Best Face Lift Poems
GISELLE AND MOM
My name is La Belle Giselle,
Round my neck is a bell,
Love my mom, who feeds me,
But sneak out for a midnight
Snack up our lovely oak tree,
Or wander in the garden
For a yummy
Meal, fill my tummy
Then feel content, fat and cool,
Marcelle knows what
I’m up to,
He’s no bodies fool.
He’s getting old, so sleeps,
Just sleeps and purrs,
Next to Dad, both of
Us have such silky furs!
I always bring a small tit bit
For Marcelle, but tonight split
It in two, one for you,
Which I always do,
Giselle whispers to Marcelle,
And one for mom
She will be so proud
Of me, no doubt!
My lips are all bloody
And my whiskers too,
Had to tiptoe back in, but clean
Any mousy or grasshopper
Blood or goo, too true,
And jump up on the duvet
You bet,
And knead, a comfortable place
Next to mum, my own space!
Killer by night and by day
Lovable kitty,
Mom always lets me have my way!
Next morning, rudely awoken
By screams and a yell
Last night I had found out how
To loosen my bell,
So mom couldn't hear
And therefore tell,
But I no longer felt swell,
For there was a nasty smell,
Come here kitty cat said mum,
As she refastened my loose bell,
Sorry, I wanted to say,
It was merely a gift,
To say wow what a great face lift,
But will never, ever deign,
Bring you a dead mouse again!
Poetry contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Write A Rhyming Poem For Fun Poetry Contest
I can see the past glory, though it is humble now and all the more reverent....
With thoughts of deep ocean bliss,
that comes with fading hope,
I walked along the tide line,
no longer able to cope.
I stared at the setting sun,
its brightness, burns the eyes.
I glanced back at the sand stone cliffs,
where a building caught my eye.
I don't recall it being there,
when I traveled the cliff top path.
I shrugged my shoulders then turned back,
to the ocean and waiting death.
I take a step towards my fate,
when I feel a tap upon my shoulder.
I turn to see who is there,
all I see is sand and boulders.
My eyes are called to the top
and to that small building.
Something there outweighed my need,
so up the cliff path I started walking.
There upon the windswept crest,
were trees leaning with the wind.
I followed the overgrown stone walk,
to the building, just round the bend.
The steeple leaned, but still spoke volumes.
No stained glass to catch the sun.
No bell to call folks to service,
no roof, as the rot had won.
Yet a charm was there to see,
strength came from the ancient stones,
that made up the four standing walls,
of this Chapel, now just bones.
I made my way to the entrance,
amid dead leaves, the scrag that enfolds.
I felt a welcome pour over me,
as I crossed over the threshold.
The setting sun cast long shadows,
that all pointed toward the alter.
My need, took me down the aisle.
Not once did my feet falter.
There He was, looking down,
from a weather beaten cross.
His countenance both pain and love,
I suddenly felt small and lost.
The sun sank deep into the sea,
and gave its final flair.
Within that light I swear I saw,
His face lift, so he saw me there.
I fell to my knees and I prayed,
as I had never prayed before.
I prayed for guidance and His love,
I felt both, to my very core.
I visit that Chapel, now and then.
It's still crumbling with time.
But, to me it has more glory now,
than it did when its bells did chime.
Paula Swanson 9/25/2011
For the contest; Church By The Ocean
Sponsored By Constance La France
Placement: 1st
A group of older men gather
once a week to talk about life
after a heart attack.
Old Len chews tobacco still
and tells jokes in a voice so low
no one can hear the punch line.
Another man asks Len
to talk louder so they all
can hear the punch line.
That’s when they discover
Len's been telling the same joke
at every meeting, over and over.
The joke’s about a loan officer
who lends a man $10,000 for a
face lift that turns out so good
the lender can’t find him.
With heart attacks in common,
the men yell “Tell it, again, Len!”
Donal Mahoney
Money can buy,
A diamond ring.
Money can put your
Ass in a sling.
Money can buy blood,
It cannot buy life.
It can buy a mansion and
A mail order wife.
Money can buy a bed,
It cannot buy sleep.
You can have lots of it,
The harvest you still reap.
Money can buy a computer,
It cannot buy a brain.
You can save it,
Or pour it down the drain.
Money can buy food,
It cannot buy an appetite.
You can hide it,
Or be in the spotlight.
Money can buy a face lift,
It cannot buy beauty.
It can buy you some,
Other guys booty.
Money can buy a house,
It cannot buy a home.
It can buy drugs,
You can stay stoned.
Money can buy luxury,
It cannot buy culture.
It can turn the best of
People into a vulture.
Money can buy acquaintances,
It cannot buy a friend.
It can be a means
To a bitter end.
Money can buy sex,
It cannot buy love.
Money cannot buy a seat
In the kingdom above.
Turbo1904?
I'd wanted a boob job for years
Loud moaning was all my hub's hears
Neath the tree there's a voucher
Soon I won't be a sloucher
Hubs thoughtfulness brought me to tears
His present was such a fab gift
Boob implants and a full face lift
Now blokes ogle and stare
You should see hubby glare
This present has now caused a rift
Next year on our pine Christmas tree
A voucher for more surgery
With huge boobs I was cursed
I'll have the op reversed
Not all gifts will make you happy
FICTION POEM FOR CHRISTMAS LIMERICK CONTEST
Sponsored by Alexis Y
12/04/20
UNDER THE RED UMBRELLA
Under the red umbrella, sheltered in our rainy day nest,
my coal black heel lifts — our oneness beats in my chest.
Handsome in his dark suit, like an iron I press close —
my full-bodied lips a crimson shade, now our his, I suppose.
He calls me his wild Paris rose on these streets of shimmering gold.
The blush rushes to my cheeks and eyes — to him I’m sold.
Between the french kisses...ooh la la...we make lover’s jokes.
The circus tent of our wide-brimmed umbrella drips and soaks.
His fingers, like rain, touch my face, lift my chin, make me see him.
In turn my eyes dive into his, our green and blues take a swim,
turning teal as we ponder marriage with a family, life and love.
Vulnerable, I feel my nakedness as I remove my black silk gloves.
Under this unforgettable crimson cloud, we no longer hide,
except from the prying eyes of Paris la ville des lumières pride
My red dress clings, its waist slim, its curves vivacious — not shy.
Together two orphans stay dry — our passionate fire will not die.
11/3/2018
The Red Umbrella Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Eve Roper
Paris la ville des lumières - Pa ree la veel day loo me air - Paris the city of lights
(Approximate pronunciation, apologies to the French)
Age forty -one this month is a chill
For brother who’s not over the hill
So he won’t seem unfit
Got a total face lift
Now he’s looking like a roasted grill
---------
Fictional dedication to my older brother
The Perfect Limerick Contest of Andrea Dietrich
Once when a fresh faced young girl named Mame,
Who had a face-lift, when seeking fame.
But the mirror's refraction
Gave her no satisfaction.
For her visage, portrayed an old dame.
11 / 7 / 2022.
Sponsor Tania Kitchin.
Howmanysyllables.com
For a Limerick contest.
I wish that I could just erase
The lines and wrinkles on my face
And also all that sagging skin
That proves which decade I am in.
When women crow, so smug with pride,
About their age, which they won’t hide,
I think, “Yeah, right! I’m really sold
On how much you like looking old!”
I won’t get face-lift surgery
And it would not be perjury
To say that Botox ain’t my thing,
Despite the smoothness it would bring.
So I will bear my aging mien,
Accepting that the senior scene
Is where, at my age, I must be,
But I’d prefer it mirror-free!
W here did they come from?
R ight here on my face
I just don’t like them
N ow they’re everyplace
K nown to come with age
L oose skin that’s stiff
E ither Accept or
S chedule a face lift
. . . . . . . . . .
gravity pulls old age down
should one have a lift?
or botox?
-copyright-
………………CONTEST……………………..
Dr. Ram’s Quinzaine
By: nette on claud
A face lift here and a tummy tuck there
Pearly white implants and bionic gold hair
A nose job that rocks
Once a hound now a fox
Beauty skin deep just got you a billionaire
12/20/22
My Phizog
Strange what one remembers?
after looking through Playboy magazine and skipping
the dreary articles written by it founder
I came across this quote: “every man over forty is
reponsable for his own face.”
at the time when reading it I was thirty and was not
unduly worried, but now nearly 50 years later I recalled
the saying. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, no
I didn’t look anything near forty, hair gone and sagging skin.
Face-lift? Out of the question I had no desire to look like
yesterday’s refry. I smiled, the face in the mirror too smiled,
two old mates accepting each other’s elderliness and I came
to the conclusion that I’m rather fond of my face.
(composed about eight years ago
moments ago this poem underwent
slight poetic surgical face lift
modifications by this bro)
this spine tingling reaction,
sans flushed testosterone
from heads to toe
sketched out sometime
from ~july or august 2012 or so
and (just now) triggered chain reaction for roe
man tick undulations i.e. wishful desires slow
lee shifting (in seconds flat)
from neutral to overdrive
exceeding speedometer limit maximum
nearly attaining speed of light quo
shunt seeing an aesthetically pleasing chic chick
in the summer of full feminine bloom
envisioning plunging hot rod
into her lubricated derrick
(and yes, young enough
to beget me via coital fling
a splendid supreme offspring
of this gap toothed fifty three year old simian),
who doth wanna swing
like a boyish chap
at prime love making time zing,
with thee, whose primary purpose comprised
tutoring my daughter whose deficiency
with language skills warrant
communication exercisesd
born with cognitive developmental delays
in sundry dis guised,
whose academic weakness qualified her since birth -
or soon thereafter meta morph a sized
to receive intervention to allow, enable
and provide her with life skills
even though patience thoroughly utilized
so she can become self reliant as an adult
thus bringing this papa aegis
of said progeny prances carefree like a colt
and via exposure therapy
comfort zones, convince this dadaist dolt
magic touch, sans young women,
(who seem prominent in social service field)
bear witness as thy Punim doth molt
blindsiding actions of tender loving care
these myopic eyes
with hypnotic trance observe flair
ring results conjuring up illusions of grandeur
spurring commendable utterance
of touche...here here
but self consciousness kept gleeful outburst
under lock and key lest detriment comb near
compromising instructional progress,
that could easily dis ap pear
into a sinkhole forsaking requisite basic skills
reinforcement ever since first year
My appointment didn't show up today
So I decided to hang out and play
I circled around Ellanor's Park
wandering about in the dark
and thinking about the road ahead
The rain has just fell leaving mud
and water on the swampy ground
The pokemon go gang was playing around
disturbing nature with their silly sound
They walk up and down the wet grass
communicating with their partners
One by one two by two they showed up and join the crew
As soon as I arrived more of them anchored down
creating nuisance and spreading bad energy around
Luckily the Gods were lingering by to listen to my silent cry
They came down form the sky and spew them out of sight
so that nature could sing and dance about
On by one they jump into their cars
and drove out of Ellanor's park
I closed my car and walked over to an old bulldozer
stationed on the park's ground
the equipment was so old
I wonder if I was still in America
The owner was not around
so I climbed up and sat in the chair
and examined the levers and gears
I was captivated by a certain power
It felt good sitting in an elevated tower
It has been parked there for many days
Rust and dirt was musing on its face
No work was going on and the pile of sand
stood waiting on the ground for the fix it man
The same roads that were repaired
has been dug up and repaired year after year
The paved parts are lean and bumpy
And when I drive my truck rocked side to side
Where are the professional engineers
Cheap labor has sucked every penny out of the mill grinder
And America's roads are in danger
I watched them prowling up and down the street
Trying to figure out my heart beat
But I sat in the big old bulldozer scrutinizing them all over
I felt a sudden rush of power
I felt like a queen in her parlor
And I felt like a queen riding in a carriage
Waving to the magnificent crowd shouting out loud
If the owner was around I would ask for permission
To drive it up and down and through the town
Wolfish influence peddlers
Big belly contractors and poor skills workers
has feasted on the wallet of the county for years
But now I am in the bulldozer and I am getting
ready to run some one over
America needs a constitutional face-lift
Here I am in this big old bulldozer
feeling energetic and strong
I am ready to dig up and tear down the remaining barriers.