Best Pantaloons Poems
Sossled
I wandered as lonely as a dog,
Me pantaloons were full of frogs
Slurping suds while on the grog,
Dog paddling with the ducks,
I thought I knew her lovely face,
Got cuddling with Aunty Grace
mascara was every place,
me swimming togs got stuck,
a rooster crowed up in the church,
cuckoo clock was in reverse,
I could think of nothing worse,
When incest, comes a riding?
18-sep-11
Nancy Jones
Contest Name Make me Laugh
Categories:
pantaloons, adventure,
Form:
Ballade
Two friends converse
One idle forenoon,
About ages lost and shared
Sardonic as pantaloons.
How long has each known
The other's happenstance
Through days of sobriety,
And days of romance.
Regaling a mirthful tale
When each was young
Not keen on life,
But the hymns they have sung.
How can we find worth
In ash and dust?
Not in our tribulations,
But each other's trust.
How long will that association last?
Only as long as regard has passed.
Categories:
pantaloons, friendship,
Form:
Blank verse
Picture on the Parlor Wall 9-27-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sampler on the Parlor Wall
Shadows born from dawdling light
Stretch across a firelit room set with porcelain cups,
From tea parties long ago and faraway,
With an invitation to sample sweets and savories
Like the sampler on the parlor wall.
Beneath neat rows of alphabets stories gather,
Verses stitched with silk and dreams
And numbers that taught a woman’s craft –
A child’s wishes fly with birds and lady bugs –
Wishes to convince a suitor at the door of her wifely worth
In tidy stitches foreshadowing an orderly life.
A young lady-girl in pantaloons and blue sashes
Weaves circles of symphonic dots in French wheels
While lazy daisy chains meander on her linen fields -
Magic flares in her zigzag lines, her wishes on wooly stars.
No signature remains from her little hand -
Her hearth, her home, her heart –
Only a legacy of butterflies and roses sampled on a parlor wall
And a tiny scarlet dot of imperfection like a signature remains
Embroidered into a sampler embracing each dawn and dusk.
Categories:
pantaloons, life,
Form:
Free verse
If you hear the sound of rat-tat-a-tat
It's not a woodpecker or a chattering cat
Tis George F. Latulence an aristocrat
Playing ping pong with his gold crested bat.
A competitor and show-off he deems to be
Dresses each day in his noble finery
Pantaloons his normal fancy day wear
His ancestry, finery, regalia, style flair.
He never shares glory or plays with a partner
Winning trophies for himself, what he is after
Agile and swift, rarely points he would miss
The downside came, when you did get that whiff.
To gain advantage, a parp he would do
Clenching bum cheeks, in case he followed through
High class energy foods for his body to sustain
But his parping was every one else's nose bane.
George on first serve, parped, as he hit the ball hard
Swiftly attacking, George butt did bombard
In that spilt second threw off his opponent
Point gain to George, aided by his flatulent moment.
Silent and deadly they all came out fast
Odourous gas from George nuclear fueled ar$e
If one made a noise he'd give a loud grunt
That was his bum burping cover up stunt.
Knew there was trouble when audiences pulled faces
Some even fainted, brave stayed in their seat places
George didn't care, just wanted top podium status
His methods and thinking obnoxiously atrocious.
Audience faces were different shades of green
People were swaying, some even vomiting.
He called it his ping pong, parp-crafty-art farts
Next point to win, final round about to start.
The ball went to and fro like a speeding fast bullet
George, with match point, he was about to secure it
Hitting an ace, made a spark, that caused a boom blast
Left the audience with mix feelings of relief and aghast.
Breaking news of his death headlines did broadcast
Even able to download from what's called a podcast
George F. Latulence died from a blast from his ar$e,
He blew up one too many, too dense and not sparse.
May The Gas Be With You Farts Part 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Written 07.10.21
Categories:
pantaloons, games,
Form:
Rhyme
The forest of limitless green,
The spill of red blood,
The rite of sunrise,
White pantaloons to turn away the sun:
An elephant shuffles along
swaying side to side.
He is swathed in red.
The rider sways in his howdah.
His eyes squint at the Asian sun.
Somewhere in the forest
a sadhu is chanting.
Monkeys are silent.
The prince on his calm beast
follows a path much trodden.
The insects swarm
with indifference.
Categories:
pantaloons, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
I remember the old rustic barn
Long ago in the sweet month of May
My sister Louise and her newly found squeeze
Were having a roll in the hay
She'd sneak to the neighborhood bar
And drink with young Larry and Chuck
She'd dance on a table, all willing and able
And take off her clothes for a buck
They'd pay just one dollar for a whoop and a holler
And an evening of boisterous play
Then they'd head for the barn, for some fun and a yarn
And dance til the sunrise broke day
At four in the morning, when day was a dawning
Old Pappy had gone for his gun
He crept up the ladder to the boys who had "had" her
And shouted they all better run
"I'll bring in the law to those lads in the straw
So, come outta your hiding place please!'
The boys did appear, each clutching a beer
And jumped from the loft to the floor
As naked as jays they ran separate ways
Trying to make for the door
With a shriek of denial
Louise ran for a mile
Dressed in her silk pantaloons
And I think of that day
As I chuckle away
At those bare bottomed
Chaps of eighteen
And Louise met a farmer who tried hard to calm her
And keep her away from the skids
She cooked and she sewed and kept the grass mowed
And bore the old geezer six kids
Categories:
pantaloons, funny, dance, old, dance,
Form:
Limerick
Grandma, look I am flying on your broom.
Where would you be going on such a fine
Afternoon?
Be careful that's an heirloom.
To your bedroom
To get my costume.
Grandma, look I am flying on your broom.
Well! One thing is for sure you have plenty of
Elbow room.
Did you find your black pantaloons?
Be careful that's an heirloom.
Before we go trick or treating you will need to
Use the powder room.
Once your outfit is on there won't be another
Opportune.
Grandma, look I am flying on your broom.
I assume
You bought your walkie talkies so we can
Commune.
Be careful that's an heirloom.
Grandma, why does daddy fume?
Never you mind. Halloween will be over soon.
Grandma, look I am flying on your broom
Be careful that's an heirloom.
Categories:
pantaloons, adventure, confidence, family, fantasy,
Form:
Villanelle
What does he do that I don’t?
Oh, he writes on and on
Occasionally uses too much paper;
Then the spellbinding lines
“Part of the moon was falling down
West, dragging the whole sky with it.
Its light poured softly in her lap,
She spread her apron to it.”
Pure soft magic fills the room,
I slowly learn to breathe again.
Everything unnecessary stripped away,
The soul burnished till it glows.
These words joyously fit as no other
Where did he learn to do that?
I’d gladly go to Vermont and farm
If the secret were whispered in my ear.
A build up, slowly, carefully crafted story
Beguiling with its simplicity, takes unaware.
Captures the heart, won’t let go.
Not till later we know of the gift.
Softness, gentleness, moving reverence
Unfolding events, each in its own ordered time.
His spirit shared by intuitive words.
No Shakespearean courtliness here
Although that’s another story.
What need has a Vermont farmer
For pantaloons and sword
When he has the whole world.
Categories:
pantaloons, allegory, inspirational, philosophy, thank
Form:
Free verse
The sun softly stirs the strawberry tree
Provokes a lovely green bird to hop out
They snuggle and fondle when the cocks croak
A young boy joins them in a smiling spree
A happy farmer throws up rings of smoke
‘Bill, come here’, came from mom a tender shout
‘Good morning’, said the white crest from the sea
The soft morning moves into a dense day
The sea starts conversation with the shores
The light brown wheat fields soak up some cool sun
Fishermen jostle for space at the quay
Traffic jam on narrow roads has begun
The mom is busy in her household chores
They have two kids and the third on the way
How magnificent is the setting sun
The happy bird hops back into its nest
Darkness falls and slowly mingles with light
Mom speaks to the guests at her house in turn
On Bill’s birthday the stars are shining bright
It is indeed a splendid fun food fest
I take a dark chocolate and a bun
Commotion fades making room for silence
In the wake of a bright star and the moon
The green bird chats with the sun in its dream
Bill looks up his grandpa in the lucence
His sister reads on how to become slim
The guard shuts the doors at The Pantaloons
The owl is busy in a conference
---------------------------------------------------------------
Categories:
pantaloons, celebration, dream, environment, good
Form:
Rhyme
“May I fondle your gluteus maximus milady?”
“Why you certainly may, my good sir”
“A bucket like yours with such voluptuous curves
Starts me tingling and me motor to purr”
“Let us meander behind that tree over there
We can let our sweet passion flow
Bid a farewell to our inhibitions so to speak
And share in the light of love's glow”
“Now my kind sir, may I ask you a favour
I wish you would progress a bit further
The way you fondle I find quite exhilarating
Can't help myself yelling bloody murder!”
At that very moment a small crowd did appear
They were clapping and cheering us on
So we sheepishly pulled up our pantaloons
As our moment of passion was gone
The moral of the story is really quite simple
When fondling a lady's glutimus max
Make sure you're alone and don't gather a crowd
It can certainly detract from your act
© Jack Ellison 2013
Categories:
pantaloons, funny, me, passion,
Form:
Quatrain
Methinks I'm overdoing these pep talks
You people must be tired and bored
I hereby announce, going back to the sillies
Worry not, it's of my own accord
A niche that's always been my cup of tea
Poetry that includes lots of humour
Get quite a kick out of making folks laugh
Losing my smile's just a rumour
So here we go, are you ready for this stuff
I'm afraid it can get a bit hokey
What did the water say to the cruise ship?
Nothing, it just waved... okey-dokey
Now wasn't that extremely thoughtful of me
Coming up with this comedic gem
I'm not just another pretty face you know
I'm real kind and a genuine friend
Are you ready to bust a gut laughing again
Well maybe I'm exaggerating a bit
Are you ready to pee in your pantaloons
Oops sorry! No off colour quips
I've always been known as a rebellious sort
But I've tried hard to mend my ways
So it's nothing but sillies from this day forward
You can bet all your hard earned pay!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Categories:
pantaloons, silly,
Form:
Quatrain
Started writing poetry then joined Poetry Soup
When submitting a poem I’m really cock a hoop
Have a cyber brother I did meet on line
Think he's quite amazing his poetry's divine
He said one day we were separated at birth
His comment amused me and filled me with mirth
Soon was confirmed we certainly were twins
Both write silly poetry and both have hairy chins
Cyber sister Jan started my big old heart a-ticking
Since entering my life it's sure been a-clicking
Wake up each morning can't wait for sister Jan
Even check my inbox before going to the can
She never disappoints though we're an ocean apart
Start's my motor racing, got a hold of my heart
Haven't figured out why I deserve such a friend
Separated at birth we'll be friends to the end
Noticed on some comments people call him ‘Kenny’
He’d love to sing with Dolly – guess he’s one of many
Jack and Dolly’s greatest hits I see it in my mind
But Cathie said no, guess she’s being real kind
From Jack’s picture, think he’s more like a Santa
We get on great as bro and sis with much silly banter
I’m so very fortunate to find my cyber brother
If I had to choose one couldn’t wish for another
It's a well known fact, Brits lack a sense of humour
Sister Jan sure puts a kibosh on that silly rumour
She makes me cackle and wet my pantaloons
Sometimes I snort like a silly old buffoon
At my ripe old age of fifty-eight plus twenty
Things don't work well, I have heartburn a plenty
But the heartburn I have is caused by my love
My dear sister Jan gives my heart a big shove
~ Collaboration Poem by J Allison & J Ellison
written for contest sponsored by Jared Pickett
Categories:
pantaloons, brother, humorous, sister,
Form:
Rhyme
Ode to Animators
Whenever Artists are praised
Animators are not at all amazed-
For, they create Life and activity
from ideas from mind's captivity.
They sweat, they toil and do time
to create this live pantomime;
An Animator adeptly manages
life through such zany images.
The Greatest Artist of them all
is he who stirs life on the wall
by funny voice as of pantaloons
and mischief of similar cartoons.
For, Greatest Artist, if I may rate,
is he who kids can interest-
Adults having been kids once
relate to such infantile wants.
26th September 2013
Categories:
pantaloons,
Form:
Ode
THE POMPOUS POMMEY WAS GOOD THEN
AND JUST AS GOOD FOR MAN NOW
FOR COURTESY AND CHIVALRY WERE CODES
TO LIVE BY, WHEN DISCIPLINE AND ORDER RULED THE DAY
AMONG ADULTS AND KIDS AT PLAY
WHEN CHILDREN SHOULD BE SEEN
AND NOT HEARD, OR IS IT THE OTHER WAY ROUND
AND SIX O'CLOCK WAS SUPPER TIME
NO EATING BEFORE GRACE WAS SAID
AND WHOLE FAMILIES SAT AT THE TABLE'S FARE
REQUEST POLITELY TO LEAVE THE TABLE
ONLY SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, WITH ADULTS AROUND
AND TABLE MANNERS AND ETIQUETTE
WAS PRACTISED ALWAYS TO SHOW YOUR KIND
AND THANK YOU'S AND PLEASE'S WERE THE NORM
RESPECT FOR YOUR ELDERS RULED OVERALL
WITH DON'T DO AS I DO, DO ONLY AS I SAY
STAND UP WHEN A LADY ENTERS THE ROOM
WHEN BOWS AND CURTSY'S WERE IN DEMAND
AND BREEDING AND CULTURE COUNTED MORE
WHEN FOREBEARS WERE LORD POMPOUS AND SIR MUCKUS
AND PANTALOONS AND BOWS WERE FOR GIRLS
AND SHORT PANTS AND BOW-TIES FOR THE BOYS
WITH SOCKS PULLED UP TO JUST BELOW THE KNEES
OH YES! PLUM PUDDINGS AND WELSH RARE-BIT WERE THE TREATS.
Categories:
pantaloons, growing up, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
The Santa Claus parade's in town,
the streets are lined with joyful smiles.
Just look around; there's not a frown,
the Santa Claus parade's in town.
With snowflakes gently tumbling down,
bands march in their different styles.
The Santa Claus parade's in town,
the streets are lined with joyful smiles.
Bands march in their different styles,
with floats and animal balloons.
Stretching along for many miles,
in clusters and single files.
To the delight of juveniles,
waving like a bunch of buffoons.
Bands march in their different styles,
with floats and animal balloons.
Waving like a bunch of buffoons,
marching clowns precede Santa's sleigh.
And carolers sing Christmas tunes,
dressed in top hats and pantaloons.
A way to spend your afternoons,
welcoming thoughts of Christmas day.
Waving like a bunch of buffoons,
marching clowns precede Santa's sleigh.
(Intertwining Triolet)
12/6/2017
Categories:
pantaloons, character, children, christmas, fantasy,
Form:
Triolet