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Best Sock Poems

Below are the all-time best Sock poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of sock poems written by PoetrySoup members

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See Also:

Poems are below...


New Sock Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Sock poems are below this new poems list.

Odd Sock by Flaherty, Christopher
The Argyle Sock by Schumacker, Earl
My Sock Drawer by bauer, ilene
The Sock by emu, old man
Put a Sock in It by Earnings, JW
Sock Returns by Schumacker, Earl
Sock it to me by dailey, mike
Missing sock mystery solution by Dome, Peter
Sock Monkey by Toran, Milton
The Sock by Baker, C.L.

View all new Sock Poems

The Best Sock Poems

 
Details | Sock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Time Machine

Ride with me on my time machine to a different time and place
Return with me and let me see if I can put a smile upon your face
To the days of AM radio and the TV was black and white
To lying in a grassy field and counting stars at night
Popcorn and soda in the balcony at a Saturday matinee
Parades led by the High School Band on Decoration Day
Dressing up and going door to door on the night of Halloween
Cigarettes rolled in your shirt, pretending to be James Dean
Pep rallies before the football games, everybody stand and cheer
Going in the woods with your friends at night, sharing a quart of beer
That feeling inside, turning red, when she smiled at you at the dance
Wanting to kiss her goodnight, but you were afraid to take a chance
Playing chase tag at night in the neighborhood, hiding behind a tree
Holding hands with your first steady, so all your friends could see
Medicine Show at the end of town in a giant canvas tent
Saving pennies for a rainy day, fasting on candy for Lent
Going for a Sunday ride with Mom and Dad in the family car
Playing in the yard at night, putting lightning bugs in a jar
Drag racing on that long stretch of road, Chevy was hard to beat
Stealing peaches from a neighbor’s tree, always seemed so sweet
Riding bikes all over town, never knowing the meaning of fear
Identifying cars by their tail lights, make and model and year
News and Stooges at the theatre before the movie starts
Valentine’s day I love you written on tiny candy hearts
Easter bonnets and picking flowers for Mom on Mother’s Day
Opening day at the community pool the last weekend in May
Sock hop in the auditorium, collar up, trying to play it cool
Meeting friends at the usual place, everyday after school
Six for a quarter on the juke box, music that would move your soul
Return with me now to those glory days and the birth of rock and roll.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Of Road Rage and the Poetrysoup Profanity Policy

As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.  
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe; 
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.

A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:

“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,” 
Quoth the driver.  “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs, 
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”

He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My  light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”

Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told, 
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar, 
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”

“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.

The driver continued.  “I don’t give an airborne 
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.

Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:

“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating 
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.

Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist, 
The best around, indeed.”

 “I invite you to  perform an antatomically 
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”

“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out, 
and I plan to continue my route.”

“And as far as threats go, 
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”

“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”

Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe.  “He talked such a good line.”

Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a 
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.

3/2/16


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016



Details | Sock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

CRABBY OLD MAN

This poem was written by an old man who died in the geriatric
Ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Neb.  He left nothing 
Of  value, only this poem which I thought had a very strong
Message and wanted to share with you soupers.

           CRABBY OLD MAN

What do you see nurses? .. What do you see?
What are you thinking .. When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man .. Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice   .. “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice .. The things that you do.
And forever is losing .. A sock or a shoe?
Who, resisting or not .. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding .. The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? .. Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .. You’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding .. As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten .. With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. Who love one another.
A young boy of sixteen .. With wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now .. A lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at twenty .. My heart gives a leap
Remembering, the vows .. That I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now .. I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide .. And secure a happy home.
A man of thirty .. My young now grow fast,
Bound to each other .. With ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons .. Have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me .. To see I don’t mourn.
At fifty, once more .. Babies play ‘round my knee,
Again, we know children .. My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me .. my wife is now dead.
I look at the future .. shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. young of their own.
And I think of the years .. and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man .. and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age .. look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone .. where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass .. a young guy still dwells,
and now and again .. my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys .. I remember the pain.
and I'm loving and living .. life over again.
I think of the years, all too few .. gone too fast.
and accept the stark fact .. that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. open and see.
Not a crabby old man, look closer .. see ME!!

GOD BLESS ALL WHO READ THIS POEM


Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Obsessed with flat

It's funny
How did a computer
A silly computer
A flat screened computer
Become my obsession?
I wake up
There it is
Waiting
Begging 
Inticing
"Turn me on"
"play with my buttons"

I look at the bright screen
Remembering the Poltergeist warning
"Don't go into the light"
But it's so pretty!
I'm sure I'll be alright 

Eyes see
Pupils dilate
Pulse quickens
As my fingers tap feverishly on keys
Traveling to different places with ease
Wondering
Who else sees 
Images like these
Hers and hims and other me..s
Infected by their computer disease

Friends I connect with
Around the clock
Ticking while I'm talking
And wrestling with a sock
Late for work again
What a shock

A cup of coffee 
on the keyboard spilled
My glowing obsession 
is sadly killed
Emotional me
With remorse I'm filled
Then I pause until I'm chilled

I reach for my smart phone
Thankfuly I'm OK
I can keep in touch anyway
Here in my pocket
I have a way to play
A portable flat screened obsession
I can access night and day!

For Carol's Computer Contest.









Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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Spring Forward Yowzzah

Golden Andy the dandy had bling
when he leapt from his bed with a spring
the golden ring in his -
he kept warm with a sock
while his gal sang where's my ding-a-ling?



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Ceiling Fan

Like fallen warriors, 
we collapse side by side, 
glistening in the sweaty afterglow.  

Limbs still entangled, 
too exhausted to sing the other’s praise,
we stare at the blades of the bedroom fan 
slowly circling above.

A lone, 
satisfying sigh 
escapes in between your deep, 
cleansing breathes.

Your smile 
reflects in the brass, ball base 
of the rotating fan.
I smile in return,
unable to rescue my gaze 
from the fan 
cooling off our steaming bodies.

Slowly, 
your right hand moves; 
fingers entangle with those on my left.  
I still taste you on my lips.

I silently laugh to myself 
upon the realization that I still have one sock on;
the other dangling on the end of a fan blade.  

The remainder of our clothes 
strewn around the room 
as if the hamper had exploded.  
Your brassiere 
ruined when I removed it 
with my teeth.

Beads of sweat roll down my thigh 
where our legs remain interlocked – 
I love the smooth contrast of your skin 
against my sun dried legs.  

The ever so slight breeze 
created by the fan 
is starting to dry our exposed skin 
as we slowly regain strength.

The circling blades hypnotize.  
The subtle, 
rhythmic hum 
from the fan motor 
mixes with the recent memory 
of the rhythmic dance 
just concluded.  

Your hand, 
now lightly brushing against me, 
is re-energizing my engine.  

Slight,
involuntary movements 
near your finger tips
indicate our dance may not yet be over.

I blink 
to interrupt my transfixed, 
mesmerized relationship 
with the ceiling fan, 
so I can once again 
concentrate on you.

Energy restored – 
as if pumped back into our souls 
by the bedroom fan –
the warriors re-engage 
in battle once again.  

A battle in which 
each warrior wins. 


Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2013

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Tick Tock Pox

In my clock, I hear tickery tock
It just stopped!  No tick tock from my clock
Oh my dear tick tock box
Now I fear there's a fox
In my tickery tockery clock

A sly fox in your dear tick tock box?
Oh my gosh, I can see his striped socks!
Well a stinky striped sock
could put germs in my clock
and cause tickery tockery pox.


Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2015

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The Sock

 It occurred by carelessness and mere happenstance.
If I could move, I would stand and perform a victory dance.
Dropped behind the washing machine, sliding down the back.
I am a solitary sock and my color is black.

I lost my partner a few months ago,
paired with another, in the drawer to be stowed.
We didn't get along, entwined and rolled together.
He smelt like dirty feet, especially in hot weather.

I caught glimpses of my old mate, while hanging on the line.
Called out greetings to each other, he seems to be doing fine.
I noticed a small hole, frayed across his tip.
He said the left toe nail was badly in need of a clip.

I've been stuck behind the machine, all covered in dust.
At first happy with my freedom, now leaving is a must.
I know in time I will be found, like Roger, the blue.
He told me about it once when we were doubled in a shoe.

We socks are always blamed for going missing in the wash.
But human carelessness is usually the cause of our loss.
One more thing about us socks, and this is a fact.
We don't like to be folded and rolled, we like to lie flat.


Copyright © old man emu | Year Posted 2016

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It's Too Early To Write Poetry

1.  I  woke up this morning....it ain't easy as it seems  
2. My ideas are unclear, unpeered, veneered     
3.  I got writers block and I can't find my sock 
4.  Soon I'll start typing, maybe share a poem or two, 
5.  I would write it but, can't find it, so I fidget........   (don't worry) 
6.  Someday, someday soon, I'll fill the sheet with quill and plume   
(pause) 
7. There, I'm untying thoughts and undoing every knots 
8. I swear I'll strike the iron hot by eight and open the gate   
9.  After diner, after dishes, after the evening light squishes  
10. I'll be up like the sun write a haibun and say,  "it's done!"

The End. 
January 10, 2017





Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2017

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Daddy's Overalls

My daddy was my loved hero
when I was a tiny sprite.
To walk along beside him, was
for me a great delight.
I loved the swish of  overalls
as he carried in the milk.
To me the sound was sweeter
than the soft rustle of silk.
I wondered  why my sock clad legs
would not make that unique sound.
But it really didn’t matter 
when my daddy was around.

I vowed he would be like Daddy,
the only kind I’d  marry.
I’d hear the swish of overalls
as the foaming milk he’d carry.
Although that was not to happen
in spite of my big talk,
I dressed my son in overalls
the day he learned to walk.

By:  Joyce Johnson  Won a second in Jeans contest

(they weren't called jeans in Daddy's day.)
For Nette Onclaud's contest "It's In the Jeans"







				


Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

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Dear son

Too big for his britches, too small for his cap
Just the right size for mama's lap
He keeps me in stitches, the things he will say
"Oh let him stay little", I repeatedly pray
A little firecracker with spunk to spare
He walks in the house and strips down bare
Not a single piece of clothing, not even a sock
Demands to be naked, stubborn as a rock 
Bath time is the best if you'r ready for some fun
Not a dry spot on the wall by the time he is done
There is something about that boy that tugs at my heart
An emptiness inside, when we are apart 
His little blonde curls and sweet little face
A perfect little person, thanks to God's glory and grace
I love that he needs me and doesn't want me to leave
Lord knows I need him too, more than I need to breathe


Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015

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Mom

Back in my mind a vision I see
Of the loving person who took care of me
When I would fall and scrape my knee
Her hugs would make the booboo's flee

There was a time I scrapped my arm
I screamed and yelled like a fire alarm
But who was there to rub on the balm
The person I lovingly called my Mom

For the longest time I didn't know her name
But rest assured if I yelled Mom, there she came
She didn't seem to be ruled by a clock
And always had time to pick up a sock

She would always calm me in the midst of a storm
She smelled so good and was always so warm
She loved to laugh but she also cried
I remember it happened when my puppy dog died

A printed dress that was always so worn
Smiling brightly she'd wake me each breaking morn
Her breakfasts were yummy and tasty and warm
Her apron was part of Mom's dress uniform

When I started to grow and would go out to play
Mom would be there watching throughout the day
At noon she would call me which was always so sweet
Come in little darling, it's soon time to eat

Peanut butter and jelly was the noon time treat
I'd be tired from playing but had time to eat
Then she'd put me down on the couch to sleep
And cover me up from my had to my feet

My Mom isn't home, she was called away
To a new home in heaven where she's living today
I'm sure she's at peace in her home up above
And showering other children with her motherly love!








Copyright © George D. Miller | Year Posted 2015

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BEAT OUT THE RHYTHM

[NOTE:This is just a bit of silly fun]


Beat out this rhythm baby,
You can surely do it baby,
Beat out this rhythm to the clock!

Beat out this rhythm baby,
There’s no room in it, for maybe,
Do it, with a goofball in a sock!

There, is no room for error,
We can pull this off together,
Beat out our rhythm with your sock!

If you feel you cannot play,
Try it out, another day,
Our rhythm will, never cease to shock!

So:
Beat out our rhythm baby,
There’s no room in here for maybe,
Never mind those people who will mock!

Beat out the rhythm baby,
Do it like your acting crazy,
Smash up everything that’s in the shop!


Copyright © David Byrne | Year Posted 2010

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Say something funny

Sir ! say something funny , the little boy said .
'Cause Mom is now dying and Daddy is dead .
Grandad has piles and he can't sit down .
Gran's on a bender , somewhere on the town .
The dog just had kittens , and the hen , she wont lay .
The toilet is flooded and the rent we can't pay .
My brother has acne ; picking pimples all week .
The goldfish can't swim and the budgie wont speak .
My best funny friend , just sits with a frown .
My frog has just croaked it , my last duck just drowned .
My Y~fronts need changing after 3 months or more .
I've got ire on my thighs from the skidmarks galore .
My red nose is running and my sleeve is green blue .
There's a hole in my sock and 2 more in my shoe .
Sister Sue's on the game and she's got a bad rash .
She's making the bucks , but spending the cash .
My invisable friend , disappeared late last night .
Saying , he must see a Shrink , I have made him uptight .
Our Priest got the last rites ; the new Vicar just sinned .
She breaks with tradition and also breaks wind ! 
But apart from  all that , things aint so bad .
My corns still flake and happyhour aint so sad .
So please Sir !  say something funny to unmask this frown .......

" GET LOST , you bad penny !! . I need a good ... long ... liedown ."







Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2008

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Pot of Gold


I'm sure you've all heard the story
About the rainbow and the pot of gold
Well, you'll not find no treasure there
So, listen, to how this story unfolds

You see, I was standing there one day
When the rainbow touched the ground
Now, I didn't find no pot of gold
But let me tell what I had found

There were a bunch of tiny leprechauns
Just a sittin' around and chewin' the fat
So I slowly approached their village
And asked them where I was at

Well, they said that I was nowhere
A place that was in between
Somewhere that people talked about
But nobody has ever seen

So, I began to look around their village
And by now, I was in total shock
Because I had finally found the "pot of gold"
It was the "Land of the Missing Sock"

You see, those leprechauns were kleptos
But they would only steal one thing
They'd take our socks from our dryers
Just as many as they could bring

They said they just couldn't help themselves
They had even tried some therapy
But this addiction was just too strong
And so I guess, it was meant to be

So, I asked them,"If you're gonna rob our dryers,
Why only one sock, why not take two?"
They just laughed at me and answered,
"Cause then, we'd have to steal your shoes"

Well, that rainbow started to disappear
And the leprechauns all faded away
That was the last time I ever saw that place
But, I'll never forget that day

Now, that's the end of my rainbow story
I just wanted everyone to know
That somewhere at the end of the rainbow
Is the place those missing socks go










Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010

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Choosing Choice

A lighter view of the Devizes Neighbourhood Plan 
referendum on Thursday 17th September

My alarm clock shouts at me with noisy voice
“Wake up!  It’s Thursday and you have a choice!”
Of what to have for breakfast, eggs or bran
And of voting or not voting on the Plan
I’m not that sure quite what it's all about
Perhaps I’ll go online and check it out
The library know their stuff, they’re pretty fair
Could ask at the Town Hall, there’s people there
That funny poet woman says “Vote Yes”
Or otherwise the town will be a mess
Without a Plan we just won’t have a clue
Of what outside developers will do
But other folk are saying “No! Vote No!”
I’m so confused about which way to go
If I don’t vote I haven’t had a say
It’s only a few moments from my day
I’m going to go to town now and the Market
Could take the car but it’s a job to park it
Might take my bike or simply take a walk
And wander round and meet some friends and talk
I wonder what they think, I’ll ask their views
They might, like me, be wondering what to choose
Meat from the butchers, or some humble spam
Or whether to have a quick one in The Lamb
I’ve chosen breakfast eggs, I’m on a roll
I’m going to town, I’m going to simply stroll
I’m going to look at options and take note
I’m choosing choice and I am going to vote

If stuff goes wrong I’ve got till ten o’clock
The day is long, I’m on it (where’s that sock?)

by Gail









 






Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2015

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Wanted: New Home for Rooster

A plucky fellow wakes us up each day at dawn
To the tune of cock-a-doodle-do we yawn

How grateful we've been that we need no alarm
His sunrise serenade has far more charm

EXCEPT on weekends when we are free to sleep in
Want to stuff a sock in his beak 'ere he begins

So we decided to put this loud one on loan
The stud-master rooster had a new weekend home

In a neighbor's yard where chickens needed a mate
He strutted his feathered tail, made many a date

So many, in fact, that the eggs did abound
Tributes to his manhood littered the ground

Our sweet neighbor lady has cried out, "No more!"
And we want to avoid a neighborhood war

Can you take him in, not just weekends of course
Our chicks and our neighbor's demand a divorce

This unfaithful fowl needs a new chicken coop
One that is filled with an "open-minded" group

I hope there's a taker, 'cause this much is true
He could be the entree for our next barbecue


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

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Monday sans him

Sometimes ... there is no reason
     for morning tears.

Distracted me
     tangled in the debris
     of a raging sea.
So very small
the moment
     meant
nothing at all.

And what of that day ....
dismade bed
dirty sock left on the kitchen floor
       I was going to scrub a week ago
left me crying and
cursing
       falling to pieces
where is my other shoe
       my toes are cold
speed bump on shaky knees
spills my morning tea.

Sometimes there is no reason ....


Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2007

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WRESTLING WITH HIS TIGHTS - BAWDY LIMERICK

A wrestler whose first name is Bill Wears tights (but he’s over the hill) He shoves down a sock To enhance his cock It sure gives the ladies a thrill! Now Bill’s a really proud macho guy And keeps grey hair at bay with black dye Even though he’s a man He wears lots of fake tan And baby oil is in constant supply For Phyl with love from FC xx 05/06/17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017

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Dog's Day Out

Here's the tale of my Cocker Spaniel
The one with the big floppy ears,
And when I have finished my story
It will very soon have you in tears.

Now the first time I heard of his exploits
It made me go weak at the knee
I was told that the police had detained him
At the local constabulary.

It seems they were going to charge him
With offences, 'til now, little known.
He'd be up in court, and it was partly my fault
For letting him out on his own.

The first charge was 'Malice Aforethought'
Going berserk on a garage's forecourt
And putting a mechanic in a state of great panic
By proving he wasn't a spoilsport.

The second charge 'Paying Undue Attention'
Had details too embarrassing to mention.
He was apparently found with a large Afghan Hound
That belonged to an angry young Frenchman.

The third charge was 'Running Amok'
In the  market, destroying their stock
He left very quick, with an oil lamp and wick
And two pairs of tights and a sock.

The fourth charge 'Resisting Arrest'
Proves he beat the Metropolitan's best
And a policeman on mount, gave a detailed account
How he'd ripped a big hole in his vest.

The fifth charge was at the police station
When my dog had a slight inclination
He just didn't look, soaked the charge book
Then blamed it on their own Alsatian.

The day of the trial came quickly
I forget now the date it was held
But there in the dock, stood a dog of good stock
Like he hadn't a care in the world.

I listened with dread as the charges were read.
His lawyer gave up and went home.
I imagined the headlines tomorrow:
'What happens when you let a dog roam'.

When hearing the charges against him
The dog hung his head down in shame
The judge said he meant, that with all his intent
It would never, ever happen again.

He confined him to kennels for one month
On a diet of marrow bone jelly.
Saying 'I've reached the conclusion, you suffered illusion
From the violence you've seen on the telly'.

So with muzzle in place and paw-cuffs galore
They dragged him out of the courtroom door.
And his criminal record (A dog-eared file)
Now opens out for half a mile.

27th January 2017


Copyright © Ray Gridley | Year Posted 2017

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PDLindaMarieAndreaAnnaLiseCarolGail

In the middle of the woods lived nine women, each woman was unique in their own special way. Pd walked around wearing one sock everywhere she went. Andrea lectured all the women on the English language. Everywhere Tracie and Gail went they made funny faces. Linda Marie could be found swinging from a tree. Anna Lise likes mustard and cheese on crackers please Carol, Abby and Melissa played jokes when they could. this was a three ring circus in the woods.
Tracie's 9 contest
Cory


Copyright © cory long | Year Posted 2013

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her name is love

Dear love
i know you wont even remeber what i do
dear love you dont know how much i loved you
dear cupid i found your child 
dear god shes gone wild 
heart is spicy and flavorful never mild 
dear cat lady 
do you dare remeber me?
haha we went to san mateo elemantary 
sock hop heart drop photos of us send me back blissfully
and yet i could bet my breath you never even missed me
i remeber you so perfectly 
standing ther in front of me 
you took me to your house a few times 
to our memory i dedicate these rhymes 
your personification of beauty
is amusing and your your lips are lovely
.... love leigh 
love leigh i adore your adorability
entertwined with your sweet humility
i saved your picture for 4 years
stared at it every day so cheers
so here is the epitomy of my tears
ive drempt these words hundreds of times
with many differnt rhymes just to catch your attention
ive forgotton every one else, you are my exception
too much to mention that i remeber what you smell like
and when im stressed i remeber it to relive my tension
i loved you, and watched you leave
but somwhere deep down, i always belived
that id find you again, but never thought that itd actually be acheived 
you were the first to make me smile and feel my heart race out of my chest toward you
nothing felt more true 
more right more perfect, to have my hand held by you
i can only be your friend but my heart will always have a place for you.


Copyright © dustin castlen | Year Posted 2011

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Strip-Show

Ah my dear girl, how you show hidden treasure
In awesome and innocent ways
Small actions spark cold, thrilling pleasure
I pant at your power displays

Legs crossed to perfection, so cruelly they mock!
Lithe hands tug the cuff of blue jeans
Toes pointed slightly, you peel off your sock
Revealing your bare naked dream


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

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Waiting In The Wings (A Study of Alzheimers)

The colors she wore clashed in confusion.
One sock grey, one sock blue
as her mind wandered ... where?
She never knew her name 
called out of the fog.

The blouse buttoned wrong
with sleeves too long
and she didn't belong ... anywhere.
When the fog settled in,
she stared out, turned around
full circle to a stop.

Very foggy now walking into a room
not knowing what to do there.
So, she sat in her coat and hat going ... nowhere.
Later from a hand come into view,
she is led to a closet to take things off.

Faces came and went, strangers all
even those who called out "Mom!".
She couldn't say who she was talking to
and that voice ... was that Her voice?

Who was Her?
Better not to speak at all,
let silence take her ... (everywhere).
Let the fog drape around her soul.

Perhaps tomorrow,
the curtains would close
and she would know
what was waiting in the wings.


Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2008

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socks sidestep

socks sidestep to the sock dimension,
in order to get away,
they tire of carrying our suspension,
don't like the smell they say,
who cares for the undersock:) hey.....Don Johnson



Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011