Best Lock Stock And Barrel Poems
(alternately known as the Doubting Thomas Crown
Taj Mahal Cupid Affair)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fortunate (for me) thee bona fide "FAKE" Cupid
(aka Decoy Donald Duck
and side kickstarter Jay Rad,
colluded donning one alias,
which (former and latter)
amounted tube bing disguised incognito
as the cingular "Ivan Ha Bea Robber Baron),"
while same above placed
their System Of A Down on high alert
whereby, they unwittingly, fortunately,
and accidentally discerned disquieting "noise"
i.e. static electronic crackling
purportedly from nemesis, asper sans above
whereby broadcasters colluded
confusingly, congruously, and convincingly
as thee infamous digital (duplicity)
faux "Big Mac" Trump.
The chalkboard scratching, hair sprayed bouffant,
and knuckle crackling
appeared tubby the handiwork cleverly disguised
(as tinpot dictator antics of Moscow's version,
sans Putin on the ritz),
which decrypted garble (a fluke) as iterated above
strongly emanating via polygamous,
prestigious, and pseudonymous
pull no punches ploy
innocently convincing feigned
duo code named "Ashley Madison and Bert"
disclosing (when uncovered),
a heartless conspiracy in concert
with Sesame Street studded lesser known Muppets
pretending tubby oil tycoon Bedouins
intent to fleece "sensitive"
top secret military defense contracts,
which Russian motley crue ace double agents
intended this act of espionage thence sabotage
feted as a Black Sabbath Lupercalia feint
not for the faint hearted clubby fete
where Cupid given free rule of the roost
allowing, enabling and proffering
Cyrillic chattering Cherubim
hook cooked United States "figurative goose"
lock, stock and barrel, which stratagem
captured president unawares
and did significantly boost
Eastern Bloc reconnaissance (on par
with the Philadelphia Eagles
winning 2018 Super Bowl LII
which surprise clenching championship
wrought frenzied hoopla, gala, and bacchanalia
where barenaked ladies
cavorted nsync with beastie boys,
whence City of Brotherly love hoopla found
nearly every man, woman and child soused
(analogous to each person garnering
an early Sainted Patrick's pot of gold.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Metrical Tale
easy access and proliferation of firearms,
now begs a serious hard question
presenting daunting task,
quite aware that passionate
stalwart supporters of the NRA,
embrace weaponry likened
to garnering an Aboriginal trophy mask
(particularly in light of violent mass killings)
immediately forces people
of all stripes comprising this nation ask
quite aware of diametrically,
jarringly, and politically
doggedly entrenched fierce position
each polarized stance challenges,
especially when pitted
against die hard proponents
of the Second Amendment,
who would sooner burn to ash,
and/or adopt a siege mentality
glowering akin to red hot metal
regaling opportunity asper Liberal heads to bash,
than relinquish (lock, stock and barrel)
prized, coveted, and cherished cache
amassed collection of firearms
permissible in accordance
with (literal interpretation
of Second Amendment
of the United States Constitution)
to mean no deterrent preclude
(birth right to equip bare arms),
deprivation against amassing a stockpile,
would trigger an immediate saber flash
and instantaneously, another Civil War, would
(with gnash of clenched jaws violently
opposing manumission
to release obedient snap, crackle
pop in je nais sais quois booty), the provocation
rendering revision, sans sacred covenant
would sting whip lash
snuffing out any first and last hope to reconcile
divisive national issue
with cool collected talking heads,
cuz shoot at the hip diplomacy
be loved American style,
that indomitable fighting
esprit de corps tis fire in belly trial
though this skeptical and devout atheist,
would welcome being proved wrong
generating the better angels to render obsolete strong
arm of the law as plucked harps evoke swan song
witnessing unbelievable savoir faire
(forcing me to retract pessimism
and willingly swallow my pride), minus long
time overdue, and negotiation
celebrated with tolling from a gong.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
No Latino
Donald Trump
Anti-migrant rant causes campaign bump.
Foolish remarks puts his empire in peril,
Possibly losing–lock, stock and barrel.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, celebrity, political,
Form:
Clerihew
Prognosticating Present Plight...
Perhaps Preset During In Utero Protean Stage?
Reviewing, sans my life
and arduous hard time
lock, stock, and barrel on regular basis,
and of late composing
this, that, or another rhyme,
now I acquiesce past
trials and tribulations
contributed positive, and
negative effects, yes prime
air really prepubescent nexus
with entering seventh grade,
sobbing and crying at bedtime
leaving Henry Kline Boyer,
a miserable yet sentimental clime,
one romper room class schoolhouse
entering Methacton, what seemed
crushingly, frightfully, incredibly humongous
(actually, not an exceptionally large
learning place for hippo campus)
nonetheless mine fragile psychological
state cannibalized by anthropophagus
mailer daemons conjurations analogous
to mythological beasts avaricious
even slim picking morsel - satisfactory,
this then overwrought extremely anxious
bundle of nerves burning with arsonous
punishing self treason backlash atrocious
reaction kindling tindered
self destructive spark rampantly autonomous
ruinously, quintessentially passively,
opportunistically audacious
hell bent on mortal kombat
to a starving slow seditious death,
this no matter auspicious
native intelligence, capability, aptitude...
now entertain notion
suicidal seed avaricious
since...commencement when fertilized ova
simultaneously begat barbarous
biological blastula birthing blasphemous
counterproductive stealthy burglarious
itty bitty kamikaze blitzkrieg
spewing, issuing, and garnering
hollow weaning cadaverous
sole son foretelling calamitous
alarming father and mother
necessitated immediate intervention,
the instinctual innate calculus
attuned to soundless clangorous
foretelling stoppable death knell
relieved, through aggressive copious
life saving measures, nonetheless deleterious
repercussions hobbled me, disastrous
behavior seeped into lifelong existence!
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, 7th grade, abuse, betrayal,
Form:
Bio
How precious life is…
When the old rocker rocks in his wheelchair…
ACDC heavy precious metal ‘like a wheel spinning’
‘Highway to hell…on my way to the promised land’
‘Where have all the flowers gone’ merges mellow into
Guns and Roses, let us hope the latter on the ladder
of Zeppelins and friendly tunes of ‘Stairway to Heaven’
Thomas has no doubt because Saturday is visit time…
No Black Sabbath and not Bad Company today
not stoned any longer where Black had been Black
but Deep Purple floating the beat in fading memories
a Sweet Child in Time ‘line between good and bad’
Uriah Heep’s Sunrise and ‘new day is breaking through’
The ageing blues takes its due…
For ‘Whom the Bell Tolls’ on lemmings’ way Ding Dong
ABC frosted roads searching for Camus’ stranger come
use your remembrance because it won’t last forever when
the sea parts and Odysseus stays in the grave underworld
where Dante’s Inferno meets Mephisto but Satan can wait
A traveller close to the gate of redemption…
he counts his blessings slowly on an ancient dusty abacus
123 he takes lock stock and barrel laughs at the numbers
In his prime he had refused to accept he could not divide
takes out the ruler to conquer his world computes divisions
adds them all up tallies on the wilting spread sheet of time
Inheritance subjected to paper he determines…
not gold no diamonds just a coin here and there
weaves nostalgia to ribbons from a few shoe strings
attached and detached bound closely together as he
holds photographs to his priceless brain caresses
them dearly touches his soul and soothes his mind
When the stroke assaults and takes him home…
he crosses the flow of the Styx and finally recalls how
precious life has been and dies a happy man on his way…
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, growth,
Form:
Free verse
John B. Jackson
1880-1911
Norma knew.
Norma, my erstwhile friend of a thousand hunts;
Only she knew the feel of my beading thumb,
As we sought out promising locales, and
Our clever quarry, from points near and far.
From the salty marshes by the Pio Pico adobe,
To the broad summit of Sycamore Canyon,
We left tracks only the night ‘coons could find.
So, did we learn anything in life, me and Norma?
I once spied a tern furrowing in a breach.
Norma was ready and loaded for the kill,
As I drew a long bead,
Held my breath, and pulled the trigger.
She, my Winchester 1895, lever-action,
Reduced that tern to feathers in an instant of smoke,
With white pillow plumage in complete upheaval,
Flying all about, and interspersed asunder!
That single memory was on my mind,
Before slipping eternally through the veil.
I remember closing my eyes, and there she was!
Appearing before me as a haunting ghost,
As she was, on the day she saw me kill the tern,
My disappointed mother, telling me I was cruel,
Cruel and heartless and mean,
For destroying “God’s creature.”
So, it was on that same day I put Norma away,
Lock, stock and barrel; stowed in silence,
Under the rafters of my humble bed;
I said a final goodbye and adios amiga,
To my once ballistic sweetheart,
And the love of my wild, youthful days.
Never again did I kill any living creature,
And found an inner wisdom I could never explain.
But, truth be known,
I wish I had Norma now.
Here in this dark cold grave.
I miss the tender touch of her cold trigger.
The gentle pull of her icy hammer.
And mostly, I miss the intoxicating power,
Of her fiery, exploding steel.
For together we traversed the canyons of Turnbull,
And the rolling vernal pastures of Workman Mill,
Tasting many a delicious quarry.
It’s true, my friends,
Norma knew.
Only she knew the feel of my beading thumb.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, life,
Form:
Epitaph
BLOTTED OUT
He loved,but could not say
such words,he could not find;
He loved,but could not touch
such warmth,was just too much;
He was proud,but could not praise
such sounds he could not raise;
He supported,but not with words
such feelings,witheld unheard;
Sentiment,tight reined close within
banished, unvoiced by him,
embittered by his own hurt,
a scarred child 'neath his hairshirt.
In that distant past,crippled emotions lay
imprisoned,unsaid,'til his dying day.
BUCKINGAM LACE
Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,
a pillow puffed up on her knee;with daughter
Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their
homespun ware.In such humble women,dwelt
a rare and dextrous art.Fashioned out,stitch by
stitch,pillowed patterns ,so rich.Tinkling bobbins ,
bewildering skill,inch by inch grew the intricate
frill.Twisting threads in pairs and groups,knitted
together as interlocking loops.Their town craft
then, of world renown .Plain or old point hand
made lace,lost foever with no longer a trace
COWFAIR TO ANCHORAGE
We left our abode in old Cowfair,haggled
a price for an old shire mare.Onto the
landlord's canal boat,lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat.Farewell to our Buckingham
birthplace ,a meagre living from old point
lace.Dawdled up to Cosgrove, meals around
a blackened stove.This moveable house
painted castle and rose, a life we would not
have chose.Eighteen fifties harsh and mean,
cargo of coal, nothing stayed clean.Doff your
cap,touch your forelock at the gatekeeper's lock.
Food scarce except for or fish,perch , roach a
staple dish.Clothes drying on a line,home for a time
whilst the toddlers were young.As numbers increased
and grew ,places to sleep, all too few.Family life
became impossibly hard ,so back again to a
tied cottage in Aylesbury's Anchorage yard.
Listen to me read these poems at youtube under the name ichthys
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, character, family, nostalgia,
Form:
Bio
As long term aspiring
gurgling (stream of consciousness)
paperback writer, there doth appear
an imponderable quandary
most likely experienced
by fellow neophyte authors,
one pesky bugbear
that just dawned, (within the mind
of this former tony
MainLiner) crystal clear,
i would bet mine
bottom dollar and declare
unequivocally established writers
mentally tussled (or still do),
how to accrue “Art of the book writing deal”
contract subsequently endear
an increasing number of people,
that definitely feel drawn
to thy unique flavonoid flair
with words this scrivener displays,
where oft times decrypting
(mine block chain) dost jam
at least one cerebral cog and gear
no matter how far away from me,
this mind can telepathically hear,
colorful epithets, thus
seriously considering donning,
summoning, and trumpeting
his swiftly tailored,
harried styled interlinear
difficult to interpret ma Bella cos
mean mien, thus ready
(lock, stock and barrel)
to ship me on a one way junketeer
attired in a combination
all force he zen,
(and Caesar) knitwear
and (thrift special red tag sale) leisurewear
oh...preferably gender neutral,
or specifically frilly pink menswear
which could be either
day or nightwear
yet absolutely non gaudily
outlandish most unlike
thine convoluted other worldly
unfairly punishing stentorian
verb hose noun sense sic cull
idiomatic ling goo whist tricks
driven by a harsh grammatical taskmaster,
(nonetheless one
gentle non-slavish overseer)
summoning positive
feedback to reap peer
burgeoning my popularity,
yet without being *****
yule us, yes...of course retaining rear
penchant inventively steer
ring an unsuspecting reeder
agonizingly testing their
pay shunts, perhaps inducing her/him
to race out the door like a a mad person
clad with (impeach 45) underwear
calling for men/women in white coats
to lock up Matthew Scott Harris
possibly commuting his
long runonsentence tea
ching fellow inmates without ten year!
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
victorian canal life - the reality (a true tale from from my maternal heritage )
We left our abode
in old Cowfair
haggled a price
for an old shire mare
Onto the
landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat
farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living
from old point lace
dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove
taking our meals
. . around a blackened stove
our moveable house
painted castle& rose
not a life
we would have chose
Eighteen fifties harsh
&
mean
coal cargo
so nothing stays clean
doff your cap touch your forelock
every two mile
at
the gatekeeper's lock
Fresh food scarce
except for fish
perch & roach
a staple dish
clothes dry
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep
all too few
family life impossibly hard
so back to a tied cottage
in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, family, history,
Form:
Bio
My pages have become testimonies
Of nothing to say
In a state where everyone speaks
But little is ever said.
These pages have become as vast as Potter’s Field
Where every word loses their identity
And remain voiceless
In this time of static.
Every name gives way
To serial numbers
And everyone who almost won now sleep
On top of forgotten losers
Who at least owned their own exit
Which came with a kiss to the third rail.
It is a perfect escape
For those of us don’t wish to be found
By those who bought New York
Lock stock and barrel
And forced her on to the stage
Under the strippers’ light
To dance without an ounce of rusted dignity.
Her last on going dream
to put on that black leather dress
of No Wave
and
take the El train to the last station
still in time
when the rats lived behind the walls
before they started buying each
apartment
building
with
“for rent” signs on all the doors
Designed to hide just another crime scene.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, anxiety, depression, home, new
Form:
Free verse
Listening to the Boss Singing
The Ghost of Tom Joad,
Imagining the Okies as they
Travelled their Desolation Road.
Word Pictures by Steinbeck,
Dust Bowl Ballads by Guthrie,
Green Pastures Of Plenty
Pretty Boy Floyd, Doh Ray Mi.
Ecological disaster,
Dust and drought,
Trees chopped down
Good land farmed out.
Then came the winds
That blew the soil away
Followed by the Bankers
Who took their land away.
Pack up lock stock and barrel
In the trucks and on the way
To the promised land of plenty
The fabled Californ-ia
So long it’s been good to know you
And then like the family Joad
Driven by need and poverty
It’s off and on down the road.
With Global warming progressing
As more habitable land disappears
Will a new Steinbeck and Guthrie
Chronicle new Grapes Of Wrath years
Will there be a new Springsteen
To sing about a new Tom Joad
As they join the new exodus on
Their new desolation road.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, change, environment, future,
Form:
Rhyme
(alternately titled -
today's lesson iz
addressing categorical imperative)
Courtesy of unpleasant he
ping diatribes visited me
from eldest offspring ugh gree
guss vituperations, doth force me
to admit (and take key
lock, stock, and barrel
lamentations to heart), that she
(Eden Liat) didst
perceive (hence nee),
interpret as her reality
regarding my actions,
intents, words, et
cetera men knee
instances of objectionable
dealing with situations
of mine mien to thyself
(lamely, meekly, and nervously
pleading being oblivious),
nonetheless purportedly untoward
fatherly behavior, said kin recoils
in reaction to extremely re:
pulse sieve, no matter,
whether paternal behavior
of mine unintentional (see
ming lee) find
ding total unawareness
as poor excuse, which does not
hold candle box
three doors down, nor
bankable, dutiful guarantee
hence this papa, heed decree,
his displeasing, now accepting
onerous task of child rearing
inflicted hurtful affects asper,
mismanaging challenges
as legal guardian,
and thus grievously, honestly,
and readily attests averse
to hold a mirror be
fore my person as
proof positive aware
ness, and accept,
how I usurped carte blanche
(parental role, no
matter honest intentions,
sans welfare of daughters)
unknowingly shamefacedly interpreted
as unflattering about me
whom willy nilly
bandied authoritarian free
reign (and/or rein)
recounting mine foibles, viz
despite my best intentions,
impressions, and iterations
as even handed sues err un tee
I mint jewel
lip succoring (suzerainty)
spurring the conundrum,
que who, what,
and how does one pre
sent lee define
true intentions, and whether
neutral stance can be cree
jewel less lee codifies, si?
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, abuse, appreciation, child, creation,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
"When doubting Thomases doubt you, dismiss them with a laugh!" - self quote
Doubt me, doubting Thomas, and I'll have so much fun
reminding you just what a grave mistake you've made.
Trust me, you'll see the light when it's all said and done.
You've taken the wrong bull by the horns I'm afraid.
Underestimate me, go ahead if you dare;
just know that you'd awaken a sleeping giant.
Put limitations on me and see if I care!
You'll never weaken my resolve; I'm defiant.
Take me for a fool, it's guaranteed to backfire.
Don't let me stop you; I'd like to see you try me.
Be food to my spirit and fuel to my fire.
I'm a supernova, baby! Try me, feel free!
Disregard and dismiss me at your own peril.
Tell the world I can't hack it just to make me laugh!
I'll show you what I'm made of lock, stock, and barrel.
I'll prove you wrong; I'm a powerhouse and a half.
Doubt me, doubting Thomas, and I'll have so much fun
Underestimate me, go ahead if you dare;
Take me for a fool, it's guaranteed to backfire.
Disregard and dismiss me at your own peril.
Submitted for...
My Created Form Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Constance La France
Rhyme Pattern -
4 stanzas, 4 lines of abab cdcd efef ghgh,
last verse repeat a, c, e, g lines, 12 syllables per line
Syllables checked at howmanysyllables.com
Date: 12/01/2020
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, perspective, poetry, strength,
Form:
Rhyme
Disguised as an Apple Computer Technician.
He initially hacked Macbook Pro laptop.
He (alias Harvey Specter)
planted seeds of suspicion
that criminal activity prevailed
within my geographic area in general
or questionable individuals
lurked within or without
Citizens Bank in particular,
and suggested yours truly (me)
to be wary about
over friendly employees
at aforementioned capital one
storied financial institution.
Said gonif (pulled a masterful subterfuge)
inveigling yours truly to carry out heist
of the twenty first century
against his honest good n plenti resources
(subsequently checking and
savings accounts severely depleted).
The invisible webbed wide whirled net
ensnared me lock, stock and barrel.
Little did I know
the spellbinding impact
until the dirty deed done dirt cheap
found writer of these words
figuratively holding the empty bag
where I got forced to trod
analogous highway to hell
courtesy diabolical, inimical, satanical...
devil may care disguised cozener
who wove believable scenario
claiming Citizens Bank employees
involved in suspicious conspiracy
to siphon off hard earned bucks.
I submissively consented
to participate and cavalierly disperse
freshly minted Benjamins
suddenly linkedin
chain of events
rocketing, kickstarting, and experiencing
a worse horror than death
mortified at being bushwhacked.
The feeble explanation, justification,
qua obliteration, ululation
trumped with lame excuse
yours truly not in his right mind.
Mind control, (albeit remotely)
assassinated rationality while hypnotically
feeling commanded, governed,
née kid lee killed
mine esprit de corps
among kith and kin
consigning thrifty troubadour
to the depths of despair
wishing termination of existence
in tandem with damnation, interrogation,
penalization, et cetera of nasty brute.
After series of unfortunate events brought,
where innocence and naïveté caught
teetotaler tempted to drink deadly draught
of top quality hemlock sold
at many bustling entrepôt
cuz now existence fraught
with torturous quaking
nauseating, kickstarting hatred
of self, thus restitution
of funds sought
by folks willing bestow largesse.
If yes check out (fiasco from fraudsters
frazzles father)
legitimate platform
where charitable people swarm
and toys are sold.
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, abortion, absence, abuse, angel,
Form:
Rhyme
We left our abode
in old Cowfair
haggled a price
for an old shire mare
Onto the
landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat
farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living
from old point lace
dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove
taking our meals
. . around a blackened stove
our moveable house
.painted castle& rose
not a life
we would have chose
Eighteen fifties harsh
&
mean
coal cargo
so nothing stays clean
doff your cap touch your forelock
every two mile
at
the gatekeeper's lock
Fresh food scarce
except for fish
perch & roach
a staple dishc
clothes dry
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep
all too few
family life impossibly hard
back we went to a tied cottage
in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard
Categories:
lock stock and barrel, boat, people,
Form:
Rhyme