Best Get Off Poems | Poetry
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New Get Off Poems
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Overbooked, Get Off Our Plane
by Gridley, Ray
Get Off Of Those Streets
by Project, The Brooklyn Six
I'm Not Ready to Get Off
by Canerdy, Janice
get off your shackles
by Osho, Francis
Devil Get off My Back
by McGrath, Brenda
Get off my food
by Joe, Sloppy
get off me
by vergara, fernando
Get Off Your Ass
by TheKidster, Billy
Hey You Get off my Cloud by Harry Horsman
by horsman, harry
Hey you get off of My Cloud for contest
by Grenness , Julie
View all new Get Off Poems
The Best Get Off Poems
Get Off Poem
As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe;
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.
A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:
“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,”
Quoth the driver. “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs,
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”
He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”
Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told,
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar,
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”
“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.
The driver continued. “I don’t give an airborne
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.
Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:
“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.
Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist,
The best around, indeed.”
“I invite you to perform an antatomically
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”
“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out,
and I plan to continue my route.”
“And as far as threats go,
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”
“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”
Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe. “He talked such a good line.”
Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
So you say you want to sit on MY cloud.
The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds.
I understand you hate your polyester,
Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud.
It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations.
It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white.
It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul.
You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside,
Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me.
Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory.
But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own.
My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows.
Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog?
When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair?
Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud?
Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me?
So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight.
But I will never ignore you.
Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear:
HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
A heart outlined in steel.
Designed just so i'll never feel.
It's way too late to get off this ride.
There's no one in which I can confide.
The screams like thunder.
Into lost dreams and lies I plunder.
Copyright © i have forgiven you but it will never be the same | Year Posted 2008
Get Off Poem
Don't be crying, if you have been sleepwalking
Don't be crying, if you are lost and stumbling
Don't be crying, if walking the wrong road
Don't be crying, its time to lighten the load
Time to be yourself, for you to stand up and shine
Be kind and gentle, just gracious, loving and fine
Learn to love this life, all the sublime and divine
In sweet nature entwine
Don't be crying, just let me show you the way
Don't be crying, because this is a new day
Don't be crying, stop, there is no need for you to pray
Don't be crying, and let me take you away
Let the light in, find your compassion
Move past all your boundaries and fix what is broken
Be free and stand on the edge of the ocean
Don't be crying, listen to your wake up call
Don't be crying, enjoy big things and the small
Don't be crying, let each new step be breezy
Don't be crying, just let happiness be your journey
Sometimes we just stumble and sleepwalk through life
Cut sorrow with an imaginary knife
Find your purpose, believe in yourself
Get off the shelve
Don't be crying, go ahead and get it done
Don't be crying, be free and enjoy the fun
Don't be crying, fly high like the mighty eagle
Don't be crying, do this and your life will be tranquil
Repeat last 2 lines and fade to zero . . . .
December 7, 2017
Poetry/Lyric/Don't Be Crying
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9694-32-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, End Of The Line
sponsor, John Hamilton
Inspiration - The Traveling Wilburys, End Of The Line, song
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017
Get Off Poem
Eileen was born 80 1/2 years ago
on the first day of winter on the ground a bit of snow
with a twinkle in her eyes and a healthy glow
having both outer and inner beauty to bestow,
Second oldest girl who blossomed and bloomed
living in Queens New York who shared with oldest sister a room
becoming a responsible teen none too soon
always helping out grabbing a dustpan and broom,
Worked various jobs till one fateful day
met a cop named John and they were on they're way
having many things in common you could say
both falling in love without delay,
Marriage came quickly and the five children too
getting up early to help them get off to school
summertimes bringing them to the pool
teaching them manners and the golden rule,
Her children grew up and some moved away
plans for retirement finally came one day
first Florida for fifteen years in the sun they would play
then in 2000 back to New York because couldn't stay,
With her husbands different health issues
taking good care of him was nothing new
a nurturing wife whose complaints were seldom and few
rubbing his feet due to neuropathy as if right on cue,
On the 14th of May in 2014 her husband died
having taken care of his diabetes and melanoma all in stride
just short of 60 years she had been his bride
at his funeral at his casket she'd weep and cry,
Still full of energy she didn't act her age
gardening and shopping till her own health turned a page
feeling rundown acute leukemia in her system would rage
first and only round of chemo being this past May,
Shortly thereafter her health got worse
congestive heart plus low sodium levels were an added curse
discharged from the hospital her eldest became her "nurse"
with other family members on her bedroom hospital bed perched,
Her oxygen machine tube trailing up to her nose
she told everyone she loved them being in the know
asking Jesus to forgive all her sins she was ready to go
too soon to leave now an underground irish rose in repose,
Now Eileen and John await Resurrection day
when Jesus will come and take His children away
reunited for eternity they'll turn to one another and say
I told you I'd wait for you come what may...
Addendum: My beautiful Mom took her last breath at her home in N.Y. on July 9th 2017 at 9:45 a.m. I was fortunate enough to spend some time together with her before she passed away...
Rest in peace Mom and Dad till we all meet again…
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2017
Get Off Poem
You say all lives matter
Bringing up all these colors
Like red, white, orange, and blue
But when a black life is taken, where on Earth are you?
Where's your sympathy and support when the takers of our lives get off Scott-free in court?
Why weren't you at the rally?
Why weren't you at the protest?
You say all lives matter then reveal yourself to be a hypocritical mess.
Why are you more upset at the march of an activist feet
And the words that were in his speech
Than you are at the fact that another black body lies bleeding in the street?
Why don't you demand justice when it's our lives they are taking?
Why don't you demand truth as the media is muckraking?
Dessiminating misinformation, and sometimes straight up lies, while ensuring we become nothing but criminals in your eyes?
Not husbands, sons, daughters, loved ones, or wives
None of that is left after we've been demonized, had our humanity stripped and been reduced to part crimes.
Oh but they'll tell the story of the killer, saying he's gentle and wouldn't hurt a fly
When he just might shoot the wings off the black angel if he saw it in the sky?
To put it simply, he's racist
And that could just be implicit bias
Not always blatant hatred
Either way when he sees the color of my skin my life is no longer as sacred
As a matter of fact the color of it means I'm a threat
And in that moment all training and restraint he forgets
Our of his own cowardice and fear
Pulls the trigger back and
Another one of us is no longer here...
An instance of disregard and violence
Repeated so much throughout this nation's history
But we won't live in silence in the face of this danger and misery
We've dealt with it since slavery when they put us on the boat
To two years ago
When Eric Garner was choked
You don't care about
The damage, pain, anguish, and tears
Dealt by the oppression and violence we've suffered all these yearsIn fact All Lives matter
You're complicit in these things
You'd say it wasn't true
But when a black life is taken where on Earth are you?
Our here characterizing the entire movement
By the actions of the outside few
Calling us dangerous, cop killers
When that's not even what we do
We want to be able to exercise our rights freely
We want changes in policy
As well as accountability
Consequences for those who inflict this brutality
But as we do our work to change the system from the outside and within
You act as if we've committed some sort of sin
Saying we don't care about others
And it's not about race
Never mind the fact that we are killed at a much higher rate
Sharing stories of white people who are brutalized and ask for our repentance
Purposefully leave out the fact that THAT officer got a sentence
Saying "You ignore the taking of others lives. That ain't right"
If a white person is brutalized
Is it ever BECAUSE they're white???
See we go through these things because we are black
And its an understanding or concern about this, that you seem to lack.
Saying all lives matter
To silence our voices on something that matters to US
And through erasure send us to the back of the social justice bus
So I could ask again why
When one of our lives are taken
From you there's no anger, outrage, our outcry
I won't, I already know
It's because from the start
All Lives matter
Wasn't anything but a lie
Copyright © Alex Roberson | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
diaphanous gossamer filmy cloud-
sumptuous I float woebegone
flowers far and below
and bluebirds come
fluttering in the azure sky
twittering and its
gossamer filmy cloud-sumptuous
the gobbledygooks with their nonsense
far and below
and bluebirds come drifting
from the garden and forest they fly
the dullards with their yada yada
come with their hokum nattering
yell hey you
get off my cloud-
sumptuous you you
twittering and twittering
assemblage of fluttering
with meaningless words
you keep off my diaphanous
gossamer filmy cloud
oh gentle breeze
take this dreamer and flower picker
of buttercups violets
I see them swaying far and below
in the meadows lovely
and I recall the little girl me
who picked them
for mothers kitchen ledge
oh let me drift and see far and below
diaphanous gossamer cloud-
May 28, 2015
For the contest, Hey you, get off my cloud, sponsor, Skat A
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
Just a five minute train ride
But I'm already far, far away.
Staring out through the speckled windows,
Highlighted against the setting sun.
I'm lost in the future,
Endless possibilities on the horizon.
Slowly, like the train slowing to a stop.
I regain consciousness in present,
The busy people squeeze together to get off,
I slowly rise to a stand behind them.
A smile on my face,
I walk towards those horizons.
Copyright © Angela Downer | Year Posted 2014
Get Off Poem
*Sung to the tune of Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Intended to be taken
“When are you gonna grow up?
It is in jail you will land
You’ll have to stay after class
And I’ll be talking to your old man”
“You know you can’t hold me forever
The last school bus is now due
You can’t rap my knuckles with your ruler now
Stand in my way and I’ll just run through
So nah, nah, nah…
“So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were cruel
The Catholic school’s finally closing
The lunchroom’s stopped serving gruel
“I’m taking that bus, might never get off
Don’t want to face my Dad’s wrath
Oh, I’ve finally decided to free myself
And set out on my own path
So nah, nah, nah…”
“How can you earn a living?
You can’t even spell your name
You’ll be required to take some remedial courses
And stop playing silly head games”
“Maybe you’ll get a new convent
I hear there’s some room in Brazil
Students there might appreciate
A no-nonsense sister with a voice shrill
So nah, nah, nah…
“So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were crude
The altar boys have been set free
The priests are no longer lewd
“I’d like to stay, watch them raze it
The site with torture imposed
Where skeletons still hide in the closets
Nevermore to be exposed
So nah, nah, nah…”
*For John Heck’s “Dear John” contest.
Those of us who attended St. Joseph’s just learned the school is being closed.
Although a good education was provided, some students were beaten there repeatedly.
I feel a good education was provided, but they went overboard with discipline.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Get Off Poem
MY CLOUD by JOHN G. LAWLESS
I don’t remember asking…..
yet I am still hearing a babbling brook
of mindless chatter rolling pebbles
through my ears and across my mind.
Noisome, acridly scented, sounds,
a Charlie Brown like… wah–wah-wah
droning in the background of my life.
“You can’t say that!” “It might offend
somebody – somewhere – someday.”
“How can you even think that way??!!!”
“Don’t you care how other people feel?”
“Do you have any feelings at all for them?”
“You can’t do THAT!” “WHAT WILL
PEOPLE THINK!” “ Didn’t you see that sign?”
“Why can’t you just follow instructions, do
what you’re told, believe that we are right,
that WE know what is best for you?”
“If you ate less there would be more food
to feed the hungry.”(Yeah but then I’d be hungry.)
“If you drove less there would be more fuel
for others to burn and fewer emissions.”
(How the hell does that work???)
“If you would only follow all the shoulds
and musts then you’d know the reasons
why you should entrust the future of the
planet, the diet of your kids, to those of
us entitled to pry off freedom’s lids.”
“Every voice is equal when every voice
is heard.” (That could be said of cows
and sheep and noise within the herd.)
“What is it that you want?”, they ask
in obvious disdain and shudder when
I mention my First Amendment claim.
I wish that those who speak their minds
would allow me to do the same without
their constant reprimand “that I should
be ashamed”. When I speak, and write, and
act in a manner that I choose, I shouldn’t
be belittled by the puppets of the fools.
I do not need the politics of food, sex,
and lies, nor special interest groups that
see only through “their” eyes. I cannot
be an island, so I choose to be a cloud -
sit above the melee of “their” ever
spreading shroud. Therefore, the
conversations may be ended by
a verse, a substantial update
from the “islands” brutal curse
as I, in karaoke style, sing a
sixties refrain aloud:
HEY! HEY! YOU! YOU!
GET OFFA MY CLOUD!!**
**The Rolling Stones – Get off of My Cloud(1965)
John G. Lawless
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
Thoughts how they fade from white to gray,
and the memories we made,
turned to dust just today.
Ashes we smoked and the dreams we dreamt,
all DIED in your arms and I wept...
Please forgive me- believe me when I say I am sorry-
I feel sad for you but not as sad as I feel for me.
Self pity is a disease,
but it puts me at ease,
and I just wish these flea's,
would get off my bleeding back.
If I could paint you a river, I'd swim to your shore,
mend all I tore...
...now it's you that I lack.
It has always been you...
ALWAYS been you...
you were my envelope, you were my flu,
you cut me apart because you made me whole,
I'm sorry I stole...your heart...
NA in CONTEST NO 204 any form-theme max of 16 lines
Judged September 17, 2016
For contest: Screwed XVI
Date Written: September 26, 2015
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
She moans and tosses
He sleeps lightly as always
And quickly is wide awake
Aware of her every move
He knows what will follow
He is ready
The moaning becomes a scream
He feels the terror
Knows the vile dragon that she battles
In her nightmare
Filled with hatred for the beast
He moves closer to her
“Don’t touch me!
Get your dirty filthy hands off me
“Get off…Get OFF
Stop it! STOP!” She shrieks
And he gently shakes her awake
Then moves back
As she bursts into sobs
“It’s just a dream…
I’m here….sh….there now
It’s only me!
He’s gone…he’s gone!”
And yet…though every cell
Is dying to rock her in his arms
He holds back
Knowing…she will cringe at his touch
And push him away
If he moves too fast
First he must slay the dragon
“I’ll never let him touch you again”
He whispers…gently moving closer…closer
He is almost there
“If he EVER lays a finger on you…
I’ll make him pay….
You’re safe with me.
He won't EVER hurt you again."
Her hysterical sobbing
She sits up and pulls her knees in to herself
Burying her face in them as she rocks back and forth
Crying....more softly now
“NO ONE will ever hurt you again….”
There…he’s ready to gather her into his arms
She looks up into his eyes
The look of revulsion disappears
When she sees the dragon slayer of her dreams
There beside her…with love in his eyes
Still she holds back...feeling tainted, spoiled…dirty
Her hands running up and down her arms
Desperate to clean the marks
Of dragon fingerprints
Burned into her flesh
He understands and whispers
“You are mine now"…
He holds her hand
"You are so beautiful....
And before he finishes
She throws herself into his arms
And holds on for dear life
To the dragon slayer...
He doesn't know how long it takes
Until she falls back to sleep
Her even rhythmic breathing
Warming his neck
His arms enfolding her
There is so much he can't understand
So much of her that he still doesn't know
But he is sure of one thing…
He’d give his everything
He'd give his life
To slay every last dragon
Of her night.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
There once was a fellow named Ted
Who recently in church got wed
His wife was in the mood
Laying there in the nude…
He was texting his friends instead!
He was sending text after text
His new wife was feeling quite vexed
'I'm after your bone -
now get off your phone ....
Or I'll leave if I'm under sexed!
A collaboration with Jospeh May
Both Poems inspired by 'And Nothing Else Matters' By Andrea Dietrich
1st May 2016
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
Have you ever squeezed a lemon before?
(you very might well have and just not realized it).
Each time you grab the steering wheel, you feel determined:
There's no way in hell you're waiting another minute!
A lemon is sure a close call,
and anyone's capable of it - every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Sometimes you don't see it at all,
until you look up and realize it's already turned cherry.
It's a rarer site to see someone squeezing that one,
but there's no doubt it happens now and then.
Some call it stupid, others brave and daring.
Me? I just wanna get out of the car and grab a pen.
Squeezing a lime sounds much more safe.
Feeling a bit less brave, a small price to pay,
for living another glorious day.
But my dad is a different sort all together.
He goes through the entire fruit smoothie, it's just his way.
There'll be honking from behind,
people yelling, "What are you friggin' color blind?
Get off the Bluetooth, man!".
And I'm just sitting in the front seat thinking,
"I have such great writing material, so close at hand".
I'll have my head crouched low
feigning embarrassment, but in reality
this man, driving me, where I need to go
is the spitting image of myself
forty years down the road...
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013
Get Off Poem
Get on my cloud; it's soft and fluffy too
Lie down with me and let your heart just dream
Delightful treats I have in store for you
My sweets are lathered up in richest cream
Come float beyond the Earth and let us play
Our game of love as stars just blush and stare
Let's have some fun and ride the Milky Way
that spills its sweetness on our bodies bare
My cloud is soft and so is where you lie
your head is cushioned on my silky breast
In warmth of woolly white you hear me sigh
and now that love is done we sleep and rest
Get on my cloud and take a trip with me
I'm sure you'll name my cloud "Sweet Ecstasy"
Inspired by Skat's Get Off My Cloud Contest
A different take
Cloud #9- One of my favorite songs by Brian Adams
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Get Off Poem
WELCOME TO AYR FORCE ONE
If those of you who refuse to speak English would care to put on the headphones provided, all announcements are available in simultaneous Gaelic translation, courtesy of BBC Alba.
Progressive is the official airline of the Scottish National Party, a proudly independent, equal-opportunities transport provider. We welcome passengers from all ethnic backgrounds and belief systems — except, of course, the English, the Red Tories and ‘No’ voters.
We are particularly keen to attract customers from the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, transgendered, transvestite, questioning and bi-curious communities, as well as non-homosexual men in kilts.
I’d also like to welcome on board one of our celebrity frequent fliers, Sir Sean Connery, who has just jetted in to Scotland from tax exile in the Bahamas to lend us his support.
See you, Double-O-Seven!
Please accept our apologies for the delay in the launch of Ayr Force One, which was due to start last September but failed to get off the ground because of a shortfall in projected passenger numbers.
We stuck to our business model and refused to accept that temporary setback. And as a result it is my pleasure today to extend a very warm welcome to our 56 newly-elected SNP MPs who have joined us on our maiden flight south.
We are confident that we can provide a strong alternative to British Cameroonian, even though two other airlines have recently suffered spectacular collapses.
Progressive is a full service operator, unlike some of our low budget, no-frills competitors, who are only in the business so they can cut services and generate huge profits for their millionaire, non-dom owners.
We are proud to provide all our passengers with unlimited, unrestricted anti-austerity return tickets, completely free of charge. Once we have reached our cruising altitude we will be passing through the cabin offering complimentary snacks and beverages, including a traditional selection of deep-fried Mars Bars, pakoras and pizzas.
Our Gleneagles-trained chef has also prepared a special commemorative menu to celebrate this historic flight.
Why not start with some delicious Scottish caviar from our home-grown, free-range Sturgeon or a bowl of our award-winning artisan electric soup?
And for your main course, you can choose between Wild Salmond, poached in pink champagne, and fillet of Angus Robertson beef. The menu can be found printed on the sick bag in the seat pocket in front of you.
We also offer a full bar service, including premium brands such as Tennent’s Super and Smirnoff Ice, which we are stocking specially for the new member for Paisley and Renfrewshire South, Mhairi Black, who we are privileged to have travelling with us today. Mhairi regards Smirnoff Ice as the drink of the Gods.
You may care to raise your glasses to toast Ms Black, who at just 20 years old has defeated Labour’s Douglas Alexander to become the youngest MP since the 17th century.
On yer go, Mhairi doll!
However, we regret that the drinks trolley is the only service on our flight that is not complimentary as we are required to adhere to the Scottish government’s minimum pricing policy, designed to combat alcohol-related violence.
And please be advised that alcohol should only be consumed in accordance with the new Scottish drink-drive laws. Passengers will be limited to a small glass of wine, a single whisky or two-thirds of a pint of beer. Something like that, anyway. No one’s quite sure, so best stick to Irn-Bru. Passengers will be subjected to random breath-tests after their meal.
I should also remind you that it is a criminal offence to smoke on this flight and that includes pipes, roll-ups, spliffs and e-cigarettes.
Please familiarise yourself with our state-of-the-art, in-flight entertainment service. On our classic movie channel, you’ll find Braveheart, which tells of William Wallace’s heroic struggle for independence against the English scum, like that woman who wrote Harry Potter, and Scottish traitors like Sir Alex Ferguson.
We are also very pleased to be screening an exclusive preview of Planespotting, based on the latest novel by Scotland’s own Irvine Welsh, who lives in Chicago.
This follow-up to Trainspotting centres on the adventures of a planeload of welfare junkies heading for London to rob the English to fund their dependency culture.
Passengers may also access our on-board internet wi-fi service. Feel free to troll opponents of independence, but please be warned that the Police Scotland Diversity and Hate Crime Task Force will be monitoring Twitter for any inappropriate comments of a homophobic or sectarian nature.
The singing of football songs is strictly forbidden on this aircraft and anyone humming The Sash My Father Wore will be arrested on arrival and sent back to Barlinnie prison.
Our flight plan today takes us over the Forth Bridge and across to the former Kirkcaldy and Cowdenbeath seat of class traitor Gordon Brown, now safely in the hands of our patriotic SNP.
You will also see the wind farms, upon which all of Scotland’s energy needs will depend once we achieve independence and the oil runs out. If you look closely, some of these windmills may actually be turning.
As we fly over the Clyde, if it isn’t raining — which it probably will be — you’ll be able to spot the soon-to-be-decommissioned Trident submarine base. Unfortunately, once we cross the border on our way south, the view begins to turn bleak since virtually every constituency on our route to Westminster is now held by the hated Tories.
Sit back, enjoy your flight and dream of freedom, just so long as the English are paying. We are now flying by the seat of our pants.
When you deplane at London Westminster, please remember to take all your grievances, hubris and sense of entitlement with you.
Have a great day. And thank you for choosing Ayr Force One.
Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
YOUTH AND OLD AGE
Get off your galloping horse of youth’s impressions
Stop looking down upon old age with contempt
You still on the planes of doubt and uncertainties
Having not yet made in life any real attempt
Not even a hill of problems have you ascended
Neither have you faced a serious thunderstorm
How is it possible for you ever to be assuming
Without experience your elders to reform?
You better stop and think for a single moment
All those whose heads have turned white or gray
How many hills of harms and mountains of troubles
Have they been through and climbed to this day
Your youth, a spectacular time, for you to enjoy
Dreams to make of what you would wish to assure
Sadly though the future for you a possibility is only
For everyone knows that nothing in life is for sure
So the preferable thing you ought to be doing
Is to listen carefully to these experienced old folks
For better it is to learn from mistakes they made
Than knowledge to gain from your very own faults!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 NOVEMBER 2013
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013
Get Off Poem
They're getting old now.
They congregate only a few blocks south of where I live.
40 to 50 years ago they were in Vietnam.
Among the homeless they usually move slower,
The weariness of age and of other things,
of drug use and alcohol,
lost loves and families,
bent and broken paths.
You hear about the "thousand yard stare,"
where blank verse and silence show they're not actively seeing,
though now most of the immediate trauma is gone,
they are just lives forever changed,
eyes both hardened and softened,
former aspects compromised,
the hand of war still upon them.
My family had a big house in Youngstown, Ohio,
with a room rented to a nice young guy named Dale.
It was cool because he would throw the football
with me and my brothers, and talk to us.
He had short hair and a little bit of acne.
In 1967 he went to Vietnam, killed within a week.
They tell stories of night patrols, moving through water,
streams rivers rain, mud and sodden clothes,
100 degrees in the shade, bugs, infection, panic,
running through the jungle firing their M-16 behind them,
of the Vietnamese people suffering, the dead lying along the road.
Arriving in-country, the heat blasting you
when you get off the plane, you are told
look left, look right, and then that one of the two men
you just saw will not return.
Our country was then conflicted, and it was harder coming home,
even though the orange fires and the smoke were far away,
you lost a limb and they didn't appreciate it.
There were a lot of booby-traps set,
by the enemy, by the bureaucracy, by the times.
I wasn't old enough to go and I'm not sorry.
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
Copyright © Rich Metzger | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
Invitation to a Valentine Bash
(Direction to the Venue)
I live on the Heartland Estate
across from the Elysian Fields,
At the corner of Lovers Lane
and Pure Passion Boulevard
in the town of Romeoville.
If you are taking a midnight train
Get down at the Juliet Junction;
Catch a bus to the Break-heart pass
and get off at the Harem Heights stop.
You'll reach my Pleasure Palace
before the break of day.
Flying of course is not advised
as it is impossible to dodge Cupid's arrows!
But if you are planning to drive,
Take the highway to Elysium.
You might have to stay
overnight at the Erotica Inn,
famous for sensual simulator kiosks.
After some luscious nibbling
at the Casanova Cafe,
You'll arrive before lunch
at my enchanting Chateau.
Bring your lust luggage,
Loads of love potion
and lots of charm.
Running amuck is strictly prohibited.
There will be plenty of time
to cuddle and coo
at the Pleasure Point hill,
Loll in a pool of honey and wine
and soak in the sensual glow
of a bohemian moon.
RSVP: A week shy of Valentine's Day
Or, please call 666-PASSION.
for Mystic Rose contest
Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2017
Get Off Poem
She asked him, "Why are you drinking
Before it's 9 am"?
He told her not to worry
She said, "Damn! You're drunk again".
She said that she was tired
Of him sleeping on the couch
She told him forty seven ways
He acted like a slouch
"Get up and fix the plumbing
Go outside and mow the lawn
Close your mouth you stupid ass
Don't let me see you yawn".
"Comb your hair and shave your beard
Look more like a man".
He rubbed his face and shook his head
And said, "How's that again"?
She stomped her feet in fury
As her fist shook back and forth
"I'm going back to mommas
If you don't get up and work".
So he staggered to his feet
And grabbed his britches by the waist
He pulled them up and stumbled off
To find a quiet place
He said that he was going
To the store to by some bread
But never made it further
Than his broke down pick-up bed
Thirty minutes later
He was wakened from his sleep
She took the backyard garden hose
And sprayed him head to feet
He jumped and ran to save himself
And find some place to hide
He heard her cackling like a hen
As she went back inside
He hid behind the bushes
Till he thought the coast was clear
He had to find a way inside
To get another beer
He crept up to the screen door
Looking in to take a peek
He slowly pulled it open
So as not to make it squeak
He slipped inside and closed it
Then he tiptoed 'cross the floor
Quietly he reached out
For refrigerator door
But something caught his eye
And he looked over toward the sink
That dadgum woman took his beer
And poured out all his drink
His head was bent in sorrow
At the tragedy he saw
A dozen soldiers down in flames
And bound by Sundays law
There was nothing left to do
But go and take his seat
Beside his wife of twenty years
Who made his life complete
He loved her 'cause she loved him
It was paradise in hell
He whispered that into her ear
And she said, "Damn you smell".
"Get off me with your drunken breath
Go sit over there".
And so he went and slouched down in
His worn out easy chair
Quietly they watch tv
Into the dark of night
Then went to bed with word unsaid
And turned out all the lights
Copyright © Rockman Pritts | Year Posted 2011
Get Off Poem
TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS POEM PLEASE READ MY POEM 'NOT QUITE
WONDER WOMAN' AND TIM SMITH'S POEM A CALL TO BLUNDERWOMAN
Hey Tim’s kids get off your tush
Your dad is baking something lush
He’s made a massive tray of cake
Do the washing up for goodness sake
Then he’s going to mow the lawn
Poor guy’s been up since the crack of dawn
Then he will tackle the all the weeding
While you shout out ‘dad we need feeding’
So give your dad a lovely break
Surprise him with a special cake
I’d give you a hand but I’m not free
But please send a slice to me
Get off the x box and have some fun
Play in the park or go for a run
If dad is busy then give me a call
And Blunderwoman will scare you all
Then you will appreciate you dad
For Blunderwoman is really bad
She will fill your head with dread and fear
So do me a favour pour your dad a cold beer
Sit him down in front of the telly
With lots of food and wobbly jelly
Give him hugs and a special treat
Now he can relax and put up his feet
3rd August 2014
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
Get Off Poem
So she will know
Riding the back of a tiger shark sinking
Crossing an ocean that’s barren and dry
Surfing on waves that the net hasn’t captured
Wondering what a sand dollar will buy
Chasing a thought that I just forgot thinking
Vacuuming memories under the seat
Blowing the horn when its allergy season
Sneezing and sneezing and sneezing, repeat
Singing a song just to bother Bon Jovi
Shot through the heart but not casting the blame
Shaving my head like a rock star in fashion
Asking the barber to sell me his name
Eating a waffle that’s flat as a pancake
Bathing in syrup a soft maple shade
Cutting a class while the lawns overgrowing
Making a bed that is already made
Changing the tune of a microwave oven
Turning the knob till the volume is loud
Watching it spin like a Rolling Stone’s album
Yelling at them to get off of my cloud
Eating dessert while the main course is waiting
Leaving a tip but not paying the bill
Telling the waiter he looks like my brother
Blushing when he says to please call him Jill
Squeezing an orange while lemons are striking
Crossing a picket line out in red ink
Finding that permanent means until Tuesday
Seen through a highlighter glowing in pink
Climbing a mountain in old worn out sandals
Hurting my feet, it has taken its toll
Wait, not a mountain I meant to say Motown
Moving much better now that I’ve got soul
I figure by now you must think I am crazy
Based on the verses up there and much more
The truth of the matter is I’m kind of lazy
I’ve used this same style of poem before
And like the others this ends in affection
Regardless of what I have written above
All of my poems are fueled by desire
Written for somebody special I love
So if I say the sun whispers in crayons
A basset hound’s bark is as rough as a tree
Piano keys will not unlock Beethoven
Then all I really am hoping you’ll see
Is how she makes me act goofy and silly
Using some phrases that seem quite askew
And why I’m sitting here writing this poem
So she will know that my love will be true
Good night Soupers
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Get Off Poem
It's three in the morning
And I was awakened by
An extreme thirst. In the night
It's hard to tell just how thirsty
You really are. It's not so easy
To sneak downstairs to get a drink.
Tiptoeing past my parents bedroom I think
About how angry he'll be when he finds
Me awake in the dead of the night.
It's now somewhere around maybe 3:03,
I've made it to the stairs and suddenly, creeeaaak!
I freeze and listen for father's fleeting footsteps
But, he does not come. I take a deep breath
And walk down the stairs. Oh god the dogs.
I didn't think of the dogs. They leap up high like frogs
Off their Lilly pads and jump onto me.
"Get off." I mouth the words silently
And push the dogs off. I grab myself a tall drink
And chug the thing down, put my glass in the sink.
Coming back up the stairs, it's a quarter past.
I skip the creaky stair that made my heart blast
Almost burst straight out of my ribcage.
Damn. I wanted a drink but I don't think I'm brave
Enough to venture too far past my bedroom.
My bedroom? Here I am! I've made it! I'm safe!
I did not wake my father from his sleep.
I'm in. Shut the door, and now I can breathe.
It's 3:18 now and I lay down in bed.
But, of course I can't sleep. I'm awake in my head.
Poetry, oh yes. This was poetry! A ballad!
Get my computer and I'll type my story to validate
And express just how it felt to be thirsty at three.
Then, they'll understand how it feels with a small victory
I'm the protagonist, the knight, trying my best to find
The elixir, guarded by Cerberus. Sneaking from behind
The sleeping dragon's cave. I don't want to wake
Him and so, I'm quiet and agile. A true hero.
3:38. My poem is written. It's time to try
To get into bed and rest. So reader, until next time.
Copyright © Kaitlyn Krenik | Year Posted 2016
Get Off Poem
Twas on the eve of Christmas and St Nick was feeling glum
because his leading reindeer had some problems with his tum.
With Dasher feeling poorly, Santa wondered what to do,
he needed to leave Toyland soon, but Dasher couldn’t leave the loo.
Shouting through the bathroom door, he reasoned with his deer friend,
“I really need your expertise. Here, have a cork for your rear end”
Declining Santa’s offer, Dasher said “I’d better not,
I fear, if I use your cork idea, you’ll end up getting shot”
Desperate, Santa called a meeting at the Reindeer Village Hall,
he told them of poor Dasher’s plight and pleaded with them all.
“I really need a volunteer to guide me through the skies”
but the cervines shuffled all their feet, avoiding Santa’s eyes.
They couldn’t do the job you see, it took a special skill,
one that ‘blue-eyed’ Dasher had, ‘til his colitis made him ill.
He’d always been the ‘nerdy one’ who learned to lead way,
and daily, while he swotted hard, the others would just play.
Old Santa was now in a fix, it was time to make a stand,
“Last one to leave the village hall WILL lead this useless band!”
What followed was a melee, the likes of which you’ve never seen,
a great stampede to be the first out on the village green.
Young Rudolph glanced around, a hidden exit he had spotted,
excitedly, on tippy toes, to his escape he trotted.
But he couldn’t keep a level head, as hard as he had tried,
and in his haste to slam the door he trapped his nose inside.
The door was well and truly stuck. Rudolph realised with dismay,
he was technically the last to leave & would have to guide the sleigh.
The others had now gathered round, they laughed and danced with glee,
Rudolph’s grave misfortune meant that they’d get off scot free.
A carpenter was duly called, the slammer taken off its hinges,
at last relieving Rudolph’s nose, and the others from his whinges.
Instantly, upon release, his hooter it did grow
and with each throbbing pain, his nose emitted a red glow.
Blazing brightly like a beacon, it shone over all Toyland
Santa grinned and said “That should improve the task at hand”
He told the reindeer of his plans as he buckled up their straps,
“With the luminance from Rudi’s nose I can clearly read my maps”
So Rudolph and his rosy snout led Santa through the dark
and as an added bonus they could see just where to park.
The toys were all delivered to the children as they slept
But when Santa said “same time next year” Rudolph held his nose and wept.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010