Best Pshaw Poems
"Rhyming poems have nothing of substance to say
They're childish! Ridiculous! Silly! Passe!
What's that - 'The Raven,' fine prose, you assure?
Pshaw, a talking bird is not Literature!
'The Road Not Taken' - how indecisively trite
'Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day' ~ why, out of spite?
'How Do I Love Thee' - such female nonsense!
'She Walks in Beauty,' not even past tense!
'Oh Captain, my Captain' just repeats and repeats
'Death Be Not Proud' - indeed, no great feat
Rhyme is over and done, finite, dead
Give me a rambling run-on sentence, instead!"
Sure, it's easy to call Dr. Seuss poppycock
HIS books are world-famous, what have YOU got?
12/11/18
Entered in 'Living It Up for Laughter' contest
Doom and gloom sure aren't my middle names
More like upbeat and happy for which I'm famed
There ain't no damn future in promoting ill will
Each morning the sun still peeks over the hill
There's enough negativity in the world to go round
Let's not encourage this scourge with a frown
You've only one life to live then it's done
Why not be remembered for promoting good fun
It isn't that hard for mankind to achieve
And it's never too late if we all still believe
Things will be better for our kids and their kids
If we just put our trust in the joy in our midst
In this happiness sermon I'm trying my best
Some say pshaw you'll fail in your quest
I say to the nay sayers, just listen my friends
We'll meet the same fate so let's laugh till the end
© Jack Ellison 2012
STARBUCKS AND COOKIE
I sit in Barnes and Noble
Looking at the figure-display over the snack bar
Oh how out-of-place in time they look
Twain
Shaw
Hardy
Dickinson
Hemingway
Have read them all
Out of time
The artist has caught them from middle-to-old age
Twain the Mississippi observer
older than the river
that flame-gray hair
nose-slipping specs
cigar
Shaw the same snowy mass
but older than creation
he contemplates the infinite
Hardy stirs a cup of tea
has just exclaimed
“Wha! Pshaw!
Jude isn’t as sad as that.”
Emily?
Emily sits for an artist
she has a sweater tied round her neck-
those drooping slender shoulders
always protected
but from what no one knows
Hemingway
what’s to say?
he be da man
smokes his pipe
thinking about the slaughter of ‘brave bulls’
“Good fight!” says Ernie
assigning some sort of ludicrous intelligence
There are several more
But I’ll leave them in their mothballs
The question arises
at least in my mind arises
Given their various outlook
would they earn a high place in today’s world?
I doubt it
None of them play guitar or saxophone
The drummer they moved to had an unbelievable
subtleness
I imagine they could get through a work
without need for a dripping drooling bedroom scene
And then why watch anyone use the lavatory?
They obviously didn’t know how to burn film
didn’t need to burn time
Call it imagination
Call it intelligence
Call it sanity!
Deception In Soup Creek
There once was a town called Soup Creek amiable and quaint
Filled with all these characters, a perfect picture they'd paint
It was founded to protect the innocent
Where one was welcome to come visit
A bold western saga exquisite
A Mayor, a Sheriff, a saloon proprietor
A bar owner, also a realtor
What comes next you can’t make it up, is true
A charlatan Sheriff who already knew
The saloon owner was a phony too
This is the tale what we thought a young fem,
Claimed she was being stalked by men
who used different user names
All the while she was doing the same
Many here feel used by her deception
Manipulated for her own protection
Even I was dragged in
To keep the adventure going
I was a bit overzealous
Got a vibe she was jealous
Cause I added a twist
And then there’s this…
Whose face is it?
Someone off the internet
Identity theft is what I saw
Or is madam above the law
I uncovered a foul devious charade
Just ego and hubris on parade
Meanwhile she had
Told a few folks who also were played
Madam’s her old self, and is back
With fists ready to attack
Writing about the value of friends
Pshaw, a victim again, it never ends
I don’t have the time for this
I’ll give it to you quick, Ma`am, Miss
What were you thinking, is it mental illness?
Tell the saloon owner, who invites us in for a drink
What in heavens name would Milton think?
I know I should move on gracefully
But it just didn't settle right with me
If lies and deception are your lot
At least you can try better not to get caught
Just paid a visit to my 92 year old bother-in-law
Tells me he's still playing golf, now that's the last straw
Surely one-of-a-kind
Mind boggling I find
Won't tell me his secret, Mr. Smarty Pants... pshaw!
acrostic
R Rumbling rafters! cabin fever has struck.
O Overnight, I decided I would go
A across state in my trusty Tempo truck
D driving through the night and driving solo.
T Twenty miles down the road, I hit a tree.
R Reaching for my one companion, cell phone,
I I called up my brother, please come get me.
P Pshaw! he said, No bother, I'll get you home.
S Snow had started to pepper down again,
I I start to worry, my, what lousy luck!
G Good bro pulled up, not once did he complain;
H he drove back up today to tow my truck.
Only four more months then spring will return
Pshaw! No problem, got patience to burn
A minor detail
Winter's impaled
Damn frigid stuff makes me squirm like a worm
I watched his world dance to the coast line symphony,
a tune that hummed pshaw.
I thought death, silenced the story
but when remorse trots along and settles among ones heart,
haunting ghastly at how pruned,
it has something more to say.
He lost his chance to dream,
a lackluster youth,
chafing in his veins.
He baylinged at the blue moon,
left behind in a big bad world,
society to fast for him to catch.
So he walked along the shore,
his lonely heart,
commanded in desire,
to forgive the pulse,
that would soon stop to beat.
His lungs cringing,
bawdy in thought,
he seemed to give up the theory,
all one needs is love.
Cause lust stopped fueling,
young knowledge,
smothered by havoc.
Form:
“Pshaw!” My grandmother said
as she thumped and bumped about
her crowded kitchen
steam rising, having
heated conversation with herself
Rankled by my grandfather's
latest excuse for not helping
around the house
Thwack! She smacked
the meat down on the counter
pounding and whacking
dinner into submission
Beyond exasperation
stewing, livid
“Pshaw!” She said again
louder this time, making me jump
sounding like the air-brake
on my Grandfather's big truck
letting off pressure
Little and fiery
fierce and feisty
my Grandfather had no idea
what he was up against
the volatile, volcanic fury
of a woman thwarted
“Land's Sakes, Willard!”
was his final warning
but he let it go past that-
to the point of
“Pshaw!”
In spite of the news, it's time for some giggles
Forget about threats of long range missiles
Just chuckle and yee haw
Don't you worry, pshaw
The guys in charge are definitely infantile kiddles
Only when yours truly busies himself...
Feigning to emulate NON GMO
garden variety English major oh just so
ho-hum, this ousted son and cingular bro
biological byproduct of papa's yoyo
after mama taut Peppy how to grow
big and become vein, her issuing blow
by blow stroke, thence pecker
imitated fountainhead
unleashing at apropos
time outburst analogous when an arrow
loosed from archer's bow
shooting off about hip height mo'
than bajillion microscopic
one celled lil longfellow
(Oh Henry...! wad art thou doing?)
just hmm... giving mutual sin O
Job whelp... subsequently
little squirt begot
sole son this all because sticky clot
hit bullseye right on the dot
nope, no where near size of ergot
spore, yet radiating
burning temperature more hot than...,
liquified gold prior
bitta bing bitta bang forged into ingot,
now just little more about fertilized
ova, I wanna jot
potential pluperfect parasite (me)
acquired, cultivated, fashioned...
one after another deft bon mot
while in utero until umbilical cord
severed than christened newborn tot.
Now fast forward blaw blaw blaw
when I began to clamor and claw
nope, cuz I ne'er learned how to draw,
the least significant genetic flaw,
cue laugh track and prerecorded guffaw
similar to popular nineteen
seventies television hee haw
laughter muted upon meeting
battle axe mother in law
another story... genre mccaw braw,
she excelled spewing vitriol out her maw,
thence I slowly must heard,
mixed metaphors and mastered...pshaw
modesty keeps me from bragging
yea - boot as a non sequitur
non secretor, yukon call me
the word wrangler outlaw
lo never cussing out anybody,
I can more easily whip out pistol
if captive audience
critiques mein arcane saw
jeering (matt speak feeble attempt
at wordplay - i.e. soldiering)
receiving affirmative nod
courtesy none other
than quick draw mcgraw
now ye butter listen (er... read) up
and don't blather and beast not shtupp
to conquer, when ya hear bit ching pup
that maybe be yipping faux ruse
to empty pocket inner empty cup.
Creepy crawlies and heebie-jeebies
raw ripples on your skin kafkaesque;
You peek at that dark monstrosity,
cannot tell if it’s a trick or treat;
Nerves taunt with chimerical spectres;
Weepy eyes are stung by angry bees,
‘Pshaw!’ escapes a story so grotesque;
Flew through your mouth unable to flee,
caught swelled saliva starts to secrete;
Serves well scripts of macabre directors.
In spite of the news, it's time for some giggles
Forget about threats of long-range missiles
Just chuckle and yee haw
Don't you worry, pshaw
Though the guys in charge are surely infantile kiddies