Best Probate Poems
Been eating medusa dates
Lovely fat juicy ones
I ate and ate them
Oh my they were so good
Why does my stomach feel *****
I thought the next day
Oh my! to the bathroom I ran
and sat , and sat and sat
Dare not leave, was in a quandary
The estate agent was calling in an hour
My mam needed a price for probate.
The smell lingered , Febreze Air, or the external fan
Couldn't remove it.
The doorbell went, I went out the back door
Left my mam to apologise, to this day
I do not eat fresh dates.
Beware of things fat and squiggy nice to eat
Can lead you into a foul smelly time.
Penned 29 April 2015
He sees it gleaming on the side of the road
Looks at it closely…pleased it isn’t a toad
Ever so blissful is that strapping young buck
He can’t resist so picks up the puck
The lad brings the puck on his very first date
Places it on the dash…picks her up at eight
She looks at him playfully, lust fills her eyes
Ten minutes later, oh, the passionate cries!
He gets a call from a probate attorney
Puck at his side, hears about old Aunt Bernie
Last time she visited she left so irate
Yet he’s sole heir to her lavish estate!
He goes to make a ‘deal’ on Monte Hall’s show
Clutches the puck…dressed as an emo scarecrow
Instead of door one that hides twelve pregnant hens…
He picks door two and drives away in a Benz
He thought he’d dabble in the market…why not?
He tosses up the puck…it lands on a spot
Buys a ton against advice from his adviser
The next week the corp. gets bought out by Pfizer!
The young gun opts to head off to Sin City
Smiling, he sings a joyful little ditty
He jets to the bank and cleans out his accounts
He even hawks the Benz since he has no doubts
He wanders over to the elaborate wheel
He kisses the puck…was this ever surreal!
He boldly pushes in the hefty chip stack
Recklessly placing his whole fortune…on black
You probably want to know how things turned out
Did he hit big…is he off to lounge about?
While I won’t exactly divulge the young lad’s fate…
Let’s say the puck now rests…on the bed of the lake!
Captain Cleopatra was feeling very pleased today, as she stood, on the bridge of the Federation's Moonblaster 5
This was her first command after passing out of the "Universal Academy of Feline Officers" and she held her tail high
Being in command was alien to her but with the experienced Probate Officer "Moon Martial Macafferty" by her side she was feeling good and relaxed inside
Orders were clear, war had been declared on Dalmatian Galaxy U, after intelligence reports had spotted a Special Forces Dog Unit, stealing bones from Feline Cemetery Interior 2
Now they had been tasked with this campaign and she would follow her orders through but to do it they would have to travel three thousand light years to Cosmos Blue
Moon Martial Macafferty had issued the crew, with extra large aniseed balls which he knew,
would tempt the Special Forces Dog Unit out of their bolt hole, on Moon Alpha Seven, next to "Mount King Cole"
Cleopatra looked out of the bridge window, at the distant sun, she put her paw to the holster, which held her stun gun, She thought "soon", very very soon, we will pass the twinkle line, on the dark side of the moon
Planet Atropolis looked beautiful at night, with its seventy six, astral fire flames, dancing in the light. Her Mother was Resident Queen Mouse Clearer, The highest honour to bestow, to rid the place of vermin mice, she had took the vow
Macafferty with his long golden whiskers and his full length fur of blue, whispered "your in charge girl" it was time to go, she knew
She stepped up to a loud hailer, "ATTENTION CREW, GOOD DAY" fasten all your harnesses, we are on our way
Scattering spellbound in search of this utopia
Minds-eye in shortfall dissects one's monopoly
Through no choice of own approach it sloppily,
Exude to a position such promised, Ethiopia-
As the diminishing dream on landscapes ensemble
The probate illusion of Queen of Egypt's daughter
Who proceeds through this escapade of slaughter
And who am I forgiving one or either? I tremble.
Having reached two thousand years without absorb
Of having travelled miles, indeed was bronze;
Such ghastly size these statues, long lost sons
With indications seen through my crystal orb.
Precious filling educated, siphoning the syllable
Retracted.., words of larger scale were of faith
Those who muttered sounding, Queen Merneith,
-Alluring dynasties as Anedjib's was, as a fable-
Engulfed over as subsidiary benefactors cannibal
Over some archaeological find, for at the centre,
No godly size can interpret that this magenta,
Haze of gross sufficient was the alluring spectacle.
Expedient gauge eclipse this as the inferno;
And making this voyage with the help of a globule,
Whose crystal awareness has forgotten the rule,
That language hosts devise quoted, 'quid pro quo'.
The essence of wit is brevity
which interestingly evinces chivalry
delivered verdict to hex hoar size
(once and for all) president
dons mantle of deviltry
and trumps constitutional credo
defining American elementary
particular edicts denoting, enshrining,
framing, grand honorable inalienable rights
when foolhardy lobbyists prevail
evicting execrable“enemy”
i.e. forward thinking (progressively liberal)
which subsequently might help
timid citizens to invoke probate, procure, produce cojones
in opposition against rabidly power hungry,
misogynistic courting among the body politik
fostering future feverish fortuity,
toward risking life and limb sans
Uncle Sam selfless gratuity
(especially as Benjamin Button syndrome –
reverses aging process
acquired thru heredity
gets in full swing) stamping mindset
nonestablishmentarian identity
with my Kosher blessing despite any infamy
permission to go ahead with jocularity
from a superstar coach named Kennedy
thereby garnering homespun liberty
where icon bank on direct
laudable, linkedin longevity
with unrolled Scottish grandeur
(Pomp and Circumstance broadcast)
synchronized with precise
unrolled welcome mat
yule receive granted “FAKE” feted soiree
as curtain call doth close toward
final decade of mortality
yet dismiss bing hash-tagged
a scofflaw at any opportunity
especially if legislated mandate
earmarked as priority
in tandem with the key quality
apothegm stipulates decrease sing sanity
as the hands of father time
spin (Doktor Dude Little) backward
away from present day turbidity
increasing revanchism uber victory.
Okay, for Christy, who I could never refuse;
Do you have to be fat to have a large intestine?
I'm afraid to ask what kind of dance they do in Lapland.
Dripping pan- a pan that leaks.
Is a plebeian a female striving to join a gay organization?
Quibble and Bits- arguing with the grocer over the price of dog food.
Subhuman- a sailor on a submarine.
Monkey wrench- forcefully pulling a chimpanzee that is holding on to it's cage.
Betty Crocker- a woman who's cookbook if filled with pathological lies.
Prodigy- a young person exceptionally talented at poking people with a stick.
Probate- a lure to attract professional roaches.
The estate of Ambrose Rose is released from probate.
To receive their inheritance, the stooges can't wait.
Ichabod Slipp is the executor holding the money.
What this crook is doing to the stooges isn't funny.
Each one gets a beating from Slipp in an altercation.
On a night train is where Slipp has made a reservation.
Moe, Larry, and Shemp board it for a confrontation.
Are you curious about where this story will go?
All you have to do is watch the video.
Based on the 1947 Columbia Pictures short subject "Hold That Lion"
starring the Three Stooges.
Things About Trump
Things about Trump are well understood
Has completely entered his second childhood
By his bad behavior you can always tell
When you will listen while sitting for a spell.
Like clumsy child Trump is known to act
And never get together a well known fact
Never saw likes of him being subdued
To your life brings trouble beginning a feud.
Once of Trump you have seen latest statistic
He went ballistic when called chauvinistic
And when you see a face like his in a file
No wonder they wanted to put him on trial.
Do you know what for we can hardly wait
When his will they finally started to probate
Which really caused and created a scene
Tax returns had resulted in a ruptured spleen.
Jim Horn
My Bonnie who does lie over the ocean,
have you been laughing at this one yet.
caused by all the comprised commotion
Do wish to inform you with deep regret.
A cracked windowpane. A few daffodils peek their heads through the weeds that grow tall where flowers once smiled. Purple nettle chokes the life from any grass courageous enough to try to stand in its way.
Birds tweet their dismay
the feeders are all empty—
No signs of life here
TOWARDS A PERFECT WORLD
Many times I renegade
My heart, my mind and my whole being
Escaped from a jungle
Where I myself is a sacrifice and alone
Indifferent and at times
Out of legitimate and unknown.
But though I broke
From a cell I’m happy and free
I am holding now those tears and courage
To redeem from that trauma to probate
Towards a senile and rationale one
Hopefully to better side of the universe.
A rebel with a cause
Of libertine’s aspirations, hopes and loves
That I know I’m sure
Someone out of nowhere
Looking too for a longing mate
And together through sand dunes
Will trek to a perfected world
Where human understanding delve.
I have opened the door of adventure,
A flood of emotion I'm assured.
Fear and grip in measures,
But I have chosen the hardest course,
To reach the glorious altar.
••••
Probate I treasured,
A policy of treason I shun.
Many times in my dreams,
The crusts itself,
Comes knocking,
But I've long lost the keys to my innermost fear.
••••
I have saddled my horse,
With whips across the valley's of grip.
With whims I trod the throne of thorns,
That loses their teeth against me.
It was Halloween and a week at my new job as a broker in real estate,
we have a new listing, an old Victorian, after years being stuck in probate.
My boss excitedly told me the address, smiling as I felt dread and panic,
I secretly remember visiting that creepy place years ago, feeling frantic.
He tells me I must go there tonight to make sure it’s secure and not left open.
Darkness settling in as I walked to my car, praying the lock is not broken.
Memories flooding back, I was sixteen when exploring that home one night,
we were teenagers looking for a thrill, wanting to explore the haunted site.
We entered the home one night, laughing about the rumored doom and gloom.
The floors creaked, as the chandelier started to flicker in the living room.
Frozen in fear, seeing shadows of human silhouettes descending the stairs,
glowing eyes and growling from something living near the antique chairs.
We ran out of there, never to go back, swearing to keep that night a secret,
we knew we were not supposed to be there and that no one would believe it!
Trying to forget while walking down the driveway with my flashlight and mace,
there it was, the old Queen Ann Victorian with a turret and shutters all in place.
I tried to relax as I climbed the brick stairs to the huge gothic wooden door.
The door was left open, I stood there frozen, fearful of what might be in store.
I quickly grabbed the knob, locked the door, slammed it shut and ran to my car,
I then heard growling, looked back and saw glowing eyes and the door now ajar!
The Art of the spoken word
Is east
Jerusalem
Ornate
Probate of the money lenders
Who tender purity and security
For a price
Gods children are willing to pay
Because they are the sheep
On which the idol's seek
Prohibition
The body and the blood
Never knowingly
Roots are tales
Into the afterlives
Slave's integrate
At the table of former master's
Free at last
Free at last
If only my children could see me now
It would all be worth while
My Child
A second is defiant
a minute is aggressive towards my dreams
flourishes a formidable mental anarchy
I creep confidently by the tail of a second
To the dejection of sympathizers
The patience of my sympathizers tires me
Waiting for the minute of abortive strife
Anticipated steps abrogated
Triumphant move trails the second
When fear surrogates confidence
Hope carries away the receiving end
Pain being exacerbated by giving
To bond the two sides
For passionate diffusion
Carrying hope together
Sending waves beyond normal.
The prologue was so pulsating
With punitive ideas meant to probate
pummeling the frail wasn't prolific
the effort of maternal Ponto punch,
but made it abreast with the potent
pseudo abrogate of stitch made it puck
the accord was to prelude penal
disloyalty chastens from pudenda
we swore the cause by purity
now we stand exhibiting
enjoying our terrifying purl
Mommy and Daddy left everything to their favorite child, Bruce.
Bruce is also their self-centered, selfish child, but they did not see it.
Bruce came to visit once a year; he was their prodigal son.
They adored him, he was their everything.
Their daughter Sarah sat in disbelief at the probate office.
When had the will been changed?
She had taken care of her parents all of their lives.
Bruce now owned her home, she would have to move.
She asked if she could buy the house, but he said no.
She asked for her mother’s pearl necklace.
And her Daddy’s plaid jacket.
Two more no’s from the prodigal son.