Best Lam Poems
Did you ever have the feeling there's a man in your can?
Or a ball down the hall with an eye to spy?
Sometimes I'm sure I have ants on a tour of my house without cure.
And sometimes I know there's a pup in my cup, yelling "Hey, what's up!"
And that white ram in the door jam well, he's on the lam.
That's the kind of paranoia I live with each day.
I admit I'm delusional in a big way!
Some visitors are quite friendly like the girl with a curl under my bed with Earle.
But Bower in the shower, well he sings for hours!
And the lady named Sadie why she is quite shady!
I like Randy. He always has candy.
But the man looking at me in the TV, him I wish I couldn't see.
All the brunettes in the cabinets, they love to dance about.
But that meanie named Bellini, him I could do without!
The cat in my hat I don't like at all.
And I get quite nervous when Saul runs down the hall.
The bears on the stairs taunt me without a sound.
And so do the others who like to hang around.
Like Bert, and Mert, and Kurt, and Gert who live inside my shirt.
I don't care if you don't believe it, find me my straitjacket. I'll never leave it!
*Based on the book, There's a Wocket in My Pocket
for Dr. Seuss Theme and Form contest (Joann Grisetti)
Seventh Place
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
My beginnings were ever so humble
To this day I wear others' rags
I'm bungled, fumbled and tumbled
My owner usually brags
Diamonds all shapes and sizes
Multicolored rainbows and rings
Always loved and needled
And thrown on kings and queens
You can buy me at a boutique
If I'm given I'm normally at my peak
In the summer I go on the lam
Please tell me what I am.
challenge from Linda (Poet Destroyer)
anyone can answer please,feel free
For: Scavenger Hunt
In Honor of: ~Constance~Rambling Poet
Rambling around in a traffic jam,
Poetess naked and on the lam.
Constance’s very neat trick,
Behind a thin chopstick,
In the buff, dreaming a bluff, dream scam!!
Though diligently she did try,
`T was a failure to dignify,
By her most classic stance,
For without any pants,
Did lose her chance she had to buy!!
Note: From Constance's Poem "Traffic Jam"
little piper, little piper
oh how fast you skip away
as the morning tide crawls in to taste the beach -
briny swishes bring your breakfast
while you prance to greet the day
and they never seem to wet you
like you're privy to the chosen course of each ...
little piper, little piper
such a ballet you perform
when you twirl and pirouette your dainty feet -
darting in-and-out the sea foam
just to keep them dry and warm
all with perfect form and motion
so as not to warn those little things you eat ...
little piper, little piper
you're the bane of every clam
watching closely for their bubbles in the sand -
oh, the hermit crabs are missing -
each-and-each now on the lam
and the hot sand gently hissing
as you try to sate your hungry chick's demand ...
little piper, little piper
all day long your work persists
as your tummy and your wee one both are fed -
so with food enough to sleep on
'midst the creeping twilight mists
and as purple shadows deepen
comes the time to sing your little one to bed ...
little piper, now you dance in dreams ... instead.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Special 2 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
A sheepdog who was really quite confused
not sure how to herd or just what to do
first day on the job
surrounded by a mob
of sheep who felt the same way too,
He'd run one way the sheep the other
till they swarmed upon him like a cover
they stood on his feet
he said ouch, oh bleat
feeling like he was going to smother,
Squashed like he was in a sardine can
he poked his head out wanting a new plan,
he barked I quit
give me kibbles and bits
this sheepdog's about to go on the lam!
1-6-18
Poem for picture #3
Please do not take your
pomegranates for granted,
especially if you have the
last one on the planet,
a smart person would
take some seeds out
and plant it,
but couldn't if the
government suddenly
regulated everything
and banned it,
then someone who
was still a maverick,
would risk his life and
have to go on
the lam with it in
order to plant it,
and people everywhere
would uprise and not
stand for the banning
of the pomegranate,
and before you know
it there would be a
bumper crop of
pomegranates again
that would surpass it,
letting people to
have the freedom
once again to
make their tasty
fruit salad!
''Bare''
Dead whilst alive,
Forgotten yet solidly visible,
Underestimated but still the best there is.............
The sound of disappointment!
I am searching for a boy long forgotten,
Left for the bushes, never returned,
Still finding himself among st devours of life and thorns of deception,
Running for the hills,
In search of his purpose.
My peers Doctors,Soldiers and Focused!
I lay awake with my hair uncombed, blowing trees day dreaming of what
would be.....
The stains within the heart visible enough to bring tears into my
mama's eyes "Where is my boy?"
So lam running and running,
Never stopping, my blood pumping,
My spirit diluted with doubt and impatience,
My mental troubled with anxiety, panic attacks .....screaming and
bleeding ,
I hold on! I bow my head! I leave it all in the hands of Christ! I
still fight.......
I am looking for myself.
(Revised with new homophone added in. Thanks for the catch, Becca!)
*Wants upon **uh thyme inn uh would, uh vary gneiss prints named Hairy
met inn the missed, hi awn the bow of uh tree- uh ferry named Tarry.
The ferry felt lo, fore he was week, and he was inn knead of sum meet.
He bald, “Whoa is me. Eye cant even stand hear awn my own too feat!
My pour hart is braking, and I’m inn pane. The last thyme that eye eight
was daze ago. Ewe sea, I’m inn uh hays and due naught feel sow grate.
Eye parish and long fore whine and ham. Even bettor wood bee lam!
Butt eye wood settle four uh peace of bred with sum suite bury jam!”
Prints Hairy new he had sum mince, sum Tick Tax that **whir inn the pear
of gnu read genes he war. He took them out and waived them inn the heir.
*“Lickerish to, eye halve write hear!” Prints Hairy tolled the ferry.
“Its naught much, butt pleas dew eat. Later awn, wheel dyne and make marry.”
Prints Hairy placed the ferry Tarry aun his pail ***wight hoarse.
Then aweigh the roil with the ferry hastened aun his homeward coarse.
Awl day long they road and road. ***Wen the ferry started to grown.
Suddenly, from the hoarse, both the man and ferry whir throne.
Hungrily they paste beneath the setting son and threw the knight.
They pressed awn until mourning. Hairy’s residents came inn cite!
Prints Hairy’s wife had supper ready, and she’d maid uh pi.
From udder happiness, the ferry thought that he mite dye!
She *heeded up they’re food four them. They both had groan sew pail!
She listened as the ferry Tarry tolled his tragic tail . . .
of how heed lost his weigh and, four food, had knot won crumb
until her deer spouse rescued hymn. At last, his prints had come!
Written April 10, 2015, using homophones from various lists.
Note: I did not use letters, for example, U for “you” ; they were not on the lists I found.
Neither was “hee” which I was going to use for “he.”
The main list used was The HOMOPHONES LIST of John F Troutman and Joy A Miller
* these are a few more homophones I found on Wikipedia’s list.
** these homophones appear on Homophones.com, perhaps the most comprehensive one.
*** These homophones, perhaps antiquated, are from Suber & Thorpe British English
One day, a convict got away, and went out on the lam.
And on the sly, he did buy, his very own kitchen cam.
Wanting to glow, in a reality show, though not a ham.
This jailbird, much preferred, to star in the Joy of Spam.
For Rhyme Battle contest
He plied the Mississippi River on the paddle wheeler 'Dandy Dame'.
Gamblin' was his profession and three-card monte was his game.
He became very creative at palmin' that elusive ace of spades.
Such dexterity and sleight of hand he had practiced for decades!
He embarked in Saint Louis for a cruise to the town of New Orleans.
On his arm hung one of his gaudily dressed bordello 'queens'!
He wore diamond rings on each finger and impeccably tailored suits,
A homburg hat, pearl studs, gold-tipped cane and alligator boots!
He toted a concealed derringer just in the event there was trouble,
And he took a table near the door so he could lam on the double!
He ordered Jack Daniels bourbon for the dudes he was soon to con,
And sized up the naive and hapless victims who dared to take him on!
The gambler let others win a hand or so to make them feel at ease.
His shill closely watched as the gambler, his moment was to seize!
His winnin's piled up as bettors tried to locate the shiftin' ace.
Losers dropped out of the game and other suckers took their place!
One astute monte player saw the scam and called the gambler's hand.
He drew his forty-fours, chairs toppled and folks fled to beat the band!
The gambler drew his rod but he met his God, blood oozin' on the floor!
His sobbin' 'queen' clasped him to her breast to know his love no more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Paula Swanson's "Pick A Card, Any Card" Contest - Jun 2011
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
It was not a dark and stormy night
The night was not sultry nor moist
The sky's color didn't please the knight.
The Knight was a gentleman since his youth.
That that Knight had had a thing for mares
of the night was not whatsoever an untruth.
But today, he is OK, managing his wares.
The firmament was red and raining.
It rained blood. 1920! I was eight.
The Knight was fond of chess playing.
When he saw a white knight
was missing he rushed to the stable. The horse ate
the knight!
Luckily, his rival, the Czech
had brought with himself a board.
Thus, it's impossible to be bored!
Nevertheless, the Knight punished the horse
for eating the knight. What a night!
And, although the Knight's voice was hoarse
as a crow he made sure the cheeky horse
would behave. "Now back to the stable!"
At this point, the Knight, didn't feel stable.
Now, let's go back to the chess match!
They did make sure the pieces match.
And the Czech, ludicrously, bust out a match
for his cigar. Now, not a missing piece!
Great! They can start the game in peace!
11 minutes later, the Czech mate
won. So, he said: "Checkmate!"
$100 prize! A cheque signed the Knight.
"This is a bogus cheque, mate!"
cried the Czech. What a horsey night!
They both heard
the horse neigh.
A lamb in the herd
heard the Czech say: "Nay!
This is a counterfeit cheque!
You can't do this to a Czech!
I had you in check
only once before checkmating you!
You won't pay? Gimme the ripe ewe!"
"I can't! The ewe is on the lam!"
"Then if no ewe, you get me a lamb!
Should you refuse, I shall touch the piano!"
Dark Castle. Knight and Czech keep arguing.
Stark hassle. Night can't check this lightning.
The mussel sleeps
and counts
ewes, lambs, sheep
and Counts.
The Count's mussel
can't count muscles.
I may be all wet, but I sure ain't no bluenose!
And, while it's none of my beeswax,
Let's have a bull session-lesson !
Take a gander around, and tell the guy with the cheaters
I'll give him an ear-full, if he'll just hang around
There's a gatecrasher here..., I heard, on the level
He's zozzled on hooch, a big lollygagger!
He staggered in blotto, with a ciggy on his lips
Sipping on bootleg, and lookin' for whoopee!
He's the fall guy, (I've heard), for a weird, double cross
Here comes the hoofer, the one with the gams
That vamp is a pushover, a gun- moll, man chaser
A real hotsy-totsy!, she dresses real spiffy
Her toy is a shiv, she's the Jane, Real McCoy,
makes a sap out of guys, who carry a torch
Bumps them off, on their own front porch !
And that's the "Big Cheese", who runs the speakeasy
He thinks he's high hat, but is full of baloney
He gives all the dames, the real "heebie-jeebies"
Just a poor drug-store cowboy... filled with nothin' but hooey
Hard-boiled. they come, gold-diggers and hoods
I've been beating my gums, and I'm dying of thirst
This is the berries, been the real bees knees!
Oh, it has been swell, while chewing the fat!
But, facts are the facts, on the up and up
Well, bye, Buttercup,......the jig is up
I'm serious Sam, in a serious jam
The truth of the matter is, that I'm on the lam
You don't know for nothin', stay out of a pickle !...
Remember my friend, don't take wooden nickels !!
______________________________________________________
For Deb's Contest: Talk The Talk, Walk The Walk (1920's Slang)
6/14/15
I Am a Veteran
By Franklin Price
11/3/2015
I am a veteran growing old
Always went where I was told
Followed orders to the “T”
Volunteered that was just me
Basic training taught a lot
Learned to march to take a shot
Make a bunk exactly right
Pulled KP into the night
Torn down to be built up
Became a dog from just a pup
When I arrived was just a kid
Left an adult you know I did
Trained in skills I did not know
Earned sixty dollars not much dough
Tried to never sing the blues
Even spit shined boots and shoes
Some skipped the draft went on the lam
I enlisted and went to Viet Nam
The year I spent the one of Tet
Of that Asian war I am a vet
My country called I answered it
For four short years I did not quit
I learned so well to handle strife
Not much else hard for all my life
Do not regret a thing at all
If young again would heed the call
Would grow up quick as I did then
Yes, I would do it all again