Best Skivvies Poems
Poetry is a Risky Business
The Recipe for Poetry
Open stereo
Turn volume medium high
Poor 3 shots of whiskey
Add 2 bottles of wine
Open 1 bag of chips
Add one box of Oreos
Listen to Alice Cooper
Then Abba
Then Dance of the knights
Then listen to all 3 at the same time
Stick pins into the doll of your ex
For added drama add some ketchup
Open up 2 brands of cheese
Because that shows some class that you have 2 types on hand
Do this
Before opening second bottle of wine
This way you’re not an alcoholic
Turn on some Paul McCartney and Uriah Heep
During moments the stereo is on high volume
Sing along
Down to the skivvies it is, if you have a hockey stick
A little air guitar for some added inspiration
Cut up some Edgar Allen Poe poems
To put between the Oreos and cheese
Eat till the feeling of darkness overcomes you
Let your thoughts simmer 5 hours
Voila done
When you wake up
You should have 1 or 2 poems facing you
Categories:
skivvies, art, butterfly, candy, cheer
Form:
Light Verse
Underwear used to be a fig leaf
Then somebody invented the brief
I think it’s absurd
To name it that word
I mean, what’s briefer than a leaf?
Was it named by a white collar thief?
Like a lawyer who longed to be chief?
I could see his purport
When he said in court
“Your Honor, I’ll make this brief, brief, brief.”
“First of all, I would not use a leaf
As our skivvies’ business motif.”
He then rests his brief case
And picks up his briefcase
That held leafs of briefs, and the chief’s briefs.
Categories:
skivvies, clothes, funny,
Form:
Limerick
The day would pass in blissful brightness, with our brains on auto-pilot. The stories we'd tell and the memories we'd conjure up from years past, one couldn't help but think we were all running on about four pots of coffee each with the energy that was pumping through our veins. From jokes about serial killers in the woods, wondering if we were ever gonna find the lake, to the constant face-palms of: Why-didn't-we-do-this-sooner? and We-should-do-this-more-often! It was an indefinable mix of regret at having not done this earlier, and joy at the prospect of more to come.
To this day I can still recall the feeling of sitting by the shore of Hidden Lake, watching the sun set behind the tall mountain peaks that threatened to shatter the sky, knowing full well what would happen if I didn't gather wood for the fire soon. The darkness would encroach, and the temperature would drop to such that even the leaves themselves might shiver. The sun took his role once more as the proverbial clock, and the moon, his mistress, would instill within us that feeling of yearning long buried beneath decade's worth of city distractions.
Joel would be chopping sticks and logs, and Monica would prepare the sausages for the fire, while the rest of the gang (Jonathan, Brandon and I) struggled with setting up tents. Deeply knit eyebrows, tongue stuck out in deep concentration, as if anticipating future interstellar flight. It came to me shortly after, once the pegs were pegged, flaps were zipped, that if by some miracle Buzz Aldrin stepped into the woods on that fine snowy evening, he'd happily affirm my suspicions: it's not rocket science, folks.
The mirror of the lake would turn into molasses when the sun finally set. The flashlights would be drawn, cutting into the night like light-sabers or futuristic cyclops if headlamp is more your style. The rest of the crew were all huddled around a crackling fire, and I'd be changing into my skivvies not 10 feet away. Why?
Because I could.
coals smolder
a spark cleaves
to the sky
Categories:
skivvies, adventure, beauty, childhood, confidence,
Form:
Haibun
I stripped down to my skivvies
Revealing all flab
Something is sagging
I think it's my BALLS
MAN! am I bummed
Can't examine the rear
Who would laugh
but the kids drinking beer
Their's are nice and firm
While ours is dragging skin
The bulge on my weenie
is old age coming in
When I go to the john
the diaper is smelly
especially the parts
that connect to the belly
When worse comes to worse
My uncle makes house calls
To the old and weary
geezers with sagging balls
Categories:
skivvies, angst, life, time, old,
Form:
Epitaph
An old scholar called Mi Balls Hung Lo
Wished he could put his gonads on show
His poor wife got quite mad
But his daughter said “Dad…
just remember to add a big bow”
By Jan Allison
Now Hung Lo was really Gung Ho.
He had his big bow now in tow.
The new goal he set
was somehow to get
little Mister Happy to grow.
By Dale Gregory Cozart
Dolly Parton said, "Hey there Hung Lo!"
"Why don't you appear on my show?"
"While we're on the air
we'll show our two pair,
It might make your wee Happy grow."
Dolly said to Lo on a dare:
"Would you show off your pair?
I'll show mine
They're very fine
but not all covered with hair!"
By Lim'rick flats aka John Wulf
Lil' Mister Happy wanted to grow
So he could become part of the show
But overshadowed a tad
by the two giant gonad
Now so sad is Mi Balls Hung Lo.
by John Gondolf
To cheer him up they took sad Mr. Hung lo
To a place for encouragement to grow
Down they did jut
A poem for each nut
Mr. happy stood up tall for the show
By Pat Adams
Just woke up to this gorgeous day
What joy, think I'll go out to play
In my skivvies I will
Oh what a thrill
Tiptoe through the tulips twittering away
By Jack Ellison (My Poetry Soup Brother)
When Mi balls hung lo joined the nomads
Something happened to his small gonads,
the further they would go
much bigger, they did grow,
So he now uses them as knee pads,
Due to drinking the milk of the Yak
his large gonads started to shrink back
the more milk he did drink
more his gonads did shrink
problem was they were turning jet black.
By Roy Pett
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME YOUR POEM AND I WILL ADD IT TO THE COLLABORATION
10-04-17
Categories:
skivvies, body, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Hare Krishna's
In their Pickups
Depressed Comics
Down on their Luck
Teenage Girls
Screaming Meme's
Commie Pinko's
Leftward Leaning
Vincent Price
Flo and Eddie
Rodger Rabbit
Priscilla Presley
Nuns in Habits
Dwarf's in Ponchos
Deadbeat Dads
Munching Nachos
Right-Wing Nut Jobs
Trading Slogans
A few Hero's
Including Hogan
Are just a few of the sights you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee
Buddhist Monks
With Electric Banjos
Holding Signs Up
Of Marlon Brando
Taxi Cabs
Blaring Show Tunes
Pregnant Women
Down-loading Soon
Derby Jockeys
Flying Monkeys
Kool-Aidholics
Skittle Junkies
Bozo The Clown
Bumper Stickers
Psychedelic
Crazed Toad Lickers
Rhinestone Cowboys
In their Skivvies
Gothic Girls
Heebie Jeebies
Are just a few of the sights you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee
Blue Haired Granny's
In pink Moo Moos
Ballerina's In
Tattered Tutus
Mathematician's
Number Crunchers
Even have Some
Out to Lunchers
Model 50's
Do Wop Daddies
One More Round Of
Flo and Eddie
People Sneaking
Across the Border
Lonely Fry Cooks
Taking Orders
A Few Wannabes
Not Saying Much
Will The Real Elvis
Please Stand Up
Are just a few of the sights you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee
Thank you...Thank you very Much
Ladies and Gentlemen
Elvis...Has Left The Building
Categories:
skivvies, funny, humor,
Form:
Free verse
It's the real thing, just hear me sing
It's not another one of those one night flings
It's love through and through
A love true blue
My heart and my skivvies are both in a sling
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
skivvies, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Why Can’t She Get Pregnant
You’d like to have babies
But no babies you got
Your problem? Your undies
What’s under them’s hot
Your poor little swimmers
They’re kaput – they’re shot
What your mother won’t tell you
Your Uncle just might
When your swimmers get too hot
They just give up the fight
And buddy your undies
Are just too damn tight
They need to reside
In a much cooler space
So that when they’re released
To the eggs they will race
So give up your skivvies
Go commando awhile
When your simmers cool off
You’ll have babies that smile
Uncle Mike
A friend was wondering why he and his wife could not get pregnant - I offered him one trick to try (you might not believe this but I learned it from my mom).
Categories:
skivvies, birth, education, father,
Form:
Rhyme
Are we ever alone, dear brother,
when our black and white hands say
Treasure and Lack?
Are we ever alone dear sister,
when friends stalk roundabout
skivvies and shorts?
Are we ever alone dear mother,
when your discipline hardens my thoughts?
Are we ever alone dear father,
when your collection plates
Entice me to sin?
We are never alone sweet sympathy,
sorrow, and sweaty, sitting idly by.
Politely lick my sores of reveries abandoned,
and pollutions of lung and limb,
correct my soul, like a turtle upturned.
Categories:
skivvies, absence, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Frayed and puckered in a heap
Skivvies on top, worn socks beneath
Lace collar curled up in disgust
Offensive smells to upper crust
Deep baskets poured out jumbled loads
Soap bubbles flip flopped to and fro
Pearl buttons twirled as I declared
“Those agitatin’ underwear!”
Riled ruffles twisted in a bind
As boxers wiggled up behind
Inclined to fret and whirl away
When this old tub began to sway
Just fixin’ to soak in some suds
Till wringers caught the cycles buzz
This necks been drawn too many times
By garments surely less refined
Soon clothespins gathered at my tag
To pinch my frills despite those rags
Hung out to dry, high strung until
Tucked in a bag marked good will
Categories:
skivvies, funny, imagination, parody,
Form:
Quatrain
It had been a bad month; Jim was exhausted from death.
He drove to their favorite lake and took off his clothes.
Wandered into the cold water in his skivvies, hoping for life.
His mouth made a loud gasp as the icy water hit his lower back.
It was twilight, the woods around the lake were ominous.
He felt the trees looking at him, waiting in anticipation.
Maybe they thought he would kill himself.
Was he that desperate?
He had not felt anything but grief since his wife died.
The icy lake was changing him from grief stricken widower to survivor.
He began to shiver and shake; his teeth were chattering.
You are alive! An inner voice said, in a celebratory way.
Jim knew that he had needed this. He heard a tiny giggle.
His head snapped to his right. It was his wife’s voice.
But she was dead, wasn’t she? He expected to see her.
There were no other words. He dove under the water.
Expected to see her as a mermaid, but she was not flesh.
She might never be flesh again. But then again, she might be.
His mother believed in reincarnation, and there was a baby coming.
He drove to his daughter’s house to have a cup of coffee.
Deciding to live.
Categories:
skivvies, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Holly Day Cheer, Oy Vey
Lemme breathe smoke free air, okay
devoid of exhaust from swarm
(bajillion) enroute without delay
Santas Clauses gas guzzling
hybridized motorized sleigh,
coordinating global deliveries,
via GPS devices with weather proof inlay,
nor without the need to be caught unaware
fall out from skies foggy gray
regarding unexpected pellet size droppings
from reindeer unless docile
creatures made out of clay,
on second thought maybe,
I best remain indoors, sing alone in dolce
and secretly lay
in wait for fictitious busy
body, and yell "HAY,"
whose charitable larding
out gifts all the way
around the webbed wide world
purportedly all done for no pay,
gives me reason (with rhyme) to pause,
and be a bit suspicious eh,
cuz there must be some
legally tendered way
hmm...maybe exploitation or unfair
labor laws he doth not betray
heavy set fellow oft
times donning spectacles—tortoiseshell gray
cuffs, white-fur-cuffed red trousers,
or skivvies flying over Bombay
wearing a red coat housing
undoubtedly sweating away
bullets with white fur collar,
now bulletproof in case
he gets trapped in an alleyway,
a red hat with white fur,
topped of with nosegay
and pistol tucked away
black leather belt and boots hide say
animal rights and sweat shop
protesters deem unethical today
so many trappings scream UPDATE
maybe there's apps that
zap from North Pole assay
ying at light speed into electronically
woven into trademark suits made in Uruguay
by natives originally from
Banda Aceh (pronounced as "H" "A")
to completing stitching outfits
in the event oven neigh
unexpected tsu nam may
as tends to happen unpredictably
this time of year wreaking havoc
leaving islanders homeless, dazed and astray.
Categories:
skivvies, celebration, christmas, games, hair,
Form:
Political Verse
after having cut off
everyone s/he loved or
having them made that decision
for him/her,
s/he was alone in
training for months,
with a minimal diet
reducing
reducing
reducing,
with the workouts from twice a
day to a full time, 24/7,
mental & physical
pure dedication,
where all that mattered
was the
fight---
s/he visited the chiropractor,
s/he wore the suit to sweat beneath
the sweatpants,
in the sauna &
in the run,
with every hill becoming higher as
the trainers, the assistants, the
physicians agreed,
they must become steeper,
for s/he must push him/herself to the
furthest point of human exertion,
must lose every pound that s/he can
to cut him/herself up to the proper
weight class &
the vision became blurry in those last
hours,
with more people around him who have
suffered extreme loss in the ring,
who have bet it all for what others
who have never had an ounce of ambition in
their lives
might look upon them to say
they did it all for
absolutely nothing,
but s/he knows more &
after stripping down to the skivvies &
stepping on the scale,
what has been attained is a
physical perfection,
a human body molded for
implementing destruction,
for bashing a thousand blasts of
energy
into the face of the opponent,
all for the sake of the
fight, all for the sake of a goal
to be attained
by any means necessary---
and loved ones who might get a
few minutes on the phone with
her/him,
treat the fighter with
kiddy gloves,
because they understand more than
anyone who will be watching,
just what dedication really is &
they will forever be inspired by
this person that they have been
so lucky, so fortunate
to know---
s/he rehydrates, s/he pounds the
health calories, s/he gets rest,
s/he spends time laughing with
those around her/him
who have dedicated their lives as
well to
one amazing
focus---
counting down the minutes,
the seconds,
before
fight
day.
Categories:
skivvies, life,
Form:
Free verse
have you heard the *****festering
about the robot prostitutes in the making?
heard the christians & republicans
whining their way into a “debate”
about the moral concerns that might come about
as a result of having a robot do
what an exploited, sex trafficked individual
might once have?
see, if robots start doing the street corners
or dancing in the cubbies in Amsterdam,
there might not be the chance for any diseases
to crawl their way into those who frequent
this specific kind of escape,
an escape, of course, which fictional characters like “jesus,”
“moses” & “muhammad,” etc. might frown upon,
if in fact,
they were real.
one step away from diseases that have been used as threats by
the religious, is one step in the direction of a more sane, healthy,
humanity---
much like clinics that allow addicts to do their drug of choice
within the confines of a safe, sterile setting,
where if any complications arose, they would be handled with utmost
clinical care,
a robot prostitute will make things safer &
those that still are rotting away with their storybook “gods”
(whose wrath concerning these frowned upon methods of escape
depends upon the consequences which presently arise from their practice)
are twitching in their skivvies---
yet, one might think that these public protestors
would be the first in line to purchase such new technology
for use at home, when the spouse is out & about,
because after all,
no “holy” book covered robot prostitutes,
did they.
Categories:
skivvies, life, drug,
Form:
Free verse
My day is finally complete
I can now rest my head
Next to my wife
There, sleeping in bed
The doors are all locked
I have turned off the lights
I’ve checked all the kids
And I’ve kissed them goodnight
The windows are shut
The thermometer is set
Everything is now quiet
As I rest then my head
But alas, there’s a noise
So quickly I rise
I run to the kitchen
While rubbing my eyes
Where there in the corner
Just waiting to relieve
Is the family dog, Lucky
Who whimpers to me
So I unlock the door
Turn on the backyard light
I tell her to go out
And make it quick on this night
I’ve work in the morning
I must soon retire
But the dog did not hear me
As she ran, like on fire
She cornered a critter
Who crawled under the fence
Then so did the dog
So outside I went
When the door had shut closed
It locked fast behind
I hadn’t a key
I then lost my mind
For the dog had come back
With no way to get in
As I in my skivvies
Was sporting a grin
I knocked on the door
As loud as could be
The whole house had awakened
And just laughed at me
So back to bed they went
I double checked all again
Then quickly ran to bed
And out then I went
Categories:
skivvies, funny, imagination, dog, dog,
Form:
Quatrain