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Best Heavens To Betsy Poems | Poetry

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Rattling Others Cages

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Rattling Others Cages

Suppose what you said, I were to renounce
Would on my person you start to pounce
And again another game begin to play
Which was called, "Trying to Get Own Way."

Actually, accordingly to my latest prediction
You surely will have produced much friction
And projected to end up in pretty poor shape
Without any doubt at all, lack any escape.

So if ship shape is way you want to be
Reality is our perfect American Society
Become educated and others do bother
Who you find related to a Family Father.

Heavens to Betsy Ross and God forbid
Was wondrous things that ancestors did
Part of pages of sages through the ages
Who thoroughly enjoy rattling others cages.

James Thesarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet


Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015


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Other Side of Red Cloud

I can't recall the exact type of car 
Perhaps a little Plymouth or an old Datsun
In these compiled geographics 
I never really got far 
Due to general dysfunction caused primarily 
by addiction one thing for certain 
though no one but self chasing 
I was definitely on the run 
So up the incline from Indio into the desert plain
the little blue car had a blowout
the Chip bears jacked me up while I was running 
the breakdown lane told 'em just trying 
to make it to the next exit
Of course I'd been drinking Hi-test beer 
but had actually just run out prior
so none in possession-gave me sobriety check
but narrowly avoided their full pawed clout
Next day found me hungover hellasiously 
stuffing a rag into the gas fill hole 
ready to blow up the car in my desperate fit
A travelling motorist stopped shocked
at what I was attempting talked me down a bit
and offered me a ride into the next town
Though not an arsonist I really did wanna blow up
the broke down car-was bubbling up from within
But I seized the opp for a ride probably more
my alcohol level had to be upped before I seized
and flopped like a fish on the dusty ground
So later on that night I got 'nother ride
to the Blythe pokey after I drained a 40 pounder
of whiskey sitting in an old displayed railcar
then took the fast track to the lock up bin
When I got out I called AA and a biker took me
to his home n' had dinner with his wife n' kids
then he carted me off to the Greyhound station
While waiting for the scumhound catch that rebound
started sipping again 'cause had time on my hands
n' only a real drinker like Faye Dunaway in Barfly
movie'd truly understand
So here I am now on the other side of Red Cloud
was the exit I got to so many years ago n' I think
am I really that much better off?
Heavens to Betsy yes! When I think of all God
has done to remove completely 
the merciless obsession 
Today like most of us I recollect I could be
further along but I do have some kind of a purpose
somewhat a service to society even if it is
just delivering crane mats to a nearby jobsite
at least I'm not stealing everything in sight
only to maintain never really getting high as a kite
N' churning up a red cloud my whole world
looking in the window of a little plastic cylinder
shaped object then falling out for hours coming to
with no moment of clarity like Samuel L. Jackson 
referred to in Pulp Fiction
oblivious to it dangling out of my arm n' trickles
of the red cloud dripping all the way down 
off my hand.
4-9-17 DRMF


Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2017


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. Passing By .

I've seen her there, most every day, rocking on the old front porch
She lives alone, I've often heard....she must get lonely on her perch
She watches the world passing her by...seeing her there,...just makes me sigh...
Sometimes I'm on my way to town, ...sometimes on my way to church
She's called out a word...inviting me in, ....but who has the time...?  I'll just grin...
And wave a little....and then...I'll pretend I hadn't heard....is that so unheard of??
Well!  Good grief....you see....I have things to do...important dates!!
Too much to do that cannot wait!!
If I were to hesitate...even for a minute...walk through her gate
Well...heavens to Betsy!!  I might be late!!...
No...I couldn't stop.....!   But I'll wave and smile....For heaven's sake!!
No time on my hands, to simply fritter away!
So I pass on by..don't miss a step....Don't look back,  feeling no regrets!

It's my day's journey...I really must scurry...I hurry away, not a backwards glance
Perhaps another day...then, we'll see......Perhaps another chance, when I'm free...

But then....oh dear,  how would I know, you see, life passed her by, 
And when it was over....well....."that was that!"
But my ears still ring out...from her calling me "Please come in and sit a spell"....
Well.....I must not dwell...what is past is past...

Yet......I don't understand....what's the matter with people??
You see.....I've been rather unwell.....under the weather....Oh, ...it's a bother!
I'm too sick to go out, ...too sick to walk....but no one will stop to sit and talk
What's the matter with people???   Don't they care??
I called out to a friend...but she went on her way....she passed on by
Like I wasn't there....
          Why doesn't anyone care??????


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by Paula's word contest "PASS"


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010


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Seem So Sickening

Seem So Sickening 

Suppose you were a flower who electrified and enchanted
Exactly where would you want to sometime soon be planted
And what I discovered after having almost dying trying
Fragrant flower was with breasts that were well-supplying.

When darn pre-determined diseases had been debilitating
I gathered up all of my facts and started contemplating
Which is when I took another look at my appearance again
Looked like someone who had been half-eaten in a lions den.

Heavens to Betsy and can through in another oh Brother
They had hard time telling one end from the other
I looked like a roster who had gone off half-cocked
And up on doodle do's he was not well stocked.

So what good is a clock who is going tock and not tick
Or from under a table can you perform a slick trick
Being right after you hung up each Christmas stocking
And Santa's wife said to hush up all of the tocking (Along with talking.)

With this ardent and audacious arrangement could not go wrong
Unless the entire whole thing had been only a come along
This is when instead of ticking off plot started thickening
No wonder ticks and tocks seem to sound so sickening.

Ah c'mon. How about just a little, casual chuckle, 
You have somewhere hidden behind your buckle.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran and Poet
PS. Is there a category for impetuous for 
petunias that haven't puckered yet?


Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015


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We Must Act Before Axe Falls - part 2

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham 
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape  
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape 
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink, 
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * * 
At the sheer inanity 
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate 
prejudice and senselessness purr 
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * 
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man, 
woman and child to march....het 
two...three...four, while the billionaire 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * 
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous *** 
   vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs 
   with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
   whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens" 
   labored with nose to grindstone 
   fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * 
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net 
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret 
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017


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springtime in december

oh my gosh
heavens to betsy and all
it is springtime in december
come one, come all
i immediately make plans to head to the beach
i never thought such a great feeling would be this close in reach
again on the road a travel
no plans but no worries
it not matter if it all will unravel
i will stare at the ocean even in snow flurries
i guess i am yearning for the ultimate alternative vibe
i am being blessed by the Good Lord Above....feeling so alive in the element of my tribe


Copyright © Marty King | Year Posted 2016


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Memorial for Her Editorial

They may be making a memorial
For when she writes an editorial
Which happens to be way out far
Making her become a rising star.

Her writing is just like an infection
That seems to spread in every direction;
She has hired a new news reporter
Who was caught on a Star Trek transporter.

Heavens to Betsy as well as God forbid
Transporter went backwards; now she's a kid
Who later worked way up newspaper ranks;
Closest competitors were some old cranks.

Why with her pleasant, perfect personality
She is inhibited with Southern hospitality;
Wouldn't you know it between you and me
First three month's subscription is for free.

So since she recently become a Saint
Picture of her they decided to paint
Which will be hung up by them on a wall
And is so big it takes up a whole hall.


Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2013


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true tell tale signs of spring

despite what outside temperature register 
(even absolute zero), the unofficial arrival 
of summer occurs, when thee eel hip tic, 
barren, *** hymn tote, ova hottie, foxy, 

Earthly, scantily clad, bomb shell nubile 
babe, bra zen lee, ineluctably, innocently
insouciantly, prominently, promotes pro
pry eh tarry, plus risque provocative proxy, 

trigger numb matt trick functions, as she 
doth seductively saunter to approach ever 
so close, yet never crosses mine orbit, 
but unknowingly teases (like a firecat, 

when catch bull struck four), my test
toss tee roan needle swings wildly in
due sing this ordinary system of a down 
mellow male to feel doubly breasted, 

hair reed kinkily, tongue mortised tenon
facilitating flagellated fortuitous forays, 
go win for inflected  miniature escarpment, 
where groan'n pinkish tulips anchored

right at the estuary (nee slippery sluice), 
sans self cleaning coven at the intersection 
of happy and healthy, heavens to Betsy  
bursting provocative cadenzas whence, 

mine skipping heart beat fosters fertilizing 
fecund fresh field, forthwith fallow paean 
seeds of life and White Lily deemed verb 
hot ten fruit, no matter huck cull berry 
finis wrought twig and berries sounding
off a snap, crackle and pop.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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Google Doodle Doo

while soaring the heavenly heights
     many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
     about a million miles below

the rarefied atmosphere
     ideal composition beckoned angels,
     who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
     (which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem

     intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
     and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
     cap ping bulging port folio,

which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
     snapped amidst light emitting diodes
     with a snazzy aura, charisma
     harp pulling, piping, and chiefly

     paying praise (CI years post haste)
     to William Henry Perkin
     whose credit able karma 
     (and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
     purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo

couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
     shutter flying sky sustaining

     self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
     and gratefully huzzahing insinuating

     killing, kindling kissing
     malaria goodbye, an outlook
     (nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud

     respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
     (to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.






Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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Time And Tide Wait For No Man

Or Woman, Or Child, Or...

The following elucidated
     conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
     of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me 
     cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui   
     got pulled by Evan -

Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
     (wads worth to you) 
     speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
     re: out of thin air
     by this half
     fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,

     who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
     Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
     bespoke, when collective
     primates begat enfant terrible
     foo fighting predetermining anon
     metastasizing debacle Yeti 

     bedeviling civilization
     a bajillion years in the future with
     Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
     before even an odd iota
     of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst

     pristine Earth, where
     unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
     continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
     recorded disc contented sow
     sow hogtied pan

dum mo' nee ham, or
     blessed historical events,
     kept (stay'n) alive,
     courtesy"FAKE" Trump
     petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
     qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets

     of sparse *****sapiens,
     i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
     primary, and/or prolific,
     where superstitions parlayed
     (voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
     and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
     digitized, and demented

     oh yea), not
     tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
     asper "time and tide
     wait for no man"
     purportedly by one
     Saint Marher, circa:
     1225 anno domini.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018