Best Getup Poems
[the spirit of this was written after hearing KISS', "I was made for loving you"]
I keep hearing that aliens
Have thought-interfacing technology
And if I put forth the intention
This beacon will bring them to me
I'll also make the assumption
Societies universally have the same roots
As hyper-sexualized as James Bond
Females in shinny, skin-tight suits
Dispatching to my location
Nine planets, starting with Mercury
Coming in at hyper warp
Straight to planet number three
To the North-American continent
Just north of the Pan Handle
Then left of the Appalachians
An Earth stud waiting to dazzle
Wearing the Clint Eastwood getup
That I wore last Halloween
The Good, the Bad, the Ugly
Making my female coworkers crazy
I'm now projecting this image
My head cocked, cigar blazing
Eyes locked on this seduction
Not even a hint that I'm playing
Perhaps a hotty with green skin
Or maybe as blue as Avatar
What female could resist
Clint Eastwood and his cigar?
I was made for loving you
You were made for loving me
I can't get enough of you
Can you get enough of me?
My eyes are penetrating her
As I'm moving into her space
She's about to get an Earth education
From a very primitive race
Now both of us are poised
Like animals preparing to avail
But there is one thought in my head
God, I hope she's female
[I'm in a record state of sillyness tonight. oh boy yoi yoiiiiiii]
Categories:
getup, funny, imagination, spaceearth, planet,
Form:
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
Categories:
getup, autumn, boy, dark, holiday,
Form:
Free verse
Imagine being surrounded by flies,
Big surprise I surmise,
Now Imagine being getup in a doo-doo disguise,
Which wouldn,t be wise, seeing that your surrounded by flies,
of various size, with Big Eyes that Multiplies,
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Does anyone hear my cries!!!
Categories:
getup, funny, parody, satire,
Form:
Sitting on front porches, old folks I remember,
in the shade filtered Arkansas heat, spitting snuff into mason jars,
remembering to us the things that happened, when they lived
in that faraway land called “a while ago”
On dusty golden summer Sunday afternoons, Chicken dinners I remember:
After service, at Harmony Baptist Church, seven miles outside town,
snuggled in the trees; graveyard on the far side, baptismal on the near. I remember
creaking porch swings in the cool of the evening, after the sun slipped
down into twilight like a red-hot nickel dropped into the piggy bank of time.
During daylight savings time, vacation time, July lessons I learned.
By country cousins taught – how to drive a team
of mules, the urge of "getup mule" and the easy pull of "whoa". And the secret words,
in mule talk, that more than reins coaxed the shuffling beasts to left or right.
The city boy drove a wagon and team, all the way to the saw mill.
Then Billy Bob would say "Good job", and drive the rig back home.
I am a branch, waving my leaves, in a forest of asphalt and steel.
But, the roots reach deep, down in Sparkman town.
I remember: who I am, where I come from, who my people are-
Papa Ed and Uncle Joseph; Mama Ginny and old Paw Paw
Grown urban smooth and city cool, I remember still-
both my gee and haw.
Categories:
getup, childhoodold, city, old,
Form:
Narrative
Applies her makeup
Grabs that glam getup
May put on odd airs
Acts as if she cares
Giggles to lowbrows
Wiggles with highbrows
Goes downtown dancing
Dips downright dazzling
So no big to-do
For this ingenue
Categories:
getup, adventure, appreciation, confidence, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
I sat myself, by myself…..
Tired, tired of waiting.
Inside I sit like a potted cactus,
Gussied up for the pic.
Don’t know what possessed this dick.
The wide world’s outside
Ancestors pride, the mountains side,
the deserts dance;
yet, here I sit in cowboy? getup?
Like a potted cactus
Gussied up for the pic.
Categories:
getup, cowboy-western
Form:
Ekphrasis
Freely forming metrical mainstays
poetic occasion to phrase
the fairer and gentler sex,
thus the following turns of phrase
to bestow acknowledgement
regarding wonderful wise ways
of collective she who assays
to create safe/secure home/ hearth
as bedrock and fount of ample
maternal duties tiredly sashays
with keeping house receiving praise
the second Sunday each May, her
tired body sprawled on chaise
lounge, perhaps basking in solar rays
communing with Gaia, who whiz
bruiting with sky goddess
defying forecasters prediction, no slate grays
pose dampening effect on huzzahs
regaling torchbearer diploid as amaze
zing newlife, where loving labor pays
more than fine spun gold cherishing
offspring in her nurturing ways.
Paean dutiful daily deference, I dole
ensconced with pineapple getup
surfing the cyber sea, this hyperbowl
lee, yet deserved dignity deifying dames,
who bear brunt whole
ding potent biological reproductive role
de facto duty honorably decreed
tribute paid despite commercialized
money making hyped up rigamarole,
nonetheless yours truly accentuates sole
sans, progenitor of human race
saddled with disproportionate/ unfair toll.
Categories:
getup, angel, appreciation, celebration, inspirational,
Form:
Elegy
Circa - approximately early
to late nineteen sixties,
where yours truly
found himself surly,
particularly compounded
if my parents,
where Mister and
Missus Santa Claus
played by Boyce and
Harriet Harris respectively
failed to purchase
for this sole son,
thee latest trendy
toy, sans whirly
gig, gizmo, or
fuzzy electric doohickey,
BUT NOTHING girly.
Translation: Inxs of
severe (incurable) envy
infected Matthew Scott
most pronounced, asper
quantity of presents,
the gratitude receiving gifts
meant diddly squat
if I counted less goodies,
than either eldest,
and/or youngest sister got.
This rancor kept
under (ahem) wraps
though ironically, either
sibling oohed and ahed
over some fancy shmancy
garment with snaps,
which this lad
feigned ambivalence,
indifference, or
repugnance toward getup
for young chaps.
No sooner did the
last, (and usually
biggest) boxed surprise
found these then kiddie
fingers tearing into,
when thine irritating
nasal voice didst rise
above the melee "That's all,"
or some variation
on said theme blurted out
as "FAKE" real lies
already, eagerly, and impatiently
anticipating same holiday
three hundred and sixty
five days, hence unaware
how fast "time flies"
now this soon to be newly
minted sexagenarian eyes,
those memories of innocent
naiveté, and bliss
with sentimental nostalgia
(envision: slight moisture
around tear ducts), and
aye close this poem
with reminiscence dabbed
with tissue sadness dries.
Categories:
getup, addiction, allusion, angel, christmas,
Form:
Bio
Summit Times Ja Just Gotta Walk Away...
Excusing yourself as if...
going to the bidet,
an immense water closet
(perhaps the size of
Mar A Lago type getup),
sans human waste
(after flushing)
empties into prez Donald's bay,
where one bum wrapped aforementioned
toilet finely (and finally) enthrones
derriere exquisitely, and, delicately
intricately, chiseled wrought with cloisonne
ah...enjoying simple pleasure ass I say
sipping one after another Red Bull, whence
with one final trumpet of the rump -
(as acknowledgment to angry 1%),
though quite reluctantly did pay -
hitting the custom built in combination
handsome replica Taj Mahal fountainhead golf
course made from clay
baked Adobe bathroom links
(whew...long Atlas) shrugging off
responsibilities, escorted
by migrant compadre
Russian Putin lookalike uncannily
also resembles plucked Kernel Sanders
advocating consuming buttered Thomas
English muffins with oreos can delay,
tending to government, who successfully
playfully, melodiously preaches, sermonizes
and absolute zero values benefits burning
off calories, where couples sashay,
asper square and/or contra dancing,
where the caller hollers hip hip hooray
barely audible above
noisy fracas and fray
of crowded house,
avast throng of village people stomp
louder than a quiet
riot global military foray
anathema to dogma,
karma, persona... of
Jacques Cousteau, or like
minded millennials and/or gray
bearded whelk homed by elasmobranchii.
Categories:
getup, abuse, betrayal, deep, environment,
Form:
Political Verse
If you ever espy a latitudinally
and longitudinally challenged
older yet shopping savvy woman,
(wedded to yours truly
for almost twenty six years),
who stands approximately
four feet and ten inches
a strong hunch that gal
stacks up as mine missus,
she dons costumed headwear
to avoid station identification,
whenever she steps out
into the public limelight
anywhere outside these four walls
of our one bedroom apartment
here within bucolic Schwenksville,
the town that town forgot,
and the decades could not improve,
where all the women good looking,
the men strong, and the children
wise to the ways of technology.
When this logophile
quite a few pounds lighter
ever since I first became acquainted
with unnamed aforementioned woman,
she adopted predilection to don apparel
allowing, enabling, and providing
modus operandi to present herself incognito.
Ofttimes said spouse of mine
upon returning from
grocery shopping spree
(ever price conscious of various
and sundry commestibles -
with a knick knack paddy whack
give this doggone husband
a plant based NON GMO bone),
she can rattle off the prices
of targeted items on her mental rolodex
how much food cost at:
ALDI, GIANT, LIDL, WEGMANS...
While scurrying to and fro
hither and yon,
a stranger might unexpectedly
pay a compliment to iterated getup,
which bobbin noggin makes her
easy to identify, when yours truly
tags along, (but despite
being considerably taller
by almost twelve inches),
these spindleshanks of one
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned, senseless
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer
find impossible mission
to keep pace with the wife.
Categories:
getup, character, color, cute, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Bully me you, I exemplified archetypal scapegoat
Even as old curmudgeon, aye pucker
and raspily suction toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
attempt impersonating plumber
(think unclogging toilet)
please support your local bummer
back in the day one
long haired pencil neck geeks palled
around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),
and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting
without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said beastie boys
bandits, donning particolored pachyderm
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
especially as Mummer
on each New Year's Day
with bare ass tuchus
excellently imitating courtesy said orifice
(as chief motormouth) sound
of combo motorboat hummer.
Ah... the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
happily recalling never being beat into pulp dully
imagining dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully
nonetheless all the while fully
maintaining conscious, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully
delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated injustice witnessed impossible mission
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.
Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed, whereby hoodlums
jockeyed to rain one after another verbal blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (stuntedly) grow
(as an aside resembled anorexic
Santa Claus ho... ho... ho...)
still wracked, impacted, affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds valuable humor less or mo'
feebly, lamely, and quirkily aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
(no matter ex post facto)
freeing mine unsung hero.
Categories:
getup, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Bio
sucks to be a kid
on a hurricane halloween,
where putting on the
costume to trick or treat
really doesn’t make much
sense, because along with the
whole getup,
you got to fit your little self into
some waders or rain boots at the
least &
slosh through the ****
with an angry parent or
some kind of psychotic chaperone
who’s obviously got a deathwish
of sorts---
with the flood waters rushing
round &
the makeup running down your
face,
scary claw gloves tearing at your
hands &
your little plastic pumpkin
filling up with water,
destroying what little candy you
somehow mustered anyway---
besides, what suffering adult
in such a calamity,
wants to shell out some candy
(whatever they’ve got sitting around
that’s dry)
to some kid whose parents have
the gull to come & get something
from you in the middle of
a goddamn
hurricane?
Categories:
getup, life,
Form:
Free verse
Summit Times Ja Just Gotta Walk Away...
Excusing yourself as if...
going to the bidet,
an immense water closet
(perhaps the size of
Mar A Lago type getup),
sans human waste
(after flushing hearing
heavenly suctioned whoosh)
empties into prez Donald's bay,
where one bum wrapped aforementioned
toilet finely (and finally) enthrones
derriere exquisitely, and, delicately
intricately, chiseled wrought with cloisonné
ah...enjoying simple pleasure a$$ I say
sipping one after another Red Bull, whence
with one final trumpet of the rump -
(as acknowledgment to angry 1%),
though quite reluctantly did pay -
hitting the custom built in combination
handsome replica Taj Mahal fountainhead golf
course made from clay
baked Adobe bathroom links
(whew...long Atlas) shrugging off
responsibilities, escorted
by migrant compadre
Russian Putin lookalike uncannily
also resembles plucked Kernel Sanders
advocating consuming buttered Thomas
English muffins with oreos can delay,
tending to government, who successfully
playfully, melodiously preaches, sermonizes
and absolute zero values benefits burning
off calories, where couples sashay,
asper square and/or contra dancing,
where the caller hollers hip hip hooray
barely audible above
noisy fracas and fray
of crowded house,
avast throng of village people stomp
louder than a quiet
riot global military foray
anathema to dogma,
karma, persona... of
Jacques Cousteau, or green like
minded millennials and/or gray
bearded whelk homed by elasmobranchii.
Categories:
getup, adventure, conflict, destiny, farewell,
Form:
Rhyme
BY THE LAW FOR THE LAW FROMTHE LAW
LAW , ARE YOU STILL THERE
OH I SEE YOUR BIGGER BLACK BLIND ON YOUR WHIMSICAL FACE
STILL BLIND
OH , AS ASPECTED
YOUR USUAL GETUP NOW ME AND MY WHOLE COUNTRY IS USED TO IT
BY THE WAY YOUR BLACK COAT HAS HOLES TODAY
BECAUSE OF ....
YOU SHOULD BE TELLING ME....
I KNOW...
SO ARE YOU GOING TO BY BUGITI OR ROYCE ROY...
YOU CAN MSG ME YOUR OPINION ANYTIME...
DO NOT FORGET TO TELL ME THE PRICE....
BY THE LAW , OH , MY BAD ,BY THE WAY WHERE TO VACATION THIS YEAR , EUROPE OR SWITZERLAND
FOR THE LAW , OH MY BAD AGAIN , WHAT YOU ARE GETTING YOUR HUSBAND THIS YEAR , GOLD WATCH OR A DIAMOND RING
YOU HOLD ME YOU PROMISED HIM , A EXPENSIVE DELIGHT ON HIS NEXT BIRTHDAY
YOU SHOULD KEEPING YOUR PROMISE...
FROM THE LAW , OH AGAIN MY BAD , WHATS HAPPENING DEAR LAW
FROM ONE SIDED LOBBYING GROUPS WHAT ARE YOU GETTING THIS YEAR
YOU MENTIONED ABOUT A VILLA IN ROME , YAH I REMEMBER
A PORCH MANTION IN FLORIDA
AND YOU WERE VERY EXCITED ABOUT IT.......
THIS POEM BY NO MEANS AIMS TO MOCK OR DERIDE ANY LAWS OR LAW MEANINGS BUT IT IS TO REFLECT THE CORRUPTION AND SYSYTEM OF BRIBERY , WHICH IS PREVELENT IN MANY BEARING COUNTRY , I AM AFRAID
PLEASE LIKE SHARE AND COMMENT
Categories:
getup, abuse, angst, leadership, literature,
Form:
Burlesque
Saima who is a young girl from Lahore has adopted the getup of a Joker
After disappointing by her circumstances and the behavior of People
She had faced in search of a Job
She daily sits on the mall road in her Getup
She sells toys to earn a respectful livelihood for herself and her Mother.
Note.Our society needs bill gates charity not some bulsiht DON.
Lesson.Elite dons are causing economy problems for poor families.
Categories:
getup, abuse, anti bullying, anxiety,
Form:
Free verse