Best Run Of The Mill Poems
Methinks I inadvertently got entangled
without deliberate intent, sans whirled
wide web, albeit courtesy of yours truly,
who (flattered upon at least one maybe
more'n one Prose.com subscriber click-
king regularly regarding posts this scribe
electronically broadcast) unwittingly, me
violated unspoken/unwritten breach of
considerable proportion, which singular
impetus arose spontaneously to transmit
(without said dude indulging crude, lewd,
nude... offensive faux pas), that hopefully
doth newt engender an unstoppable feud
(tantamount as if purely innocent motive
capital one offence) pseudo cryptic allusion
to female - only referenced her boat oxe
screen name took objection hinting at my
appreciation by acknowledging humorous
indirect linkedin pleasantries at appealing
to inquisitiveness about this generic garden
variety *****sapien, (he just learned how
to walk erect this morning), but much ado
about nothing, asper comedy of errors this
harmless by George run of the mill on the
floss imp pond durable bard, she (naturally
squared the circle, a laudatory feat), perhaps
concluded, aye tried iterating what appeared
as theorem (from unpublished recently disc
hovered "FAKE" testament, sans Matthew),
and of course no ambition arises to hire any
gumshoe - well worth his polyisobutylene in
chiclets will be pursued, but loose vicious
bloodhounds after this doggone muttering
ole coon holding him hostage within his oh
zone unnaturally square cage.
You think you're Godzilla
but you're just a Gorilla,
that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea,
my skin colours vanilla
my skills are killa and real
you're run of the mill, a fail
can't you tell you didn't do well,
that Kartel manure smell
of Kountry music don't sell,
a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor
in a field riding a wrecked tractor,
tracks that no mind will capture,
you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer
with poor rhyming from your core
the fact is you naturally bore,
getting done by amateurs
that means s**t for sure and below my stature,
take a step back and see the big picture,
there's no record label coming for your signature,
you should turn around and head for the door
and not turn this battle rap into a war,
snore, pass out snore music,
20 years and there's still no use for it,
your rhymes are insignificant
your average skill's no different
stop thinking you're magnificent
and realise you're just a hunt.
Yet you think you're good,
umm missing a nail or screw
let's face facts your music is poo,
can you not make a beat with flow?
Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low
through ignorance your skill's seen no grow,
so excuse my rant but your music is pants,
professional status, you've got no clucking chance.
You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written
lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit
with whatever you pick
to pull out your bag of tricks
because I'll make it unstick
quicker than thumbs can click through your music,
making videos in which you go on the phone,
cliche prone, stereotype replica
look at ya forever inferior,
making out you've golden interior,
but Postman Pat out delivers letters
and is better with more under the hat
you've empty space where your brain sat,
writing rubbish, getting fat,
one year in I'm getting published
you skank like a grandad with one wish
you long to be served a contract,
take note of the situation
you've been rhyming for a generation,
and you'll never be a sensation,
just a symbol of humiliation,
........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks,
while the rest of us just think he's bollocks.
That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you.
Over and out, they call me Sue.
So you are choosing Rocky Mountain Oysters over Meatballs
You love to eat them from a zip loc bag at the mall
You grew up in the deep south eating these odd things
For instance, you choose chicken feet with toe nails instead of chicken wings
You said you would eat the Rock Oysters with spaghetti or rice, it really doesn't
matter
Sometimes you eat them fried in a Tempura Batter
Do you ever feel remorse knowing some baby pigs are missing their Pa
All because you prefer Rocky Mountain Oysters over Meatballs
I can't condone your preference for what you would call a tasty treat
Something is wrong passing up boiled eggs for pickled pig's feet
The stuff you eat would have me being a frequent flyer to a bathroom stall
I can't get past you showing favorites to Rocky Mountain Oysters Over Meatballs
Did anyone tell you what they really are
It's not something you eat with a date gazing at the stars
My mind has always been open to try different things
But I need to draw the line eating a male animal's bling bling
I've eaten camel, horse, octopus even legs of frogs
Down in Tijuana, I ate tacos made from dog
You say what's wrong with this, I share these with my in laws
Another advantage is Rocky Mountain Oysters cost less than your run of the mill
Meatballs
Have you tried them with a little bit of Texas Pete
Rumor has it they started with sheep on the island of Crete
I do however like a good seasoned batch of Collard Greens
Can't quite completely criticize the South, I am caught in between
But I do get a kick out of the deep Southern Drawl
But I am still a Yankee when declining Rocky Mountain Oysters over Meatballs
I met a deer
I met a deer a big brown deer.
We met in the dark.
Not as friends just a run of the mill meeting.
I had to stop but it was too late
The meeting was over and the deer was dead.
I guess a car at 65 would not make a good friend of a deer.
So stay out of my way. I like deer meat.
I'm just a regular guy with a regular job,
Just your average, run of the mill suburbanite slob.
I drive really slow in the ultra-fast lane,
while motorists behind me are going insane.
I use public toilets and I urinate on the seat
and if by chance in the restroom we do meet,
I'll shake your hand before washing mine guaranteed.
Sometimes I park in handicapped spaces,
while handicapped people make handicapped faces.
I'm obnoxious, stupid, inconsiderate and bold.
I'm an idiot, I'm a moron, I'm an A HOLE!!!
*
All People Have One.
Some People Are One.
*
Dedicated To All Of The A Holes Out There.
Meandering memories
move through my mind
like a river flowing
to the salty sea.
Limbs stretch lazily
reaching skywards
like the gangling
branches of an ancient tree.
Standing still in
the solitude of
suspended time;
lazily picking flowers,
the hours melt away
as I daydream in
the field of fantasy.
Flicking fancy fecklessly.
The rasping of the siren
in the run of the mill
over the hill startles me
and I am roughly returned
to normality, garishly.
The harsh light of day
refracts its neon rays;
stinging rays destroying
delicious serenity.
Daydream done I am returned
to Hurly Burly Street,
and the hurrying feet
running the relentless human race.
Individuality lost
without a trace in the
salty sea of faces;
fixed expressions as they
cling on to the roof strap
in the hurtling underground
mundane. Multitasking.
Lost in the murky flow
of commuter traffic
which has become their life.
Set me free again to daydream.
Release from the race of rats
we unintentionally run.
I find some fun discarded
in an overflowing bin
and sneak it into my pocket.
Around my neck a locket
containing happiness
and daydreams .....
No one can understand you, because you're not your typical run of the mill
it's all due to your philosophy, a mind that thinks but a tongue that sits still
years quickly pass you by, finding yourself alone and in a world of your own
as you learn the value of pen and paper, finding refuge in a place unknown
Like being trapped in a bubble, peering out upon the world as a screen
watching everyone going about their business, while you remain unseen
transfixed on your reality you close your eyes, wishing it were but a dream
unable to fathom the depths of emotions, waiting to take you to the extreme
The reality of who you are can no longer be ignored, facing each day from anew
accepting the fact that you have no control, from others, forced to take your cue
this world is all about rising above, as it starts at the very moment of conception
it follows us throughout life, as we learn the rules, mastering the art of deception
The external images you portray, a needed smokescreen, to maintain the perception
your moves are well planned, the primary focus of your attention, without exception
failing to have considered the matter, you realize you haven't made the connection
your insecurities have misdirected your behavior, demanding the world's affection
There's no denying this fact; life is nothing more than a continuous act of deception
while the true level of your mastery of it, your ability to advance without aggression
at the end of the journey, despite what we went through, it might come as a surprise
realizing that happiness was always there, only hidden from us by our own disguise
Why continue living the life of lies, playing the games people play, there is yet hope
break the bonds of self-deception, because this vanity has really become your dope
be who you really are, a genuine beauty to behold, and in you will someone admire
your hidden love now freed, surrendered to someone true, to build that endless fire
The reason that she didn’t come to my last poetry reading
Was that I had but faintly praised her hat.
It was a monstrous thing which Mrs. Thatcher,
the Queen most certainly, would have shunned.
It was sort of like a jerry-built bird’s nest
Jammed full of something like seaweed,
Yes, like something straight out of a horror film, a “thing.”
My “Er, yuss, rather .. er .. interesting”
Evidently was not good enough.
She stamped her foot,
Picked up her cocktail
And left her corner – in a huff.
My hat! How petty can you get?
Perhaps my not getting too smitten by her hat and all
Had something to do with the fact
That that snooty husband of hers
Never acknowledges me when we meet.
The most joy I can get from him
Is a barely audible grunt.
I’m not petty, just very sensitive.
Quite different.
Maybe I’m just growing cynical. As I see it,
Most ordinary run-of-the-mill individuals
Can’t forgive a slight
More than just once or twice,
Let alone seventy times seventy times,
Like your true saint actually might.
Most folks keep accounts.
Come off it. You know they do,
Of course, they do,
Or a points system,
Except true friends.
But even there
I have my doubts.
True, friends like friendly bank managers
Wouldn’t dream of mentioning your overdraft.
No, they will lean over backwards
To extend generous terms of credit.
There are such things as
Interest-free loans, write-offs,
Grants and gratuities, but
Not even the IMF has limitless funds.
Only the most officious bank clerk
Actually likes bouncing checks,
Allowing no time lag between tit and tat.
But in the longer term
A balance sheet is drawn,
And even a benign auditor
Must draw a line somewhere
Between the troughs and peaks.
Wolf Works
Not your run of the mill wolf, my fur is shiny silver
My left legs are stronger than the other two
Every day it is a struggle to prove my place
In the wolf pack pecking order
I am the center level in the group
Fever in my mind, in my blood, I strive
Salivate to compete, positioning to be number one
The lower and upper members of my pack
Attack my good legs to keep me down
On the hunt I jump just like a crab, sideways, then pounce
I know, crabs don’t jump but you get the picture
Licking my chops, tongue hanging like a liver, panting
Ice cold breath arresting the bloodied moment
As my teeth sink in the captured prey
Left legs did me well as I devour the premium parts
My partners stare at me and pace
I guess they are saying grace
If they take one step closer
I will put them in their place
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXVII
IF ever I had a country proud of its wall-less porous boundary
And if ever by no mistake of the Supreme High Command of the International Militaro-Business Conspiracy I were appointed the CHIEF TARIFF IMPOSER and Eminence Grise of and on all the self-righteous realms rocambolesque republics and renegade run-of-the-mill rotten rotting rostrum-raving riven ribald rascally rickety refugee-raised democracies
Mark my words I’ll put an end to the raping of my dearly-beloved national integrity by
One, importing all available rutting Queen Bees of the "Killer African Bees" and have them breed with local wasps of high pedigree in the front-line of battle along the Southern Border under every tree where I’d let Red Ant-Hills multiply free
Two, import Myanmar Pythons with a taste for digesting young fresh human flesh, mixed with the local brand of Everglades alligators, down the Mississippi and the Colorado River sprinkled liberally with the Grand Canyon brand of the Rattle-Snake with their tell-tale warning-rattle nipped off, together with the silent army of Black Widows clad in their enticing mantilla webs, as a second-line of defense against the illegal refugee
Next, if they still keep coming I’d roundup all the lazy good-for-nothing thick-maned Bisons of the prairies and have them lined up for a Charge-of-the- Heavy-Brigade stampede by whipping their asses to the sound of the Land of the Free
And if this doesn’t stem the tide of illegal immigrants, drug dealers and tourists with empty pockets, I’d call on the faithful Black and White striped Tribe of Appalachian SKUNKS with my tonitruant bugle, line them up so that their posteriors faced Tierra del Fuego and let them squirt to their hind-hearts’ desire even at the risk of driving the entire population out of the country
Yes Siree, this’s what I’d do as the Eminence Grise and Chief Imposer of Tariffs of My Beloved Contree
And this even if I never ever had no country worth saving for the ennui of a penny
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 11, 2019
A poem must stir our emotions,
Like the storms churning in the oceans
Like the fiery lava flowing downhill,
And just not be any run-of-the-mill.
It must tug firm at the reader's heart
And grip him good from the start,
Let him not idle, purr or whimper
But gulp it down hook, line and sinker!
However you may rough-hew the lines,
Or trip over the dreaded syllables mines,
Matters not if it's an epigram or a sonnet--
Did it make someone smile, cry or fret?
Life's best and happiest of times
are written in verses and rhymes,
Poetry unravels the mysteries of the mind
and helps the weary soul to unwind!
~Theme #4 Poetry contest by SKAT A
"A Poet's Worth" contest by FJ Thomas
If my usual wasn't so ordinary
And didn't span great feats of generic
It may just be shy of extraordinary
A mediocrity so bland I'm hysteric
Enormity in normalcy's highest gear
Worked out so hard and never got abs
Without an ear my regular cannot hear
I'm the base tested against in labs
An everyday, workaday, 10 of a kind
Fantastically, head over heels habitual
Frequency, ooze from me, for oddness I pined
This middle of the road, uniform fool
An average in math I lack sum of the fun
My highest point is the peak of just typical
If my usual started with "un", not a prefix of none
This run of the mill status is biblical
I'm routinely symmetrical time and again
Burst at the seams in familiarity
A dullery so wild it verges on zen
Like a quietness without any clarity
I've searched the great depths of the known
Looked for an in but found not a trace
For my explicable or scrutable down to the bone
Destined to be dazzlingly commonplace.
Treason Reasons
Concreted cracks, abandoned train tracks,
unaffordable housing built like shacks.
Unplanted seeds gardens of weed,
never having enough to satisfy the greed.
Unseen view, is the sky blue?
Goodwill bought unlaced white shoe.
The frontyard seat on ol' bucket street,
cool air doesn't help that kind of heat.
Battles kill, unordinary run of the mill,
another happy mailman undelivered bill.
Where is our morality? What is our deal?
living here in the now is such a reality kill...
bmdavey@
02/24/16
Wish I was one of those mucky mucks
Like the ones that are running the show
Could do as well as those guys up there
Though I'm simply a 'run of the mill' Joe
With power comes a lot of temptation
Like the deals they make under the table
They say that absolute power corrupts
That's not one of your Aesop's fables
Things can change when you reach the top
When greed rears its ugly head
It clouds a person's perspective on life
Most important, the greenback instead
Mucky mucks have big scads of cash
And reside in expensive abodes
Are they really happy, really content
Any more than us 'run of the mill' Joe's
Some may say yes and some may say no
They're just people like you and me
Souls who've wandered off course in life
They've forgotten the importance of 'we'
Wish I was one of those mucky mucks
Naw, on second thought maybe not
Much rather be happy than stinking wealthy
Content with what I've saved in a sock
© Jack Ellison 2012
Had a Ho Hum Attitude
My friend could tell from his first glance
I had a ho hum attitude full of happenstance
After being to the point yet matter of fact
And in each poem myself I would enact.
Always true to form Terry could tell
Then from him often I would catch hell
Instead of me being a poetry derelict
Terry decided to declare an eloquent edict.
You see Terry was continually getting his fill
Of my many poems being run of the mill
So this poem to my poetry friends am sending
Knowing that you will have thoughts of amending.
My poems have rhythm like a beating drum
And various walks of life you may come from
Sometimes sending an email being scary
Electing to say my poem was extraordinary.
Been out in heat watering flowers too long
What is it with my brain which went wrong?
Even using six words with w's in same line
How it happens to be a Horn Poem of mine.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran and Poet