Best Hitting Poems
I’ve finally hit the big time
I’m going to be on the stage
Reading one of my poems
I’m sure to be all the rage
I enquired about my dressing room
Would it have a gold star on the door
With champagne and flowers to greet me
(I’ve read about diva’s before)
You can imagine my disappointment
When I was shown to the ladies loo
Not enough room to swing a cat
And it stinks of wee and pooh!
On 20th May I will be performing one of my funny poems at a local charity event to raise awareness and money for Parkinson’s disease – this poem came about after chatting with one of the organisers
05~05~16
falcon circling high
one two three ready aim fire
falling from the sky
three two one pigeons scattering commotion
the marked one struck in a feathered explosion
02/25/19
Charliekucoup Poetry Contest
By Charles Messina
Christianity: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer so that when you stop it feels so good.”
Judaism: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer because you are a chosen one.”
Muslim: “It feels good hitting other people over the head with a hammer.”
Hinduism: “Watching everyone else hitting themselves and others with hammers and finding it amusing.”
Sikhism: “Letting the Guru hit you over the head with a hammer so that when he stops it feels so good.”
Confucianism: “Hitting yourself and your family members over the head with a hammer, in a highly refined manner, for the sake of the community.”
Theravada Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”
Mahayana Buddhism: “Telling other people that there is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”
Vajrayana Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels fantastic.”
Jainism: “Please stop hurting all the poor hammers!”
Rastafarian: “Let’s make a hammer shaped spliff! “
Daoism: “Hitting yourself over the head with hammer without hitting yourself over the head with a hammer.”
Masonic: “Let’s sell all these stupid people hammers.”
Form:
I woke up this morning and my hair was such a mess
Its grey roots are showing through - oh dear I must confess
This lovely shade of titian red it really isn’t mine
But when I get the colour on I just look so divine
I open up the bottles and mix the liquids so
The mixture smells disgusting; but then again I know
Once I’ve hit the bottle and the mixture is all gone
Grey hairs will be covered so I have to carry on
My hair is dyed I cannot lie, but it makes me feel so great
To eradicate the grey ones it’s really down to fate
My mum went grey at an early age and dad he has hardly any left
So if I couldn’t dye my hair at all I would be quite bereft
Jan Allison
19th February 2014
A player skating on the ice any day,
may steal the puck and go for a breakaway.
One thing will upset any player the most.
That’s taking a slap shot and hitting the post.
A shot in the goal can be a game winner.
He wants to put the puck past the goaltender.
But one lousy break can haunt just like a ghost.
It frustrates the player when he hits the post.
The offense can set up a play that is fine;
if they steal the puck, and go past the blue line.
Scoring a goal can make any player boast.
But how frustrating when the puck hits the post!
Score a goal, and there are sirens and a light.
To see the puck in the net, what a sweet sight!
But one thing that is hated from coast to coast,
is when the player’s shot bounces off the post.
“yeah man, call out
‘aye laddie’ to claim the
ball.” we laughed, and he
hit a grounder, followed by a
pop fly, followed by another
grounder, all thrown back to
the proximity of the pitcher.
“what’s it gonna be like tomorrow?”
I asked. “In the 70s...I haven't hit
since last spring.” Some clouds
loomed overhead and my hairs stood
on end. He hit a short one and paused,
“What are your dinner plans? I
got a few pizzas in the freezer.”
“Wow, that’ll be great weather for the
frisbee tournament then.” The ball
tuckered out of my glove. Dammnit.
He cranked out another one, and the guy
out left managed to haul it in,
“Aye laddie!” The sun peaked out
a bit, and I saw where the clouds
would end for a time. “Aye laddie!”
That one, I caught.
Reds and oranges over the trees, and
none of us believed in sun sets.
Here’s my poem for your perusal,
Though I’ll not grand first refusal.
It’s your privilege to reject it,
But I’ll not let you correct it.
Words transmitted to the page
I have no way to judge or gauge
If others deem a worthwhile read;
Despite that fact, I must proceed.
My target audience, you see,
Consists of no one else but me.
I love when friends or strangers read it;
It feels great, but I don’t need it.
Some would claim such self-expression’s
Nothing more than pure obsession.
Though there’s truth within that statement,
Don’t expect a poem abatement!
when she talks about the past,
she does so with a numbness
that has been developed over
years of trying to push it behind
her---these are the mechanisms
of endurance that had been taught
during years of therapy &
she is suspicious about them having
done a bit of good, because
when she is alone & closes her
eyes, she can still remember
the events that have torn apart her
psyche &
in the most unfortunate moments,
she can still make out the face.
how many men have been sitting with
a new acquaintance & the talking,
be it flirtatious or otherwise,
seems to take a serious turn quickly &
suddenly, so unexpected, she lets
him in on what has happened to her in
the past, no matter how recent that past is?
&
she confides, she tells the stories like
she was reading them from a book,
showing almost nothing left, until the
man reacts & then she might very well
try & blame herself for where, when &
how the abuse came to be---
but there are the statistics &
even if one is so misogynistic
as to believe that all the women polled are
in fact lying,
such colors are shown quickly &
quite often they are exhibited on the side of
the molester, the rapist or the abuser, be him
of the physical or the psychological.
a savage truth exists,
for when she confides, she can never be sure,
even if all her senses tell her that this one is
ok,
she has the torture of the past to remind her &
so there are always walls, always barbed wire
fences bunched up &
a lack of trust that could outweigh
anyone’s.
to think that there are still men living,
who have never had a conversation about
hitting with a woman who has been tormented
& violated,
to think that there are men alive who ignore the
statistics, think they are all lies or just
don’t give a ****,
makes one wonder if this really is the
21st century.
[[[[::::]]]]
jazz piano darting chorus of hips….
bathed raw red for midnight to rest.
-----------------------------
(( for Rick Parisu's Piano Contest))
too bad
so sad
your dad
relief
my grief
you thief
away
hooray
good day
money
funny
I plea
think fool
you tool
no school
your ride
so snide
I sighed
the bar
so far
jaguar
you drink
me think
hoodwink
Alarm
Bursts calm
Day dawns
Loud yawns
Blow nose
Stretch toes
Quick wash
Splish splosh
Grab vest
Get dressed
Gulp tea
Then flee
I'm late
Stressed state
The boss
Is cross
Harsh fact;
I'm sacked
Next day
Hooray
Lie in
Big grin!
27.09.22
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Your Favourite Rhyming Poem From The Second Half Of 2022 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Chamber revolving slowly around, click and then it stops
Squeeze the trigger bullet flying heading for it's target
"Hey it's hit, they've scored a bull," and won Olympic gold
Oh honey, honey. What do you think you are doing?
You are doing nothing, but brewing.
Brewing up all of this hate for you.
He doesn’t want you, and you are slowly turning blue.
Who do you think you are?
I am not afraid to hit you with a crowbar, even though you may think it’s bizarre.
Do you not know what commitment is?
I will just give you a pop quiz.
Do you not see all of the pictures.
I am not afraid to use the B word, but honey I am not afraid to cut a *****.
Do you know who I am?
I am a crazy woman and I would sure as hell give you a slam.
You are telling him that I am a **** and just using him.
How about you look at yourself because your future with him is dim.
Don’t talk to him about how you feel and how you want him back.
You left his heart in pieces and I was the one to fix the crack.
He doesn’t like you, if he did he would be with you.
Haha, I guess you are screwed.
It has taken me years to build up my trust.
But here is the thing is you are in the dust.
I trust him, but not you because you will do anything to mess him up.
You are not gonna be the girl who you plan to use him as backup.
Relationships are hard enough.
After I might be in handcuffs because I am rough and tough.
You think you are so slick.
But here is the thing you are not going to even try to be the side chick.
I already told you to not do this.
I will be the one getting his kiss and you won’t be getting bliss.
I guess you will be dealing with the consequences once I see you.
I think that you should stop trying to brew things because we fit like glue.
Maybe you should worry about guys in your own town.
Because trust me right now you are acting like a clown and definitely won’t be getting his crown.
He is mine and I am very, VERY protective, if you don’t see that.
I trash a lot of people like you because you are nothing, but a brat.
I know you are jealous because he is happy with me.
So you can go take a knee and flee because can’t you see that together, him and I, are running wild and free.
Trembling with madness
Within
I sense your coming
My eyes narrow and glazed
Intact
Fighting with loud and angry voices
Within
I hear you coming
My eyes wide and straining
Harder
Shivering with icy tendons of bone
Within
I see you coming
My eyes hard and pressing
Farther
Pushing with senseless strength
Within
I feel you coming
My eyes open and blindly
Shattered
Alive
And still I die
Aroused
And still I sleep
Alone
And still with you
Always
With you
Awake
Hitting icebergs
[inspired by the line 'awake hitting icebergs' from the song "Hole 356" by Thomas Gardell,
my nephew and godson]
Used to be known as Jester Jack
Been recently writing about passion
Feels kinda comfy in this strange new role
Wondering about your reaction
Funnies were why you all came to read
And expected when seeing my name
Might lose some friends with this lovey stuff
Let's see if my role stays the same
Maybe it's age, why I'm mellowing out
Remembering my passion filled youth
Those days of love wrapped up in a dream
Those days of innocence and truth
Life's made up of many different chapters
Mine's been a contented fairy tale
There's really no chance of anything changing
Till this old guy gets older and frail
At peace with the world, for a while now
What a happy and glorious feeling
One of the fortunate inhabitants of earth
My emotions are hitting the ceiling
© Jack Ellison 2013