Best Singlet Poems
I love a sunburnt Aussie bloke, with great big, muscled arms,
His rugged well-built shoulders, and face with all its charms.
I love his thongs and singlet too, and stubby shorts you see,
His beer gut proudly hanging out, he is the one for me,
I love his Aussie greeting way “‘G’day mate” when we meet
His laugh so loud, make no mistake, you’ll know him in the street.
I love the Aussie Sheila too, she’s really trim and taught.
Long legs, tight skirt, big bust, great smile, a real good-looking sort.
I love her when she’s on the beach, bikini clad real brown,
Or when she meets her friends for lunch, all dressed up for the town.
I love her friendly way she says “G’day mate” when we meet
Her laugh so loud, make now mistake you’ll know her in the street.
I love an Aussie BBQ, with lamb chops, snags, and steak
And ‘Big Red’ sauce, a loaf of bread, some salads we do make.
I love the Aussie breakfast time with Vegemite on toast
Or Sunday lunch no better that an Aussie dinkum roast.
I love our wine and spirits too, but best is Aussie beer
It’s Fosters, Gold or Tooheys Blue, you won’t find soft drink here.
I love our sport, we watch a lot, of course we are the best,
We’re always fair, we understand, just better than the rest.
I love the Aussie rules we play, that’s football, not ping pong
And how the crowds call out real loud if the umpie gets it wrong.
I love the summer tennis too; it’s watched by young and old
Or a cricket match the Aussie way, dressed in the green and gold.
I love our patriotic style, the anthem that is sung
‘Advance Australia Fair’ I think, don’t know the words just hum.
I love our multi-cultural race, from lands quite near and far,
As a nation proud we do stand because that is who we are.
I love the freedom that we have, our wide brown land to roam
This place we call Australia; this place we call our home.
Categories:
singlet, humorous,
Form:
Ballad
Five in the morning
storm rumbles in distance
balmy, sweaty, thirsty
in the half light of dawn
I grab some shorts
from the work clothes draw
slip them on and a singlet
down some water
birds sing, crickets harmonize
When I fill another glass of water
I think something is odd
with these shorts
some big, hairy spider legs
protrude out from there
big huntsman up the left leg
goes back up to hide
I am awake now
I am sweating now
Thinking what best to do
I shake the leg a bit
feel the spider move around
my leg........
eventually it dropped
to the ground and disappeared
under the wardrobe
and I really am awake now.
Categories:
singlet, angst, emotions, journey,
Form:
Free verse
Today he resigned, he filled out his notice,
Today’s the day he departs,
Today’s the day he stops life like an adult,
And begins again, right from the start,
So he threw out his brief case, suede shoes and black suit,
Hung his restraint on the door,
And put on some shorts, torn singlet and boots,
And went on some crazy explore,
To burn some ants with a magnifying glass,
Then kick around the mud and the dirt,
He also went to spray paint some walls,
Getting paint all over his shirt.
Today’s the day he quit being adult,
His new life has now just begun,
Authority and burden of old adult life,
Replaced with fooling around, happy and fun.
Categories:
singlet, fun, health, humorous, nice,
Form:
Quatrain
Ozzie Ozzie Ozzie
24/08/2018
Contest on my Home country by Brahne Bailey
Being an Ozzie is great,
Everyone calls Everyone Mate.
Too laid back for a heated debate,
Culture so young..... so we’re late.
We walk around wearing our thongs,
Like it’s a style of dress that belongs.
Chilling with mates smoking bongs,
Watching movies which Cheech n Chong.
Slip, slop n slap in the sun,
It’s the capital of skin cancer Hon.
Sheila’s so bloody hot that they stun,
Soaking in baby oil just for fun.
Relaxing and surfing at the beach,
A lifestyle for all within reach.
So many slang words to teach,
Good on ya, No Wukkas, life’s a beach.
After a hard day on the sand,
A Beer and a Barbie we demand.
Snags and a steak close at hand,
Drinking frothies till it’s too hard to stand.
A culture change has crept in though lately,
Affecting our next generation greatly.
They ape and follow the US blatantly,
Rapping in baseball caps doesn’t come naturally.
So swap the Lakers singlet for a cozzie,
And use your cap to swipe away a mozzie.
Forget the yanks mate, be a proud Ozzie,
Hang with your mates Daz, Gazza n Shazzie.
And remember that chant we love to employ,
Ozzie Ozzie Ozzie... Oi Oi Oi !!!
Categories:
singlet, america, community, home,
Form:
Rhyme
A big white did pace the ute,
no noise it made, what sort of a brute?
it must still be there it never left,
next thing i knew we had a coppers arrest,
We seem to have lost memory of the
lights leaving?
...1974 Mystery Light....
So we drove on the Moonie Highway,
Between Dalby and St George,
It was fairly late at night,
dark timber all we saw,
(its all gone now the timber, and the big dry came )
A great white light appeared beside us,
In the treetops, beside the road,
It was completely soundless,
Stayed beside us, brightly showed,
So we tried speeding up,
And we tried slowing down,
But it followed as we led,
One hundred mile from town,
So I said to Wayne give me the rifle,
I'll put a bullet in it soon,
But they wouldn't let me shoot it,
It was bigger than the moon,
I asked Mark and Wayne, but they didn't see it go,
But we never saw it wander, the bloody so and so?
Next thing we were arrested,
Like stunned mullets? in the dark,
By a copper in a singlet wearing thongs, (out hunting in his own car?)
a bright spark?
He'd look at you while talking,
With his head half turned away..................(WAS HE AN ALIEN?.)...
Booked our Mark for speeding,
Drunken copper all I'd say?
Don Johnson
Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name Another Chance To Swing
Mackey (nee Dean) Brummell
My cousin Don's wife had an experience about that same time, with the
big white light following her and the kids home, not far away north on
the St George Mitchell road....
She had to get the kids to open gates and was nervous of this thing
that followed them.....
Her son Keith 10 years later was out Roo shooting in the night
with a local St George man
and they saw the light too,(much the same area)
the passenger refused to leave the car to
open gates on the Station property they were shooting on,
the light changed direction and
eventually left them at high velocity...
I did me an hypno regression on the missing time, got the picture.
I saw a flying saucer cross the road at a few hundred feet, could see panels
on the underside of it, saw a light beam transfix my cousin, saw his red hair with a gold curl in the light and the bright blue shorts i had forgotten he wore that day.
Interesting to me!
Don Johnson
Categories:
singlet, adventureme, light, light, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Spotlighted like a Kangaroo
Spotlighted like the Kangaroo’s
And the bloody Dingoes too,
White light spotlights overhead,
Reaching down for me I dread,
What will the bastards do,
Big white light, soundless it’s true,
Followed us over the Moonie dew,
I asked Mark and Wayne did you see,
The white light ever leave us be?
It never buggered off blue ?
Arrested by one-eyed Fred,
Face turned sideways, fish eye’d red,
Looking with one eye he said ,
Booked for speeding now was Mark,
By a drunken copper nark?
In his singlet and thongs,
A private car belongs,
A game of sport a lark?
Perhaps an alien too?
In looking back now I see,
The saucer hovering over me,
Narrow spotlights coming down,
Pinned was Wayne with the light around,
And me and Mark were too,
Like spotlighted Kangaroo,
More meat for the Roo box clown?
In a saucer not from town,
The memories sneaks back few,
Of the white light wandering due?
Through memories wiped but sound?
Cause mesmerizing frowns,
Saucers can’t be hurting you? :}-
Copper Fred chased our mate Crow,
Who thought it was a game,
Till his back tyre was shot out, gee’s hello,
The Wilson his other name,
Booked for speeding don’t ya know?
Don Johnson 7-02-14
See my
UFO White Light did pace the Ute
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqWup7R4N-4
Mackey (nee Dean) Brummell
My cousin Don's wife had an experience about that same time, with the
big white light following her and the kids home, not far away north on
the St George Mitchell road....
She had to get the kids to open gates and was nervous of this thing
that followed them.....
Her son Keith 10 years later was out roo shooting in the night with a local St George man
and they saw the light too,(much the same area)
the passenger refused to leave the car to open gates on the Station property
they were shooting on, the light changed direction
and eventually left them at high velocity...
--
Don Johnson
Categories:
singlet, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
A Nightcliff Evening
The pastel light of evening fades to the indigo of night,
Trees brooding silhouettes above, save where the string
Of lights picks out the furrows of pale trunks and
Thrusting limbs.
“42; pizza” rings out in sing-song baritone, the flickering flame
Of the wood oven tincturing its owner’s crisp white singlet,
And lending his muscles a little more definition,
To the delight of some present.
The long table is strangely quiet tonight, with no loud
Voices or laughter losing itself amongst the trees;
Or the frantic chaos of young children testing
The limits of parental patience.
There is a sombre quality to the scene, and the
Last Supper comes to mind though there are more
Than thirteen, and tomorrow is both far away
And a Sabbath.
Over there, a cluster of young girls sit and lie with
A candle between, the backdrop of darkness giving
A natural frame to the scene, and the uplighting
Reminiscent of Joseph Wright…of Derby.
Here, there is casual conversation, wide ranging, mostly
Wry humour or surprising intimate revelation,
That smooths friendship and leads on to
Understanding, and acceptance.
A fine tempranillo from the Riverland surprises, and
Is counterpoint to a terrine from France, a rich layering
Of flavours across the palate, washed clean by wine,
Ready for more.
Too soon, the importuning of early morning starts truncates
The evening, and the fumbling ritual of clearing up begins,
Unaided by commonsense lights, a social Braille;
And we look forward to the next time.
Categories:
singlet, friendship, imagery, social,
Form:
Verse
Sam came from Bollon on the Wallan S.W.Queensland Aus.
Sam Mc Croon came from Bollon soon
When he heard about old Galoon the Batey
She was big an a Ox light in her sox
And she loved her Irish Pp praety (potato)
They married at once she was no dunce
They tripped to the altar so fine
The kangaroo dogs would bark twice or once (greyhounds used for catching kangaroo)
Goannas cantered off with the wine…….damn gwanas…
Religion came round to the poor little town
They dropped in on poor old Batey
The old shack floor was dirt and some more
And they took Cockies joy, just lately…….(syrup) (Cockies = Aussie Farmers)
Bronco Don appeared saw Batey in tears …….(my Dad Bronco Don )
Don cantered right amongst the religious
Cracked his whip in their tent his anger did vent
Demanded, got cans back prodigious
Now Sam he did work for a man with a quirk
One Colin Mc Farlan Okeefe
He had Sam watching out in a paddock for work
Under a sheet of iron for a sheep thief
Old Sam he did sink down a sewerage trench deep
When tripping across after the rain
Bronco Don reefed him out, hosed him off poor old sheep
And rescued him later again…………(Sam got swallowed up twice)
Sam went to hospital with the flu for a week or two
Had his singlet soaked to get it off
For the hair on his chest had grown right through
Water weakens a man he’d just scoff….(bit shy around water)
Jimmy the lover came to call, banged upon her door
Just come out little sweet Batey
He said I’ve got bananas from the store
She said there’s no body home, come lately…
Jezebel McCroon slept in a room
on a mattress of indian rubber
Aren’t you afraid of Jimmy McDade
the great charmer the lover
Jez just said if I strip naked on the bed
he won’t see me instead
Won’t see me less I smile in the dark,
He’ll sidestep away like a plover unfed
Without a squeak or a squark…..Don Johnson
Categories:
singlet, romanceold, me, old,
Form:
Rhyme
A Poem in Pidgin English
Me, ma na SARS
I sabi drop bars
My gun ready to blast
Any youth wey dey drive cars
If tattoos na your singlet
We go treat you like piglet
If you no gree cooperate
Omo, you go catch bullet.
Me ma na politician
If you check, I be magician
I dey "pight" my brand of "kwarapshen"
Play ball, I go give you admission.
My certificate na banza
My account balance na fire
If I like I go make yanga
Even next time I go still dey power.
Me ma na Naija
Our mumu don end here
Una plans go backfire
Na my generation go matter
Una vision dey our museum
And we ready to change our condition
Even if una kill small portion
We go still carry out our mission.
Lekki na the catalyst
We go use am minimize fatalities
We don learn all una tactics
And we have all the relevant statistics
Baba God na our confidence
Next election una go see our relevance
We dey ready- no more reluctance
2023 una go see proper sense.
Categories:
singlet, anger, betrayal, black love,
Form:
Rhyme
When a politician tells you that he put
On a red boxers with white singlet inside
Ask him to wait till you look at it properly
before you could believe him so to remain insane.
If a man on a campaign rally tells you a tale
make sure you sieve the whole tale to generate
the truth therein, whoever take a politician's
Word must have a blocked ear and blind eyes.
Is it not the politician who sees an elephant
and called it a rat? he sees a snake and praise an
Earthworm with a bow and songs of laughter,
A politician's mouth kill souls in many ways.
When a politician tells you to wait here
Better find another route to your journey
He may follow money to his death hole
His mouth is as sharp as the kitchen knife!
No politician fight a fellow politician squarely
They know where to settle after election
Don't sell your soul to them in the field
As they prostrates for a vote you're to cast.
A politician's tongue is full of campaign promises before election, he may decide to sell garri and plantain with you but he is not with you dear!
Your vote is what count for him, cunny fools!
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Categories:
singlet, africa, art,
Form:
Free verse
How white is your pant that you boast?
Every pant wore within is dirty and smelling,
How white is your singlet that you shoulder high
As if you own the whole air that walks around?
Tell the children that died before their time
That nature cheated them before they came.
How white is your mouth that you smile always?
Close a little and allow others to smile a little,
How precious is your private area that you laugh?
Laugh a little and allow others to space their breaths.
Every thunder has its sounding style and lightening;
Every teeth is supported by gums that fails.
Hold not yourself as righteous as the snow,
Battle with your conscience day and night;
For through it you cause many atrocities.
How white is your smile and laughter?
How white is your cry behind the bereaved ones?
I have seen men and, men with music in their
Throat sin not always like those with laugh in their lips.
Listen and watch the sun wrapping its body going home before the unholy darkness comes to visit.
Help the poor and the needy; no one is perfect on earth.
Categories:
singlet, abuse, africa, animal, anti
Form:
Blank verse
Old Sam had carted nightsoil for a decade ‘round our town;
A happy sort of chappy that let nothing get him down.
He always found solutions to most problems in this life
And went to no ends finding ways to rid himself of strife.
Just like the time I found the note tacked to our outhouse door
Along with one of hubby’s socks – sounds strange, but wait there’s more.
It seems Sam’s eldest daughter had got in the fam’ly way
And he’d convinced her darling beau there’d be a wedding day.
A shotgun aimed strategically had helped persuade the lad
And Sam convinced the young buck that he’d make a real good dad.
The night before the wedding day Sam’s organised his suit,
A singlet, jocks, shoes and socks, but felt a dopey coot.
His sock drawer it was full alright, but none of them a pair
And now he had to make a choice. What was he gunna wear?
I’ll sleep on it - the old mate thought, but now it’s time for bed;
He had to get some shut-eye for the big day just ahead.
Sam had his run to do first up and much to his surprise
He found upon our washing line a sight for his old eyes.
A pair of socks that he could see would match one of his own
And figured that he’d borrow one and treat it like a loan.
And with another problem solved Sam scrubbed up pretty well;
He gave the bride away that day and things went rather well.
Of course he washed our missing sock, before he brought it back
And told the story in his note, attached there with a tack.
Categories:
singlet, funny, day, wedding, old,
Form:
Ballad
My fingers are already aching,
their muscles weary, spent, and tired.
Sweat soaks through my singlet,
my eyes grow heavy, begging for sleep,
to pay back seventy-two hours denied.
Yet each of my writes lies in his bin,
the sponsor never seems to tire
of casting them there with careless joy.
Perhaps that brings him most delight—
a cross my restless heart must bear.
Would it not be better to run the race
on a track, not behind a screen?
I could have run forty-two miles
in less than two hours, breaking the world record,
instead of these seventy-two with no glory.
There’s even a method to this madness:
twenty-seven contests in a row,
each confined to less than forty-three lines,
echoing marathons run on the track.
But my ink has dried, my paper stays blank.
I restrain my heartache deep within,
lest it spill across my face,
where anger and discouragement dwell,
hidden beneath facial creams and wry smiles,
till after work removed their weary veils.
Each night, each burdened weekday,
and each night, each joyless weekend,
I do my laundry, I eat my meals,
over the silence of this same paper,
still waiting for its first word.
So tonight, I beg you, Sleep:
take away this sleeplessness.
For poems are better written in dreams.
Leave me there till I craft a masterpiece—
one no sponsor can ever deny its glory.
Categories:
singlet, anger, desire, pain, poems,
Form:
Free verse
A brownie slid slowly, no rustle, no noise,
Slid slowly, through the front door.
Invisible to all, an imperceptible ghost,
Slid slowly across the room floor.
The dog barked, ferocious, and snapped,
At the nothing that was now in my sight.
I walked, obtuse, with a spade in my hand,
At the nothing, prepared for a fight.
The dog lowered, froze, no noise, not a thing,
Staring, ready, at the vintage farm bed.
And I stood poised to fire, erupt and explode,
Staring, ready, to chop off its head.
I stood bare foot with a singlet on top,
And I knew I was maybe too drunk.
I felt still, an odd calm, when it shot at my leg,
And I severed its head from its trunk.
A brownie slid slowly, no rustle, no noise,
In my farm house, to meet its new fate.
That night was a lovely cooking experience,
In my farm house, browned snake on a plate.
Categories:
singlet, life,
Form:
Quatrain
We snapped memories into photobook
Watching the edges of songful hedges
Draw a hopeful singlet of grace of
Testimonies conquered in neglected verses.
We played from the check of honoured
Dimples crossing routes of perfections.
Here are tunes playing from the photoshop
Of our hearts designing graphics cards
Filled with affections &bubbles of love.
Portrait of tomorrow carved an amazing
hours in the street decorated with colours.
these are colours depicting greatness
freshness &braveness of the voiceful heart
Kitchened through the celestial laughter
Of a slighting mother to her joyfulness.
We are similar, singular and opposite,
We are plural of everything humanity,
Sweetness of every singing lyrics & verses.
Let's this fondleness remain captivating
boys. Sweet. Bitter. Acidic. Sour. Raw.
Reflection of the World Series of smiles
Printing names on carved pumpkins leafs
Boys carrying themselves in their shadows
Carrying themselves in memories of their
Parents' pastoral culture and languages.
Boys spinning into crispy treats of white
dreams written on the stream of the skies.
We are fascinated about the rare cloud
journeying towards the stars of our souls
Harbouring our names in a bag of colours
Imagination are doubtful unperturbed pictures
Painted in the innocent face of boys of tomorrow
After the sun bent the tremour of our rushes
The rain came like a troubadour warrior
Between veteran lips of boys who went &never
returned memories of their family portraits.
We are boys carrying our family's loss
We are boys carrying our Father's legacy
Bearing the pursuit of our fathers yesterday
Look into our eyes & see our imaginations
those imaginations created by our ancestral
ancestors for tomorrow to hold our peace.
We may not know that these sands are made
of ridges of boys like us who went carrying
Pictures of dreams that we could not retrieve.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration
Categories:
singlet, 2nd grade, abuse, africa,
Form:
Blank verse