Best Jive Poems
The coffee mug
that my ex-wife bought in London
has come to America.
Its printed message says, "Best Dad Ever."
30 years of morning coffee later
hot Java clears sleep from a clogged throat.
This day, I ponder on the merits
on not being the worst dad ever.
Luckily there are no mug logos
that convey only partial truths.
Hillbilly hand jive is the name of this here song.
So why don't y'all come out here and help us sing along?
Yippy ki yay and howdy do.
Y'all put yer arms right in and I'll show you what to do.
First take yer finger and stick it up yer nose.
Grab yerself a juicy one and stick it tween yer toes.
Raise up them there arms and swing em in the air
then run yer fingers right through that greasy hair.
Hillbilly hand jive is what yer doin now.
Run over yonder and tip that sleepin cow.
Now that were havin fun lets run around the farm.
Jump into the water hole and let that catfish bite yer arm.
Now lets go watch some Nascar and drink us lots of beer.
Sneak up on yer better half and slap her on the rear.
Hillbilly hand jive is what we want to do
so while yer up there dancin, throw me that there brew.
Doing the jive in a beehive
Can be detrimental to your life
Performing high kicks
With pointy toed flicks
Will cause the bees to sting your behind
07/08/13 Heather's "Make Me Laugh" Contest
Served hot or cold,
whatever you like.
There's something about it
that makes you feel alright.
It'll perk you up,
if your feelin' low,
It's easy at hand
wherever you go.
The aroma draws you
from the depths of sleep,
And takes you places
where only angels leap.
When you take a sip
of that worldly flavor,
Enjoy the moment,
relish the savor.
You can take it black
or dress it up.
Drink it by the gallon
or sup it by the cup.
When you get that feelin'
that you feel alive
Your thoughts starts reelin'
then you're speakin' jive!
Coffee Jive!
The honey was very well aware
As she went flitting by
That all the goof-offs hanging out
Were giving her the eye.
She didn’t mind they stole a gander
As she saw them standing there
Admiring her newly shortened skirts
And giving her gams a stare.
As long as she wasn’t a real armpit
And hadn’t been around the block
They would try to out do each other
In cornering her stock.
She knew if a hot dog made a pass
She could hail the black and white
And he would do some small time
In the town joint, over night.
Joyce Johnson 01/12/12 For Craig Cornish’s “Talk That Way” contest.
Won a 3rd in contest
Freaks in costumes,
Guised under normalcy
Amongst their own--
Making peacocks to
Appear as paupers--
Disheveled & unrivaled
In this world of their own.
Smoke escapes plasticity;
Drenched with green
Up against the night sky
Out against the city's contour.
Escaping as time
Once escaped with
Their noble youth.
Time surely aged them--
That vile vandal,
The one poets scorn..
Surely she would take
As she can accord;
But then, is it
Not man that leads a romp?
If time is the dance
Then fun is the tune.
Cascading the masquerade
Transcending any law--
Of logy memory.
One must make query:
What dreams await death's bed
Prepped to become political fixtures
mirror practice would reflect their picture
elite hand jive
making signs
first one taught was rock paper scissors.
9-30-17
I'm 62, my young Vietnamese wife is 31 now,
she's dark, beautiful and looks after me:
we're in love, thing is, she loves to jive, morning,
noon and night
it sometimes gets tricky to keep up with her
demands, for example when making a video call
or taking to neighbours across the hedge
the other day she gave me that look, you know...
the one they do when they want something real bad,
and I turned, my hands full of words saying, OK then...alright
I can do the mashed potato
oh yeah, baby, I can do the twist
I can even hand jive
so I'll write it out like this
my hand dances with the pen
gracefully across the page
I stop to breathe now and then
before continuing my glide across my stage
my mind is the choreographer
planning every subtle move
my heart is the director
and my soul gets me in the groove
listenin' to that Rock 'N' Roll
I shake it as I write
life's rhythm flows through my soul
will you hand jive with me tonight?
.
i found hern
yes I did
sprouting
from the pretty uv thuh
prairie
cross thuh creek
and to i
hern grant'd mine
look see
and hern pluperfect wuz
and still
iz
she found mine
yes she did
we argue 'bout it
just for
shuck and jive
but 'twuz 'cross thuh
creek
and i did peek
'bout mine duke's digits
worth
i smiled
and ya knowz thuh
poet...
i shuck and jive'd her
'til her clothez
well
y'all knowz
Jumping Jive dancing
Poodle skirt and long ponytail
I was once sixteen
There is a bumble rumble
off in the bramble ramble jumble
with bees hovering as the sedum flowers crumble,
flowers perched in fading colors reds and browns
as summer welcomes winter to town
and autumn begins to shut life down;
the buzz feed hums in less quiet gatherings
upon the petals of seedling jabberings
where moth and butterfly are now scattering;
the filibuster clusters in hive jive
store combs of honey to survive
and keep the queen protected and alive;
the working drones tightly huddle
their demanding queen to cuddle
pressed around to warm and snuggle;
and every flutter and wing shiver
promises more warmth to deliver
against the snow and cold of winter bitter;
this is the humble bumble's inner blossom
securing honey of flower nectar and pollen
their worker drone waggle dance most solemn,
preparing their bumble rumble quiet ensemble of autumn.
Divin' Deep down there's guttural
gurgles and burbles
Jivin' in the respirator.
I dive deeper, still deeper
than I've ever been before.
The seabed is littered
with littoral lie-there's
just layin' about,
praying to be picked up
by some swim-on-buy kid like me.
It's a jalopy junk yard down there.
Old shells long discarded by hermit crabs
looking for joyrides in new digs
and sporty convertible squats in RV's.
Shells discarded are great do-uppers
for crabs putting on weight.
No one is homeless down here,
for all shells discarded,
are reborn to after-lives
decreed indeed by need
in Davy Jones' Locker.
You know the Old Lady who lived in a shoe,
She led the Autumn Jive with Little Boy Blue,
DJ Peter Piper looked suave and dapper,
The Old Grand Duke of York, *MC and rapper
The Trees of the forest turned up for the rave,
The old Willow sporting a clean cut and shave,
As they twirled gilded leaves in a single file,
There is not one shred of doubt, autumn’s got style
Jack and Jill jived the best in town,
And this time Jack didn’t break his crown,
The cow didn’t jump over the moon,
Thought she’d wait till the afternoon
The Birch and Sycamore thought they had the edge,
As they tangoed into an overgrown Hedge,
Little Jack Horner witnessed this disorder,
And set up first aiders in the corner
The Sycamore gave a ‘wide gold leaf grin’
As the Owl and the Pussy Cat sailed in,
Old King Cole was not a merry old soul,
As he found the Fox Trot ever so droll
Hi! Said the Mulberry “Come on over,”
As she gently rocked to the Bossa Nova,
For the old oak tree, dancing was no mean feat,
As he creaked in time to a rock steady beat
Said the cat and fiddle, “tap your feet,”
Hey, diddle, diddle please take your seat”,
“Mother Nature’s waltzing at the door,”
“Now old winters turn to take the floor”
At Twilight,
lullaby voices will drift afar,
Singing, 'Twinkle, Twinkle little star.'
*MC – Master of Ceremonies
08/11/22
Be creative poetry contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
SHE SANG
" I FOUND A FOOL"
BEFORE SHE SANG
" A WHORE'S PLADGUE"
THEY LOVED IT WE SHE GAMED
ON "THE HO'S AND THE EM' MONGAZ"
WHEN SANG" STANKY FREAK"
GUESS WHO POPED UP AS
A SPECAIL GUEST?
"BIG" RICHARD AND DA BALLA'S"
THEY GOT DOWN NOOKIE, DOING
SAMPLES AND SOCCI"
PINK PANTS AND A BROKEN ZIPPA"
SWEET SWEET PINKY RING
THE HAND OF THE FAIREST ONE.
SHE SWAPPED JIGGY WIT
DEW AND DIM, ON
BROKE DOWN IN SOUTH CITY BLUES"
"THE NIGHT YOU WERE CONCEIVED"
AND THEY DID
" THE DAY YOU WERE BORN" TOO!
THE LADIES GOT MADE BY THE TIME
HE FELLAS SANG
" TRICK ASS BYTCH"
GREAT CONCERT
I BETCHA IF THEY
SANG SUM CHURCH SONGS
THEY SAY SUM THANG BOUT-IT
IN THE CHURCH BULITINES.
"AINT NO CLASS, WHEN IT-
COMES TO YOUR OWN"