Best Fibbing Poems
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feather prides himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam Mcdaid
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feathers pride himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
“Ole Brownie”
The meanest and the best,
Proven among the rest,
My dog in Arkansas, pope county,
I present, ole Brownie,
With first cold front,
Arkansans begin the hunt,
Razorback hogs,
with their dogs,
Now my dog Brownie,
Meanest hog dog in pope county,
A sight to see,
Even growls at me,
A heinz fifty seven,
Comes number seven of the eleven,
Impossible to see,
His pedigree,
Though no pedigree,
Visibly plain to see,
He was the dog for me,
By my shout of glee,
When he was given to me,
He was a handsome dog,
Though he loved to hog,
Part red bone hound,
Mixed with feist clown,
Would fight anything around,
Twas very plain he wasn’t a coward,
With teeth bared,
Who’s hoss or boss,
At any cost,
Often declared,
When disputes were aired,
Ain’t no fibbing,
Ears torn to ribbons,
His ears` he had sacrifices,
To his scrapping vice,
Anyhow, to finish my story,
Bout my dog of glory, ©.( “Razorback Hog Hunt”)
9-27-09 [email protected]
Faculty meeting. Formidably flippantly fortuitously fluffy and forgetful.
I began to write a little list of F words, because I was in the F word mood.
Frilly. Free-ha-ha. Feast. Forget-me-knots. Fallacy. Farming. Fastidious. Fun-filled.
What are you doing? A non-friend asked me. She had already broken my chain of counting when I was
Counting syllables, making me angry.
“I am writing F words,” I tell her. She looks at me with fanfare, farcically, fantastically.
I am relieved to begin anew. Now I am adding PH words, because they will go along well with my theme.
Phonetically, phenomena’s, phenol barbital, phosphate, phantom, philosophy
“You can always ask Caren.”
Uh-oh.
I look up.
Everyone is looking at me including the principal who is pleased as punch I’m taking such great notes.
I nod my head.
Feline, foamy. Form-fitting, fleshy, flesh-eating, fractions, fanfare, fishy, finished, foamy, Phillip, fixed, fixt.
Someone puts their hand on my paper.
I glare at them. “What are you doing?”
I put my finger to my lips to shush them.
Fluffy. Faerie, Fairy. Franchise. Farmer. Freshman. Frequent. Frequently.
Feminine. Farcical. Feisty. Fibber. Fibbing. French fries.
I look up.
Clock says 4:35. Time to go.
Totally un-socialized, I fly out the door, knowing the union is on my side.
Said baker Ted to baker Ned:
Ned, did you knead the dough?
"Dough, I did dot dead the dough"
Why not knead the dough, Ned?
"I didn't wad to sdeeze on the dough"
Sneeze on the dough, Ned?
"Yes Ded, I god a code in by doughs"
Well Ned, at yeast you’re being honest
"It’s the yeast I could do, Ded"
You’re not going to do the yeast again are you?
"Of coors dot, I did the yeast yeasterday"
You’re fibbing Ned, yeasterday was Yeaster
"I always worg Yeaster, last year I worged Yeaster"
It’s against the law to work yeasters on holidays
"Why Ded? The yeasters dode mide worging Yeaster"
Well, doing the yeast is perverted to say the yeast
"At yeast I dode loaf and fridder away by dime"
Are you accusing me of fondling the fritters?
"If the fridders fid, then fry the dab fridders"
How would you like me to fry YOUR fritters, Ned?
"I subbose I dike by fridders a diddle on the brownie dide"
Not what I meant Ned and please stop poking my brownie
"Oooo…Dough dared! You’re gibbing be the fridders"
You don't have the fritters to whip my cream, Ned
"I cad whib your cream with one had deading the dough"
Cannot-Caddo-Cannot-Caddo-Cannot-Cad...
Cold-ridden, frustrated customer Homer Simpson:
DOUGH!! There they dough again, Baaarge!...
My pet black cat looks so fat,
He's always drinking milk,
He says he only drinks so much,
To make his hair shine like silk,
Personally I think he's fibbing,
I think he's just a greedy cat,
If he'd only reduce his intake,
He'd still look shiny, but not so fat.
You’re driven to do bad, bad
real bad things
Chucky did it, you’d often say
You’re given to say bad, bad
real bad things
You said it’s Rhoda who talks this way
You’ve been fibbing bad, bad
real bad, boy
Ever since you said Jason bragged he killed your pa
You’ve been tripping bad, bad
real bad, boy
Ever since you said Lizzie confessed she axed your ma
You got so many voices talking to you
Sometimes they’re talking at the same time
Each voice clamoring, trying to get through
But Dr. Lecter’s voice keeps them all in line
I hear the voices in your head
Because they’ve been talking to me too
I’m not listening to what Dr. Frankenstein just said
Because the voice in the mirror said I’m just like you
This is the poem that was the cause of me coming to Poetry Soup.
On another poetry website, when I posted this poem, they censured it,
and removed it. I was very upset about that. Someone no doubt was
offended and complained about the poem's subject matter content.
I kept my poems posted at the other website for the sake of the
other poets. Most of those poems have not been posted here at PSoup.
If you want to know where those poems are at, you can contact me
by soup mail. I would like to know what you think about this poem.
Love always, Romantic Warrior.
Mr. and Mrs. Pinocchio are carvings of wood
No matter how they try, they cannot be good
Lying is their habit. The constant fibbing shows
by the length of snouts; each has a distended nose
They bray like donkeys in the Disney movie
Arrogantly thinking they're impressively groovy
They will never be able to become a real girl and boy
unless they stop lying and end to their cunning ploy
Geppetto, why'd you give these imps a tongue
Their lies are far fetched and their tales far flung
How they love to fabricate fibs and wickedly conspire
Perhaps that wood would be put to better use in a bonfire
Still, in my pajamas, cold, ‘tis Winter.
Purple and gray wool socks, and still, cold feet.
Yet i’d walk down into the oaks, with sun’s
light be soaked, at the Summer-plumed heartbeat.
Into the glowing moss and down the hill,
like my grand, who’d make glorious foothold
into the street. Still, alone, basking in
happiness, woolen feet waltzing, toes cold,
knuckles chapping, clapping of my steepled
fingers. dry and joyful lips, arising,
Dizzy, I'd survey the amphitheater -
steam of cold-heat, underfoot apprising.
O my soul, the crooning blue signature,
expansive, inexpensive, pensive sky.
Behold God’s goodness directed my way.
Though fibbing from inside, I do not lie.
The arms of my chair, still, caring, hold me
or i’d jetty into my imagination.
There the birds stir up woozy fairyland
with tea and serenity’s coronation.
2/10/2021
Contest: All Yours (Feb 10)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Telling "White Lies"
My mother got born November
thirteenth, nineteen hundred thirty five
within poverty stricken household
of Canarsie, Brooklyn, the youngest
(most mollycoddled) of four siblings,
experienced grinding poverty, no
matter maternal grandfather (Moishe
Kuritsky), a tailor he lacked drive
to support his family two parents +
remainder offspring, he helped sire
lacked positive role models, none the
less gumption taught her to strive
at tender age livid with rage to escape
caricature living poor, thus sought
employment when/wherever sheik hood
if necessary fibbed to survive
plus rash of healthy nurturing, and
absolute zero constraints, perhaps five
or thereabout years old attested
much later, suspected her papa did jive
with unspeakable improper behavior
(nobody dare discuss taboo issues),
yet intuition awoke within immoral
conclusion Harriet Kuritsky did arrive,
and perhaps resorted to stretching
the truth (fibbing a "white lie") the only
recourse available plied sweet innocence
knowing little or nothing about birds
feathering their nest, nor little about
buzzfeeding activity in beehive
naivete flirtatious coyness advantage worked,
I bet young thang did connive
and probably never did contemplate,
deliberate, generate and wrongdoing,
where mother of necessity spurred
angelic demureness strategy to contrive
securing bare necessities, hence fast
forward, when unsolicited advice given
to this sole son, or either sibling, (an older
& younger sister) tactics upbringing did deprive
ma mum of positive role models, hence
only blueprint to acquire essential needs
serendipitous series of unfortunate events
before Lemony Snicket did derive
school of hard knocks, (I do believe
formerly called Abraham Lincoln High)
rather than impugn, judge, revile, et cetera
kernels/nuggets of wisdom memory did revive
within my mind for rhyme, nor reason
blunt honesty, not always best policy
despite ten commandments
to husbands with many a wive.
My dad told me when he was young
And fit as fit could be
As the best Saharan lumberjack
He cut down every tree
He rode a wild dinosaur
From York to Timbuctu
He took it back to London
And put it in the Zoo
Then later on in World War two
The German horde he beat
With just his trusty penknife
He forced them to retreat
He’s swam the Indian ocean
Ate crocodiles for tea
Paddled up Niagara falls
And still got home by three
I relate my fathers exploits
Friends give me such a ribbing
They say his tales are tall ones
And that my dad is fibbing
But I know my dads not lying
There is no way he can
I know my dads not fibbing
He’s a real life superman
Red power mode
White digital
Blue logo
My, oh my ...
sweet apple pie!
Patriotic American cheese is turning sour Kraut commie
Democracy is Wisconsin curdling ... penicillin shot
needed between the ailing ballot box,
sho’ ain’t Louisiana Purchase forthcoming
Lady Liberty is bowing face down, Kansas Toto-style,
to Kremlin oligarchy ...
didn’t take much to bend with Washington wavy subservience
It’s an Idaho russet Ruskie crying shame
Couch the Benedict-ion omelette breaking news:
Missy Freedom done Alaska huskie hussy sold herself
to be a Soviet satellite skirt muzzled tramp mule
Red power mode
has taken cyber control of all voter confidence
White digital bar-code
activate the Manchurian self-destruct sequence
Blue logo brand ruble sold,
keeps the general populace straddling the fence
As they reality TV see their loose Lady Liberty
make a Texas loan star barracuda bow face
Proud North Dakota woman bending her knee,
acknowledging her Bolshevik bastard place
It’s a Kentucky bourbon crying shame
Democracy kissing the Politburo Czar ring
Bluegrass filly ruling class
selling the masses out for the Balaam green
Capitol Hill Star Spangled silent gag,
money mutes on a Pavel dog Con-stitutional prostitute
Wavy anthem cloth used as a snot rag,
Molotov noses following the Red Pied Pier booger flute
My, oh my ...
Marx Twain subversive tweet sweet apple pie!
Collaborator citizens being called patriotic comrades
Eating the Stalinist straw buries,
spit sprinkled with
Chernobyl pyramid scheme
propaganda whipped cream
Traitor taste the Taps Blue Fibbing beer,
free-market funeral dirge price gouge overflowing,
in the white Lenin toe-tag black body bag aisle
While the Ukraine lobbyist piggies
are covetously Crimea coffer crying
Oh, Nevada bordello bosom alligator weep ...
let the Alabama tick tears leech flow
down those Florida lemon-squeezed cheeks
It’s a New Mexico caliente green chile crying shame —
Them neo-Anazazi, gun-clicking squatters
getting a Wounded Knee ice gulag reservation claim
Lady Liberty doing an Independence bow face,
it’s a thirteen stripe, Siberian mongrel disgrace
Have you seen the new curly red haired girl?
Cannot say that I have, he replied, wondering.
Why was everyone saying this to him?
This was the fourth person who had asked.
There she is! Four people shouted, watching his reaction.
The minute he saw her, he understood why.
She looked like his mother had looked when she was young.
She had died when he was six, but he remembered her face.
Her hair was a bit darker than this girl’s but her eyes were the same.
Everyone wants us to meet, the girl told him, except she was not a girl.
He invited her to lunch and they talked; she was a terrific listener.
He felt he had regained a tiny bit of his mother, which was soothing.
I guess I remind people of your mother? She suggested.
She looked a lot like you, he admitted, but she was not a great listener.
I prefer speaking to you.
And he was not fibbing.
People don’t think of you the way that you like
who do you think you’re conning when talking all that ite
blagging everybody you come into contact with
proud of the first opportunity to take advantage of gifts
boasting about your blagging skills as if you ain’t known as a blagger who can’t be trusted with anything always a late giver backer
when the first impression you make shifts to a shady replacement
to never reappear after that first meeting you’re different
and when debts ain’t paid you never blame yourself
you go and point incompetence at somebody else
so it’s never your fault and therefore cannot be helped
treating friends unfair
until there ain’t no one there
because you just don’t care
but in your stories you swear
that you’re selfless and prepared
to save everyone who is facing despair
after blaming the individual for their own fate
comparing the fact you made decisions that they ain’t
because you make the right choices and have superior vision
sounding authentic to those who don’t expect to hear fibbing
and when you big yourself up there’s also somebody digging
and though they helped you back up you forget that as you kick ‘em
saying you wanna help as you continue to hit ‘em
acting like it’s all their fault as you leak criticism
combined with a sad face to ensure the sympathy’s given
because you lost a mate
when they fell into this place
but last month they were fake
and it was too much to take
for now they’re nowhere to trace
as they avoid you with hate
as you remove yourself
from any involvement or blame
and act all confused
saying they must be insane
because to not like you
must mean they haven’t a brain
and then you emphasis this point
by saying they’re the slow train
who you have to help by shining
a light that explains
the simplest interactions
that they take the wrong way
in fact if you speak to your friend
they would be right as rain
as the fact they don’t like you
is their stupid mistake
The narcissist in you evident
cold twisted malevolent
suffering though you’re innocent
from someone far less intelligent
now confused by developments
believing things deemed irrelevant
a friend you’ll save cus you’re brilliant
despite the painful experience
This year Santa's requests come by Zoom
And a flat-chested Miss full of gloom
She asked 'please do your best'
I'd love a double D breast
He obliged and she's now in full bloom..
Another asked for a new nose
'Cause the one I’ve got just grows and grows
Truly I am not fibbing
And I take so much ribbing
You should hear the din when it blows.
Santa soon became really depressed
He'd had so many awkward requests
He felt so fool of doom
He got rid of his Zoom
And concluded a letter is best.
9th December 2020