Best Mitty Poems
"The 50 Move Rule"
Thomas Crown
rolled his smile
around her frown
Romance blew a warm breath
over her pristine cowrie shell
Voodoo Mojo Bag
There,
just there,
an Ocean made a Blue move
In the Red
Life
Black Black White
White White Black
Read,
A story to tell
White White Black
Black Black White
The 50 Move Rule
Thomas Crown
rolled his smile
around her frown
Love
has no strategy
Chemistry, richter scale rated
The mind being not vacant
Each piece moved in the puzzle
towards Walter Mitty
Calamity Jane
rides like Godova
into the Windy City
Unannounced
Packing pieces
of a puzzle
Thomas Crown
rolls his smile
around her frown
White White Black
Black Black White
Romance
with sharp teeth
bites ...
The 50 Move Rule
Checkmates
Pieces on a playing board
Life
Alligned?
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“I Like It “/ Moby (Octave Edit)
https://youtu.be/q520gk_rmDE
"Butterfly" / Lloyd Cole
https://youtu.be/vf9odSxCyio
"I Like It" / Moby (Original, Slow Version)
https://youtu.be/TdXLNHWmurM
“Are you following me?" she asks, but doesn't meet my gaze.
"Yeah," I say.
"Why?"
I give her the only honest and true answer I have.
"You're where I want to be.”
("Leaving Paradise")
"I grabbed my book and opened it up.
I wanted to smell it.
Heck, I wanted to kiss it.
Yes, kiss it.
That's right, I am a book kisser.
Maybe that's kind of perverted or maybe it's just romantic and highly intelligent.”
“Love, like everything else in life, should be a discovery, an adventure, and like most adventures, you don’t know you’re having one until you’re right in the middle of it.”
(Brushstrokes of a Gadfly)
The 50 Move Rule
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifty-move_rule
Categories:
mitty, adventure, muse, mystery, romance,
Form:
Romanticism
Bong bitty bong bitty bong bitty bay
You are the bottom thought for me every day.
Hong hitty hong hitty hong hitty hay
I am the top dog, and I simply don’t play.
Zong zitty zong zitty zong zitty zay
You’re a spectacular example of dirt within hay
Mong mitty mong mitty mong mitty may
If I know you’re going to be there, I’ll just stay away
Dong ditty dong ditty dong ditty day
Our friends no longer like you. They’ll hold you at bay.
Fong fitty fong fitty fong fitty fay
I won all of them in the divorce, so please go away, Ray.
Submitted to Nick Trim’s 8 Mile High Contest
June 19, 2018
Categories:
mitty, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Eternal Hope
You speak with your eyes and I hear with my heart.
They tell of a love that never can start.
But, somewhere deep, inside of me,
This feeling will live through eternity.
So, if Walter Mitty, I must be
Then, that will have to satisfy me.
Note: In Walter Mitty's daydreams he imagines himself to be heroic. That seems to be the common denominator throughout the tale by James Thurber.
Written by John Posey
11/03/13
Categories:
mitty, dream, feelings, hope, inspiration,
Form:
Couplet
Shall I relay a sidesplitting hoot from my “care-free” on campus fun phase?
It entails a laboratory session involving three mystic world colossal oafs.
One had an unerring penchant for Laurel and Hardy mishaps, the other this beautiful dreamer whose attention span rambled for miles.
a meandering focal point tourist with no yen for one spot or one task.
As for me the fault-prone narrator I had comic book deficits too.
Pulitzer Prize petty fog pinpoint, fastidious fat head by gum!
At the hearth of this tale is a chemistry prep that was doomed from an innocent outset.
It was aptly enough “Anodyne,” this soon to be splitting head bushfire.
From uproarious weighing scale howlers, to starter material gaffes, to say nothing of sequential missteps, Mount Everest blunders galore.
Our ill-fitting glassware threw tantrums, miscellaneous beaker’s burst dams, reactants rose up, a calamitous farce, they shed buckets of organic stuff down the sink.
For all my precision I seemed a right goof with this risible maximum brownie point fetish.
My beautiful dreamer close comrade who by turns Walter Mitty pale stand-in now immune to chaotic abandon at large.
That accident-prone other pal
would be every insurer’s worst nightmare.
Nearby class mates could barely restrain widespread glee at us laughing stock hapless quaint bunch.
The poor teacher in charge had a seizure, quite gormless, green faced and gobsmacked.
“I wonder what next can go wrong.”
“Quite frankly I shudder to think as you merry buffoons soldier on.”
This thunderstruck teacher was known as the “doyen of do it right down to the dottiest detail.”
After a humorous pause his eyeballs rotate in jocular mode then made a ginormous grand gesture.
“Put this jinx ridden self-destruct day in some tuck away memory file.”
“Write a one page report, say the gremlins prevailed and I’ll give you an average mark.”
“For goodness sakes don’t blow this offer like you’ve nearly blown
up my whole group.”
On an ironic note “doyen do it right” gave a brief safety course start of term.
It seemingly fell on deaf ears.
I’ll be blowed as my parents once said when life took a damned awful turn.
We three “Einsteins” in technical garb almost were, blowed that is!
Posted ; 11th January 2022
Categories:
mitty, art, character, color, confusion,
Form:
Prose Poetry
My baggage had at last caught up with me.
It and I had parted ways some years past;
tossed out and thrown away the master key.
But here it is, returned; the die is cast.
It had been round the carrousel before;
I saw it once or twice but never claimed.
Now, suddenly arrived at my front door;
I'm here, I'm back, it boastfully proclaimed!
What damage can a piece of baggage do?
A lot, it seems, if you live Mitty lies
and on false premise, unfriendly debts accrue.
So I find myself, to no great surprise,
again a member of the bourgeoisie.
My baggage had at last caught up with me.
Categories:
mitty, 10th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Sonnet
when caucasians talk about
spreading iodine & baby oil on themselves in order to
sit out in the sun
and
burn themselves to a different color,
it makes me think of those girls who
milk the tanning huts during the winter months
in order to create the illusion that they are
orange
all year round.
when these idiots look in the mirror,
outside the obvious fact that they are not happy with
themselves & are
insecure in their own
skin,
what is it that makes them leap that extra foot to
assume the color of a
road construction sign?
don’t they know that they are orange?
can’t they see the brightness bouncing back at them?
don’t they have any non-orange friends who are
happy being themselves,
who would say…
“um,
you’re orange…you know that?”
it makes me wonder what racists do when their
orange teenage daughter
comes home from a day of tanning---
if the shrewd KKK daddy runs upstairs to get his
cleanest white sheet &
then quickly cuts out eyeholes
like the principle did on South Park in order to cover up
cartman’s forechosen
hitler costume,
throwing it over his daughter &
sighing with relief.
it makes me wonder what mormons who initially
said in their “holy book” that
those who were not “white, and exceedingly fair and delightsome”
(the uncursed),
were “cursed” with blackness by “god”
(“God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them.” 2 Nephi 5:21-22)
& to take it all a step further,
that mitty
(republican presidential hopeful, mitt romney),
a man who believes in the words of
joseph smith, the plates, pre-existent spirits, the modern “prophet” thomas spencer
monson, jesus in america, multiple worlds & multiple gods, etc.
will be a good man to have his
finger
on
the
button.
Categories:
mitty, lifeme, me,
Form:
Free verse
What if a dream should actually come true?
Can you imagine how that really might feel?
One day you are laying down flat on your face,
The next day you are dancing a 'Scottish reel.'
'Good accidents' can befall the unlucky,
And 'bad luck' can sometimes cripple the chosen,
A tropic typhoon can ruin a vacation,
An arctic heat wave can thaw out the frozen.
You should know dreams are not just about venting,
Not just part of a 'Walter Mitty' life style,
Your dreams can be precursors to real action,
The kind that just might make your own life worthwhile.
It is not enough just to want what you want,
At the very least one more step you will find,
To visualize first how your life would be changed,
This act alone might just bring peace to your mind.
To visualize something is in fact to dream,
The difference is just that you're conscious,
All the action still taking place in your brain,
All the chemistry is in your subconscious.
We're all glad God leaves some prayers unanswered,
Well it turns out that not all dreams are equal,
Before you say dreams are a waste of your time,
Think! Any dream can give birth to a sequel.
I hear some of you saying you don't get it,
And you think that fate is not an elective,
But don't throw your baby out with 'bath water.'
Please just reflect on the powr' of perspective.
Brian Johnston
January 13, 2014
Categories:
mitty, dream, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
(By the time of the shooting of
"The Misfits", the Miller-Monroe
marriage was in deep trouble.
The Pansy is Montgomery Clift,
The Tusker is John Huston.)
After the Fall
It started as a mental exercise.
I wondered if an East-Side Jew like me
(Richard Rodgers, Brooklyn Dodgers,
Staten Ferry, Tom and Jerry,
Radio City, Walter Mitty,
Buddy Rich, Seven-Year Itch)
could sing the song of Stetson-wearing guys,
could capture something of the poetry
of men who have no words.
But then it grew, as all these projects do.
And then I fell in love with Norma-Jean
(no, Marilyn is someone else). I knew
I had to show the world what I had seen
of men who chase the herds.
(Levi jeans, chilli beans,
mustang culls, rodeo bulls,
Misfit Flats, lariats,
pony carts, engine parts,
happy hour, whiskey sour,
bronkin' bucks, pickup trucks,
buying beers, tying steers,
fancy boots, turkey shoots).
Sincerely? Dearly? Yes. I loved that woman -
the one inside, not on the billboard, pouting.
I cared so much, I guess I had it coming.
I was The Man, the one to take it out on.
A mustang in the dirt,
the more I squirmed, the tighter drew the ropes.
She ran to Gable. Primal passion? Rather,
the one thing that extinguished all my hopes:
he was, to her, the archetypal father.
Varieties of hurt
are infinite. The Pansy, Gable, Tusker -
all sorrowing for something. Norma-Jean
has kept her looks (can't say that for The Husker).
Inside, she putrefied. Love turns to mean,
it's ugly to behold.
The pills? The booze? Or was the problem me?
Or maybe everything just comes unraveled,
but some can hide it where the world won't see.
The consolation of philosophy?
The journey is itself the prize. I travelled
in the realms of gold.
Categories:
mitty, film,
Form:
Free verse
Weird things are hard to understand
Unless you live in Lalaland
Nothing there is weird, you see
Normality, an uncommon word in
Lalaland and it's never heard
When they sit on a committee
Conducted by Walter Mitty
Bumbling, mumbling, some folk are snoring
Others left as Mitty was boring
There are no laws in this land
Everything has got out of hand
All the things that need attention
Are completely out of contention
It is a land of dreams
Where nothing is as it seems
People who live in Lalaland become unaware
Of what is out there in THE REAL WORLD
Categories:
mitty, 10th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
My reality is a reflection of the past.
A frivolous life lived so fast.
With no hesitation, doubt I always cast.
I get indolent even on a high priority task.
I look to the east and there’s no sun.
Yet it’s supposed to be a morning but it seems as dusk.
I have a lot of questions, but I don’t know who to ask.
The secret life of Walter Mitty, it’s no fun.
I would rather be the bum, than to be a fallen hero .
I am good with numbers but all my equation’s sum up to zero.
The state of mediocrity vellicates my nerves.
Yet I choose to live in the present whilst building the future on my past.
My heart seeks solace in very dark places.
My soul is void and empty pursuits it chases.
The moment I forgot to roar, woke up a decade later to realize I was drifting.
In the deep sea, I now realize that my oar is at the docking yard.
My reference to the future is delusional.
The past forgave me, but the present entangles me in a chasm filled with lava.
The inferno is irrepressible, no one can extinguish it.
If there’s sense in this poem then my mental faculties require restructuring.
An empty verse is supposed to be meaningless.
An empty verse is supposed to be a set of theatrically arranged words bearing meaning.
Only to the author.
Categories:
mitty, fun,
Form:
Bio
I Was A Mad Old Racing Cougar In Fullest Flight
When the seething sun chased me into the night.
I was a mad old racing cougar in fullest flight.
I ran across the land, raced toward the moon
Into the arms of Indian maiden as she swoon
Bright night it was with a jubilant golden moon
Her radio playing all my favorite tunes.
When the seething sun chased me into the night.
I was a mad old racing cougar in fullest flight.
I left her village running into the big ole city
A very sad old fool chasing gold, what a sad pity
True, I was a rough hombre and even a bit gritty
A friend I was of Mickey Mantle and Walter Mitty.
When the seething sun chased me into the night.
I was a mad old racing cougar in fullest flight.
Robert J. Lindley, Nov. 11th 1974
Rhyme
Categories:
mitty, art, imagination, perspective, spoken
Form:
Rhyme
Winter winds are blowing, and
ice-bound trees are pretty . . .
Now, descends the snow on this land,
the birds sing and flakes fall covering the city-
Even the pure white,
rests upon my long raven hair . . .
Stillness wraps me warm and bright,
on my walk in the town square-
Nothing is more beautiful to me, than
gathering snowflakes in my "mitty" . . .
____________________________________
December 29, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Winter Song
Copyright Protected, ID 12-861-877-29
All Rights Reserved, 2016, Constance La France
Categories:
mitty, snow, winter,
Form:
Acrostic
we were at rehersal when this memo came for Mitty. He was so happy to hear from his wife. She'd been working ddown at the docks. They didn't allow the worker to leave until all the Christmas stock had been packed upp and shipped out. He said he missed her. He sang bass in background: and played violen's in the orchastra, and was rehersting to be lead in two of our new songs.
Re; Mitty Soother
From: Nunny Swiggle
Honey I'll be home Monday. I have to stay here one more day.
These people need me. They act like they can't do nothing without me. I'll be glad,happy:and excited to see you.It's hard to beleive I've that a Christmas inventory coulkd take so long to look over. I had to come-up with two new plans to get over what was going on: I'll explain when I see you. I got Two more nights handlimng this hard stuff.At least we can haave the weekend.
Love you
See You When I get Home
Nunny Swiggle
"He balled it up and told me that day: he knew she was cheating with that beedy eyed Punk who wore that: Affa Canada Cap."
Categories:
mitty, music,
Form:
Ballade
A Horny Walter Mitty
Her plunging neckline drove him
to want to sink his face deeply
between her bulging firm breasts,
but his wife would never let him.
She kept him from living the lifestyle that
he always fantasized about.
Unfortunately, his wife was extremely
devout and built with a very stout form.
She was always the bread winner of their
household.
If she wasn't, he'd find himself between the slender thighs of many buxom brunette
beauties.
He once got laid by a sultry red headed,
french maid while zoning out during rush
hour to his wife's prison tower.
This poor man had absolutely no power
or manly backbone.
He crawls home every night like a baby coward.
Maybe one day she'll die or he'll nerve up and
leave her.
Until then, he'll have to dream of a team of
Russian blonde bombshells, scantily clad
to serve him vodka shots on their tanned and toned bodies before dinner.
He smiles a devilish grin,
for he secretly enjoys being a sexy sinner.
He is pleasantly pleased and well satisfied
to be the sole winner of his own household.
Categories:
mitty, adventure, fantasy, happiness, love,
Form:
Stomach-wrenching body blows dog those
blighted by endemic fiasco,,
grim dervish whirl of death a maybe one day royal flush,
predicament that hoodoo mark in frozen ink,
cataclysmic episode relentless as unfolding bleak plot,
monumental exploits somehow never quite transpire,
catalogue of hair-brained schemes hatched,
bearing doomed lugubrious stamp,
dream laden Walter Mitty high wire act,
accomplishment on Richter scale peak,
yearned from one’s deep canyon gut,
now faint spark ashen bonfire residue,
gilt-edge province fosters stainless steel chariot endeavour,
before mockery of ego rejection slips encroach,
painstaking gumption beyond familiar human norms boomerang,
mishap strewn pathways evince ghoulish graveyard howl,
magic is anathema to wretched soul oppressed by contretemps,
reverse that coy euphemism for continuous blunt flop,
Midas gold tarnished outlier but gutter bound nightmare,
subconscious eerie whisper that most rough cast turnscrew,
havoc wreaking spiral to amorphous gridlock,
blunder prone DNA blueprint askew,
self-esteem a rudderless craft whose
guile is rent on wicked sea,
photo finish phantom world frustration,
triumph that slippy eel marsh light,
almost there whiff of breath podium glory,
yet tantalising distance an abject sandbank,
one can only shudder, tender ocean womb mourning,
for such victims of satanic wrongful bind,
whose chilling lack baffles earthborn portrait
Categories:
mitty, age, angst, august, care,
Form:
Free verse