Best Mortimer Poems
I have pondered the presidential herd,
Of both parties and find them quite absurd!
Since I have a choice,
I'll express my voice,
And will cast my vote for Mortimer Snerd!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(To learn more about Mister Snerd, do some research,
By entering his full name in your Google search!)
Categories:
mortimer, humorous, political,
Form:
Limerick
Life Of The Imagination
Imagination has never had a bath or shower
It does not know of soap
Plays with itself for hours
Hanging from a rope
Hopes for handouts
There are no places it can’t go
In dirty crevasses in dark shadows
It takes chances with glass and wire
Wine becomes expired in its mind
Meandering with tigers, gliding off of stars, where parsecs spark
Falls back into dark matter of inner space
Imagination visits here on Earth for merely seconds
Swings out to a nova blast without its nova cane
And again comes here to the home planet to drink square particles of rain
It named its first 10 children candy
None of them were sweet
The next 10 he called Mortimer
Bought them homes by buffer zones near Kansas
On Christmas it lays Easter eggs on pine needles
Pine trees are used as tooth picks in all seasons
At Thanksgiving it pitches forks
Imagination has no fear of anything accept divorce
It writes the laws in crayon while dancing through the canyons
There are fleeting moments that can never pass beyond its grasp
There are things in space and time that even chance can’t handle
Sometimes Imagination takes me places
I really don’t want to go, without my sandals on
He is my friend but wakes me up at midnight
Places pen and paper in my hand and makes me work
While he just sits there counting sheep and eating candy
Remembering they were his children
None of them were sweet
I wish sometimes imagination would fall right off the Earth
After all, he’s the one who calls it flat
For what that’s worth
Categories:
mortimer, adventure, education, friend, fun,
Form:
Ode
Inventing a fountain pen that writes under whipped cream.
That’s what Moe and Larry were doing in Shemp’s dream.
Uncle Mortimer would not let Shemp pass through heaven’s gate.
Moe and Larry were being pretty bad boys as of late.
Uncle Mortimer sent Shemp back to earth to reform Larry and Moe.
Those were the rules. Otherwise, Shemp could not go.
Shemp then realized he had been smoking in bed.
It was all a crazy dream, and he was really not dead.
Based on the Three Stooges 1948 short “Heavenly Daze”
Categories:
mortimer, dream, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Professor Mortimer Snurd
Once dissected a turd.
His findings couldn't be analyzed
They'd already fertilized.
Categories:
mortimer, science, silly,
Form:
Clerihew
Why the Cat Purrs
There once was a Persian Pussycat
Who always loved to pounce
He relished skittering, squeaking mice
That he munched on by the ounce
One day a mouse named Mortimer
Cried: “I’m no tasty treat!
You’ll surely hate my bones and fur
Sticking in your teeth!”
“So Percival, please be merciful
Have a heart - reconsider – do!
Even a fine feline like yourself
Loathes a messy meal – don’t you?”
“Little mousy morsel purr-haps you’re right”
His Royal Percyness said
“In fact, purr-suade me, impurr-tinent pal
Make me spare your life instead”
As the cat settled down and fluffed his ruff
Morty’s sweat began to run
Mr. P flashed his beautiful azure eyes
You could tell he was having fun
“All cats love chicken and beef” said the mouse
“It’s so easy to open up tins!
Say – you could lie on a beach all day
Ingesting fish with great big fins!”
“As if I would deign to get sand in my coat”
Besides, I already eat those”
I’ve had dinner, but guess who'll be dessert?”
Then swallowed Morty from head to toes
Every breed of cat is purr-fectly content
Chasing and playing with its prey
They have their mouse and eat it too
That’s purr-petually their way
Entry for the Cat Tails Contest by Constance La France
Categories:
mortimer, funnycat, cat,
Form:
Light Verse
I'd like to take this opportunity to express a full measure of sympathy
To the family of the late Mortimer Snurd, an amputee whose plight moved us
to gimpathy
And to his wife Anabelle Fofoofnik Snurd, whose wobbly gait triggered
our limpathy
--Not to mention his poor children, upon whom we showered our impathy.
Of course, there's the Snurd's loyal family mutt, Blurd, who gets all of
our Rin-tin-timpathy,
Yes, even their security guard, Slurd, who couldn't prevent four break-ins,
receives our wimpathy.
And as we part from you, O Snurds, here's a little song to demonstrate our
bim-bom-bimpathy:
Cheery-bim, Mortimer Snurd
Cheery-bom, Annabelle
Cheery-bim, Blurd
Cheery-bom, Slurd
Cheery-bim-bom-bim-bom-bim-bom
--How Absurd!
Categories:
mortimer, humorous, silly, tribute,
Form:
Light Verse
I'm Mortimer Monkey! My devilish side
will jump on the back of the elephant's hide!
I'll take unfair advantage
Even taking bringing my baggage!
While this jumbo sized taxi....gives me a ride!!
Categories:
mortimer, funny,
Form:
Limerick
Jackson the Pug and a Squirrel named Spike
went trick or treating on Halloween,
when the came to the old house on Mortimer street
and they swore they had heard a scream,
That vacant old house, for fifty some years
surrounded by mystery,
with an odd widows walk, and a Great Horned Owl
who was hooting in an old craggy tree,
Jackson looked over at Spike and said
" that old place doesn't scare me",
"it's just an old house,where nobody lives"
"really! how scarey can it be",
Up the old path, they walked on moss covered stone
it was like walking into a bog,
when all of a sudden, hundreds of eyes
glowing red, through a thickening fog,
The closer they got, to that old Haunted House
the more ominous was the sight,
on that old porch, Jackson reached for the door
when there came a most terrible fright,
The creaky front door, opened all by itself
an eerie voice, neither wanted to hear,
" step inside" said the voice, if both of you dare
and I'll show you the meaning of fear",
Jackson took Spike, by his little Squirrel paw
they stepped inside, and not all to smartly,
lights suddenly lit, came a raucous roar
they walked into a Halloween Party,
Everybody was there, all of their friends
it was such a fine sight to see,
Rowdy Raccoon, and Virginia the Mouse
Callie the Calf, look there's Buddy and Baily
The party went on for an hour or so
when they all had to quickly retreat,
the lights all went out, an apparition appeared
in the Haunted House on Mortimer Street.
Categories:
mortimer, holiday, house, old, halloween,
Form:
Rhyme
When Mortimer Manders collapsed in the street,
his daughter, Muriel, was with him.
Though now seventy-five,
he’d continued to thrive,
in spite of the irregular rhythm
his heart was now keeping. But this was quite grave.
He hit the hard sidewalk real sudden.
When Muriel knelt
beside him, and felt
to locate where his pulse was, she couldn’t.
Soon, passers-by stopped and gathered around,
but no-one had medical knowledge.
“It’s good, I suppose,
If you loosen his clothes:
I think that’s what they told us in college …”
She looked wildly around, and thought that she’d found
a willing and capable saviour.
A red firehouse lay
thirty metres away –
(might as well have been Outer Moravia!)
When Muriel pounded the firehouse door,
a voice answered back through the panels,
“You make think it inept,
but we’ll only accept
an approach through appropriate channels.”
“But he pays your wages,” she argued with force:
and, pointing to where he was lying,
“You’ve got to come quick –
he’s collapsed on the bricks –
my father is probably dying!”
“You don’t understand how these things are arranged,”
said the voice, from the depths of the station:
“You just call nine-one-one.
If we try to respond,
we are risking adverse litigation.”
Running into the roadway, she flagged down a car,
and the driver agreeably shocked her:
with a white coat and bag
and a hospital tag,
he said, “Yes, you are right, I’m a doctor.”
As the quack pulled away, he turned briefly to say,
in a voice that was suitably gloomy,
“I will not touch that man,
for if I lend a hand
and he happens to die, you can sue me.”
The ambulance came, but things got more lame,
as Mortimer started to weaken:
though the ambulance crew
looked resplendent in blue,
the responders were all Costa Rican.
“We’ve lived here some time and our English is fine,
but we can’t touch our defibrillator.
To avoid getting screwed,
we must talk to him through
an officially-sanctioned translator.”
“But you sound good to me, and it’s peachy, you see,
for my father speaks German and Spanish.”
“But your ganso is cooked.
No interpreter’s booked.”
And the ambulance packed up and vanished.
So the moral is clear. Clear of medics please steer.
Your best course, if you’re feeling nervous, is
lay on linguists each day
in Magyar and Malay
– and don’t call emergency services.
Categories:
mortimer, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
“Love wishes to perpetuate itself.
Love wishes for immortality”. - Mortimer Adler
I feel my soul is carried away by the tide of time
from my being transiently rooted in the present
to the distant desolate island
where I was once, but left it forever.
That’s the fading past receding fast,
but yet to be abandoned and obliterated.
I trace the shifting shadow of the furtive future,
configuring the image of illusive love,
that time carries as the mesmerizing mirage
across the desert landscape life has designed in mind,
where dwells the aspiration of perpetuity
with the dormant dream of immortality.
I perceive the entrancing undying memory,
revive from the receptive recess of the past
as the flying bird of my liberated love,
that soars with my present in your sky,
and spreads the dreaming wings to embrace
the lasting happiness in the halcyon horizon of future.
I drift with the essence of the imperishable soul,
sailing in the sublime sea of eternity,
and steered by the congenial wind of unabated love,
blowing on the sanguine sail of desire,
I wish to get from the stalled time's generosity,
the surreal gift of being immortal.
________________
March 1, 2023
Word chosen : Immortal
Contest : Writing Challenge - I Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Categories:
mortimer, analogy, death, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
I’m the guy, who bought the house,
Well more than one in fact,
I bought the others with my mouse,
Online while snorting smack!
The deals were easy, I felt good,
Power in my veins,
My broker on the other line,
Raved, ‘Man you’re so insane’!
‘Roll with it’ I snorted back,
My credit line is good, as straight
As little lines of coke,
My broker understood!
Now I’m in recovery,
My self-esteem’s a hack,
I'm living in a cardboard box,
And my brokers got the sack!
‘Mortimer’ I often say.
‘Our day is coming soon’
He’s the guy, who comes around,
To feed me with a spoon.
‘I know you miss the Easy Street’
Morti says to me; ‘Count your blessings,
While you can, at least the sidewalks free!’
Categories:
mortimer, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Hortense and Gertrude
Priscilla, Imogene
Once-popular names
no more to be seen
Isadore, Cornelius
Cyrus and Mortimer
Back in the day such
names courted her
You never know though
when a name may return
Such as Ambrose, Edsel
Penelope or Fern
Categories:
mortimer, fun, identity, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Loosely based on the movie Arsenic and Old Lace.
I’m sure you’ll excuse the rambling for that is what
the movie was like — an adrenal rush of dark and crazy!
Teddy Roosevelt: “Bully for you.”
BULLY FOR POISON
no pantywaist.
puts his big boy pants on.
deals with his bully
brother and his odd sidekick.
his uncle bugles at tiptop,
races downstairs,
keeps going
to the gullet —
the belly of the whale.
a grave situation.
tools laid out...
twisted...
menacing..
are his aunts a menace too?
but so sweet to his fiance
while they (let me say
this with the voice of Margaret Hamilton)
“Poison...poison…”
oh don’t worry!
they are only helping
lonely old men.
elderberry wine
sounds delicious
and zany.
Mortimer gets ever more
drunk
on crazy
as he finds bodies in window seats
and buried “in the locks,” below.
in the end he,
like his Uncle
(Teddy Roosevelt) blows
his bugle,
races downstairs,
figuring he must be
cuckoo, for he’s related
to the bunch of nuts.
honeymooners pack up the whole bunch
in paddy wagons, straight jackets,
whatever it takes.
he finds out he can’t relate,
he’s adopted.
wipes off his forehead,
kisses his aunts,
rides off into the sunset.
his kids will never visit.
he warns them of drinking,
especially when they are lonely old men.
teaches his daughters not to mix drinks.
he hopes of his adopted family, he’s seen the last.
he will keep tabs.
3/11/2021
Categories:
mortimer, crazy,
Form:
Light Verse
Death is at your doorway, the reaper nears, cloaked in darkness,
His essence veiled. He knows your time is close at hand.
How now shall you meet Azrael? He is transported across the mortimer,
The sea of the dead, he has your name upon his list, he draws closer.
Quickly now whilst the choice is still yours, what shall it be? A peaceful sleep as
breath departs undisturbed?
Maybe suicide, the tablets left strewn upon the floor, as the grip of your dead fingers
cling still to the bottle?
Or do you chose fate, Let the book of the dead make the final entry of the last chapter,
that was once your life?
Carry with you the Asphodel, the pale yellow lily, food of the dead, for the banquet is
being prepared for you.
Libitina awaits to collect your corpse, the funeral procession she oversees, the world of
Hades awaits.
So tell me, which death do you chose? For the time is drawing near.
Categories:
mortimer, deathtime,
Form:
Free verse
If you have ever been mobbed by mice
You will not easily forget it.
There is a certain smell they have
Their fur is a texture you will never forget
As long as you live
They can put perfume on but it will not help
Disguising mouse smell is like disguising the taste of a jalapeno pepper
It simply cannot be done
It’s not like I have been mobbed by mice
But I have imagined it in my dreams,
And it is not pretty.
Especially if the mice are real, not Mickey and Minnie.
Not Mortimer. Not Disney.
The kind you find in your garage who sneak around on rafters
Terrorizing you with their ugly tails and their mouse smells.
Once smelled, it cannot be unsmelled.
Mobbed by Mice. In my sleep. Once or twice a year.
Nothing like it. Thank God!
Categories:
mortimer, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Prose Poetry