Best Hit On Poems
An old gal applied to join Mensa
Gee she couldn’t be any denser
She went in the wrong door
On the thirty third floor
And there she enrolled as a fencer
When attending her first fencing class
A man scored a hit on her huge ass
She screamed out so loud
It drew quite a crowd
She cannot abide failure – its crass!
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
She hollered and screamed for a medic
I swear it was worse than a dead duck
one without any wings
oh the horror she sings
she's much more than dense she's pathetic
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
She swore that she really could spell
And in math she did surely excel
But once she felt pain
All she did was complain
And whined as her sore butt did swell.
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
That old gal then became a method actor
but one thing soon became a huge factor
she forgot all her lines
her mentality declines
now she sputters like a John Deere tractor
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Her butt was so sore she bought leeches
Gently placing them in her breeches
To suck out the bruise
We could hear her oooh's
I felt sorry for the poor creatures
Her butt was so big like a whale
all that was missing was it's tail
so they stuck a flag up her ****
called it the new Khyber pass
she went a whiter shade of pale.
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
"Am I smart?" is what she kept asking
In glory she hoped to be basking.
Suddenly she farted.
The whole room departed.
Now finding fresh air is their tasking.
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She sat for the test with all smiles
Filled out the forms and the files
But she spelled her name wrong
Became twisted of tongue
And was thrown to the crocodiles.
WRITTEN BY RICHARD D SEAL
07-17-17
Seems the old gal was a talented tart
Clearing the room with but one single fart
Wiping their eyes
All those wise guys
Soundly applauded her flatulent art
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
07-18-17
In southern Colorado,
that old Rocky Mountain state,
beneath God's azure heavens
is a place called Turquoise Lake.
I'd been driving all around,
it was time to take some lunch.
The lake looked right for fishing,
at least that was my hunch.
After chow I got my gear
and headed for the shore.
I tied on a jitterbug,
who could ask for anything more.
Weedy cover on the left
set off a loud alarm,
but I was casting to the right
just to limber up my arm.
From behind an old man came,
he'd been watching for a while,
"Surface lures won't work out here,"
he mumbled with a smile.
"You know this is a trout lake,
they won't hit on surface lures,
so get yourself a fly rod
and you'll catch some fish for sure."
Now just as luck would have it
you know where the next cast goes,
it's just off of the weed bed,
how that water did explode.
A Rainbow Trout grabbed my lure
and started on a run.
I was fishing ultra-light,
it was really lots of fun.
The oldster stood in wonder,
said he never would have thought
that on a rig like I had
a Rainbow could be caught.
Reluctantly the trout gave up,
he came in without delay.
I gave him slack and he was gone
to fight another day.
If only I could respond to this woman who shrieks
Who knows so little about whereof she speaks,
Belittles comments she so desperately seeks
Her social and political rantings go on for weeks.
I am amazed that her poetry is so ungrammatical
We would all be better off if she took a sabbatical,
Or spent her time in some more profitable pursuit
Hasn’t she learned that most of us don’t give a hoot.
Today she ignored all the facts and hit on vaccines
Spewed more venom on our president, it seems,
Took a few shots at the world situation in general
Has nothing positive to say, it borders on criminal.
I’ve noticed the recent absence of others of her ilk
They seem to have wilted like early fall cornsilk,
Apparently, folks like her do not fade with neglect
Poetry Soup is best when everyone shows respect.
Those poets who choose to share their beliefs
Are welcome, great; hatred, however, offers no relief
Putting down my country, my president, my politics
With disrespect, I will respond to these lunatics.
Written October 1, 2021
44th on Best 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, October 3, 2021
POEM OF THE DAY
October 2, 2021
Nemesis
The pay back Reward that await
Intelligent humans
Nemesis
It hit on an unexpected
Moment
Nemesis
I see it coming soon
To all evil paparazzi's
All over the globe
Nemesis
is the God
That fights for the innocent
Nemesis
Is about to catch up
With them that takes
Away our freedom
Nemesis
No man can escape
It
No matter who
You are!
"Book Worms" Posted 1 Feb 2021
i'm reading a book about anti-gravity I can't put it down
that bio of Led Zeppelin's guitarist is a real Page turner
don't miss this: "Dummies For Dummies" by Charlie McCarthy and Lamb Chop
i'll admit there is a time and place for books in my hand and right now
in one college course we read books about candy the class was Choc Lit
today I got hit on the head by a book I have my shelf to blame
[humor attribution: all humor found online of unknown origin]
"But Weight, There's More" Posted 8 Feb 2021
for some of us during COVID overeating is a weigh of life
when i feel plump i tell myself i'm not overweight, i'm undertall
those who sell books on dieting are living off the fat of the land
darwin's theory of sumo wrestling the survival of the fattest
during lockdown, i'm on the seafood diet i see food, i eat it
i saw my doctor and asked him what kind of shape i'm in he said "pear"
[humor attribution - all were found online, of unknown origin]
"Groucho Marx Edition" Posted 15 Feb 2021
if i said you had a gorgeous body would you hold it against me?
i would never belong to a club that would have me as a member
be open minded but not so open minded that your brains fall out
i never forget a face but in your case, i'll make an exception
i have had a perfectly wonderful evening but this wasn't it
those are my principles and if you don't like them, well, I have others
All humor attributed to the inimitable Groucho Marx
"Occupational Hazards" Posted 22 Feb 2021
my dentist's motto be true to your teeth or they will be false to you
bakers trade recipes with each other on a knead to know basis
I called a budget exterminator he came with a flyswatter
the butcher backed into the meat grinder and got behind in his work
a back- and neck-straightener in Egypt is called a Cairo practer
don't call me a plumber I am a "broker in new and used water"
[Humor attribution - all humor found online, attribution unknown]
Today, I had a chance to ask his widow, Laurie, about this story. She
confirmed that it did happen, and he came home from work that day excited, and
told her and their 3 daughters about the event.
And sure enough, shortly thereafter, the song became a hit on the radio, and
M.T.V., in those ancient days when they actually played music.
This news brightened my day considerably, and I'm happy to share it with you;
so when you next hear that song, remember my good buddy, Mark Trotiner, the
uncredited genius behind it.
tom bell
"Everything You Can Imagine"
There's a part of me that wants to do as it pleases
And a part of me that don't make sense
There's a part of me that calls out to Jesus
And a part of me that rides the fence...
There's a part of me that walks the edge in the night
And a part of me that I don't know
There's a part of me that want's to give up the 'fight'
And there's a part of me that won't let go...
'Cause I've been lied to...Spit on...
Pushed down...Hit on...
I've been Cussed at...Cheated...
Used and Mistreated...
Everything you can imagine....
But I wouldn't let go...
Nothing but The Blood could set me free
So I called out to Jesus...here's what He said to me:
There's a part of me that lives inside of you
And a part of me that won't let you hide
There's a part of me that always sees you through
And a part of me with arms open wide...
There's a part of me that lived the pain you feel
A a part of me that died for you
There's a part of me with power that's real
And a part of me that makes that 'old life' new...
Nothing but My Blood can rescue you
So call on My Name...I know what you're going through
'Cause I was lied to...Spit on...
Pushed down...Hit on...
I was Cussed at...Cheated...
Used and Mistreated...
I've been through everything you can't imagine...
But I wouldn't let go...
Because I loved you...
I wouldn't let go...
~by deborah burch©
3/31/2012
Sometimes I feel trapped in a little box.
That box is surrounded with mirrors inside.
Sometimes I see a light in one of the corners.
Sometimes I try to open that light more to get out,
I try, and try so hard suddenly it goes off.
Sometimes of trying so hard, I give up, I cry.
The mirrors get colder, as I cry.
When the light disappears and comes back,
I look at my face in the mirror.
Sometimes I hear voices.
Those voices can't hear me,
I try to scream, I hit on the mirrors beside me.
Sometimes I try to do anything to get out, I get sad.
Sometimes, as time passes me by I get older,
I survive without food, and water.
I think I'll never get out of here.
Sometimes, I've wondered has it been forever?
I'm fraughting with fear
Fear of rise in temperature
Fear of sinking blood pressure
Fear of developing a lump
Fear of a funny happy jump
Fear of cough and cold
Fear of every pain untold
Fear of burns in throat
Fear of blood and bloat
Fear of lump in the chest
Fear of throb in the heart
Fear of pain in the tummy
Fear of puking after eating yummy.
Fear of needles
Fear of plasters
Fear of pills
Fear of fluids
Fear of oxygen pipe
Fear of nebulization mask
Fear of blood reports
Fear of monitor bleeps
Fear of critical unit walls
Fear of emergency calls
Fear of dying without living
Fear of nothing that siezed my everything
Where has this fear come from?
When in my brave soul has it taken form?
I win the palm battling with it
Still, it comes back without any guilt
The reason for its popping up I pretty well know
It does take shape whenever my health goes low.
I haven't knowingly blightened my body, I swear
But an unexpected illness always like a crown I wear.
Rushing to the doctor many a time
Germinated in me this fear for a lifetime
Now it's time I take the sword
And hit on its back oh! so hard
Come what may, I'll not succumb to it
A candle of courage in me I have lit.
It's time to take the nerve and cut its throat
To wield a dagger as its antidote
How long on my head will it sit?
No, no not anymore will I be guided by it.
Depression is not treated by putting on lip stick
you stand in the mirror and put on the tears snot
drooling in your mouth behind the curtains awaiting
to go out on stage and face an eager audience depression
stings like a bee you painfully feel it you can't hide by journaling
writing poetry being clinically depressed takes constant
medication to control the chemical imbalance inside the brain
every brain in different although everyone gets sad it's a human
emotion being depressed for life is a cancer that has to be
treated professionally or the consequences can be very fatal
millions die every year from suicide sadly homicidal suicides
no one should encourage anyone in such a state to just write
a book glamorize depression this euphoric thinking results
in suicide notes and suicide planning this can be a dangerous
ticking time bomb without medication why all suicide notes are
poetic lyrics mental health ptsd are not a greatest hit anyone
I mean anyone in such a state needs to put down the lipstick
put down the pen stop typing suicide notes do yourself a favor
and make that call I did thirty years ago I am still taking
medication in therapy and writing poetry I'm alive I survived
my own suicide many are not alive to tell their story or just
write poetry or publish a book don't be a deadline the greatest
poets are read only after death don't make your suicide note
a greatest hit on your own life save yourself save someone you
love get help stay own your meds clock is a ticking notebook
by: yolanda nicholsen
written 2-14-2024 2:07 am.
valentines day.
In loving memory of Virginia Woolfe
Death of my Friend
Found was the key to heaven's door
this pain I can bear no more
The shadows that eat my long nights
the guilt of that deadly fight
Ages ago tragedy came sailing in
took the life of you my friend
A drunken party that went so wrong
our lives becoming a sad song
I begged you to not dare drive
if you done so you'd be alive
My guilt in not forcing you back
you car hit on that train track
Death came instantly to my friend
for me pain that will never end
I backed down when you hit me then
your funeral I'd not had to attend
You that always got your own way
should have never died that sad day
Now I see your fate was meant to be
you died young, a soul early set free!
Robert Lindley
note: Death of my friend. I tried to stop him
but not hard enough.Too drunk to safely drive but
when so young we thought we were ten feet tall and
bullet proof!
Maybe we were but just not speeding train proof..
Rather than knock him out I let him go.
Car was hit by a train and death was immediate..
Twenty-one is too young to go..
To stop the myth going around that Santa is a Scotsman, a huge hit on the radio here. So fo those that believe this is the truth.
Santa is a Yorkshire man everybody knows that
You just say he is Scottish, cos he’s round and fat.
Well Yorkshire men can be the same they are not all dud
All year on the beer and whisky
Washed down with Yorkshire pud.
Santa is a Yorkshire man everybody here knows that
You say your Scottish Santa’s Glow warm, red and fat.
Well Yorkshire Santa’s have glowing bits, but they keep them out of sight
Except on Christmas Eve when their pants have got too tight.
Santa is a Yorkshire man so stop making such a fuss
A Santa who know what’s what, so you can call on us
If your chimney is too tight, Yorkshire Santa will let you know
He’ll leave your present’s elsewhere, and you will have to go.
To collect you gifts is your own fault if your chimney is too small
Don’t expect him to get up there, he doesn’t want to fall.
A spade is a spade wherever you go Santa will tell you that
If you want to get your presents early, try Ilkley moor bar tat.
They meet there on Christmas Eve to swop gifts and stories too
That’s why they all have glowing bits, I bet you would have too.
He doesn’t have time to mess about, you people should know that
Santa is a Yorkshire man, there’s no more to say that’s that.
GOD Can’t You Change These Grandchildren?
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
You were there when they were born
You fed them
Changed their diapers
Followed them and their parents around the United States and some foreign countries
You studied with them
Went to school with them
Gave them money, praise, and love
And never a word of thanks
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren
They get on Facebook and Skype
Saying nobody has ever done anything for me
Did they give birth to themselves?
They didn’t have jobs, did they provide for themselves?
You bought prom dresses, caps and gowns, furniture, and paid fees
God can’t you change these grandchildren?
You pray for them
You offer them comfortable places to sleep
You try to show them how wonderful and valuable they are
And yet they don’t believe
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
You bought postage stamps for them so that they could write you
Not one letter did you receive
You sent invitations to celebrate and come and visit
They wanted you to pay for boyfriends and other kin
And now that they are adults that are full of rage and pain
How dare tell the world a lie
Nobody ever did anything for me
How dare they have babies and never bring them to visit
But when they need money here come the sob story
GOD can’t you change these grandchildren?
Love is unconditional; I really believe that’s true
So what about a phone call, a hit on Facebook, a text, a tweet?
An Instagram just to say I love you, or I’m fine, I’m okay
Post a picture or a happy birthday
I love you grandchildren
Maybe one day I’ll do something and you can stop saying and posting
Nobody ever did anything for me
Love GOD and your Grandmother
’t You Change These Grandchildren?
They invade the cafe at first light
Then with latte and laptop held tight
They seize tables for four
To let go nevermore
So all others drink coffee upright
With a bored intellectual stare
That one hankers to be Molière
If he's writing a play
For a hit on Broadway
Then its plot must involve Solitaire
One's quite the scientific young chap
For which typing is no handicap
He must write his thesis
By psychokinesis
Cause the keyboard gets hardly a tap
That one with the big apple fritter
Is researching a mental transmitter
He's receiving the thoughts
Of strange cosmonauts
Transferred through Facebook and Twitter
Perhaps you will think I'm pretentious
And more than a little contentious
But it's just a disgrace
To monopolize space
And I think that's the general consensus
World is full of witches
I'd love to write on them with stitches
Would you like to talk about your daddy issues,
I got time, lets break out some tissues
You say you want honesty
Your reaction while receiving is deceiving
Your say you and your man share many loving moods
Why am I sitting at a bar watching you hit on another dude
Yours is at home, if he knew he'd regret
Waiting for you in front of your television set
When you come home tossed
He'll make you food while you feel lost
You know you should give yourself to him
Your denying him the right to get in
You want him to beg for you
Just keep doing what you chose
Your love soon enough will be dismissed
He wont be around to kiss.
Happens with one man, ok
Happens with the second man..eh
Happens with the third man, yikes
Maybe a therapist in your future isn't out of sight