Best In Stitches Poems
Twas the night before Christmas and I was a gasp
at the rumors that filled me with an odious fright.
For Santa Claus was now tired of working for free
and would be harvesting organs well into the night.
He would be looking for kidneys, livers and hearts
as well as others too numerous to mention.
All this was designed to lower his cost of production
and help his Elves with their healthcare and pension.
The reporters reported the disheartening news
that dear Santa had put an end to holiday cheer.
And to lock all our windows and batten the doors
to prevent a Christmas which could end only in tears.
Now the Media's record of telling the truth
was often wrong and extremely spotty at best.
So I had faith in Saint Nick and his message of hope
and would not give in to the lies they address.
So I fell into slumber to awake Christmas morning
and put my trust in the jolly old Elf.
But awoke latter that night when the stomping of hooves
caused several books to fall from the shelf.
Quickly grabbing a candle... I flew down the stairs
to see my tree laden with presents and toys.
As dear Santa had come through with his usual flair
and my trepidation turned to wonder and joy.
So I opened a window and peered through the night
and spotted the old Elf at the head of his sleigh.
I heard him yell from afar as he drove out of sight,
'You should rest in bed for most of the day.'
I pondered his point... unsure what he meant
as my body began to shimmy and shiver.
And as sure as the bells that would ring Christmas morn...
that fat bastard had taken half of my liver.
So as I lay in the bed and considered my stress
and the reason for my tension and plight.
But put it aside... when I realized by giving an organ
I put the spirit of Christmas in a more favorable light.
The End
Night before Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Date: Nov 29/2019
Categories:
in stitches, christmas, funny, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
two bible-blabbering, prattling pastors
from two denominational sectors
ended up in stitches and bloody plasters;
those around said it actually began
when one yelled, "faith alone can save a man!",
the other screamed, "only charitable acts can!";
swinging bulky bibles, shouting curses,
they whacked each other's eardrums and noses,
bludgeoned and bloodied their righteous faces;
so ironic, how they maimed each other
for faith, for charity and didn't bother
to heed the Lord's words: "Love one another."
Categories:
in stitches, introspection, people, social,
Form:
Terza Rima
My husband won a contest
On a weekly FM quiz
To prove to all who listen
What a “know-it-all” he is.
The prize is a certificate
And maybe some acclaim
From the kith and kin tuned in
When Jeff*, the DJ, says your name.
A call came through soon after
For the winner’s home address
And Jeff playfully explained to us,
As if it would impress:
“Now when you get your certificate,
It’s valuable to you.
When you go out to a restaurant,
This is what you need to do…”
So we thought, free meal or discount,
But that wasn’t what he said,
Though he had us both in stitches
By what he exclaimed instead:
“If your table has a wobble
In one leg a little bit,
Take your prize and fold and place it,
Very gently, under it.”
Well, this “know-it-all New Yorker”
Learned just what his title’s worth
But it added to our day
With the injection of some mirth.
*Jeff Spurgeon, WQXR-FM, NYC
Categories:
in stitches, appreciation, humor, husband,
Form:
Rhyme
Jack was sitting poker faced
With bullets backed by bitches.
Neal hunched at the wheel
Puttin everyone in stitches.
He was braggin 'bout
This nurse he'd screwed,
While drivin through Nebraska.
Said that when she came,
She honked the horn,
And Neal just barely
Missed a truck
And then he asked her
If she'd like to cum like that
All the way to CalifornY?
See a redhead in a uniform
Will always make you horny.
With her hair net and her white
Shoes and a name tag and a hat,
She drove like Andy Granatelli
And knew how to fix a flat!
And Jack was at the bottom
Of his second 2020.
Neal was yellin out the window
Tryin to buy some beannies
From a Lincoln, full of Mexicans
Whose left rear tire blew
And the son's of bitches
Prit near ran us off the road!
Well the nurse had
Spilled the Manischewitz
All up and down her dress,
Then she lit the map on fire
And Neal just had to guess.
Should we try to find
A bootleg route
Or a fillin station open?
The nurse was dumping
Out her purse looking for a kiss.
Jack was out of cigarettes,
When we crossed the yellow line.
The gas pumps looked
Like tombstones from then on.
It felt lonelier than a parking lot
When the last car pulls away.
And the moonlight dressed
The double breasted foot hills
In the mirror, weaving out
A negligee and black brassiere.
The mercury was running hot
And we were almost out a gas,
Just then Florence Nightingale
Dropped her draws and stuck
Her fat ass out the window
To a Wilson Picket tune
And she shouted "get a load of this! "
And give the finger to the moon.
Counting one eyed jacks
And whistlin Dixie in the car,
Neal was doin least a hundred
When we saw a shootin star.
Florence wished that Neal
Would hold her 'stead of chewin his cigar.
Jack was noddin out and dreamin
That he was in a bar,
With Charlie Parker on the bandstand
And not a worry in the world,
And a glass of beer in one hand
And his arm around a girl.
And Neal was singin to the nurse
Underneath a Harken moon
And somehow you could tell
We'd be in CalifornY pretty soon.
Categories:
in stitches, america, time, travel,
Form:
Free verse
Two sisters it seems lived near Bowling Green;
Each a beauty in every way.
One fair it is told with hair of pure gold,
Eyes blue as the sky in May.
The other brunette, the lovely Collette,
With eyes a deep, warm brown.
Two beautiful girls with masses of curls,
The most sought after girls around.
Wherever they went they turned heads and gents,
Would follow it seemed in their wake.
They were ladies of leisure, used to parties and pleasure,
And their father spared nought for their sake.
A young man came their way one fine summer day.
Debonair and handsome was he.
He charmed his way in, with each sister he sinned;
But he'd learn that their favors weren't free.
Their father was wealthy, his bank account healthy.
The young man thought he'd hit his mark;
But to his dismay he found out that day,
To dally with these girls not smart.
Behind him he'd left many hearts bereft,
And he thought the sisters the same;
But together they came and called out his name,
And their family knew who to blame.
'Tis a very small man who will take a girls hand,
Then leave her ashamed and in tears.
To be left in the mud covered with blood,
Would now be the least of his fears.
Because of deception they'd shared his affection,
Now he would deal with their father.
The old man cried out with a mighty shout,
And the young man began to grow smaller.
A small man I see, a small man ye be,
And never no more shall they see ye.
In a prison ye'll live in a prism I give,
To my daughters where they will keep thee.
There is no escape, this is your fate.
For your crimes now you'll pay the fee.
Ye'll live in the locket I draw from my pocket,
Until they no longer desire thee.
The sisters would share it, each one could wear it,
And he would be theirs forever.
Trapped in the locket he took from his pocket,
Because of his wicked endeavors.
Now the sisters it seems visit him in his dreams,
So he isn't too lonely at all.
Though filled with depression he's their prized possession,
Trapped in that little gold ball.
Kept locked in his prison to madness he's driven,
And the sight of it leaves them in stitches.
Never play fast and loose or attempt to misuse,
The tender affections of witches.
Categories:
in stitches, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
Hearing talented young voices provides such pleasure
In our quest for America’s latest idol treasure
Next year the judging panel will not be the same
The man we love to hate will leave for bigger game
What will it be like without the infamous scowl
Of the Brit who tells it like it is -- Simon Cowell
“That was simply dreadful,” says he with a wry smirk
“You came off karaoke; it just didn’t work.”
Randy asks, "Yo, Dog, what's with the off-key pitches?"
Ellen’s there for laughs; she leaves us in stitches
Kara strokes her long, brown hair, bats her lashes too
Asks Casey to remove his shirt, flirts as he follows through
But Simon never offers consolation prizes
Contestants' egos crash down as their anger rises
If he tells Big Mike he sounds karaoke
We may find Simon adrift in the Okefenokee
Choosing a replacement will surely not be easy
Adam Lambert? Paula's return? Oh, it makes us queasy
Simon will be missed, the show will suffer ratings
Viewers may depart for loss of the man they’re hating
Categories:
in stitches, funny, music, peoplemay,
Form:
Couplet
Love and laughter go together
as do macaroni and cheese.
Like that noble dish of childhood
It’s a combo bound to please.
We laughed until the tears came
at gifted comics of our youth.
The golden age of radio,
it is called and that’s the truth.
My birth family would gather
after Sunday evening news
to listen to their silly antics
which could not help but amuse.
I had one older brother
who was a naturally born wit.
He could keep us all in stitches
and we never tired of it.
Later on the man I married,
kept me laughing all the time.
Laugher filled our lives with pleasure
though we seldom had a dime.
He and I sat nestled closely
as we watched the comics spoof.
Mad Red Skelton played a Santa
who kept sliding down the roof.
Our three beloved children
kept us laughing as they grew.
They all had a sense of humor
and could tell a story too.
Memories of my early childhood
are of laughter spawned from love.
Finding a mate who would laugh with me
was a blessing from above.
Categories:
in stitches, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Broken dreams and shattered wishes,
Souls torn my hearts in stitches.
This girl was so suspicious,
So vile and oh so wicked,
Her words were sharp and vicious,
Like knife thrusts so malicious.
Looking for signs I’m superstitious,
And oblivious to the fictitious.
Green eyes are so lascivious,
Deep stares cast spells like witches.
I absorb it I never dish it,
You’re gone, you left, we're finished.
Categories:
in stitches, lost love, love
Form:
So many more. Just a sampling of favorites, per contest instructions.
For each poet I have included a sampling of titles in parentheses.
THREE OF MY FAVORITES
Gershon Wolf
Gershon lands me in stitches.
In his wise and funny hands,
I can’t help but smile or laugh.
A grin happens, belly twitches.
(Sex Sells, War is Hell; Tingles, Twitches, Creaks;
Scant Solace in the Solstice, Old Bessie)
Caron Krutsinger
Caron carries me to Wonderland.
Her muse and faeries’ mischievous.
Earthbound - school, kids and pets.
Her quaint stories, written offhand.
(Sleeping Elfin Baby, Santa Puppy Begs for Bones,
Unicorn with the Rainbow Tail, Fluffy Fat Robin)
Evelyn Judy Buehler
Evelyn’s poems’ immersed in hues.
An imagistic touch of stirring magic.
God will gift her with eternal colors -
Not one of them, she will refuse.
(Clashing Colors, Scarlet Noon, Green Door, Moonlight Blue)
12/30/2022
Who is your best PS poet or poetess Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Categories:
in stitches, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
Calloused canvas, etched with sun and rain,
A map of toil, where muscles speak their pain.
No crown adorns it, nor scepter's gilded shine,
But in its grip, a legacy entwines.
Not pharaohs' monuments, nor empires vast,
But fields that nourish, homes that rise at last.
Bricks laid true, with sweat for mortar's hold,
A city's pulse, in stories yet untold.
No artist's brush, nor poet's lyric grace,
But hammers tapping, leaving their own trace.
Steel forged and shaped, with fire's ardent kiss,
A symphony of sparks, where dreams don't miss.
Not ruler's scepter, nor scholar's quill,
But thread spun fine, with patient, practiced skill.
Garments woven, warmth against the cold,
A mother's love, in stitches neatly told.
No warrior's blade, nor priest's anointed hand,
But seeds that sprout, at farmer's wise command.
Land nurtured, yielding life anew,
A cycle's dance, beneath a sky so blue.
No sculptor's chisel, nor architect's grand plan,
But tools that mend, held by a steady hand.
Machines repaired, with rhythmic, whirring hum,
A world kept turning, never truly numb.
Not surgeon's scalpel, nor teacher's guiding pen,
But streets swept clean, where children play again.
Invisible threads, that bind a community,
A hand unseen, yet vital, you can see.
So raise your gaze, beyond the gilded frame,
To hands that build, the ones without a name.
For in their toil, a nation's spirit thrives,
A tapestry of labour, where humanity survives.
Categories:
in stitches, appreciation, beauty, celebration, endurance,
Form:
Narrative
When laughter was heard in the hall,
The principle thought it was gall.
When down fell his britches,
The class burst in stitches.
The principle burst through the wall.
Refer to Twain's statement: The human race has but one really affective weapon, and that is laughter.
Categories:
in stitches, funny,
Form:
Limerick
Happy Halloween everyone
??"Trick or Treat"??
Zombie pirates,
Ghoulish ghouls,
Slimy monsters,
Oozing drool.
Floating ghosts,
Warty witches,
Frankenstein,
Covered in stitches.
Bandaged mummies,
Dracula's bride,
Hairy werewolves,
Slicing your insides.
Possessed dolls,
Ugly scarecrows,
Thirsty vampires,
Slurping up blood flow.
Red devils,
Scary clowns,
Possessed princesses,
Terrorising the town.
The grim reaper,
Evil cats,
Scary Mary,
Oh I, Love all that.
Tonight's the night,
For "Trick or Treat",
Kids of all ages,
Eating too many sweets.
Categories:
in stitches, halloween, horror,
Form:
Rhyme
If I could rap, it would probably be about how the people feel
Not just any old crap, you know something with more appeal
Maybe this and that but something thats a little bit more real
Talking of the less well off, not the ritches of all the toffe nose
You might scoff, but not refering to women as *****s and hoe's
Some might cough, I could have people in stitches who know's
Yo! I might not be as thick as I look, one of those simple minds
Rifmic?, I don't know, is there a hook, read between the lines
Some might take the mick, I'd better then duck at these times
Talking about adversity and emotion, talking you are in rhyme
Kind of like poetry in motion, expressing yourself in every line
Discussing all the anachy and comotion happing at this time
Trying to get a mesage across but in a different kind of speach
Talking about faith, hope and loss, getting to those out of reach
Some probably could not give a toss, but I'm not one to preach -
like the future the present and the past tense, not any old crap
It would not be the sort to cause offence, not just this and that
It would be something that made more sense,oh if I could rap
Written 2006 between july august probably to many cylibals
just playing with words some words lines
became apart of poem I wrote called no deeper meaning
written 2008 which is kind of like an introduction to everything else Id wrote
and a much better write
Categories:
in stitches, rap,
Form:
Rhyme
Writing of limericks he sure has a knack
Since he is gone I'll pick up the slack
I need a big word
Something really absurd
To keep us in stitches until he is back
Categories:
in stitches, nonsense, tribute,
Form:
Limerick
Too big for his britches, too small for his cap
Just the right size for mama's lap
He keeps me in stitches, the things he will say
"Oh let him stay little", I repeatedly pray
A little firecracker with ***** to spare
He walks in the house and strips down bare
Not a single piece of clothing, not even a sock
Demands to be naked, stubborn as a rock
Bath time is the best if you'r ready for some fun
Not a dry spot on the wall by the time he is done
There is something about that boy that tugs at my heart
An emptiness inside, when we are apart
His little blonde curls and sweet little face
A perfect little person, thanks to God's glory and grace
I love that he needs me and doesn't want me to leave
Lord knows I need him too, more than I need to breathe
Categories:
in stitches, love, my child, silly,
Form:
Free verse