Best Pratt Poems
I worked in an Insurance office and loved my job
But the manager was an idle fat slob
He’d put in expenses sheets for work he hadn’t done
And was out of the door in front of everyone
But I digress…
He asked me to call two people on the phone
Could’ve called them himself but I didn’t moan
When I saw the names of the people I thought it was a joke
Surely these couldn’t be real names of these unfortunate folk
One man was called Olaf Pratt
I saw his name and laughed at that
The second was called Mr Erdogdu
It made me think of doggy pooh on my shoe!
I picked up the phone to dial the first number
But I started to laugh, it was a real blunder
I was unable to call; all I could do was giggle
My tears flowed and how my shoulders did wiggle
I composed myself to try and make the second call
Pressed a couple of digits, but I couldn’t dial them all
For I started laughing at Mr Erdogdu’s name
I’d failed at my task it was a terrible shame
The boss came in and asked why I hadn’t called
When he saw I’d been laughing he was quite appalled
I was as red as a beetroot and had tears in my eyes
To me the names were SO funny, this fact I couldn’t disguise
Snatching the piece of paper he gave me the cold shoulder
I cringe at this memory even though now I’m so much older
Since then I’ve had friends with surnames of Moron and Looney
I’m glad I’m more mature now and not that lass that was gooney!
This poem really is based on true events but I had to make these calls on separate days and not together as in this tale … but the result was the same I couldn’t make these calls for laughing at these unfortunate names.
My most embarrassing moment Contest Sponsored by Cindi Rockwell
07~15~16
Feeling like a lost soul I sit, as the train rocks me to and fro
the woman next to me is jovial and pleasant, with a glow
We chat and pass the hours sharing amicably without restraint
then she tells me she is heading for London to marry, oh how quaint
Perhaps your marriage will be blessed from heaven? this I say
as the gentlemen across from me smiles, cool as the month of May
I can see from his polished shoes and his gray fedora hat
that he's a man of well to do, much accustomed to small pratt
Later in the evening as I sip my tea with clotted cream
I notice how he stares at me, as if I were a dream
Feeling lonely and quiet daring I invite him to sit down
it is then that I do notice, that his eyes are chestnut brown
"Going to London to visit my grandma" I say, "she lives by the sea"
"I can escort you Mademoiselle," he says, then tips his hat at me.
Chose # 3 a passenger on a train
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
The shop floor view of the newly promoted
Oh to be the factory foreman and to wear a posh white coat
Just the thought of all that power brings a lump right to your throat
No more dirty hands or hob nail boots or boiler suits for you
No more rushing through your break time just relax and drink your brew
Carrying your briefcase, there’s no need for you to hide it
We all know that like your head there’s not a lot inside it
With your clipboard and your pencil you can wander round the site
Whilst assuming great authority you put us workers right
You believe we are in awe of you and hold you in esteem
If that is what you really think your living in a dream
We have seen all your back stabbing and we don’t know how you sleep
Everybody knows you as a sycophantic creep
We heard you telling everyone in the works canteen
That you now had access to the managers latrine
It’s true that for promotion you were first past the post
Yet the workers here all see you as a bigger pratt than most
We have read all your new rules and how we face the sack
We are all in the union and we’ll be fighting back
Don’t go thinking as a foreman that your future is secured
Your about to be upended by a young smart-arsed shop steward
To my little sister,
Who is not really small
It’s just that she is younger than I
And she’s not very tall
The other day she had a bang
Unfortunately on her head
There is a good side to this
She could have ended up dead
The trouble is the bang has rattled
What brains she does possess
At least the scans did find some
But they are a vibrating mess
They say she will improve
But that cannot be
Because my little sister
Is already perfect for me
She may struggle talking
But I can feel for her
With her new stutter and my daft voice
We sound a right daft pair
We think we’ll start a chat line
But not sure what it’ll be
We might begin an auction site
We’ll have to wait and see
GGGoing GGGoing gone
She would be good at that
But with my alternating voice
I just sound like a real pratt
Between my highs and lows
And her struggle with her words
There’s’ one think we both know
We are not a pair of nerds
So to my sister Dawn
I send you all my love
Get well soon sweetheart
You are the hand that fits my glove.
Mandy aka GG
19/12/2013 ©
To those that know us they know we are both struggling with speech but for two different reasons.
No blame on you..
No blame on you woman,
To stand and yell,
No blame on you lady,
To shout and fight!!
No blame on you,
To lose your reason,
To miss your season..
To lose control temper and sight.
When your pride has gone with dust,
Approached and left as source of lust,
By....men sons of men,
Fountain of promises, Streams of lies,
Arrogance and disgust!
Will you still believe and put your trust?
On the sexist..Retrograde..
On the still.. A maniac pat!
Is it wrong or is it right??
To become a sex symbol..?
A commodity..?
*********** to please the Pratt?
You lost your status...You lost your pride...
Your virginity,
And you did not mind,
You lost your femininity,
Your Victorian teachings,
You escaped the past,
And here you're today fighting the present,
Your cause is a "Must",
Nobody cares..Except you...
Only you..You! Are by God,
An immortal...
A respected wife..
A cherished sister...
A sweet daughter,
A beloved mother... Here you last.!..
I got up it was way past noon
Thought I’d go for a walk.
Then, it started to rain
I’m talking heavy rain
The rain that soaks you rain.
I saw my neighbour Mrs Pratt
She was out walking her little dog.
You’ve guessed, they were wet too
I’m talking really wet.
They were both dripping.
I said "hello" and she grunted a greeting
Not happy I thought, but it’s only rain.
Then a bus drove by and hit a big puddle,
And then Mrs Pratt screamed as the puddle
engulfed her.
Strange I thought, she is already wet.
But then I realised why she had screamed
the poor little dog was not moving.
I went to the pub and the barman said
“You look wet”
“Do I” I replied, " I just saw a dead dog".
Written on 21st of September
For contra poetry contest sponsored by Jesse Rowe.
The Unexplainable
By
Tom Wright
A fledging young magician named Joel Pratt,
Was quite adept at pulling things from a hat.
From a force of habit,
Out came the rabbit,
But he was supposed to have produced a cat.
Dad's youngest brother
is younger
than my brother:
Dad being the eldest
in his family,
my brother being
the eldest in mine.
Mother's sister
wed Dad's cousin.
Their offspring and I
are double cousins.
I crossed county lines
to choose a mate
totally unrelated.
Dream on.
Somewhere back there,
the name Pratt dangles
from both family trees.
The budget is boring, George Osborne is a pratt *
Raising extra monies by taxing this and that
The deficit is crippling, but he hasn’t got a clue
To me, the next election seems long overdue!
* the spell-checker wanted to amend prat to part. I almost went with that suggestion, but couldn’t decide which part people would assume he was…
Multitudes enter the venue
all know there's something Entre Nous
You Take a Friend to find your place
it's time to just Cut to the Chase
All Losing It, the lights go down
Signals a start to the Countdown
Vital Signs race to Larry, Curly, and Moe
a Distant Early Warning that starts the show
Can't Resist that sound, distinctive
while The Stars Look Down it seems instinctive
The Spirit of Radio starts (with an attitude)
up on your feet you're In the Mood
Making Memories with a Headlong Flight
and straight on into The Color of Right
Might they play The Necromancer
or maybe even Fancy Dancer
Tom Sawyer starts a wild frenzy
One Little Victory follows unrelentingly
No Ghost of a Chance they'd play Cygnus X-1
but books one AND two - they aren't even done
only Intermission
Presto - back with 2112
how far back will they delve
A Passage to Bangkok brings you to Tears
then showing four aspects of their Fears
While Mystic Rhythms start to grow
O Baterista is next, as we all know
YYZ, Working Man both kick ass
Natural Science and then The Pass
Makes The Body Electric and Time Stand Still
knowing you are Here Again of your own Freewill
They Test for Echo seeing all still alive
Red Barchetta makes sure you can drive
Trees stand tall in Cities of Gold that are Seven
swaying themselves under the starry heaven
Limelight shines in La Villa Strangiato
Wish Them Well for it is time to go
But We Hold On....
Malignant Narcissism starts the encore
Spindrifts into The Snow Dog and By-Tor
One can only Hope it's not the last tour
Closer to Your Heart than ever Before(and After)
In the End you know
you are Finding Your Way back home
endlessly rocking
endlessly rocking under starry heavens
As the Caravans travel onwards
riding out into a heartless sea
Remember what, to you, brought these words
Dirk, Lerxst, Pratt, and the lonely letter of E.
song/album titles/partial lyrics-Lee/Lifeson/Peart ©
Phil is a Welshman from Cardiff, basketball,
Who plays for the club the Sheffield Steelers,
On the 2nd February 1994 he was born tall,
And wears vest 11 for TeamGB, has feelers.
His classification is 3.0, he’s experienced,
‘Cos he was a junior before being a senior,
He first played as a senior very balanced,
2012, Standard Life Continental Clash leer.
In 2015 TeamGB won the European gold,
In Worcester in England’s West Midlands,
So in Rio in 2016 the basketball team bold,
Beat Turkey to win bronze, third strands,
"Don't Walk Away Without Me"
Don't walk away without me,
For you;ll always know where I'll be
I will never pass over you again
For the love that spills out,
Can never be matched again without me.
You are going to stay, for the day
‘Til the clouds bring sunshine,
For the real reason you are mine
Please come and help when I go on my way.
Let the door swing open
with the thought of seeing you,
Please don't walk alone, I need you to stay,
For I am the lonely.
The other side of that path can never be broken,
Always remember Darling, I will take notice of your thoughts
unbroken
The waters run deep, but your affection cannot be touched
I an not a fool, but just an— ordinary old fashioned person
There will always be a remembering— until the day ends.
For you know where I always will be
As we together will be friends
And go on together and never be free
Please don't walk away without me.
(C)AI.LAN E. PRATT
4/27/80
Anger- what is it?
what color is it?
And, what can we liken it to?
Is it the thing that we feel before counting to TEN?
Or is it why many Buddhists reflect in Zazen?
Could it be White, like The Pillar Of Salt that became of Lot's Wife?
Was it Black like the GLOVE Of Geronimo Pratt
Or Silver like the Bullets which laid Amadou flat?
The Blue Of Uniforms of those who Protect and who Serve?
Maybe the pigment of a person who killed a sick perv
Shaded Brown like the Projects, with no Hope/locked inside?
Welfare Yellow like Cheese when you're stripped of your pride
Surely it's the Green Of Saudi Arabia's Flag
New York Gray like the Beggar who's treated like slag?
Actually, it isn't manifested in colors
Nor can it be defined
Go now
Entertain what I've said
Remembering the Paradox is that we claim to see RED
Conley Pratt slouched over the horn
of a battered and trail-worn saddle,
been on the run for several hours now
after being caught rustling cattle.
His side ached, caked in fresh blood
from where a large bullet had struck,
he heard a gurgling rasp in each breath,
and knew he was running low on luck.
He’d never expected to end up here,
a hunted, desperate, ailing rustler,
but times had been hard, he’d made a choice
and now rode, despondent, for the border.
He saw it ahead, just a small stake
that stuck out of the dull, desert ground.
Then somebody shouted,”Look, there he goes!”
Conley did not even bother turning 'round.
He spurred his old roan, pushing onwards,
each step painfully jarring his wound,
He gritted his teeth, and kept up the gallop,
he would be reaching safety soon.
He crossed over then, be he didn’t stop,
not knowing they’d give up the chase.
Shots rang out, and one caught his arm,
but the posse did not push on his way.
Moaning, and bleeding from a new gash,
he struggled hard to maintain his path,
But he’d reach her, he’d reach his Marlena,
and then there’d be no looking back!
He could see her now in his mind’ eye,
tanned skin, dark eyes, and straight hair,
his Mexican beauty, she had pledged to him,
with Marlena there would be no despair.
And now since he could never go back,
he would take her down before the priest,
But first he would have to heal from these wounds,
by ministrations she’d give tenderly.
Her two-room hut came arose in twilight,
And from within it came a soft glow,
bathing in lantern light an adobe wall,
and a small, rectangular widow.
Conley slumped lower, horse trotting on,
having reached the place just in time,
His stomach throbbed, his lungs labored,
without help he faced the end of the line.
He dismounted slowly, then limped on up
and through the window did he see
Marlena on her back, long legs spread wide
while a tall man thrusted vigorously.
Conley’s strength flagged at the mere sight
and he slumped against the hard wall,
his vision faded out to the sound of her cries,
The fates really had taken it all…
CONTINUES IN PART II.