Best Jammies Poems
Heard the term “outside the box”?
What box are they referring to?
Sitting in my jammies at my computer
Don't see no box, do you?
A term you hear a lot these days
What can it possibly mean
This old guy is totally confused
Totally betwixt and between
Catch phrases have always confused me
Prefer simple Dick and Jane words
So all us grandpas can decipher them
This stuff is sure for the birds
Maybe I'll get an old cardboard box
And sit me therein for a while
Then emerge and start thinking of stuff
In a clever “outside the box” style
Really that's not at all what it means
Heard someone say emphatically
To go where no man has ever gone
Think a lot more erratically
Now confused much more than ever
Think I'll lie down for a while
Till the world spins a few more times
And I get back my winning smile
© Jack Ellison 2014<>
Cancel email came after work
So of course three of us missed it
Other nine stayed off the ice
Comfy in their jammies
Eating sweet warm toast
Watching TV
Annoying
Us Three
Lots
Fresh shower and a shave
First one I've had in days
Clean pressed jammies, and new sheets
Off to meet the girl of my dreams
I pull down tight on the shades
Hoping against hope I'm not running late
We get together most Saturday nights
When I pull up the covers and shut out the lights
I often wonder where we'll go
As neither of us ever really knows
Where the mind travels in its comatose state
Or where dream girls like to go on dates
We might end up at some fancy dance
Or a beach somewhere in the South of France
It all depends on her or is that depends on me
When I'm out cold with the girl of my dreams
Sometimes I play her hero well
But not that super if the truth I must tell
Slowing moving as if in a dream
Most Saturday nights in my sleep
Over time she has never changed
In fact even I look pretty much the same
Whenever we have a chance to meet
Out on a date with the girl of my dreams
"properly dressed"
if ever you wonder if there is a dress code
thinking of this will lead fast to overload
conserve energy for more important things
take yourself your heart and love too
in return I'll be ready waiting for you
with open arms holding passion to last
our pact stands wear jammies you like most
in high fashion and more to love we'll toast
celebrating concepts of being properly dressed
SkyWatcher
08-31-23
& when you finally die,
they will not let you rest---
for to finally get to enter every orifice
of your once secret world
is something that vultures dream of
late at night,
before cumming in their jammies
to the thought of discovering
what was never ever their business to begin with---
and when they get what they want,
they’ll puncture it with a stake &
run all over the televised town square
amidst interviews with people who will
say that they are your friends now &
family members who will say they always knew you,
all wretches whose boredom in life can be stirred up
into a freshness for a day or so
by the vomiting up of lies concerning a
dead person for the national public.
ever heard the stories of the sap whose **** collection or
drug stash was found by the weeping family members after
the tragedy?
ever heard a story come from the mouth of an individual so very worried
that when it is all over,
the “real” them will be discovered?
unfortunately,
the incessant curiosity of mundane, mediocre minds
has no limit &
to make themselves feel more alive &
better about their own failings,
they’ll stop at nothing to find out everything about
anyone,
when said individual is no longer alive
to ask them politely
to stay out of their business.
Sitting here in my jammies writing away
Now what brilliant things do I have to say
How bout a rhyme
Bout the Roman Empire decline
Or the fall of America if HE gets his way
Suburban Spring
(4.15.10)
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
Middle-class houses
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
After dinner,
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
The Babysitter
Little Patti Mouse
Use to come into my house
And Mom and Dad would leave
And Patti would be mean.
She was the babysitter.
We couldn't do a thing.
We couldn't get a drink
Or go out on the swings.
We had to eat our supper
And nothing after that.
“But Mommy let's us have a treat.”
“Get your jammies on you brat.”
We didn't like Fat Patti
As a mouse she was a rat.
She gave us only one saltine
That had to be our snack.
We looked round at each other
Five sister and two brothers.
“We have to nip this in the bud”
Should we tell our Mother?
Instead the little seven mice
went sneaking to the door.
“ Here kitty kitty, kitty kitty,
Come play upon the floor.”
“Miss Fatti Patti, Miss Fatti Patti!”
Storming to the door...
“You little brats what are you doing?”
Fatti Patti was no more...
The weather outside is frightful
My heated home is so delightful
Hangin' in my jammies don't ya know-
Let it snow let it snow let it snow.
Warmed the oven ready for bakin'
Apple pie is what I'm makin'
The snow blower's ready to go-
Let it snow let it snow let it snow.
Scrolled thru movies on the TV
Picked a classic old John Candy
There's no place I need to go-
Let it snow let it snow let it snow.
The dogs are lounging with me
Cuddled up, they're warm and snuggly
In New Hampshire this is how it goes-
When it snows when it snows when it snows!
A strange thing just happened, I woke up dead
Was winging my way to the promised land just ahead
Angels were singing
To my jammies, I was clinging
Then the alarm went off and I jumped out of bed
© Jack Ellison 2016
A strange thing just happened, I woke up dead
Was on my way to the promised land ahead
Angels were singing
To my jammies, was clinging
Then the alarm went off and I jumped out of bed
She's sitting there, looking at me,
while I pretend that I don't see
that look of longing in her eyes,
that look that comes as no surprise.
It's a forlorn look that seems to say,
Do you have time for a little play?
I know you're busy with your write,
but honestly, you're at it day and night."
I feel guilty; we're off to the kitchen,
so she'll stop her meowing and her b...hing.
With my cup of coffee, and her tummy sated,
We're ready to play as she anticipated.
She bats at the paper balls I toss at her
I throw them at her long-haired coat of fur.
Sometimes she catches one in her paws,
My Bella, you deserve a reward. Applause!
A better roommate, I could never find,
even when her meowing blows my mind.
I rescued her, but she's adopted me.
We're a mutual admiration society.
She never complains when my hairs a mess,
or when I stay in my jammies, but I confess,
if she did, I'd retaliate right back at her,
"You're the one always draped in fur!"
Wistful green eyes are staring up at me.
This time I won't pretend that I don't see.
I've got a hundred paper balls on the floor,
but what the heck, I'll just throw some more.
Adam Actually Aced An Awesome Adventure
Bradley Boldly Baked Bad Beef
Christopher Canned Cut Cold Cuts
David Dunked Darla Dimple
Evan Ecstatically Escaped Every Eagle
Franklin Flipped Fat Franks
Gary Gerrickson Gave Gary Ginton Good Gooey Guavas
Harriet Had Hot Ham
Impish Idiot Igor's Island
Jerky Jared's Jelly Jammies
Kate's Kosher Kitty Kale
Leon's Lovely Lyrical Limerick :D
Marys Many Morbid Mail Men
Nana Nancy's Nonexistent Nymphs
Orange Orangutan Oliver's Oily Olive Oboe
Patty's Peabrained Puppys Pea
Queenies Quails Quest
Rad Raphael's Rolo Rapped "Red Robins Ripped Rose"
Samuels Sadsack Sister Sat
Totally Tubular Thomas Took Tammy's Tempeh
Understandable Underdog Ursula Unfaithfully Undertook Understudy
Victors Vamped Valiant Valour
Waldo's Weird Wolf Went Walking Wistfully
Xavier's Xeroxing Xylophone
Your Yakking Young Yolanda
Zacks Zippy Zapper Zapped Zeke
I bumped my head
I spin in semi-conscious state
hours advance imperceptibly,
and weightily, like glaciers.
The ceeling-fan continued
with its endless litany
thunk, thunk, thunk...
A rationalization struck a chord in my mind...
Why am I here ?
In my jammies ?
When can I go home ?
how will I get there ?.
my home carer found me,
on my kitchen floor,
I was unconscious,
and taken to hospital.
NB: close wall-cupboard doors !
I could have died that night, had my carer not found me.
Elizabeth alexander 16/1/2016
Babies
Babies trouble me.
I am always wary about what
it is that they know –
that they aren’t telling us.
Can their toes really taste that good?
Babies are a lot like snowflakes.
No two are alike. I like to think
they look just like themselves.
No sense saddling them with
Uncle Henry’s nose or
Aunt Harriet’s bushy eyebrows.
Babies are life’s tuning forks.
They emit a vibratory invitation
impossible to refuse.
They also relieve us of our normal
self consciousness and allow us
to be spontaneously silly.
Babies love to laugh and find
it amusing to make us laugh.
We think that babies are dependent
on us to provide what they need.
Babies know that we are dependent
on them – to reconnect us with what
is really important
A smile, a laugh, a tasty toe, a burp,
a pair of warm jammies, a welcoming heart.
Babies teach us to believe, to trust,
to love, to rock in time to a heartbeat..
John G. Lawless