Best Faw Poems
scotland poem
bonnie scotlands the place to be,
whar awe yae ever may want tae be,
fae glens n lochs and water to
lookin arood scotland whor thars a bonnie view,
whar the lads may wear thar kilts
whar the wumin get thir little thrils
its nae a place fur sun n sand
still wae awe the rain
scotlands a bonnie land,
wee rabbie burns came fae ayr
an his cottage is still stanin there
just alang the road me fae me
just doon by the bonnie sea,
whar aw the sand and water to,
ayr is a place wae a bonnie view,
in scotland we hae loads o fun
even if we dinae hae nae sun,
whar ya go tae cleer ya heed
wae the fresh air that helps ya indeed,
glesga is a fair big old toon
whar all the fun sterts when the sun goes doon
ya hae twa teams left n right
that get tae europe wae a return flight,
we dae hae oil anaw
wish we could buy it and prices dae faw,
so when ya want tae come n see
vist ayr toon an you may see me,
a wull wear ma kilt n coat n hat
n show ya scotland bonnie land,,
Form:
the spouse of william jefferson bitten
i.e. hillary clinton
appears tub bee foster ring ill fit ten
for tha role of president - cuz, she z currently hit n
objections viz potential intelligence violations -
no mo' trust dose heart melting con vince lion eyes
faw catapulting her vaunted term
as n impeccable secretary of state
earning in vince able kudos via fostered trappings
donning stern stance sparring with a mitten
over each hand, while her doth go a knit n
resolutions to global conflagrations
though now, the public at large
(myself included) nada sit n
so comfortable per recent traction less record smitten
via questionable activity encompassing sensitivity of email
thus, she may see duff feet written
as primary elections draw candidates at bat
thee aforementioned democrat
sharp and whip smart -
though responding to queries
somewhat mechanical and flat
tis understandable (to me) -
how media hounds buzz like a giant gnat
she generally maintains
(in my opinion) steadfastness
indicating strengths to grapple
with worldly wide webbed woes
without tossing in/out figurative hat
n might be regaled with courtiers unfurling a tartan scottish mat
while tight security maintains vigilance
against bad company, who could spat
or risk hurling little rocks
and/or vials of corrosive acid from the white water vat.
the roots – i.e. genealogy of words long held me
(no pun intended) held spell bound
e'en upon fertilization of ova and sperm viz – conception,
an acute sensory means n'er got drowned
out via the bubbling, dribbling, huzzahing...
(from within and without the womb) while in utero,
especially when me then young spring chick hen ova mum,
and cock strutting cock
(doodling his due tee) oft testes handsome dad found
their coop t'would be increased by another
(at that time no means prevailed to foretell gender,
but an old wives tale hatched
since time immemorial stubbornly persisted
if the husband put right heir (ear) to the ground
accompanied with petsmart skills of a blood hound
a close approximation could be discerned,
whether the swelling abdominal mound
would yield a son or daughter,
which second guess passed thru
the umbilical cord shaped grape vine as re noun
splendor – giving participants planning a baby shower
purchasing and showcasing an infant gewgaw
costing no mo' than a best seller by Ezra Pound
or a couple rolling stones,
preferably those flat versus being round
with assessment sans prediction per sex of offspring
offered slightly greater hedge Tibet
with recent introduction of ultra sound
nonetheless genesis (unbeknownst to either parent –
trapped in that role for a life time)
this fetus took a fancy to imbibing verbalization
that transpired between when shine
warmed the cockles and muscles of this parasite – ha –
expanding his vocabulary prior tummy birth in nine
teen hundred and...(th beh so thee ya haint tell in –
go ask aunt Roadie) or...find someone name Stein
beck, and give yaw self a pat on the back faw trine
plotting a tentative addition to family tree or
(what would turn out tubby more apropos) a vine,
cuz ma late mum referred tomb me as her little monkey
who when born deeply engrossed reading about urine
thence, when the pediatric doctor snatched the book –
BOY DID I WHINE
which out shrilled any wailing police car,
or emergency hospital siren
thus...i got christened RED (for short), yet code named 120 db
which translates as the decibel threshold for pain
even afflicting the dead poet Byron.
Well there’s Hooverville
on the edge of the river
haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard
e’en with clothes will shiver
waiting for tension to be released
like a arrow in a taut quiver
major organs ready to burst open
cuz day r all a failin'
unless salvation does da liver
from a stingy farmer
nada one of him a giver
Hence a goin to Cali for n’ya
in battered up truck n wailin' wah wah
ta feed da chill n beasts o burr den –
‘cept un shaw
if me pa
will ever appear on Oprah
whar guest’s literary car –
rears into grand prix hoopla
An win free dim lifts us lock a hawk,
this kid rock will nah
dat he suffered faw a distant few cha
migrants we may be – butta we bah
dog on judas priest, Christ and allah
Rose of Sharon wool extend
da family tree
dat ma will live to see
re:
charging the Joad jalopy
in part from me
tink rin hands dat like ta mess
with oil hand stains
one mo scar – craning neck 2 earn
An huh tha red badge of courage
upon this Okie
hunched o’er with stiff back
while wounded knee
continually bunged up with utter glee
at engine cough fin smoke
to git us free
whar we kin sally in da pacific fields yipeee.
scotland poem
bonnie scotlands the place to be,
whar awe yae ever may want tae be,
fae glens n lochs and water to
lookin arood scotland whor thars a bonnie view,
whar the lads may wear thar kilts
whar the wumin get thir little thrils
its nae a place fur sun n sand
still wae awe the rain
scotlands a bonnie land,
wee rabbie burns came fae ayr
an his cottage is still stanin there
just alang the road me fae me
just doon by the bonnie sea,
whar aw the sand and water to,
ayr is a place wae a bonnie view,
in scotland we hae loads o fun
even if we dinae hae nae sun,
whar ya go tae cleer ya heed
wae the fresh air that helps ya indeed,
glesga is a fair big old toon
whar all the fun sterts when the sun goes doon
ya hae twa teams left n right
that get tae europe wae a return flight,
we dae hae oil anaw
wish we could buy it and prices dae faw,
so when ya want tae come n see
vist ayr toon an you may see me,
a wull wear ma kilt n coat n hat
n show ya scotland bonnie land,,
Form:
Well, here's the deal with my dismay.
I really find it needless to say.
If you can't figure out what's wrong.
I doubt you'd get the meaning of the song.
Sooo, I feel the need to say so long.
Listen, if you want to know.
What's deep inside and makes me glow.
Just take a look into the mirror.
What you see is what you hear.
Listen, get outta here. (Boston or New York accent needed. Which ever one is right. :)
The reason that I seem so ranker.
I am not your emotion banker.
Just get your head out of your ... .
If you don't like it, take a pass.
Somethin' stinks, you got gas?
Are you starting to get the picture.
This is my unspoken lecture.
Yeah, there is plenty underneath.
Aren't you glad I didn't bequeath.
I feel like I need to brush my teeth.
So, now you know why I didn't mention.
All the anger and the tension.
That rubs me till I'm almost raw.
About things and people that I saw.
Cause I'd rather share a big guf-faw.
For the slam contest
True add verse situation,
whereat me mission
trans send dint state didst ache
after yours truly nearly
did nearly break
chassis 'pon took drastic
over corrective measure,
not quite August,
nor jejune piece of cake,
while rounding raised
curbed contra corner
suddenly felt wrath of wife quake,
viz passenger rear tire
gone flat as a pancake
impresario found myself
hearing Thus Spake,
Zarathustra, when in truth...
twas ma constricted trach.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Some weeks back
acting so cool and chic - bank
king all bravado, machismo
self importance, and frank
lee babbling like a cripple creek
off by a black key with Hank
Williams tune imagining
myself swaggering like a lank
key trump petting Don
(feigning faw being "Beefy") plank
walking lampoon able
laughingstock Freaky, thank
less as a lapsed worn eraser head
pencil necked Geek yank
key doodle dandy hood be
forced to do penance as cap
pit dull leotarded asinine
arthouse flop, where nary any words
(worth their weight in gold)
described my benign
behavior, NOT even
smattering of unflattering deign
nig grating hammock colorful expletives,
that would find an ensign
sailor to blush at my inept
shameless travesty over the line
utter in apropos totally tubularly
moronic juvenile mine
ness zero car raze zee antics,
didst drive my doppelganger nine
tee bajillion miles away in search
of another auto body – pine
ning for newer model
then a 2009 Hyundai Sonata sign
ning off contract with this
stunt driver wannabe
unimpressively try'n
to act the blithe dare devil,
while thee spouse didst wine
and scream more'n bloody Mary
as the gunned axle nearly broke
trying my damn nest to
"FAKE" dagger a type cloak
his husband resembled a fool,
where angels fear to tread didst evoke
unsuccessful, unstinting, and unsparing
unstrung epithets of colorful expletives
unsuitable for poetic folk
boot urgent prayer went out
to incredible Hulk
Hogan, and/or even the ghost
of Andre The Giant, this haint no joke!
One hundred years ago, or so,
The train that hauled logs
From Baw-Faw Peak to Glenoma,
Ran right through the center
Of the place we now live.
The rails are long gone now,
Lost to the ravages of time,
Though pieces of it can be found
From time to time when clearing
Out a spot upon which to build
An indecently modern home.
Sometimes when the atmosphere is just right,
When the full moon rises
Or the morning sun lights up
A fog-shrouded forest,
You can hear the whistle of that old steam engine
As it pulls it's heavy log cargo
On invisible tracks to it's ghostly destination.
This poem is for my family who have lived on that place since 1970. They have heard that old whistle many times over the years.
*****
Boistfort Peak, also called Baw Faw Peak, in west Lewis County is a peak in the Willapa Hills in Washington state. The summit was once the site of a fire lookout and is the highest point in the Willapa Hills.
Glenoma is an unincorporated community in east Lewis County, Washington. It derives its name from the words "glen" and "ome".
Lewis County, in SW Washington, was created as Vancouver County on December 19, 1845. In 1849, the county name was changed, to honor Meriwether Lewis.
Faerie Assertive Woman living in a mushroom house,
Was painting cat murals on her pink living room walls.
What she saw creeping past was a timid full-bellied mouse.
F.A.W. invited him to throw basketballs.
Manny Mouse was soon playing horse, and eating spaghetti.
They laughed at similar stories until they had tears.
Their friendship they celebrated with purple confetti.
A relationship that has withstood the last twenty-six years.