Best Nicknamed Poems
There once was a little mighty ant
Who was extravagant and arrogant
Known to be exorbitantly militant
She was so combatant and petulant
They nicknamed her My Commandant
One day she came across an elephant
Elegant and obviously dominant
She started on her typical rant
Then stopped and decided to recant
Both agreed it was all very insignificant
They chatted, it turned out the elephant
Was actually the ant's aunt
Suddenly the intolerant ant
Has become cheerful and exuberant
And now routinely breaks out in chant
Read on air by invitation ~ May 26, 2020 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 2nd place, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 20, 2018 for MID OCTOBER 2018 CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and February 23, 2018 for contest MAKE ME LAUGH sponsored by Robert Haigh
Categories:
nicknamed, allegory, animal, change, cute,
Form:
Monorhyme
Slipping into my silver-gray SUV
Nicknamed " Sly Buster Cruiser”
I speed off down the rocky, off-highway road.
Twisting and reeling like my wired mind,
windows down, sunroof open,
(Annie Lennox groveling on the CD player),
reckless noon rays on my chin,
wind on ticklish, naked nape ...
Damn, who cares? I am 19 again?
Shuffling into the 7-Eleven Store
beside the Shell gas station
(With a free wind shield clean-up),
I draw out some bucks for a Philip Morris pack
and a two bottles of beer, plus a Dorito
( the barbecue flavor , please)…
Ain’t a drinker; a smoker on occasion,
but I feel like being reckless and
slightly rebellious ;
I lock the door prepping up for an untamed ride.
Grabbing a spray of cologne mist
and red-violet lipstick from the tote,
my irises roll from the lane to the side mirror,
as I slowly dunk the beer, icy and bubbly
zooming away with hands laughing on the wheels.
Nobody knows me in this place; my ribs shout silently:
This is just all for me; just now, I’ll be.
This is just between me and the edge of a free road.
This is about my navel breathing fire and ice,
It’s about touching danger fast without reason or fuzz
Because later, all this smooth craziness will soon pass.
Back to the same home trail, I rip the cigarette sticks,
slide the unused bottle in my bag
before wiping the red on lips with the Dorito foil…
“ Mommy, Mommy… where have you been?”
I smile as if my skin had chased a tornado…
Dumping the beer on the back porch,
My hand is cleansed by some kind of holy water,
And I start to hug my mischievous girl...
Then off I start to roll the plates on the sinking sink.
`````` `````
Celebrating My Faves Contest
For Andrea Dietrich--Faved by Sponsor
Reposted 4/24/2016
Categories:
nicknamed, adventure,
Form:
Free verse
There is a very trendy Smoothie Bar down town
Called ‘FruitiBaTuti’ but known to all as FBT
Where a colourful bunch of close friends work
All happy, hardworking and dedicated to their duty
FBT is a busy hip and happening place
Daily, customers line out the door
Waiting for smoothies considered supreme
Like they have never experienced before
Paul Passionfruit is the owner of FBT
A fair and fun boss
FBT is his love and passion
His staff have never seen him cross
FBT’S manager is Annie Apple
A fresh faced ,crisp, sweet girl
Until she starts drinking cider
Then her inner party girl unfurls
Second in charge is Freddie Fig
A charismatic ,charming lad
So chillaxed that he doesnt give a fig
When FBT gets crazy busy mad
Louie Lemon is a member of staff
He is known for being quite sour
Yet when working at FBT
He is a honey and often the man of the hour
Grapes is another sweet member of the team
Who is kind and cares a whole bunch
He likes to party with Annie Apple
Drinking way too much wine when it comes to the crunch
Mango is a popular staff member
Pretty ,happy , her heart aglow
Regularly with a new boyfriend in tow
As she keeps letting her man-go
Pineapple is the newest member of staff
She is keen to learn though at times a little unsure
Her big dream is to eventually be ‘just an apple’
She pines to possess the apple allure
Dates is the Casanova of the staff
Often on dating apps swiping left or right
Looking for the perfect, soft ,luscious woman
Though he secretly has Mango in his sight
Peter Pomegranate is the joker of the team
Funny , forever making everyone laugh
He comes from a little village in England
Nicknamed Pommie by both customers and staff
Strawberry, Blueberry and Raspberry are sisters
They are the casual and relief staff at FBT
Sweet, bright and accomodating
Each sister is berry, berry special indeed
Cool music is played at FBT
With conversation and laughter abound
The vibe and ambience is upbeat and lively
Come down, meet the staff, have a smoothie and enjoy the surrounds!
Categories:
nicknamed, character, fruit, humor, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
True definition of a hood love story,
They called him Felony.
Skin was as smooth as a shot of Hennessey.
He made a lot of other men envy.
His style was particularly different from the rest.
No gold chains around his neck, but a simple rosary lies on his chest.
Underneath his Sunday best was a solid bullet proof vest.
His pockets had a secret treasure chest.
Steepness with infinite thickness,
But every man has a weakness.
She killed him with kindness.
A righteous lioness,
His royal highness: his positive guidance.
She was the offspring of the titans.
Exceptional of importance to his reputation,
She was his foundation freedom from his everyday discrimination.
A safe haven like a wave equation, her name was Money.
Half black and half Puerto Rican,
Skin complexion of an Egyptian he nicknamed her Isis.
Dipped in gold went perfectly with her skin tone.
She was an overgrown precious stone.
Foreknown Money was working with the federal bureau of investigation.
Deeply in love with a convict but yet victorious triumphant.
Stunting on everyone’s judgments Money is Felony movement.
A step ahead of the government,
Never seeing a seal indictment
Money was his antidepressant.
Felony was her significant participant.
Both of them reaping the enjoyment,
Bonded by each other’s fulfillment,
Seal their delinquent intimate commitment.
In love with a codefendant left them with a Bonnie, and Clyde ending.
Love testimony of Felony and Money
Categories:
nicknamed, imagination, love, poetry, romance,
Form:
Light Verse
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
Categories:
nicknamed, anger, devotion, hope, passion,
Form:
Alliteration
Let’s fly to the celestial fiesta of the cherry blossom,
In the North Eastern Region of Shillong, named, “The Scotland of the East,
The abode of the cloud,” in the lush mesa of the magnetic Meghalaya!
The wheezing Pine forest of the whispering waterfalls in the Khasi hills,
is bustling with the nature’s fairytale of pink, white and ivory!
As far as the eyes can see, the rolling tableland is ringing, ridden by the radiant petals of cherries!
Neither Japan, nor Paris, a mere remote region of Indian plateau,
Glowing in nature’s sublime glory of pellucid picturesque pinks!
Nicknamed, Prunus Cerasoides, the cherry blossoms,
a delightful boon of Himalayas,
are blooming profusely in the magical
verdant highland of the East Khasi hills!
The November is rippling with
moonlit music, plethora of flamboyant folk dances,
pageants, stalls to cater to the globetrotters’ penchant for the ethnicity
of the fur-flung region’s tribes’ cuisines, wine, arts and cryptic crafts!
Such bedazzling is the serenity of the panaromic platonic plateau,
As folks of the vicinity, are traversing despite the rampant pandemic,
to glimpse the shangri la of the richest biome of the floral magical lane!
The resonating frolic of the chirping and twittering from the cheerful cherry bushes
are teeming with the twirling bliss, intoning,
in winters whistling whiff!
A nature’s bounty, a pamphlet of picturesque hamlets’ terrains of aromatic sensuous purity!
Blessed are they, who have witnessed the once in a lifetime scene of crystal clean roaring rivulets, murmuring brooks, the ravishing orchids, quirky root bridges, aesthetic lakes and rills, scented wild flowers, encompassing the enigmatic cherry blooms of the mystic land of the majestic mountains!
An euphoria to have a ride amidst the clouds of the misty moorlands,
gliding languidly to take the signature of the mementos of the moments;
to kiss the plateau of wild orchids, flowering Cherries and sacred woodlands of those Khasi hills,
crackling with the sprouting, cherry blossom festival of the far East!
Categories:
nicknamed, celebration, nature, paradise, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back
memories of a childhood incident
When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we
had over an acre of land. Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to
sell.
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot.
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!
Jan Allison
11th August 2014
Categories:
nicknamed, childhood, humorous, innocence, mum,
Form:
Narrative
Rahul Dravid is called "The Wall",
A true servant to the game of Bat and Ball.
He is nicknamed Mr.Dependable,
since his dedication is Remarkable.
He displays a lot of commitment,
with his great temperament.
He is a man who is selfless,
and the number of runs he scored is countless.
He has played consistently against all nations,
indeed,with a lot of patience.
Though his game looks quite simple,
opponents have to do a job which is ample.
Everytime he comes out to bat in any session,
he seems to be like a Man on a Mission.
His technique to budding stars is like a guide book,
the footprints of Dravid in Indian cricket have the best look.
Categories:
nicknamed, dedication, inspirational, sports,
Form:
Personification
This man was affectionately nicknamed “The Stork”.
He played only two seasons with the Mets from New York.
George was a native of Salt Lake City.
His major league baseball statistics were not pretty.
When interviewed, he would often deliver a vintage quip.
He would have played longer if he didn’t dislocate his hip.
After the 1974 campaign, George walked away.
He is a youth baseball coach and school counselor today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Categories:
nicknamed, baseball, dedication, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Great are his exploits
honour and rank
he's celebrated
he's immortalized
He's fondly recalled
Back to memory
The great legends of Old..
Great Chief Waiyaki wa Hinga..
Aged nine he killed a lion
with his bare hands...
When the imperialist came.. Waiyaki..
Raised a huge Army armed with bows and arrows
Testing the might of the staff which spat fire
Fore told by the great seer Mugo Wa Kibiru..
..see people dressed like butterflies
they come from the sea of the hawk
and move on an iron caterpillar to the
lake of the eagle.. they carry a walking staff
which spits fire killing instantly... your weapons
will be useless when faced with this magical staff..
The great seer advised the people to learn
The pale skinned colonizers magic..
At right time armed with the right knowledge
The land of the slopes of Kerenyaga..
Will be liberated by its sons
The mountain of splendor and mysteries
Where people since ages ago have offered prayers
To the Supreme Deity Ngai Murungu..
Who is all loving and of good virtual
The supreme deity's Prophet Mugo wa Kibiru...
Is office of the chief seer..
Water Tabernacle the resting place of - Managi
The greatest Holy relic and the Box that is the relic
I recap they say Great Chief Waiyaki
Was betrayed by the pale colored..
foe he had called blood brother..
Angry Waiyaki took out his favorite club..
Mathiokore.. it was nicknamed..
Within minutes brains of the Great captain
were scattered on our rich soils
The invaders captured Waiyaki..
Our great Chief and opened his skull
Waiyaki died not.. they buried him alive
Head facing downwards.. Great Chief..
You should have heeded the Great seers
prophecy..
...don't allow the butterflies to enter your homesteads...
Buried alive..
Immortal Warrior king fate
The annual pilgrimage around
Kereenyaga - the abode of Ngai
Goes on each year.. pilgrims
Make seven stops as they
Circumbulate the Holy Mountain..
Of stories and more stories from the land
Where gods.. immortals.. and mortals
Rub shoulders looking each other..
Eye to eye... tales of KENYA
code 254
LEWIS NYAGA
Categories:
nicknamed, africa, betrayal, community, conflict,
Form:
Narrative
There was once a lazy drunkard named Bob
He's so idle he's nicknamed the fat slob
By the pool he lays
In a drunken daze
He just drinks and shovells food down his gob.
In the summers heat Bob sweated and stunk
Didnt bother him cos he was so drunk
Tripped over a stool
Fell into the pool
And now smells more like wet dog than a skunk...
(GOB -slang for mouth)
Written 14th June 2020
For Summer Laziness Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Mohan Chutani
Categories:
nicknamed, humor,
Form:
Limerick
On a horse at the crossroads a pistol in his hand
Dressed in dark clothing he looked fine and grand
Waiting in the moonlight for the York coach to appear
With cool nerves of steel; he showed no fear.
A gentleman by day and a Highwayman by night
Only carried out his crimes when the moon shone bright
Nicknamed Captain Luna; there was a price on his head
If you didn’t part with your valuables you’d end up dead
He heard it in the distance; the approaching coach
A lady friend had requested a necklace or a brooch
He'd heard some well to do had attended a ball
They'd be dripping with jewellery; he wanted it all.
He moved onto the road as the coach drew near
His face covered with a black mask to instill fear
He ordered the two coachmen “slow down to a stop
And throw down those bags you have on the top”.
He then shouted to the passengers" alight if you please
And line up if you will, over yonder by them tree’s”
Three ladies and a gentleman dressed in clothes so fine
Adorned with jewellery that twinkled, in the moonshine.
He said “you and your fine jewellery must forever part
Please fill up my leather bag and I'll let you depart”
The ladies were crying thinking that they'd all die
They thought anything Captain Luna said would be a lie.
He went through the bags and pulled out a silk dress
And thought to himself this will fit my lady friend Tess
He picked up his leather bag and into the night rode away
Leaving his victims quite shaken and in total disarray.
Written 15th day of April 2020.
Categories:
nicknamed, england, history,
Form:
Rhyme
Decades of friendship have grown every day,
and now we are seniors, with hair, silver gray.
Back in our teens, at a bus stop we met;
from that day on, our friendship was set.
Thicker than thieves, we were rarely apart,
a bond that was strong right from the start.
Our classmates nicknamed us the Bobbsey twins,
and so that is how our story begins.
Two young girls who fast became friends,
planning together for fun at weekends.
Sharing our secrets, both joys and our fears,
laughing and pining, and sometimes in tears.
There for each other through thick and thin.
Forever best friends, my dear Sara Lynn.
Categories:
nicknamed, best friend,
Form:
Rhyme
Lines, Launch Angles and Curve Balls
The boys of summer
Set up for a season of lines, launch angles and curve balls
With straight chalky lines leading to a field of dreams
Where line-ups keep the line moving
On frozen ropes to climb the ladder into the catbird seat
Above the Mendoza line when outlines of a waving pennant envision
Crooked numbers and dusty home plates where grand salamis
Foil curves balls in flying angle launch lines – not lined out,
Not out of line
To make power lines for a hitter’s line of sight
And for bases lines, nicknamed the 45’ line,
That call for calls of fair ball down the line
Or foul across the foul line
To guide the line – fair or foul -
And lines of music for the seventh inning stretch, or the chin,
Sung in lusty lines of fans in seat lines
Or in line for nachos, popcorn, brats and beer –
To cheer the back door slider, can of corn or Uncle Charlie –
A Bronx cheer or line of boos –
A summer lineup card of seeing-eye doubles down the line,
Balls climbing up the ladder lines
Nestled in a flat curve
For lines creating perfect diamond angles
Ringing with famous lines
“Batter up!”
For “There’s no crying in baseball.” –
A nervous breakdown in nine innings” -
Because “It’s outta here!”
“Adios Pelota!” “Good bye Mr. Spaulding!”
“Holy Cow!” “Long gone!”
“Put it on the board” “Hey! Hey!”
“Oh Doctor!” “Bye, bye baby!”
And “It ain’t over till it’s over!”
Because “It’s getting late early.”
And “The impossible just happened.” “Forget it!”
“Hello again everybody! It’s a bee-yoo-tiful day for baseball.”
“How about that?”
“If it wasn’t for baseball I’d be in either the penitentiary or cemetery.”
“Remember these two things – play hard and have fun.”
With lines, launch angles and curve balls.
Opening Day April 1, 2021
Categories:
nicknamed, baseball,
Form:
Free verse
Why would someone yearly toast the birthday
of a poet like Edgar Allan Poe?
And on that day toast his grave the same way,
leave the bottle, three red roses, and go.
The man locals nicknamed, "The Poe Toaster."
in the mid-30s; remains anonymous.
But each Jan.19th, like a morbid poster,
Poe's grave and his toasts were synonymous.
Wearing a white scarf and wide-brimmed hat,
he'd arrive there in the early morning.
But in 2009, stopped, just like that,
and disappeared without any warning.
For 60 years, this phantom toasted Poe,
whether friend or foe, we may never know.
(Sonnet)
9/20/2018
Categories:
nicknamed, 12th grade, anniversary, birthday,
Form:
Sonnet