,
In money or fame,
But he knew the importance,
Of a good family name.
What others think,
He said with a grin,
Depends much on you,
So try not to sin.
He taught by example,
And he taught us a lot,
And the things that he taught us,
I never forgot.
Judy Ball
For Tell Me A Story Contest by Debbie Guzzi
Bring me reality, spare the insanity; preening and vanity
Do.! Its purpose I’d rather gather not
Twaddle and flatter; For ..!!
Really I’m open of view.’ I don’t want TV Docs
I want info that rocks’
Can I see some groundbreaking news?
Not acres of smiles, subterfuge and all wiles
I’d really like fair enough news,
It’s all panstick and slapstick and soundbites
And asterisks’ not to mention a grimness
That’s part of the brew, it seems the
Devil’s own cauldron is stirred to a fault
On the screens that are owned by a few
Do you think there might be?
Something better to see,
Have you ever thought
That there could be? an antidote to suggestion
Of gloomy dimensions, surely
It might just so be?
Not just medics with millions
With their bosses owning zillions
Who paid for their very degree?
Remember GMO in your food from Monsanto
But I guess; that’s already old
News … a week’s not a long time in your view; or maybe mine?
But in some circles, it’s a vital in-tu; intuition.. Revision in the dark
Winter tradition' ya’ know maybe it’s all doctored views?
Hey no smiling or laughing or back slapping,
Singing or dancing.
Unless you are in on the ruse.
©Joe Maverick 30-1-2022
This sandwich board licence business closely illustrates
what this is really by taking the biscuit
money for signage so much a year
Drawing a unique picture frame from crumbs
in how the slave master operates exploiting powers
then reading about how the capital's council is intending to cut down trees
that are a couple of hundred years old
this to make way for progress building a bus route
They spout green when really their souls are so darned black
rotten devolved politics will soon devour itself internally crooks
corrupted hosts no amount of fiddling or cooking the books hides facts
blindness a lot of people can see through this ugly veil stealing
Where doctored figures never seem to add up
fraud correct me if I am wrong in addressing liars
those destructive bodies that support the me me me culture
backwards peddling is always looking at new ways forward
destroying the nature of truth replacing it with suffering
How you made my stars hush
How fortunate I have been,
having found a shining ray,
Through darkness unseen,
creep over my lifeless clay,
Waking me up of long sleep,
and flattened heart beats,
Touching soul to its deep,
and countering all deceits,
You've made my stars hush,
rainbow colours, twinkle in eyes,
Painted with your magical brush,
perfect hues in canvas of my sky !
Aurifying from ponderous to agile,
How have you doctored me to live with a smile!
Written March 8th, 2015
For contest "How you make the stars hush" by Justin Bordner
Awarded HM
A tradition in our house on New Year’s Day each year
Black eyed peas on your dinner plate will appear
A dish guaranteed to bring you good luck
If you want it all year you better eat them all up
I am not a fan of those black eyed peas
So smother them in onions and ketchup, if you would please
Doctored up this way I will consume the whole bowl
For the good luck that they bring has made me a fortunate soul
So, once a year I will eat those nasty legumes
And if I really am lucky …
… next New Year’s Day will not get here too soon
For the "Traditions" contest
Fast as an atomic banshee, he roils sacred halls
of White House clutches levers with brass balls
American powers remain unrestrained when he calls
Armada to exorcise imagine aery dragons,
he inarticulately falls
non-communicative, faux eruditely generative,
and heartily galls
toward this introspective kickstarter male,
and most likely others he appalls.
-------------------------------------------------
My inner guru hankers to share voice
amidst increasing din
and clamors in reaction to insidious machinations fin
hushed via Machiavellian offal prince,
who unleashes clout with Cheshire grin
unconcerned about population, chaste,
from their wells Fargo wing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Most every citizen banker, and kin
stared down vis a vis fierce-some intimations
catapult escalating, spin
laughing at rigged voting outlook
gratefully inflicts populace with monstrous win
doomsday soldiers -
art of the deal book not writ by said urchin.
-------------------------------------------------
Though regularly affiliated with top notch
kudos to virtual soapbox platform
re: all poetry to express Bing averse
toward ill feted Barron settlement
of United States government tossed like scotch
on thar hocks, thus an uneasy angst
also invisibly grabs me by the crotch
cuz das Trump power monger,
I fear rubric of democracy, he will botch!
-------------------------------------------------
This poem alternately titled -
harbinger of political debacle wolf find antipode
where toxic brew at crack of 12 a.m.
January 20th 2017 doth bode
doctored pregnant swollen tidal anarchistic military toad
deeds sheepishly shape into battalions
in tandem - fraternal order of police erode
Civilian protesters unite with ordinary citizen bankers
crowdsource sing metallic ca clash to goad
Form:
Here my story begins,
here I stand,
facing the world all alone;
It all began with one lady he ladied,
One boy she boyded and sugared,
Just to finish in the net of Mr. Death.
Hah!
How painful it is,
How hurt it is for the poor boy.
Meanwhile he stood by their graves,
Mourning and weeping,
Cursing the world,
And doubting the Lord His God,
Having no one to shade the tears with,
To neither sympathize nor comfort.
The community sad pointing accusing fingers here and there,
Blaming the uncle and aunt,
Speaking of nothing other than slow poison and witch craft,
One after the other murmured in his belly,
Pasting sympathious faces,
But ignoring the happened,
Few weeks after the happened,
Came Doctor Okiriki James,
Native of the community, son of the soil
HIV/AIDS is a reality,
Make your HIV/AIDS test
In order to know your status,
Those were his words
As he moved round the village,
Whispering on his karaka bicycle;
It was spoken by men, women and children
Sand as many times as possible
Over the radio and shown on the T.V.
With the ingenuous aid
Of Doctor Okiriki James,
The orphan went in for an HIV/AIDS test.
Hellas!
You are HIV positive,
But that’s not the end of life.
With this status
You are still capable of doing
A lot of things…
Yes,
Words of comfort
And advice,
What have I done to deserve all these?
What curse?
In which world am I found?
The poor boy questioned,
Murmured
And doubted the future,
If only his parents knew,
If only he knew and talked to them,
If only,
Doctor he doctored,
Son the doctor answered,
What should I do?
First you have to know there is no cure for HIV/AIDS,
But you can take anti-retro viral drugs
To slow down its destruction of the immune system,
Take good care of your self,
Eat well, especially fruits
For the body needs them.
Don’t get into
Any unprotected sex with any one
And don’t expose objects stained with your blood.
Doctor he doctored again,
Thanks very much,
I have heard you and I will do as you say...
Born dead put in a bucket,
Bellowed and got himself saw,
Tetanus at 10, bloody bad luck
Pus filled veins had for sure,
Doctor’s would take his leg off.
father said “no good , no more,
one legged horseman, is useless,
might as well be dead for sure,”
snatched from the Mungindi hospital,
went to a herbalist, Chinese lady’s door,
she medicated, doctored the cripple,
back on two legs now for sure.
Doctor’s teeth gnashed,they knew it all,
Said "he will die of Tetanus poor boy,"
Alternative medicine was on the ball,
They had to eat their words, some call,
The bitterest taste of the gall.
Nancy Jones
Contest Name A Toothful Ode