I stand about five feet eight
I'll admit, I'm a tad overweight
Drive an old pick up truck
Not one to pass the buck
At the moment have a dog for a mate
Dropped out of school at eighteen
Got married in a pair of old jeans
A father of four
When I sleep, I snore
When angered been known to get mean
I grew up huntin' and fishin'
Done more than my share of wishin'
Been in a few fights
Know I'm not always right
For my age, still in decent condition
In my life, I've worked many hard jobs
Its been said, "I'm rough as a cob"
I've smoked and drank
Spent time in the tank
And never, not once, did I sob
I also love being outside
My old skin is weathered and dried
Still play in the dirt
Cuss when I'm hurt
But I do have a softer side
Poetry, I read and I write
These days, prefer music to be lite
Love trees and flowers
Warm spring showers
And swinging on stars at night
I like women who like to hold hands
Take moonlight walks on the sand
Curves excite me
Whispers invite me
A good listener who tries to understand
I wash dishes, do laundry and floors
Clean bathrooms, wash walls and doors
I'm a pretty good cook
Without a cookbook
To be honest, don't mind household chores
Just so you're perfectly clear
I've traveled from there to here
Simple but complex
Know love's more than sex
And on occasion I cry manly tears
Yes sometimes I even wear pink
Wear cologne to make sure I don't stink
Write poems about birds
Use everyday words
And I don't give a damn what you think!
by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
Listen to poem:
t e t e
a l a l
s s s s
s s s s
l a l a
e t e t
t e t e
a l a l
s s s s
s s s s
l a l a
e t e t
THE CASHMERE WOOL I USED TO KNIT A SCARF
I knitted a winter scarf, a large intricate Cashmere
fancy pants, Gentleman Jim kind of neck clothes people
wear around their previously naked skin between their
heads and their shoulders which really counts if you live
in a below zero weather city with a freezing cold atmosphere
that will make your teeth clatter and clink making sounds that
would rattle even those with the steadiest of nerves.
The type with those strong jaws that protrude beyond their faces
and drive FatBoy Harley motorcycles and could crush you with just
a look from where their eyes sit on their visage which is a strange
word to use here since I think "visage" is one of those sophisticated
words of French origin which is not a raw country type slang kind of
word which would be much more appropriate for bike man a name
I coined myself for Mark who turns out to be an unexpectedly kind guy
the type it turns out suits the word visage in fact one with a great
smile that occasionally pops up on Marks face I actually even
gave him the scarf as a gift (pause) (2)(3)(4), as well as my wallet
my car keys, my credit cards, my pin numbers, my watch...
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016
Trees wear a gown of bright emerald green
Where birds are nesting in branches up high
Parents shield fledglings so they can’t be seen
Until they can spread their new wings and fly
Daffodils dance in the warm zephyr breeze
Bees buzz seeking out these pretty flowers
Yellow pollen doesn't make the bees sneeze!
They will pollinate blooms for many hours
Young lambs gamboling around in the fields
Birds fly high in the sky of azure blue
I love the spring season where nature yields
Our earth’s a stunning place for me and you
Spring brings rejuvenation to our land
The vibrant countryside looks very grand
14 lines 10 syllables per line
Checked with how many syllables
N B How many syllables shows 'doesn't' as 1 syllable. the soup counter shows it as 2... so I have changed it to 'does not' but will amend it after the contest.
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.
That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store
That was your appraised value.
But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.
Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood
“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards
I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter
We scream in misguided nerd joy
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session
Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!
But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!
It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap
My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.
To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”
I chose to be a human this night.
Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall
A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table
Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums
In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form
It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose
At the TOP of my LUNGS,
“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could.
You never responded to my open-hearted palm.
You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man.
But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say!
You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows.
Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday.
So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband,
Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line
Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face
Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall,
With children pointing & laughing hysterically,
“Security” enters the room
As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder,
“Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me.
The Best Man that you will never hold again.”
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
She had so many chances
Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
Just not much coffee in her cup
Couldn’t make a good decision
Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
Should she head south, no maybe north
Still, she was fun at a party
I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, Icing because I’m happy
As the words began to croon
Maybe that’s what’s most important
Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
Doesn’t do things by the book
Once again, I’m gonna help her
Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
If you weren’t such a nut Meg
Contest: Food Fight
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2017
```Pirate Bay the Haiku```
pirates fierce and mean
drowning fish, sea to sea
parrots on their butt
```Polly Wants A Cracker```
bloodthirst & brutal
Quartermaster Gone Wild
dirty wings on deck
```Sea World Adventure```
ship crew goes on strike
sailing the Caribbean
wooden leg splashing
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
You have all heard I am sure of the three musketeers
The group with the swords not the ones with the funny ears
Reminds me of a joke that right here would apply
There are three kinds of people I tell you no lie
Those who are really quite good at math
And those who are not and that's that
They were the three musketeers but they were four
Their math was bad not three, four and no more
I hope you're all still with me, I'm not trying to be a pest
I need you to follow me because at the end there's a test
There is Casarah
Yeah and hurrah
She is a good ma
Then there is Tim
You should know him
He's tall and trim
And finally there is the kind hearted Jan
From England she's the one with no tan
Coy and demure behind her fancy fan
If you kept count that makes three
Who can argue. You'd have to agree.
Now we have arrived at what I am trying to say
I've just joined them and I quite enjoy sword play
Do you see? I am number four.
I'll just walk through their door.
That makes me the best, the fillet mignon
It turns out that I am frikin' D'Artagnan.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
A man with a quiet demeanor
was cursed with a miniscule wiener.
He tried lotions and pills
But not one cured his ills.
Now he's a silent nail hole cleaner.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
His todger though tiny still worked.
When he went for a wee it jerked.
He could still have full sex.
It was rather complex,
but when it was over he smirked.
BY JAN ALLISON
His wee-wee was indeed very wee
to the extent that no one could see.
When asked, “Are you a man?”
He replied, “Yes, I am.
You can follow up stream when I pee.”
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Went out for a night with a hooker
Blonde but thick and no looker
When she saw his todger
Said my dog is bigger
You're taking me for a sucker
BY SEREN ROBERTS
A silent curse shrunk his wee to a teeny thing
I swear it is no bigger than a lil chicken wing
For sex a useless reject
Can't tell when its erect
We make jokes about his miniature ding a ling
Wait a minute please, I won't tell a lie
isn't always small, it's big as apple pie
the winds were mighty chilly
affecting my poor old Willie
now you hurt my feelings, think I'm gonna cry
BY TIM SMITH
Big Bertha said, "It ain't the cubic inches
nope, the part for me what clinches
is strokes per minute
while they's in it
not a tool needs movin' with winches."
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
if you want join in the fun!
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
Benedict was tired, he’d been driving all day.
This was his last delivery, 2 tonnes of eggs delivered to Safeway.
The kid came out of nowhere, stared Benedict in the face,
He tried to brake, then swerved, in the wrong place.
The scene was chaos, emergency services scramble into action,
Ambulance officer, Florentine put Benedict’s legs into traction,
loaded him in the ambulance and quickly whisked him from the site.
The bystanders hoped that Benedict would be all white!
Sergeant Skillet arrived on the scene, he was feeling a little queasy.
A witness came forward and told Skillet the truck went over easy.
Skillet gleefully took a statement, finally a case he could crack.
He poached a pen from Constable Quiche, wrote it down on his back.
The clean up took some time, it was a delicate operation.
The fire brigade, were walking on “eggshells”, had been since they left the station.
Scene commander, Dumpty, directed the crew from a nearby wall.
If things went wrong, he knew he’d be the one to take the fall.
A nearby, protest group, trying to shake loose the yoke of oppression,
were called over to help, clean the streets, for these young folk a good lesson.
It’s not all about being self, centred from the cradle to the casket.
And to remember the old adage, Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Copyright © old man emu | Year Posted 2017
I was inattentive in Science class one day
When the teacher at random looked my way
I didn't look up, I wouldn't dare
There's no escaping that intense glare.
Asked me to explain to the class
Newton's Law of Gravity and mass
My mind was a blank, heartbeats louder
For an answer I started to flounder.
I stood before the class trembling with fear
"Gravity" I said...and then oh dear!!!
I fell off the stage on to the floor
How the class with laughter did roar.
The children tittered in great amusement
They didn't know my sad predicament
The teacher said, "You've demonstrated gravity"
"Although you did it with much levity".
At length I returned to my seat
With many applause did they greet
Now I look back upon this and ponder
I decide to listen and not let my mind wander.
Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.
i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.
she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.
i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
A woman gave birth to a son
named Justice; he had little fun.
If he wanted to play,
his mama would say,
“But only when Justice is done!”
Poor Justice, from morning till night,
tried hard to do everything right.
By the end of the day,
he still could not play,
for his time to do chores was so tight!
His life was a crime with no play!
We all know that crime doesn’t pay.
But were I in his shoes,
having paid all my dues,
I think I might just run away.
Well, sure enough, Justice did flee
and ended up in Tennessee.
With no place to belong,
he felt sad till along
came a girl who smiled tenderly.
Looking ragged, he asked (with some shame)
if the young girl would tell him her name.
“Can you guess?” said the Miss.
“Here’s a clue. It is this. . .
Those who have me don’t take all the blame.”
The young man did not have a clue
what her name was; it was all new.
He’d never hear of
- yet soon grew to love -
this girl and her charming name too.
Today Justice likes more his life
because this girl lessens his strife.
He learned her name well
when in love he fell
and Mercy he took for a wife!
For the Story Poem Contest Poetry Contest of Carol Eastman
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
One dark night a saucer crashed;
the military quickly cleaned up the trash.
In the distance, what they didn’t see;
a thin, white face between the trees.
Once all was quiet, little Gili-ok crept,
from the woods where he had slept.
The rising sun, he felt was great,
but without his transport, he’d met his fate.
A distant farmhouse, he drew near;
he’d find food there; the scent was clear.
To the doorway he did head;
but he was overcome by sudden dread.
Standing just inside the door,
a human creature loudly warned…
“Come no closer, you little freak,
or I’ll put a bullet, a’tween yer teeth”.
Gili-ok stopped dead in his tracks;
he thought about just turning back,
But reading farmer Jones’s mind;
he beamed his message, oh so fine.
“I come in peace, my human friend;
I only want my wounds to mend”.
Old farmer Jones, lowered his gun;
He said, “I see that you are wounded, son.”
Into the house, Gili-ok walked and
they ate breakfast, as he talked.
Old farmer Jones, then smiled and said,
“It’s a wonder, you ain’t dead!”
Guli-ok was soon patched up and
graciously, he fixed old Jones’s truck.
One finger touched the clunker’s hood;
the old sparks fired and that thing, ran good!
“Say, yer a fine repairman son
and I could use a hand on this farm.
Would’ya stay a’spell; help me plant seed?
I’ll give room, board and feed.”
Now Gili-ok knew he’d have to wait
for friends to rescue him from his fate.
Into the barn, he did go and
soon the tractor…out it rolled.
“I’ll be.” Said Farmer Jones, surprised;
he really couldn’t believe his eyes.
Little Gili-ok thrashed a ton of wheat;
he filled the silo, nice and neat.
The hogs and chickens were swiftly fed,
when Gili-ok simply turned his head.
Old Jones, he watched with shock and awe,
as hay bales levitated into the barn loft.
Week after week, Gili-ok did work,
fixing equipment and working the dirt.
The one year there, Gili-ok spent;
made farmer Jones, a rich old gent.
When Gili-ok’s pals finally arrived,
they gifted Jones’s truck with a new hyper-drive.
On his tractor, they added super-warp and
on his house, they zapped a porch.
As Gili-ok waved a sad goodbye,
Farmer Jones began to cry.
Into his head a message was beamed,
“You must forget all that you’ve seen”.
Never again did old Jones need
to struggle planting all his seeds.
His new warp tractor would miraculously plow
and seed his crops; how he was, “wow’d”!
A lesson Jones did learn from this;
to befriend aliens, can be bliss.
He was so happy that he didn’t shoot;
he gave Gili-ok a brand new pair of boots.
As Jones sat up watching the late, late show;
his HDTV began to glow.
It bleeped twice; the pixels morphed
and on the screen was Gili-ok, of course!
Gili-ok winked one oval eye and
Jones waved back, with a sigh;
happy that he’d gotten to know,
that skinny little, alien soul.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2017
Over recent months I’ve had trouble with my hearing…
Misinterpreting what is being said isn’t so endearing
Take a step back and think of all the things you would miss if you couldn’t hear at all
The list is endless but here are a few I came up with
The cry of a newborn baby and your child’s first words
The symphony of the dawn chorus
Music and speech on the radio or TV
Phone conversations or chatting with friends
Going to the theatre or to a concert
The door bell or alarm clock ringing
And of course there are those three little words we love to hear …
‘IS DINNER READY ?’
OOPS I MEAN
I LOVE YOU
I took the plunge and saw a specialist and have been fitted with a hearing aid
Wow what a difference it has made
I can hear perfectly now
From the squeak of a mouse to the moo of a cow
And the best bit of all…
If someone is mouthy and starts to scoff
I can quickly turn my hearing aid off!!!
N B I have to approach what has been and what is going on in my life with humour it is just the way I cope with what life throws my way
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
To chocolate I pay my respects
Some folks say its better than sex
whether milk dark or white
Ev’ry bar I must bite
or I'll get a lack of choccy complex
I NEED chocolate it’s an unwritten rule
I'm a woman not a blithering fool
Give me a constant supply
On days that end with a Y
when choc’s smeared round my mouth it looks cool
BY JAN ALLISON
Most women love something that’s sweet
And chocolate it cannot be beat
Deny them and they’ll pout
Choc is all they think about
Many men think it's all that they'll eat.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She lustingly said to bring some to her room
off went my trousers in a vertical zoom
I gazed in her eyes
but to my surprise
I gave her the chocolate she gave me a broom
BY TIM SMITH
Give me the chocolate and forget the sex
But please don't send it through Fed Ex
It'll melt in the summer
And that's a real bummer
Now that's a problem to vex and perplex
BY LIN LANE
Chocolates make me feel great
I forget the part about weight
If I was a tad thinner
Would think chocolate ideal for dinner
Will settle for sex after eight
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Chocolate is all that she wishes
She loves anything that Swiss is
I brought her a box
She quick changed the locks
Guess I’ll just go sleep with the Mrs.
BY DEAN WOOD
One woman with sweet loving lips
ate nothing but dark chocolate chips.
Her husband's retort?
"To enter her port
is like docking between two battleships!"
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
~Woody Wood From the Hood~
Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree with a hunting knife
You log in, then log out
A Birdman So Fickle, he Stinks of doubt!
Blind today, bald tomorrow,
Big Bird, will be your only friend
I can't seem to forget the day, you shed your final skin
Revealing a darker snake, than the one in my garden
Leaving the word betrayal, up to the imagination
Trust not the fool, who thinks his halo is heaven sent
Using a fake ballpoint pen dietary supplement
Thinning out his wings, and losing the symbolic meaning
Aging in a way, that spreads crows feet from top to bottom
Sapsucker revolving yellow as if it was always autumn
Pecking Hard Wood, MR Pecker of all woodpeckers
Forgetting who's the real Home-wrecker
Your dragging pants are no bother, Mr Woodpecker!
I've gotten used to the tree talking and your creative vision
Let's just say, "Gangster to Gangster, I gave you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign,
Woodstock, on demand, crap out the peanut punch
Whatever suits you for breakfast and lunch
Don't forget dinner's also about me
Peck away with deception, reveal your sullen evil feathers
A disease urine Birdman, doing it snoopy style
A flightless, lightless liar, nothing about him's worthwhile
Keep manipulating the weak, whatever turns you on
I'm not ready to shoot you down with my shotgun
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE
So if my vocal folds can’t collaborate to produce sounds to communicate loudly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can’t there be any mere articulation in my vocal tract to do that? What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate and velum doing? I never knew that emotions could shut my speech tract. How I wish my speech tract could connect to my heart, so that I can give you a cord of love inserted into my heart, for you to put it into your ears and listen to the words my heart says because I am speechless. I had it in my mind to tell you that you are beautiful, eloquent, and charming. When I drew nigh, I decided to start with the word ‘lady’ to show some decorousness. But I realized my lungs couldn’t even initiate the airstream for my glottis to either widen or narrow to cause my vocal tract to produce the voiceless and voiced sounds in the two syllable word, let alone the nine. Should I comply with those who say action speaks louder than words, so that I can gesture for you to get the feelings better? I thought I was one who could speak like a parrot, but I am now slides before you like carrots. But what could make a spoken word artiste speechless apart from the abnormal? OK! Let’s try establishing causality. The moment I saw you, you blinked your eyes, so probably that muted me. So if you could do that again, it may set me free. Don’t wait for me to tell you that you can cause distraction. Don’t go near a podium mounted by a performer, lest, you will cause distraction. Because that image you carry isn’t what you think. Not even a mermaid, more than strange. Please set me free because you are gradually becoming ‘head of Medusa ‘ , rays from your eyes are communicating with mine and making me motionless like lot’s wife is Sodom and Gomorrah. I came out of volition but it is now at your discretion to let me go, so please take off your eyes and set me free.
Tension within me had converted into electrical energy and burnt my speech tract. So what I am going through is beyond dumb. From a distance, I was in haste to meet you, but the moment I set my eyes on you, as though there were a speed rump- I started moving like a tortoise. What broke the camel’s back was when your eyelids became a canon camera and gave me flash, I became static. I wonder why I am speechless. I wonder why I am speechless. Because I am this man who can stand before a lady and produce lyrics more than ‘sarkology’ album, so I wonder why I am speechless. I could make a lady swim deeper in the pool of sweet words, so I wonder why I am speechless. Movement of my negative lips could attract positive ladies, so I wonder why I am speechless. Perhaps we are both negatives, so we repel. How I wish my vocal folds will touch along their edges from my thyroid and open slightly at my arytenoids to create a creaky sound like ‘huuh’ for you at least get the air of love, but none is working. I have thin vocal folds that can produce nice sounds like the lead guitar, so I wonder why I can’t even stammer. My phonetics is not working, let alone deploy my syntax for you to use your morphology in breaking down the words to achieve semantics. How unfortunate it is that my speech tract couldn’t let out the words my mind has been saying since the beginning of this piece.
Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2016
I have tracked my New Year's Resolutions
over the years these are my fantastic results.
2011: I will try to be more attentive to Lauren.
2012: I will pay more attention to what's her name...ah...Lori...I know I'm close.
2013: I will try for reconciliation with Lo.
2014: I will try to be more attentive to Carol.
2011: I will walk 35,000 steps a day this year.
2012: I will definitely start my walking routine this year at 10,000 steps a day.
2013: I will walk once a week.
2014: I will try to drive past a gym at least once a week.
2008: I will not stare at women's cleavage .
2009: I will cut down the amount of time I stare at women's cleavage.
2010: I will stop being so obvious when I stare at women's cleavage.
2011: I will attempt to stop getting caught staring at women's cleavage.
2012: I will stop increasing the time I spend staring at women's cleavage.
2013: I will seek professional help as directed by the courts.
2014: I will try to stop starring at the female prison guards cleavage.
2011: I will not let my siblings push me around.
2012: I will stick up for myself with at least one of my siblings.
2013: I will not let my siblings bullying depress me.
2014: I will talk to Dr. Potter and the group about my siblings.
2008: I will read Clarissa this year all 1534 pages.
2009: I did not read Clarissa I will read Varney The Vampire all 866 pages.
2010: I will read the first 50 pages of Varney The Vampire this year.
2011: I will read some articles in the newspaper this year.
2012: I will try and finish the comics section this year.
2013: I will read one strip in the cartoon section this year.
2014: I will read the fortune cookie thingy the next time I have Chinese Food.
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Contest Name: New Year's Resolution
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it
deep inside of me
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift
it's elegant, poignant,
its not erotic
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it
a euphoric chorus
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical
if read, it would become universal
a meter tethered in clasical measure
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
not a single flaw
not a single flaw
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god
me being me i like to tease
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines
blow your mind
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue
"all my cows milk is homogenized
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep
like to stare and creep"
but you'll never see
the rest of my secret poetry
that only exsist inside of me
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah
sheep will always go baah baah baah
and the perfect elagance
of my literary inteligence
will die with me
never being seen
qouted, memorised or plagerized
as i will say with my last gasp
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***
ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2015
8MILE8MILE . . . . . STYLE . . . . 8MILE8MILE
I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind but no matter where
I go I see them same old hoes
BRING DA BEAT c’mon, c’mon, c’mon HERE WE GO
YEA YEA YEA
They be warin old clothes, exposin them busted ass toez in fishnet pantyhose
They be standin in rowz, striking that silly old pose, workin them same two
So the rumor grows, and everybody knows, that her name is rose, we know
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE, YEA YEA YEA
She got fired from LoweZ, ’cause she stole a garden hose, spent all the money
Yea - Moe’Z ho clothes and fishnet hose, down at 52nd and StrowZ, traffic
really slows when she bends to expose, she get dirt on them knees, when she
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE YEA YEA YEA
AND THE COP SHOWZ
UP, UP, UP, EVER’BODY UP, C’MON UP, C’MON UP
YEA YEA YEA
She putz the powder up her nose, didn’t pay the fine she owez, gives a
discount to the bros
Ever’body froze, then the streetlight glows, that’z the way it goes, for all them
Same for the hoes, az it is for the bros, all the way from Melrose to the
And it’s still the same for the Souix and them Navahoes, UH YEA UH YEA
SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY PEEPZ IN THE POCONOS
YEA YEA YEA I’M OUT
OUT ROLLIN ON THAT 8 MILE ROOOOAD
8MILE8MILE . . . . STYLE . . . . 8MILE8MILE
One Knight Stand Productions
all rights reserved
Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014
Math, physics, English, and so on--
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A stuffy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I do dread
as each semester ends;
the pressure's on me to study
as the semester wends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to take up a new post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS;
degrees from the home of “The Tribe”
are crap that obsolesce.
I'll do rhymes as “Poet's Delight”
as poems are my forté--
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
ballads are my métier!
1.) poembender; 2.) Philosophical motif; 3.) for "Impress me III ! (Old / New)" Contest
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
I don't know what came over me that day - an instant of weakness after years of resistance, I suppose.
My beaming spouse leads me, a dog on a short leash, into the forbidden citadel, the sanctum sanctorum of feminine fastidiousness, the dreaded nail salon.
As we pass through the portal, we enter another dimension, one not of Man.
One of Woman.
Overwhelmed by estrogen, like Superman in the presence of Kryptonite, my strength saps.
The harpies in the salon immediately sense fresh meat, hailing my wife like Caesar in a Roman triumph, gleeful in the knowledge of the barbaric sacrifice to follow. Lightheaded, my eyes dart around, a trapped beast seeking escape.
The sacrificial altar is prepared. The torture device is like a dentist's chair, but with a tub for the feet, presumably where they will drain out my blood. Resigned to my fate, I mount the gallows.
Glancing around, it seems that all the employees are Southeast Asians. Mostly young. Reputedly, they own this territory, like Indians in convenience stores or Italian greengrocers. My personal tormentor is the proprietor, a slim pretty Vietnamese woman perhaps in her mid 50's, with cold eyes and a professional smile.
I immediately sense that I am dealing with She Who Must Be Obeyed. I am commanded in that bossy Asian way to put my feet in the tub, as she turns on the water. Apparently, like some feminine droit du seigneur, Dragon Lady reserves the right to draw first blood from pedicure virgins. My primae noctis, so to speak.
As she sits below me and leans forward to grab my feet, I get a good look at her well-formed cleavage. Maybe this won't be so bad,after all...
As my feet soak, I close my eyes and sink into a Felliniesque fantasy, surrounded by Asian houris garbed in short white Grecian gowns, catering to my manly whims.
I'm getting a semi...
Dragon Lady brings me back to reality, placing my left foot on her toweled workspace.
There's another guy here...
and that SOB is getting a manicure from one of my girlfriends!
An older lady enters the shop. She has an experienced and well-traveled look. Obviously a repeat offender, she immediately begins apologizing to Dragon Lady for her tardiness, meanwhile sizing me up like a slab of man-meat. Dragon Lady gives her a proper scolding, then the horny old biddy tweaks my big toe and flashes me a knowing smile. I wonder if she is packing heat in that big purse...
Suddenly, I become William Holden in Sunset Boulevard. As I make a break for freedom, I am plugged in the back by the scorned Gloria Swanson lookalike.
Then, a cold look from Dragon Lady and my spouse re-establishes territory and Gloria backs off.
Dragon Lady looks pleased as she draws out what appear to be farrier's tools for shoeing horses, presumably to work on my virgin toenails, which I admit are heading toward Fu Manchu territory. A pair of evil-looking wire cutters makes short work of my talons, then she pulls out a chisel and begins removing layers of yellowed nail until they are smooth and white.
Nice. I can take this.
Then she removes the cuticles and pushes back the skin.
Holy crap! I think she just popped my cherry! I see blood on my big toenail. I take it like a man. A bead of sweat runs down my brow.
She finishes the flaying job, puts the foot back into the soothing bath and begins carving up the other one.
"And women pay for this?", I think.
"You like massage?", she asks.
"Massage?" I glance at my spouse nervously, wondering if she intuits the direction of my thoughts.
She points to the control panel on the chair.
"Why, yes. Yes I would!", I reply.
Anything to take my mind off my pending amputation.
"All the way?"
I suppress my licentious thoughts.
"Warp seven, Mr. Sulu."
"To infinity, and beyond!"
She got that one, and turns on the machine. Robocop immediately digs deeply into my neck and spine with his titanium-steel fingers, plowing my vertebral column like a John Deere cultivator. My central nervous system releases a flood of endorphins. The cocktail of pain and pleasure is a masochist's wet dream.
The surgery going on downstairs dissolves into the background...
Dragon Lady puts the second foot back in the tub and removes the first. She pulls out a big cheese grater and goes to work on the bottom of my foot. I don't have thick calluses, but she produces a pretty respectable pile of Parmigiano. Makes short shrift on foot two. My smooth feet now look like a baby's.
Not too bad, not too bad.
My spouse shoots me the old Told You So look and smiles.
Dragon Lady now pulls out the pumice for the final polish. As she goes to work on my foot, nerve endings now exposed after many years return me to infancy.
It tickles! Oh Momma, does it tickle!
I'm giggling like a young girl. I can't stop, and I really don't want to either. The entire salon joins in my giggle fest.
Dragon Lady doesn't let up for a second. She is giggling too, and for the first time I see the young, innocent Vietnamese girl buried deep inside.
Then I see the napalm and burnt village.
And all the rest of it...
I see and she sees. We each have seen... too much.
She smiles sadly. As do I.
My next appointment is in a month
I'll be there.
September 11, 2014
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2014
On the Isle of Man lives a Ninja girl
Daring in her act, makes your toesies curl
She has a pretty face
And sips her tea with grace
Be not taken in – she’s no fragile pearl.
Sent with hugs by Lulu` Pascal
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015