Best Lice Poems
I received an email today :
"Would you like to join
The Underpants Club"
A new underwear
directly at your door
once a month
(for only 20 bucks)
Did you say once a month?
My mother taught me
Replace after one use - without exception
In the old days
they had not heard of bacteria ...
but changed underpants
at least every other Saturday
When spring came
it was time for laundry
that took place outdoors,
at the creek or the water post
where there was plenty of clean water available
Fleas and lice are nasty
... and itches terribly
28.02.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem Of The Day: 01.03.2020
Springtime on the ranch is just round the bend
You’ll get your nose cleared, we have cows and pigs
The thaw brings forth chores, that smell and offend
Rubber boots and gloves are now our new digs
As the snow melts, we are left with a moat
Springtime is here with its bag full of tricks
It’s sour and slick, so just clear your throat
The thistles now grow so watch out for pricks
The air never smells like sugar and spice
Out in the birch, there grows fly agaric
It deters the skunk, encrusted with lice
This mushroom will make, all feel lethargic
A blend of toadstool and garlic I’m told
Will stop puffy butt from reaching our fold
Women in my family
Indeed, are rustic-looking and homely
Wake up at four, of-course, with reluctance
Untie the cattle though with inner resistance
Wash each cow and buffalo so impeccably
Remove the dung as though very faithfully
Bake cow-dung-cakes (for fuel) artistically
See to the household drudgery altruistically
Six of them (as ours is a joint family) do not fail
Fight among them, for no reason, and even assail
Pick lice from each other's head, end-of-the-day
Forgetting all false enmities as though act of a play
Cooking, washing, child-rearing, tale-baring,
Sleep, cuddled together, tiredness overpowering...
24 June 2022
Women in my family Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Many insects creep upon this earth,
and hardly anyone refers to them as “nice”
or writes a poem reflecting on their worth!
Spiders sometimes make me jump as if they were small mice,
and how repulsed I feel to see cockroaches or lice!
How many cute soft cuddly insects can we find?
Worms are soft, but cuddly? I don’t think so!
Which bug both cute and sweet comes to your mind?
Well, Butterflies are lovely; fireflies have a nice soft glow.
But the one that comes to MY mind I bet you know!
She is a lady beetle, and when she lands on me,
I do not flinch or swat at her or gasp out “Ugh!”
People like to count her spots. A lucky one is she.
Protecting crops, she is well liked by farmers. What a bug!
If she were but my size, I’d give her a big hug.
For Angela Tune's Insects Poetry Contest
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
I Love my Mother in law.
Phone rings
Ear stings
Door knocks
Nerve shocks
Come in
Large gin
Be nice
Head lice
Hair gel
Strong smell
Stale wee
Flows free
Stand here
My dear
Trap door
what for
Goodbye
Large sigh
In jail
Good tale.
20/03/2017.
Fabulous fun footles competition.
Sponsored by Jan Allison
I am in my house,
With a panicked mouse.
Coming back from the fridge
Going through the sand-ridge
Into its hole in a jiffy
Then squeaking out - Yippee !
Then come two rats
With a hard pat on the back
Running along with its mate
Making things obfuscate
Around the bagful of nickels
Crossing the jar full of pickles
The rat and its mate came back trotting
With a block of cheese that was rotting
After some time in a line
Came a parade f rats and mice
With and hats and lice.
Everyone was mournful
But a mouse eating a mouthful
Who was happy and glad
Was making everyone sad.
He ate with nosh
Wearing a hat that was posh
After hogging and stuffing
He got up puffing,
Ready for his quest
Sqeaking good bye to the rest,
He leaped across a runnel
And ran into a thicket
Never to be spotted again.
My soul is lost
upon ice-blue crevasses so deeply!
help me my blue elephant
that lettuce is brave
like electrons always saying hello
and never goodbyes!
You slip on lice and break your arms
it's all so SCHIZOPHRENIC: tangentiality!
stilted speech and phonemic paraphasia
are mainly broken-minded poets
who use both sides of a pencil
-+95% of black eyes kill 5% of rabbits
and the bird whistles in Japaneses:
"sei shin bun retsu byo"
( mind split disease)
where logic and proportion falls
between the King & Queen
AND ALL ANGELS go to 7-Eleven
in their heavenly garments to buy
hot dogs and slur-pees
and writing is a socially acceptable
form of schizophrenia...hmm....
such is the paradox of delusion
and how are you? When you walk down
a sidewalk to the abuse of verbally
abusive birds chirping loudly how
dull and stupid you are. So you move into
a homeless shelter and make new friends!
:: 10242015 ::
An old codger who farted a lot -
of good etiquette didn’t know squat.
When I met him, his nose
started running. He chose
his new shirt to wipe off all the snot!
Well, a nitpicker also was he,
and I mean it quite literally.
He was picking his zits
as he also picked nits
from hair, lice-infested and filthy.
With no 'shilly-shallying', I
backed away from that creepy old guy,
and I nearly threw up
being offered a cup
of his coffee. On top was a fly!
*Gnalsmoob, my poem's title, is a word new to me.
(from Urban Dictionary): A gnalsmoob is anything, particularly
a person or creature, that is completely and totally disgusting,
repulsive or revolting. Also, Gnalsmoob is boomslang, a type of
venomous snake, spelled backwards, perhaps because a gnalsmoob
is so ugly its appearance stings your eyes like venom.
I can do this, I can do that
I can do anything, splicketty-splat.
I'm quite the expert, and certainly quick
Excellent service here, licketty-click.
Your toaster won't roast'er?
Your car needs repair?
I'll fix your teepee,
your sofa and chair
I'll cure your doggy
of fleas, lice, and pox
I'll wash your diapers,
your windows, your socks.
I'm inexpensive, and fast as a wink
Available any time, blinkity-blink.
Face to face with the witches of Halloween
curse black jellybeans
Zombie doctors, unbeating hearts out of whack
raisins giving back
Mad scientists, green goggles, double helix
rejecting trail mix
Undead bug blasters, squishing out eight-legged lice
No to apple slice
String cheese does not bring
Candy's following
Face to face with the witches of Halloween...
10/30/18
Disenchanted with ennui,
I want to my earth
To meet the sky,
To catch a falling star
Outside a ‘Monday thru Friday’
‘Nine to Five’ job,
But traffic on the eight eighty
Enshackles me in the tapestries of my mind.
Amnesia walks me through corridors of lice
Armed with coffee cups, the stock market on the radio,
I have lost all with my nasdaq fall
Into bars and brothels of dubious repute,
All is carnal after all.
Entrapment with Chopin on the alarm clock,
Donuts oozing with cream, wiped away with a napkin,
How do I get away from Tchaikovsky at night?
As the older whores at last snore,
I light a cigarette and lean out my window
To wail a poem, catch a falling star.
My Dearest Bertha baboon
I’ve recently joined your baboon troop
and Bertha you’re the star of the group
I’ve watched you swinging in the trees
Your agility brings me to my knees
You sit by my side and pick off my lice
we share those nits; oh they taste so nice!
‘The Funky Gibbon’ is my favourite song
I taught you the words, now you sing along!
There’s been no monkey business, although I’ve tried
But my attraction for you cannot be denied
My desire for you I cannot let pass …
I’m captivated by your huge red ass!
Its red colour means you’re due for ovulation
Lets get it on and increase the baboon population!
Love letter Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
Contest rules - "A love letter, but NOT from a human or to a human. It must be from any other species, either to a member of the same species or maybe a different one"
10-30-17
Some conspicuous lice met once or twice
With white follicle mites who came out at night
And an upside down tick who did magic tricks
That entertained maggots who shared roasted haggis
With pole dancing worms who wriggled and squirmed
Under Chinese mosquitos munching burpy burritos
Chasing cobwebby crickets selling counterfeit tickets
To shows where no sensible grubs want to go
Warning churchgoing termites that these shows were a blight
On a class of weevil whose bite could be lethal
For marbleized moths drinking steaming Scotch broth
And sanitized beetles who had pins and needles
From sharing cold baths with nonsensical gnats
Watched by camp caterpillars strung out on painkillers
Sharing smokes with loud locusts who were very much focussed
On prostrate praying mantises with suspicious practices
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
For my life, it has died.
For my life, it has died.
Someone cry someone cry.
My life was pretty,
it was upright.
She was the mother
of all alive.
She was murdered
in broad daylight.
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
In the vicious
abyss of lies.
Amongst the people
verily lice,
She lived a life
of sacrifice.
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
There are no mourners,
there are no sighs.
There is no sun
in all the sky.
The earth is frigid
without a light.
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
There is no justice,
there are no cries.
There is no noise
of the uprights.
Sin is pretending
that all is right.
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
Someone cry someone cry
someone cry someone cry.
For my life, it has died,
For my life, it has died.
Someone cry someone cry.