Best Funnyold Poems
Don’t you know I like things sweet?
Sewage water and pickled feet
Noses that run like Kenyan jocks
And year old milk that’s kept in socks
Don’t you know I like things wild?
Little old ladies with crocodiles
Butterflies and taser guns
Grizzly bears that have the runs
For P.D's "Going Haiku Crazy" Contest
How Many?
going to St. Ives
met folks on that smelly bus
more than I could count
Just Sleep Walking?
Wee Willy Winky
caught outside a boy’s window
in a night garment
Got Wool?
naked in the lane
three bags-full of wool sheared off
baa baa black sheep fleeced
She Didn’t Know What to Do!
Kids’ cries from inside -
outside an old woman’s shoe
child welfare people
Clean Your Plate!
Licking their plates clean
Jack Sprat and wife do their part. . .
kids starve in China
The Treacherous Hill
pail of spilled water
Jill’s body sprawled over Jack’s
one big bloody mess
What a Ding Dong
good deed for the day
boy scout Tommy Stout by well. . .
scratches on his arm
Not Even a Bone
old Mother Hubbard
Social Security cut
dog needs a new home
Yellow Georgie
victims of Porgie
confront him in the playground
his true color shows
The Original Blonde
Bo peep loses sheep
birth of a new tradition. . .
blonde jokes being told
The Schemer
some spilled curds and whey
spider near a fallen chair
supping happily
Making the Best. . .
Humpty takes a spill
the whole army can’t fix him
omelets for lunch
Baby Catches On
the church and steeple
and now you show me people?
those are just fingers!
They Say He Couldn’t Keep Her!
gossip in the town
pumpkin shell big as a house. .
where is Peter’s wife?
Bye, Hushed Baby
the sound of wind’s rush
baby’s cries abruptly hushed
broken branch on ground
*I'm choosing this series of haiku for several reasons.
First, it's the only post I made named "Twisted" so it
is an obvious choice. Second, I do have other poems
I consider a bit twisted, but, I simply cannot
remember the titles of some of these really old poems
to look for them. Finally, this series was inspired by
a long ago contest of PD's in which I got the idea
to take nursery rhymes and twist them, and so
I'm reviving this series which can no longer be
viewed by anybody here unless it's in a contest!
James Hinkshaw
There once was a man named James Hinkshaw.
Who planned to go to town for a jigsaw.
He had hick-saws and jinx-saws
He even had a wink-saw.
But no penny-whinny jigsaw—
He loved riding to town in his rickshaw.
Once he drove there to buy his new jigsaw.
His new rickshaw broke down.
He was not yet in town.
So, he walked there with hacksaw and jinx-saw.
It was a long day for James Hinkshaw.
He walked into town with no rickshaw.
As he went on his way,
A bear started a fray.
So he killed the old bear with his hacksaw.
There, alone on the road was James Hinkshaw.
And the bear butchered there with his hacksaw.
Oh, what could he do?
He felt sure no one knew.
He was there with dead bear but no rickshaw.
Poor old James had not made it to town.
And the sun was about to go down.
When he knelt there to pray,
A peddler came his way.
And sold poor old James Hinkshaw a jigsaw.
James Hinkshaw then had a new jigsaw.
To add to his hick-saws, and winks-saw…
He needed to go home.
In the dark, he could not roam.
What would happen to weary James Hinkshaw?
The peddler who sold James the jigsaw,
Gladly drove him back to the rickshaw.
In exchange for bear meat,
He let James rest his feet.
Toeing home, James Hinkshaw and his rickshaw.
DEDICATED to my grandfather, who would never say, “Pudding &
Taine…ask me again and I'll tell you the same” He, instead would laugh and rapidly say,
“James-John-Hinksaw-Winksaw-Penny-Winny-Jinksaw!” (Of course, this was Not his name)
LOL His imagination and mine are now joined…again. SMILES. I love you, Granddad!
© © Dane Smith-Johnsen
February 21, 2010
Poetic form: Limerick: a story series
Santa in Florida
By Elton Camp
In Florida, Christmas ain’t so grand
Santa’s sleigh won’t slide on sand
And not many children there stay
Most of the folks are old and gray
Santa’s thick, red suit will be right
To keep away the mosquito bite
Children have to leave him a Coke
On its foul water, he would choke
In land that’s so flat and swampy
The old elf just has to feel grumpy
After Florida, Santa’s not seen later
He got swallowed by an alligator
From my chap book, "Not So Serious"
‘Tradition demands respect for age.’
Proclaimed some ancient Chinese sage.
Ah, that is such a noble thought,
But wise old Chow he really ought
To walk the isles of a supermart,
Stand behind old granny’s cart,
Left mid-aisle, perhaps forgot.
Limp, lump, wrinkle, lowly bent,
God only knows what’s her intent.
She, oh so slowly, moves about,
No particular thought or route.
Oblivious, she, this ancient dame,
To all but her arthritic pain.
But be thou merciful, be kind
When standing in the checkout line.
She’ll goose you with her shopping cart,
Perhaps let loose a trembling fart;
Then once she’s standing at the till,
She’ll fish a coupon, argue the bill.
Then comes one’s truest peeve of all,
Poor clerk has made call after call;
Out comes the hoary, leather purse,
A waiting shopper’s foulest curse.
She shuffles, mixes, dips, dips, dips,
A whiteness on her withered lips.
Minutes go by, seeming like weeks;
At last she grins, cackling, speaks.
“Oh, dear, my money’s out in the car.
Please wait, I’ll run, it isn’t far.”
Me and a old friend crossed the boarder
to spend some hard earned dinro.
I caught the clap.
And he got that nifty sombrero.
Two barflys talkin trash bout seniorities
and a joke about a donkey show.
Im reflecting over times spent.
With my favorite Amigo.
Got ripped on some tequila the very
first day.
Drank some water and at the hospital we
had to stay.
Got into a fight with some guy waving a knife.
I sat and drank my cervassa.
While my buddy ran for his life.
We met a fella called jose.
Said for tweenty pesos in his
crambed cassa.
We could stay
Was a great trip till Gary slipped me some
acid at the bullfight.
Decided to charge the bull and got knocked
clean outtha sight.
Woke up in a cell seems like trouble follows us
everywhere we go.
Im stuck here in the clink.
With my old amigo.
Still a little high I thought i saw Buhda wearing
Elvis glasses.
End's up I was talkin to some he she
making passes.
In only a few months time we were free.
I said well whats next?
And Gary replied dam dont you have some place to be.
With no passports along with some other
new friends across that boader so silently
we did go.
Add another chapter for next time it's vegas
for me and my amigo.
The grandfather clock just struck twelve, that magic hour of night,
And there he sits drumming our fingers musing about something to write!
He's been biting our nails and running our fingers through his hair,
Scratching his head, searching for witty or apt verse to prepare!
Ah! Now he's flexing our digits and I detect in his eyes a gleam.
We think he's collecting his thoughts to concoct a masterful scheme.
Something comparable to works by Whitman or Riley, no doubt.
These fingers should get some credit, no matter how it turns out!
What will it be? A poem about religion, politics or the billowing seas,
Little children, old soldiers, love gone sour or scarlet hued trees?
Perhaps a few stanzas about cowboy lore - only the Lord can tell!
Our fingers just fly over the keyboard - that old coot types pretty well!
We're getting numb and need rest but he provides no reprieve.
He's typing at least seventy-eight words per minute, I do believe!
But never fear, we'll manage to keep ahead of his versatile mind,
And keep pounding away as thoughts from his prolific skull unwind!
Well, he has completed what he considers a masterpiece at last.
We're petered out and ready to curl up - we have typed so fast!
But all of us from our thumbs to our pinkies have had a blast!
We pray he never gets writer's cramp - that would leave us aghast!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
1st Place in Linda-Marie's "Finger Frenzy" Contest - June 2010
Out apon the sea.
Its hard to catch some relife.
Or find some time to set willy free.
It's a priates life no need to back your
bags.
Just grab a pint.
When in port avoid the sea hags.
Swab the decks and please if
ya gotta puke lean over the side.
Be a good little sea bandit
or you'll be learning were Davey Jones does
reside.
We got fish for breakfest supper and lunch.
Can somone please help the captain.
ya know with a hook for a hand its easy to
get your pants in a bunch.
I gotta walk the plank again ?
Hey it's really rude sticking me with that knife.
It sure would be nice if we put this ship in the water.
Do more than drinking and dreaming of the pirates life.
I really dont trust a captian with a poodle.
It really gets old being harrased.
And cleaning up fee fee's doodle
Dont let Larry steer.
After the tenth time it gets old.
running a ground to go fetch a beer.
No sir I dont belive we'll run into the loch ness monster
off the jersey shore.
No I dont belive the worlds flat.
And I dont care if the five year old first mate swore.
The crows nesk is a perfect place to hide from your
wife.
Were heading the wrong way check the gps.
Yes I really cant take this pirates life.
Yes captian I really doubt A mermaid stole
all the rum.
What's the catch of the day?
Sea monster sure I'll have some.
The captian is crabby and it's time for the
first mates nap.
The cook isnt crying cause he's choppin onions
Its cause he finished the briges of Madison County
yes he's a bit of a sap.
It's probaly not best to duel with a butter knife.
As we set sail yes mam we''ll have the first mate
back befor sundown.
It's kinda messed up living this modern pirates life.
Poor old Chicken Licken's not the brightest little bird
Keeps coming up with theories that are clearly quite absurd
He got hit by an acorn, and to laugh would be a sin
But our little feathered friend believes, the sky is falling in
He’s running round the farmyard telling everyone his tale
“We must inform the government and do it without fail”
Rounding up some other birds to join him on his quest
Picking just the fittest, disregarding all the rest
The Goose and Turkey Lurkey led this brave deluded ring
As they marched into the night so they could go and tell the King
Poor old Chicken Lickens brain has really flown the coop
The way he carries on he’s going to end up in the soup
There is a state of mind known as woebegone
In which one feels like an addict on methadone
The more one tries to feel upbeat
The more one suffers mental defeat
And the mind plays on like a gramophone.
8
The boys outside the bar appeared rapscallion
Their actions were downright reptilian
Every time a girl would walk by
One would let out a loud cry
Acting just like an overheated young stallion
8
There was an old lady from New Jersey
Who recently moved to Poughkeepsie
She met this old fart
In a local Kmart
And the two proceeded to get quite tipsy
8
Roger was smug and a bit of a grandee
Others viewed him as somewhat of a dandy
The girls giggled and downright snickered
Because they knew he sought entry to their knickers
But alas, with buttons and zippers he just wasn’t handy
8
Bobby was well known for his generosity
But also known for his excessive gulosity
He would take you to lunch anytime
But always state “what’s left over is mine”
And clean the table with the utmost ferocity
8
There was this old man from Toledo
That liked to parade around in his speedo
The old ladies would giggle
Watching his sagging butt jiggle
But it did little or nothing for their libido
8
There is this retired gentleman in south Buda
Who would like to vacation in Bermuda
But his poem book didn’t sell worth squat
Now he’s stuck with who knows what
As he reads travel brochures in his pad in south Buda
8
There is this Colorado guy in the Springs
Whose Windows computer does unusual things
The damn screen turned permanently black
So he went out and bought a new Mac
Now he doesn’t answer when his telephone rings
8
Form:
There was once an old girl called Flo
On her death asked to go below.
See, she had this trick,
To try to convert old Nick,
But he told her where to go!
In the winter of 1873, Alfred Packer was hired to guide a prospectin' trek.
In the San Juans of Colorady they'd heard of gold that they wanted to check.
Alfred claimed that in Colorady minin' camps he'd driven wagons of ore.
He guaranteed he'd show 'em the valuable stuff that they were lookin' for!
They visited sage old Chief Ouray and he warned 'em to wait 'til spring,
To cross those rugged tors, but no, they wanted to press on and do their thing!
So foolish Albert and five of the group decided to trudge on through the snow!
Of the blindin' snow, lack of grub and perilous paths, little did they know!
A few months later Packer appeared at an Indian Agency lookin' fit and well!
He said he'd been left behind due to injuries, one of many tales he was to tell!
His story changed several times sayin' one man went berserk and killed the rest!
There was evidence that cannibalism was involved but old Albert never confessed!
Packer was jailed in Saguache but later made his escape to Wyoming state!
He was nabbed and returned to Salt Lake City for a trial and sentencin' date.
"They was seven Dimmycrats in the county", pronounced the judge from the bench,
"But yah man-eatin' sunuvab**ch, yah et five of 'em, fer that yer neck'll wrench!"
Later the sentence was reduced to manslaughter and he was given forty years,
To be served at the pen in Canon City, Colorady, but no one shed any tears!
He was paroled in 1901 and moved to Denver where he hung around.
Now his molderin' bones rest in peace 'neath a grassy burial mound!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 7 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Legend" Contest - April 2011
In younger days we would watch our figure
Now hear behind the back people snicker
Now through many years
Christmas treats and cheers
Behinds not in line, those bellies bigger!
I’ll make Chocolate pie resolution
Along with Pecan pie restitution
When our congress acquits
Stupid party line splits
That’s when this old sort admits, protrusion!
Once old fat cell was triggered
Being in behinds he snickered
In belly overlap
In lassie and old chap
Got them just the way he figured!
For and in honor of Carolyn Devonshire
And Contest
The Army was getting desperate in nineteen-forty-three,
For warm bodies to fill vacancies in the good old infantry.
Alas, the draft board beckoned causing his heart to sink.
Thus, began the notorious career of Private Roscoe D. Schlink!
He was a naive country boy from Bean Blossom, Indiana.
They sent him for training to Fort Fumble in Louisiana.
Only five-feet-four, he was issued clothes much too large.
"Don't worry, I'll make a man of you, son!" said old sarge!
At marching and drilling he proved less than deft.
He could never figure out his right foot from his left!
Sergeants growled at him with uncouth elocution.
Roscoe just couldn't do anything with sharp execution!
On long treks he was in the rear running to catch up.
Petulant sergeants ever screaming, "Closeup! Closeup!"
During inspections he amassed reams of damning demerits,
And spent many weekends paring heaps of taters and carrots!
Later in the heat of battle he reached deep within his soul.
When those with lesser mettle faltered, he assumed control.
That day his gallantry overshadowed others by far.
For his courage he was awarded the coveted Silver Star!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
There once was an old man from Thomaston
Who said old rats like cheese like young rats, son
~~My favorite shoes sport rat~~
~~Who eats chunk cheese where he sat~~
Constant reminder of old man with pun
(About a year before my father died at age 96,
we went to a funeral and a lady of about 38 to 43
years old escourted him from the family car to the
cemetery..The farther they walked the more he
leaned into her..My husband said something to him
about it..He said old rats like cheese just like young
rats..I found a pair of pj with shoes with the rat and
cheese..Always a reminder of my father..)