Best Lugs Poems
There are women who feel a strong need
To nag men until their ears bleed
In a war of attrition
With relentless petition
Is a cruel way to make men concede
Men wish for a life of peace
But get nagged by a tongue that won't cease
Men will just say
It's the female DNA
That must out in it's need for release
We can’t help it; we just HAVE to nag
Guess some folks would call us 'an old hag'
Men get on our nerves
When you paw at our curves
You should give up and wave the white flag
We can suffer from bad PMT,
Become ogres that men want to flee
We Scream and we Shout
Say We’ll throw you out
But for some reason you wont let us be
Better by far, we should try this next time
It's effective and will prove sublime
By wearing Earplugs
In each of our Lugs
We'll be laughing, whilst nagging - in Mime
Laughing together will lighten our day
It's a tonic to chase all our problems away
For a really Big Smile
Can last a long while
And we'll both get on better that way
He shivers as he steps on the porch,
The sharp icy air gives a certain scorch.
As he steps out from the arbors protection,
out to where there is no affection.
A month or so later,
the boy feels oh so much greater.
The sun shining down,
where there is no such thing as a frown.
But now there is a long process to get from season to season,
and you get tired of Winter's cold and sharp treason.
So as we walk through the steps, enjoy the end of Winter's blast,
just as you did when it began and you said "At last!"
As Winter comes joy fills the world,
as snowballs get thrown and hurled.
The cheer, the bliss begins with a snow,
however you come to remember and know,
that Winter lugs on and on until Spring.
Though not very easy,
we must try to enjoy the breezy and sneezy.
So as the snow melts into the dirt underneath,
people will put away festive décor, trees, and a wreath.
People then change from heavy bundles of clothes,
and on to short sleeves is where the style arose.
The used-to-be snowflakes turn now to dandelion seeds,
flying to and fro, and landing where it needs.
A pleasing fragrant of Honeysuckle, Jasmine,
awhile bumble bees come flying, trying to get in.
Low and behold Spring is in,
while once a year it begins again.
There are women who feel a strong need
To nag men until their ears bleed
In a war of attrition
With relentless petition
Is a cruel way to make men concede
Men wish for a life of peace
But get nagged by a tongue that won't cease
Men will just say
It's the female DNA
That must out in its need for release
We can’t help it; we just HAVE to nag
Guess some folks would call us 'an old hag'
But men get on our nerves
When you paw at our curves
Men should give up and wave the white flag
We can suffer from bad PMT,
Become ogres that men want to flee
We scream and we shout
Say we’ll throw you out
But for some reason you wont let us be
Better by far, we should try this next time
It's effective and will prove sublime
By wearing earplugs
In each of our lugs
We'll be laughing whilst nagging - in mime
Laughing together will lighten our day
It's a tonic to chase our problems away
For a really big smile
Can last a long while
And we'll both get along better that way
24th January 2016-01-24
Collaboration by Jan Allison and Rob Bettridge
Here she comes
Walking down the street
What's she wearing
Looking so neat
Lime green shirt
Really a treat
Black dress pants
The style she tweeks
Pride walking
Through the door
Keeps her stride
Even more
She looks good
She looks fine
Best in the neighborhood
What's that at her feet
A dog on a lease
He looks good
He looks fine
He finest kind
Prancing, dancing
Does many feats
Taunt goes the lease
He's running on those feet
The lease go taunt
Dog snatches
She suffers defeat
She looks daunt
The dog pulls, tugs
The lady lugs
She runs, he looks
Behind
Come on your mine
She looks daunted
She looks haunted
Who is walking who
The lady in lime green
Or the Chihuahua
Who thinks he can
Boss the whole neighborhood
(Saw a woman walking a chihuahua probably weighed 3 lbs. except he was walking her.
Thought of a song from long ago "There she comes walking down the street" don't
remember title or artist but thought I need to give credit here.)
Explosions rock the boat;
Ocean gushes inside.
The battered stern won't float,
All controls lock their slide.
Listing fifteen degrees,
The lifeboats fail to launch.
Swift decent lugs a squeeze
Impossible to staunch.
After mounting seconds
The vessel starts to slow,
While the stark deep beckons
To swallow them below.
Schweiger spies the turmoil
From aboard U-20.
Acts of rage shall embroil.
Outcomes destroy plenty.
Along the starboard side,
Crewmen sadly lose grip.
Force and terror collide--
Rag dolls plummet and flip.
The Merseyside Bowler,
Captain Bill Turner stays
As the helm controller
Until the sea betrays.
He scoops the chart and log
Before tossed by the wave
To splash down in the fog
As deck chairs bob to save.
Eighteen minutes stalk down
As the queen disappears,
This vessel of the crown
Sheds life essence like tears.
Of the forty-eight rafts,
Only six salvage lives.
Few are plucked from the craft,
Rescued before the dive.
Bodies scramble for life
As the rouge flotsam floats.
Survivors torn by strife
Wait for swift rescue boats.
The massive toll of grief
Demands a quick response.
Liars sell disbelief,
More soldiers to ensconce.
Freedom dies from deceit
Since justice needs to thrive.
Heroes wail in defeat
When covert acts contrive.
So Schweiger falls denounced
For his sinister role.
Yet U-boats do fall trounced
By the British patrol.
Bounties Cunard offers
To captains ramming foes
Offer tempting coffers
For quelling danger woes.
Poor Lusitania!
Dashed by corruptive lies.
Megalomania,
Shielding truth in disguise.
The sleeping giant stirs
Due to brutal accounts,
Sparking violent slurs
With omissive recounts.
Woodrow Wilson blusters
At the German attack
While the bankers muster
To break our nation’s back.
Indignant elites rule
Behind grim deception.
Lessons untaught in school
Show wicked inception.
Eedjit, bamstick, scunner and twit,
Am no wan o’ them, am jist a nit.
People whae’ve kent me, aw ma days,
Say am unstable, in aw ma ways.
They dinna really ken, the person ah am,
A real great guy, and no’ a bam.
Ah dae some awfy funny things,
But ahm no a hanky, cranky ---- jings!
Dae ye ‘oanestly think, am really ‘bats’,
Eyes all ablaze, like a big Manx cats.
Yellin’ an’ screamin’, an’ roond the bend,
A daft wee looney, tae the very end.
Ah tell ye ya’ great big scunnerin’ oafs,
Ye better no’ let me hear ye scoaff.
Ah’ll batter yer lugs against a wa’,
And yaise yer heids, tae play fitba’.
Then ah’ll throw ye under a movin’ train,
An’ mak mincemeat, oot o’ yer feeble brains.
Am a real great guy, the very best
But dinnae dare pit me tae the test!
This is the tale of Whistling Jim and how he met his maiden fair.
By the shores of Richmond's river, by the shelves of sparkling water
In the shining super market, Meg Macauleey, Nimble Fingers
Nimbly checking out while dreaming, checking out the goods at Tesco
Drifting with the tide at Tesco, drifting through her day in wonder.
Young and strong is Jim the postman as he lugs the heavy post bags
As he lugs the bright red trolley as he rides his bright red bike.
Up the hillside rides our hero , even though his back is hurting.
Even though his arms are aching, even though he's feeling thirsty
Conscientious is our hero, for the post, it must get through
Outside the pub, there sits a maiden, Meg Macauley is her name
She's just taking a quick lunch break, in her hand's a pint of beer.
Jim is passing, feeling thirsty and he casts a look of longing
Such a searching look of longing at Megs languid fingers curling
Round the foaming glass of beer Meg Macauley, Languid Fingers
Toying with her glass of beer. Oh that foaming glass of bitter
If only he could taste that bitter. but Jim can only stand and stare.
Then Meg shyly gestures to him raising up the glass of bitter
"Fancy some then do you Postie?" Jim just can't believe his luck
Thirstily he drinks the bitter, thirstily he looks at Meg now
She is watching him still drinking, drinking deeply of the beer
"I had better get more bitter" Jim says to the maiden fair.
So he gets them both another and they both sip at them slowly
Smoothly both their glasses empty as their hearts fill up with love.
.
"Do you fancy going dancing?' boldly Jim ventures to say
"Are you asking?" Meg now blushes, then she quickly looks away
"I am asking" "Then I'm coming" and so their fate is sealed forever.
Jim has found his dancing partner, Always Dreaming, checkout girl
For their story's just beginning so we will leave our lovers here.
Out side the pub, up on the hillside sipping pints of foaming beer.
with humble apologies to Longfellow
The wind faces us down, a bitter housemaster
seeing our tricks, he raises his willowy cane,
jealous of our freedom and wings
Then pitiless comes the mighty blow,rips the
boys hand from the sea/a thousand lines
I must drive my cutter to the wind
I must drive my cutter to the wind
And planets hidden by the clouds, jostle
for place so that a man might see, and
take to their contrary taste, while
The briny rope on brass lugs and
staysail winch and flapping watery
forehatch, scream for solace in the
Brassy ferment; and in the heavens, a
widow’s veil contains the sludge-black
clouds above, where seagulls and pitiless
puffins, with filled-bills, carry their fishy
death to nest.
And on the shore perfidious, dread-filled
processions of daughters and wiry sons,
keep the vigil by the hearth; where wild
wive's wombs, upset by thunder’s booms,
wade their watery tombs.
Psychedelic music making me comfortably high
Lights flashing in the darkened, September sky
I’m feeling groovy as Visions of Johanna came on next
My IPod on loud as I tried so awkwardly to text
A message about an extraordinary, ancient tale
To my friend interested in every minuscule detail.
He knew this was not from some biblical verse
But revolved around a famous old religious curse
A Harbinger with a Psychic sending out cryptic news
About second comings and alternate devout views
Back two thousand years or maybe even much more
The prophecy had to do with a future, sustaining war.
A handsome man with thick hair will be in power
And killed from shots fired from a very high tower
His position then replaced by a series of unpopular lugs,
Whose pawns driven by a culture of violence and drugs
Will be forced into a war that can really never be won
Citizens will peacefully and violently protest until it’s done
And while Eve of Destruction played in the background
My mind travelled to Vietnam and the dead bodies found
My friend felt my story was just legend and not really true
But even so, it brought me to a time that I very well knew.
And the Psychic whose name to this day is a mystery
Held the secret of America’s future and turbulent history.
DOMESTICATED ANIMALS
Our friends, Animals,
Your name from the Greek word
“Anemos” comes,
That Anaximenes, the wise of old,
The divine wind, that sustains the
Universe, named,
Which with every breath, the lugs of
Living beings fills
All of them animates.
Our comrades you are,
Our benefactors,
Companions in our life’s
Journey,
Guarantors of our
Endurance,
The path to survival, you
Have guarded for us,
Us, who call ourselves,
Humans
Without your presence, absent
We today would be
That’s why I call you
Benefactors
Because
You kept us fed when
Hungry were,
Kept us warm, when from
Cold we suffered,
On your uncomplaining backs
You carried us
And our hard labor you, for us,
Performed
Never asking something
In return
For
Your unending sacrifices!
The time has come for me
And all of us, I believe,
Our gratitude to you
To demonstrate
By treating your nature
With kindness
And never cause you
Any pain
Since you, as well as us,
GOD'S creation are,
Intended HIS HOLLY work
To maintain!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
06 February 2013
Anaximenes Of Miletus , (flourished c. 545 bc), Greek philosopher. There is evidence that he made the common analogy between the divine "anemos" wind, that sustains the (Cosmos) universe and the human “wind” or soul, "anima" that animates people.
It's like overhearing whispers
Above the rustle of fallen leaves and twigs
Breaking under two pairs of feet apiece
Of bachelors and spinsters
And remembering, it's the dead of winter
A mixing of elements. Go figure
You turn a pillow and sleep some more
But the beauty of it is that you lived
And dreams would have come before
People sitting under the shade of a tree
In the front yard, steadying hands
Over the flames of a sputtering fire
Swapping silent reminiscences
Over good times that could have been
But lost over wisps of nonsensical chatter
Brethren like thieves in the streets
In verbal subterfuge, flashing daggers
And hissing Judas pursing lips to make a kiss
Currents of had-I-knowns running deep
In the rivers of memories about the departed
When a log splits and makes a flare
You dare think it's because you stared
Unlike you, I wasn't there too, in the cabin
Not standing over a pan
But like you, I could also spin yarn
Tell the story of two mountain trout in the grease
Developing a crispy gold tan
And the girl, followed by the lugs
And, of course, hook nose
That hefty door of a man with a Greek name
And a sinister mane
Saying you should have stayed in your lane
Metaphor of multi plug
The metaphor of the multi plug
With lines and leads connected lugs,
To keep you on their lead,
Believing all their krappy creed,
from some dirty unwashed thug,
You poor mental as passive weed,
Do you dig the drain I’ve dug
Or has you brain gone off to seed,
The master holds a grudge,
Deceptive television yes do heed,
It’s fool the drongoes, brainwash, drug,
The millions watch and get a feed,
Of Tory bullkrapp every seed,
You are treated like a mug,
The Super rich will tug your weed,
Brainwash, every deed,
Your television it does shrug,
Repetition keeps you up to speed?
Jammed in your brain poor slug?
The unsuspecting brainwash need,
Manilipulated poor, poor dud…
When the Rich control the news media effectively,
You are battered with propaganda,
Television always showing no respect for thee,
Your goose is cooked old Gander,
To the Drongo rich they pander,
Their connection, pull the plug………………
Don Johnson
COPLA DIECINUEVE : This Bad Guy World
All biped animals aren’t Men
Some are elves, fairies and witches
Others yet thugs
All are born to play roles given
Time Place Parents Beliefs Glitches:
The fate each lugs
Guys good and bad make up charade
Tug of war levels out with time:
If bad guys lose
When bad guys gang up to invade
Other guys living in good chime:
Charade red glows
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Come pray in this shady, serene location,
A place of sheer bliss and candid delight,
This scenic mead has a form and motion,
Bear me dip in calm; God bore me insight.
A place of sheer bliss and candid delight,
While bowing below trees, nectar will overflow,
Bear me dip in calm; God bore me insight,
Hear the spells while gazing at the show.
While bowing below trees, nectar will overflow,
Nature's lure lugs me, its veins keen light,
Hear the spells while gazing at the show,
Noble kites rise as the lilts on the height.
Nature's lure lugs me, its veins keen light,
I am ogling at the sky, and love swells deep,
Noble kites rise as the lilts on the height,
Our joy fuels ardor as we cheer and leap.
I am ogling at the sky, and love swells deep,
This scenic mead has a form and motion,
Our joy fuels ardor as we cheer and leap,
Come pray in this shady, serene location.
Written: May 23, 2022
This big ship lugs only one that's me
it deluded it's anchor barren lost at sea
I was swept unaware of its lease of life
she was cast by a mariner's survival knife
there was no-one to heed my sorry cry for help
with a drip and a gurgle as the anchor fell
but the wind willy nilly tossed us to and thro
such a drastic location as the thunder roared
I was woke to a rapping from the stray detail
a dyslexic reception call was bound to fail
the response sought me un-aware and cussed my fall
with an eye barely open view a vibrant crawl
I reflected religiously in search of light
was I cursed to a rota of eternal night
overhead congregating swarmed the vultures best
I recoiled back in horror as the scavengers messed
with the deluge relentless I redressed below
horrid rooks started tripping on the cabin floor
with the rain no deterrent and the gusts no threat
they deliriously powered as their eyebrows met
with their heads full of anger and the promise of rum
they ferment to the rhythm of a distant drum
As they ripped out a panel with a tribal yelp
I recited a passage as I plied for help
well thank the Lord for the power of prayer
as above helicopters towered in the air
and the sun came out and the sky turned blue
but the stains remained though I'd broke curfew.