Best Scuse Poems
It seemed to Hank it was jes' a couple of hours ago since he'd hit the hay.
Now the risin' sun jes' peekin' over the hills heralded another day.
His old hound dog, Spooks, tugged at his blanket a-wantin' to play,
And his faithful hoss, Ol' Dan, greeted him with a raucous neigh.
He pulled on his boots, Stetson hat and bandana, his usual attire,
And stirred last nights camp fire embers to bring alive the fire.
He ate his usual grub of beans, biscuits, coffee and bacon,
And suddenly realized that is was Sunday, if'n he warn't mistaken!
"Wahl" he mused, "I don't reckon the boss'll mind if'n I tarry here a spell.
I'd jes' like to chat with the Lord this mornin' and tell Him all is well."
Hank sat on a log sippin' his joe from a tin cup a-gazin' across the vale,
Thinkin', "I don't need no fancy church to worship. They's confinin' as a jail!"
"Lord, you know I ain't gittin' rich cowboyin' and that's fer damn sure!
Er, 'scuse me Lord fer cussin'. I'm tryin' to make my sinful tongue more pure."
"I don't need no earthly possessions when all about me is Yer great Creation.
These here mountains, rivers and cowboyin' that I love is my compensation."
"I'm a-thankin' Ye fer them eagles soarin' on the wind and fer Yer eternal love,
And fer the pristine Colorady sky, the moon and stars shinin' from high above."
"And finally Lord, when this old cowpoke comes to the end of the trail,
I'd be obliged if'n I could dwell in Yer Corral when I cross that mysterious veil."
"Thank Ye Lord fer lendin' me Yer ears and I promise to keep my cussin' at bay."
"Wahl boys, we'd better skedaddle and git to herdin' them steers to earn our pay."
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Why is the “p” silent in receipt?
Why is “no” not the same as “know,”
Or “new” and “knew?”
And if someone says “there,”
Why do we know
They don’t mean “their” or “they’re?”
I read a note from a redneck up yonder
Said “Hay man, ya got a doller?”
Well I don’t, not that I’d give it to ‘em anyway.
(Probably makes more than me too)
I s’pose he couldn’t talk a lick, hence the note.
Some say I talk funny in these here parts,
but what would one expect
from a Yankee from ‘hia anyhow?
Everybody knows everybody here
‘cause I think they’s all related somehow.
The lady down the street, I swear
is married to her daddy,
her grandfather also her step-uncle.
Jack down the road is all in a tizzy
wondrin’ who’s yer daddy.
Up in Minnesota I found
a word can take half-hour from start to end
where a soda is a pop… there is no spelling
of which I can describe – can you?
But I met a man from Harvard t’other day
asked him “’scuse me sir, where’s the library at?”
With pomp and serious demeanor he says to me,
“Here at Harvard, we never
end a sentence in a preposition.”
So I says to the prep, “OK, where’s the library at…
*******!”
Doctors told the old farmer his soul was soon to be his Makers!
"Spare me, Lord", he pled, "I must farm these hundred-forty acres!
My wife ain't able to hoe or mow or handle the old John Deere!
The place will go to hell (er, 'scuse me, Lord), that is what I fear!"
"The threshin' crew is comin' next week to reap the wheat and oats.
Grain prices will plunge, the radio man says in his daily quotes.
The barn needs paintin' and the roof needs repairin' too.
All this and the mortgage on the old place is way overdue!"
"In the garden there's taters, termaters and carrots to weed.
It's hay makin' time and I fear the alfalfa will go to seed.
Them thievin' birds and squirrels will rob me of my apple crop.
I ain't a drinkin' man, Lord, but right now I could use a drop!"
"The punkins is ripe for pickin' and the corn's ready for shuckin'.
The cattle stalls is heaped full and they really need a muckin'.
My chicken coops need fixin' and a real good cleanin' out.
Lord, I'm in a heap of trouble, of that there ain't no doubt!"
"There's twenty guernseys to milk, who's gonna take care of that?
There's them hogs to fatten up to sell and I want 'em good and fat.
The sheep needs shearin' and a dozen goats need milkin' too.
Lord, have mercy! I just ain't ready yet to rendezvous with You!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Well, me and them rats polished off them chicken legs and I headed fer the door.
The sheriff handed me my 44s sayin, "Son, I don't wanna see you here no more!
Now git outta Santa Fe and don't go stealin' no man's horse or his saddle!"
With that we shook hands, I grabbed my hat and made a hasty skedaddle!
I hopped the midnight freight headin' fer El Paso whar that preacher man was at.
I was gonna git religion and straighten up and that's all thar was to that!
He was preachin' hell and brimstone at a revival meetin' at the edge of town.
With my hat I brushed the dust from my britches, strolled in and set down.
He was up thar a-wavin' his arms like he was fendin' off a swarm of bees!
When they sung "Jes As I Am" I ran to the altar and fell upon my knees!
I give my soul to the Lord and vowed right thar to become a preacher man,
To save the souls of thieves, soiled doves and gamblers to carry out His plan!
I ain't gonna git rich a-preachin - collections is sparse, but what the hell!
(Er 'scuse me Lord! I've gotta control my cussin' as Ya can tell!")
I got me a hoss legal like and a Bible and started out on my mission.
I was hell bent (scuse me agin Lord) to bring about the devil's disposition!
(He preached in saloons with his 44s and Bible spread out on the bar.
He did his level best to save their wicked souls from sin and hellfar.
For fifty years he preached and saved souls throughout the rowdy west.
When he reached the Pearly Gates, He said, "Son, ya did yer very best!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The winter's torture rumbles down
The street, through my meager abode
And pierces my skin and inflames my bones.
Need to get out of maelstrom for a day,
Perhaps a day long bus ride.
I count my money and I'm a few
Beggings short of the five I need
To ride the system of citizens
Who don't realize they sit in a
Castle meant for a king.
So I dust myself off, look the
Best I can for one of my means.
Put on my gentleman's face, check
My breath for last nights taste and
Position myself so you can't avoid me.
"Hey buddy, got a quarter?" "My
Car is out of gas..." " 'scuse me, dear
Lady, just a quarter so I can eat."
Twenty-five, thirty-five, one dollar!"
With glee on my face and a sprite in my step, I move on.
I take my fiver and purchase a pass.
I feel like a gentleman of sorts with my
Golden ticket to tour this megapolitan
Cage in comfort and warmth from the
Ingredients of a dreary day.
I take a seat in the back, of course
Not wanting to be the object of
Stares and distain, whose
Territory I invaded on this blustery day.
Sorry but I'm riding in style today.
As I doze a little bit from the warmth,
My dreams become congealed with
Reality creating a world of surreal
Rapture of peace. "Hey, driver, there's
A drunken bum on the bus!"
My world becomes shattered with
Those few little words as if I
Actually ought I could be one
Of them for a brief moment
In time, but I suppose not.
So, in despair I climb down
The steps to face the grit of
The storm that rages through the city
And in my heart. Man, I will
Sure miss that bus.
Everything’s been frantic since the break.
What people don’t tell you about college,
is that you’re just tired ALL of the time.
I’m so tired, yawn ‘scuse me.
So if you’re planning to talk to me, bring coffee, make
some effort to be interesting - clap your hands or.. something.
Work piled up on me while I was sick (I missed two days!)
and it radiated across my.. everything, like nuclear waste.
In New Haven, you have the inalienable right to fall behind.
ok, let’s put it poetically..
The microorganism was as fast and brutal as a twister
and it spun, tricksily, out of a clear blue day
leaving me weak, in shock and totally focked.
I needed things that come after a natural disaster
- wailing sirens, to clear the way for organized relief
but no volunteers can help me pick-up the pieces.
I guess I needed another challenge this term.
Sure, my roommates check in, but they have their own traumas
and they’re like those slow, drive-by accident-tourists that gawk.
Too bad there’s no such thing as missed class/assignment insurance.
There’s a saying (cleaned up), here at Yale, that goes:
It’ll get done because it HAS to get done.
.
.
There are several songs for this piece:
‘We're All Alone’ by Kennedy Ryon
‘Totally Wired’ by The Fall
or ‘Baxter (These Are My Friends)’ by Fred again.. & Baxter Dury
Two days: 4 lectures, 3 labs, 600 pages of reading. Things roll baby - they certainly don’t stop for mE.
Webster: Inalienable: impossible to take away or give up
Constrained by rhymes,
the writer of verse my well err
from the straight path like a hiker
to whose clothes things cling as would a burr,
like a tramp at whose heels
there slinks a dog that stinks.
From this well-thumbed rhyming dictionary,
you may infer
that inspiration needs the occasional prod.
How odd! Even to those who claim her as a friend
the Muse of poetry and verse sometimes has lips
as open as a miser`s purse.
O, say, in Heaven’s name, what gain
has even lain in the fact that the verb "to blur"
rhymes with a noun like "myrrh"?
Just for the merriment
try this experiment.
Say to the first person you meet on a bus.
"'Scuse me, Sir!" (or maybe "Lady"),
"Say, I pray, why fat cats so often purr."
Try this out, and you'll aver
that while sense and rhyme sometimes concur,
it is not invariably the case,
and would the world not be a duller place,
if - perish the thought - it were?
‘Scuse the stains,
leftover chicken gizzard in the soup pot,
universal tears flood the bile ducts.
Cybermeat, and ranch dressing.
See you next Thursday by the mulberry bough.
I lost last night’s dream, and
blue eyed Christina did a delicate death dance.
Erotic subversions in the shadows.
Cybermeat, and horseradish.
Meet me next Thursday by the eucalyptus bough.
I want to penetrate your soft silent soul.
‘Scuse the stains,
yeast worms and cauliflower guts.
Cybermeat, and primrose knockwurst.
Sorry for the misunderstanding.
I’m only a silly human being, and
I want to penetrate your soft silent soul.
Blinded as a child,
by a rock thrown at my eye
The pain was great, I'd demonstrate,
but I'd hate to make you cry
I found a marble on the street
and figured it would do
Popped it in that vacancy
so I could stare at you
Now 'scuse me sir, it's rude to gawk
at someone else's head
even if my real eye's green
and the other crimson red.
Beggar's can't be choosers,
that's what I've always known
This shiny red is better still
than just plain hollow bone
Now turn away and eat your soup
you perfect featured fellow
Be glad your eyes are real and match-
They could be blue and yellow...
is not in the best interest
of folks who charge obscene interest
for us to keep talkin'
but poverty don't equate to
stupidity
so I reckon there's still hope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
an now please 'scuse me while i go pray a little
Fancy a quickie
Scuse me my darlin’
I notice you smilin’
Obviously enchanted by me??
Well i’m exhilerated to say…..
Its valentine…s day!
And im horny as horny can be!
The name is Peter!
Aroused to meet ya!
Whats a gal like you doing
in a place like this?
Your lanyard says Vicky…,
Do you fancy a quickie?
On your break or
After your shift?
DINNER’S A CHORE
Dinner, my turn, nothing in the fridge
Off to market, be gone a smidge
Car won’t start, battery’s dead
Jump it, full steam ahead
Old gossips in the aisle, won’t move aside
‘Scuse me’ I croon, but they get snide
Right back I get crass
Suggest they kiss my ass