Best For Crying Out Loud Poems
Jim was a lumberjack from Borehamwood
A chainsaw mishap took off his manhood
His Love life was a mess
He now suffers from stress
So he made himself one out of oak wood .
He went to bed one night full of desire
Sue his wife put on her sexy attire
Things got steamy and hot
He gave it all he got
But with the friction his oak thing caught fire .
His poor wife shouted " For crying out loud"
The poor woodcutter no longer stood proud
His once oaken member
Was a glowing ember
A blackened stump he's no longer endowed.
The smoke alarms in the house all went off
Sue and Jim splutterd and started to cough
Fire men broke down the door
Saw Jim's dong on the floor
Couldn't believe Jim had used it to boff.
So every night when they both go to bed
They both read books and watch TV instead
Then he had a great thought
And the next day he bought
A ten inch piece of pipe made out of lead.
In his workshop he worked on it all day
The next night asked Sue "Well what do you say"
She couldnt help laughing
At the size of his thing
She said" You're not coming near me, no way. "
Written on the 9th June 2020
(These would include the younger brothers of Wounded Thunder,
the character I made up in my previously posted poem).
These were sons of Thunder Storm and “Flower,”
from Wounded Thunder down to Thunder Bolt.
“Bolt” was fast; the touchy one was “Shower.”
And Thunder Struck was somewhat of a dolt.
The cute one pampered by fair Prairie Flower
well-deserved his name of Thunder Squall,
and like another brother Thunder Shower,
got teased, but even louder did he bawl!
Both “Squall” and “Shower” vexed their brother “Cloud,”
for Thunder Cloud by moodiness was led
and always scowled at them for crying out loud!
Great Thunder Head filled everyone with dread,
but the wild son who proved the biggest sap
came home infected. That was Thunder Clap!
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Stop right there for crying out loud
Plagiarism is not allowed
You'll be lynched by the P.S. crowd.
Okay, to be or not to be
Now come on you're being silly
They'll complain and they'll be suing
Ask you what it is you're doing.
Start again and think real hard
Don't be stealing from the bard
I'm struggling, need some inspiration
To create a rhyme sensation.
Grey brick upon brick, I'm on my way
That sounds good what do you say
I think I've heard that one before
But don't stop now do give us more.
Problem is my muse has flown
She's left me struggling all alone
I've placed an advert in the Times
For a muse who's good at rhymes.
If one replies and answers back
I'll be on fire, back on track
But until then I'll have a rest
Then I'll be up there with the best.
For the purpose of this rhyme I've used three lines from three famous poets listed below.
William Wordsworth
William Shakespeare
and Louis MacNiece.
Written on 13th August for Nina Parmenters Rattling Rhyme contest.
I'm sure she is my true love
We're clearly meant for one another
Never have I felt so young
Never has anything felt so right
But how can I ever tell her?
What on earth will she think of me?
What magical words can I utter?
Can she ever possibly recover...
When's the best time to break it to her?
Perhaps first thing tomorrow?
Why wait 'till then? -- The sooner, the better!
But no. It's been a long day. She's tired now...
Do I really have to do it in person?
I could text her or tweet something
Or perhaps post it on Instagram
A phone call. -- No. Somehow that won't work...
A letter. That's it. A letter. A letter in which
I profess my undying love and devotion, in which
I reveal my true feelings, and in which I break the news
to her ever-so-gently. No -- nobody sends letters anymore...
I've got to stop all of this right now. Time to get a grip
I'm not the first guy who's ever done this
and I certainly won't be the last either
I'm going to tell her right now, for crying out loud --
Honey, please don't think ill of me
But I've been married for 25 years
to a woman I've never loved; there are
three children, all estranged from me
And -- the door slams shut...
For crying out loud, the flowers are gorgeous,
Fresh, happy, young, alive, and vivacious.
Regrettably, we, humans, cut their lives short,
From time to time, from events to events.
For God’s sake, let the flowers live like the monuments,
Let them enjoy a long life, like the statues in the court.
Almost every event, like birthdays, weddings and anniversaries,
Is the end for those petals, which are sinking in past memories.
Even the funerals are not sympathetic to the beautiful lilies.
In lieu of flowers, why can’t they write beautiful poems,
Make memorable cards or fake flowers with dead leaves?
Let the flowers live in the garden, and plant them in the cemeteries,
In lieu of flowers, send meaningful poems that inspire dreams.
For crying out loud, please end the customary bereaves.
Copyright © October 2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Thoughts by a Horse Owner
A farmer milks a cow for all it’s worth …but
a horse milks a farmer for all he’s worth!
Horses are an expensive proposition to say the least.
Try lavishing your love on another beast.
When you look upon a star and make a wish,
much cheaper to buy a little goldfish.
then if you can’t afford it
when your dream comes true,
just flush it down the loo.
Or if you’re into recycling, eat the little guy…
And for crying out loud,
quit wishing towards the sky!
Answer to Doris Culverhouse’s invite for a silly poem.
There you go Doris! : ) ...(but I mean it!)
befuddled by mud puddle conversation
motivated to stay away from those in the throes of saving face
at a sprinter's pace
saving grace
each time I grind with people who don't mind blindly trying to debase my name
I end up sulking in the walk of shame
families need to learn to move on
be strong
but for crying out loud,
without a doubt,
there shall be heartfelt apologies issued from both sides
this bumpy ride might take a little swallowing of pride,
many bona fide hugs with love
you may go through a box or two of fresh tissues
to properly address the issues
we must stare defiantly into the eyes of resistance
identify the roots of our miscues
giving the boot to artificial rituals
to ambitiously make transitions,
stitch up wounds
switch up moods
shake up, move
to a place where faces are soothed by smiles and laughter
a fresh chapter
an escape after disasters happen
an island where
we realize those who actually matter
yes, addressing the crash
without making the past our current address
i write this piece in peace, for those who may be dueling with duress
stressed by words or actions of those who you may regret not being able to completely
love, respect, and/or caress
----------------------good love
takes hard work
©2014 ~JSL PoetTreez Publishing
Spirited knights from a long ago age
Were transported to this century
Seeing as they had no foe to engage
They moped around aimlessly
Before their doldrums turned to rage
They sought out a job agency
That would strive to find them a good wage
Due to the knight’s urgency
But the hitch in this new age fable
Of which this story is based
Was the shocking headhunter’s cable
That proposed jobs in hazardous waste
It seemed they’d be worth their mettle
So their talent agent thought
Since they sported all that metal
Punctures would be less than naught
As their first foray in this career
Was not what they beseeched
Since hospitals for these cavaliers
Contained a plank with a leech
But they learned to remove harmful gear
Plus organs the size of a peach
And swabs and gloves and what others fear
Like sharps washed upon the beach
One day Galahad’s nose turned runny
Because his health turned frail
Yet what happened wasn’t too funny
When a needle slipped inside his mail
He cried out to his god
I think I’ve reached the end
There’s a germ infested rod
Dispensed in my rear end
Oh, for crying out loud
Yelled Lancelot to his friend
Stop acting so highbrowed
That little prick will surely mend
Yet while the knights gathered around
To strip Galahad’s chain link
They loudly sang to drown the sound
As that knight put up a stink
So the moral of this fable is
That lands on the other side
Albeit fences or era’s ‘tis
Not always greener far and wide
3/10/14
For Francine's Tickle My Funny Bone contest
I was in bed the other night, sound asleep, when I was suddenly, awoken up.
Lo and Behold, there within my bed, I was covered by frogs, which had hiccups.
Now I wish this were a dream you know, as my eyes grew to, beyond saucer size.
I love my little forest friends, but these are the Weird FROGS, for crying out loud!
With a fear of moving, I gently ask, why they did partake, to join us in our bed.
All I got was closer snuggles, plus more hiccups, as they tried to hop, upon my head.
Enough’s enough, I did decide, as I gently pushed them over to my Hubby’s side.
I got up, turned on the light, and settled them down, as to my hubby, they did confide.
They said, monsters had chased them all around, until safety, they were bound.
Real monsters are here, and there, and everywhere, there’s Zombies all around!
Now, the Penguins and Dragon had been allowed a sleep over, just this very night.
I had allowed them all a TV with PG rated movies, which would certainly, be all right.
But Dragon wanted better one’s, so he stole into my older son’s collection, in his room.
In Dragon’s Lair, a party had gone on, with Zombie movies scattered, to his doom.
Before us, all the penguins had Zombie get up on, as they laughed at what they’d done.
But our weird frogs had been scared half to death, this had not been a good type of fun.
Bullies have no place in my house, so I addressed this, in a determined and clear tone.
They had to apologize to our weird frogs, before they took them all the way, back home.
It seems, the Weird frogs had called the penguins Barbarians, while we were at the Zoo.
But one thoughtless act, does not allow a second one, getting even is not the way to do.
So both had to suck in their hurt, and finally admit to their own terrible mistakes.
That’s when the party really began, as new and lasting friendships were finally made.
For a week they played together on the shore, of our beautiful lake, in lots of fun games.
And the only Zombies on the Loose, to be found, were playful silly costume things.
Written on a nightmarish, mostly sleepless night 7-2-2013
Once upon a time, I saw a Candy List of more than forty types of candy. And would you believe that people were actually invited to enter a contest to pick at least 10 of their favorites from among such a list? Unbelievable! For crying out loud, what is this world coming to? It's just not fair for the 'sense of taste' to be tested like that. Why, if I were King, I would issue a decree to band such an endeavor.
I grew up eating a lot of BUTTERFINGER bars, and I would eat a MILKY WAY if it was my only choice, but I never really liked them. I have always loved coconut and just about every kind of nut there is. Saturate a column of coconut with almonds, cover them with chocolate, and the next thing you're chewing on is Peter Paul MOUNDS; or am I mistaking Peter and Paul for Amond Joys? A BABY RUTH candy bar was certainly at the top of my sweet list; and what's not to like about a peanut covered bar of candy called PAYDAY?
I cannot deny it and I dare not hide it. Not so much now, but way back then when sugar was looked upon less frowningly, I was a sucker for the TOOTSIE ROLL. I remember that the LEMONHEAD candies were a tad bitter, but the HOT TAMALES was a 'play around' kind of candy; and what could be better than playing and competing with a mouth 'on fire' with candy? LIFESAVERS and NOW AND LATER were among my kids' favorites, and the KIT KAT still ranks high on my candy list, but at the top of my 'sugar heap' are the SNICKERS.
Now back to the Candy List I mentioned at the beginning. Upon further investigation, I discovered that three of my favorites were not even on the list. Like boots were made for walking, the Lollipop and the Holloway candy sticks were made for licking and sucking. And it pains me to think about the fact that M&M Peanuts candy wasn't anywhere to be found. I'm not a king but if........
09212018PoSoupContest, How Sweet It Is, Carol Connell,3P
I am the eyes of the poor
Hungry and searching for more
They look on in awe
Of the wonders of beauty that surrounds them
But fails to embrace
I would give what I had
To make the feeling of worth come back
And the eyes shine
Once again
But giving material possessions
Would only help for awhile
To teach something new
Get a spark and a smile
And loving the intricate style
That makes us all individually unique
So I speak with compassion and say
In humanity there's got to be a way
To get past the human condition
And give all of ourselves
author note:
I went to 3 major cities, in 6 monthes time. I guess I was looking to appreciate what I had.
I have done alot of work with homelessness in the United States, so, I became that way myself.
My second month there, a man gave me a ride to the newspaper office where I was doing a little freelance. We talked along the way. It was nice since that day I was carrying my briefcase (that is my portfolio) weighing atleast 20 pounds.
He said that he had a son, that was into art. He wants to be a writer also. He asked if there was any advice that I could give. I smiled and said well, I would keep a regular job. If there's anything he is interested in, I'd have him do that, but if he keeps going back to writing, and he cannot quit. If it inspires him, makes him happy and that becomes his career. You'll know.
All writers I know are kind of different in one respect or another.
He began to laugh.
This verse may just be a few simple words, but they are penned from my gut.
It would have been nice to just sit and drink tea, for crying out loud, with a fellow writer that I dearly love with ALL of my heart and soul. Life...just gotta live it.
I've been allergic to beauty
For 35 years
In a series of diphenhydramine dreams.
Spring stings
And all of these tears
Are wearily ripening in-between screams.
The flowers look so happy,
I can barely see them.
Oh, yellowish green
Cognitive haze.
Cloaking my brain
For a mighty good reason,
These trees are sappily
In love with my pain.
On solid screen doors
The taraxacum tours
My squalid green corps
Is sincerely yours,
I'm so dissociative
That I can be you,
And this hell is
As cool as life,
It's hard to live
But whenever I do
I'm just as well as
Wherever I might.
For crying out loud
For crying at all,
I'll eat the pollen
Until the fall.
She Won't Let Me Go
She won't let me go to church choir practice;
Sound like that I'm sitting on a thorny cactus,
And every time when I will moan and groan
She wants to leave me at home all alone.
She sings great paired up with Bob the tenor
Who is thinner and never has been a sinner;
God, mellow both of their voices did make,
Mine, windows and whole world would shake.
For crying out loud my voice became so bad
While singing had started a brand new fad;
If you could buy me one more case of beer
My deadly voice into space does disappear.
So you know what my new motto now may be;
When you buy beer and give it out for free
For me will be beginning of a new career;
Have no fear Horn is here with more beer.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
PS. And now this final situation I have to face;
Intended on sending another in the first place,
And category of sick according to latest skinny
Is what to people this probably may be to many.
PSS. I will be reading this poem at next Poetry
Revisited Poetry Recital on 2d week of the month
at Arbor Landing in Shallotte, NC. When I do, I
am going to have everyone stand up and hold
their hands on their sides to support all of the
laughing they are gonna be doing. Jim Horn
It’s an old trick in the book
To count sheep till you fall asleep
But Mr. Insomnia stays up late
It seems he wants to be my date!
He seems to have alternate plans
He makes me do things I cannot understand
Why the other day for crying out loud
He punished me and threw me out!
It was dark and O so cold, I begged him
Yes I implored, his good humour seemed restored
He took me on a merry go round
I started giggling but had promised
not to make a single sound
Mr. Insomnia’s red eyes on my back
Making me go round on a circular track!
He is a monster that grows inside of me
And conspires with someone
I don’t even want to know
My movements are extremely slow
Why the other day my heart skipped
I only knew it could beat!
Mr. Insomnia arose from his seat
It early morning he is shuffling now
Moving quickly towards his den
If he turns around I’m ready to stab
Him with my only weapon the mighty pen
Instead of sheep, I now count to ten!
20.5.22
taken away from my belongings,
forgive me for crying out loud,
I am the one to fight back not to quite
.
I am not about to go back my future is ahead not behind,
I resign my self to you God, please help me out.
I am done crying , I am hoping for batter things,
batter friends and future.
I am here alone fighting for my resurrection, lord I am your servant.
I surrender to you now