Best Socket Poems
Comeback God sacked a craft sassed to last /
Grasp no slack or sag with the rap slap/
Pressure the bag and tip of the cap /
Coder crack hat and lift that latch /
Off the docket and out the casket /
Almost a tragic trashed hit had him cashed in /
Dodged that tactic now have the out to last kit /
Hoss’s odds lodged a socket to play with any ratchet
More times than not
my mind just drifts away
At a thousand thoughts per second
I lose a portion of the day
That's just to give you
a brief overview
For the story I'm about to share
with each and every one of you
One day while cleaning
a pretty crystal lamp
I doused it all in water
and got the socket damp
As I wasn't thinking
that was nothing new
I figured I'd just let it dry
for a day or two
The time came to place it
back onto the wall
As I plugged it in, it hit me
it may not have dried at all
So forgetting of my actions
as my mind is not that long
I put my finger in the socket
and realized what I'd done wrong
Now I've been shocked by people
by the things they do or say
But the biggest shock I got in life
was by that socket back in May!
Now in case your wondering,
"Is this story really true?"
Not my smartest move in life
But that's just one of few
I'm a planner I'm a scanner I'm a time warp spanner
and you better get outta my way
I can rap with the babies and the Baby Boom ladies
and I really got somethin to say
I been lovin ,I been fightin, I been rainbow writin
and I got it all on the line
plug a poem in the socket ,if you really
wanna rock it
it'll always come out in the rhyme
Form:
Shouldn’t I assert A Maverick of a Woman?
From behind surrendering a man,
With a pistol purse prodding his back
And a warning not to look back.
Soon her determined fingers in his right pocket
From same fishing out a locket…
Jeez! The Guy is in dreamy love
And she about to tamper with A Dove!
“No, it has to be his trousers left pocket”.
But from ransacked same extracts a socket
“God! The Guy is an electrician
And I this couldn’t discern; A Non Magician…
Alright vamoose, looking not back
Unless you safe wisdom lack!”
Grating dry bone gyrations bend perception in Grand Hall
Mirrored gilt adornment reflects danced audacity wall to wall
Skeletons twisted manoeuvres conducive with talents tall
Spotlights radiate through ribcages, display spine curled gall
Cabaret kicks, garish grins combine Can - Can spectacle
Enthused leg lifts see renegade toe bone thrown as marble
Audience shock for fox trotting flesh rotted fiends appall
Serves vigour of skeletal skin shaken windmill limb enthrall
24th October 2020
Written for Contest : Eight Creepy Lines
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
We all saw him seize his mum’s shoulder
And smile but in his heart a boulder
I knew you didn’t catch the second;
I happen to have a mind fecund.
What my eyes snatched was a masquerade:
A face vandal might want for a raid
But this he’s not acting on purpose;
Just not here to hear what lips propose:
Mark is a heir planning Dad’s funeral
While, for now, no crate of mineral:
One thousand guests who cherish cold beer;
Why would normal eyes not announce fear?
Yes, not about ideas voicing
Nor over man’s cash gifts rejoicing,
Your hand, too, should ransack the pockets
And watch Mark’s eyes pop out of sockets!
its a game
thats the same
fun or fame
its for all
SOCKET BALL
in my room smell of prefuse
i sleep until noon
am a old goon
also love toy rocket
my mind amstill a boy
for it to run
i need to plug
in a
SOCKET
Form:
Just bought a mega-big, socket wrench tool kit.
It’s really professional looking.
The sockets are new and shiny,
the box is stained white pine and sturdy.
it’s a thing of great beauty.
Trouble is I can’t find a socket to wrench upon.
Pity, I like to turn things around.
This poem can’t be turned around also,
its stuck tight, try as I might
I seem to be stuck on stupid,
I’m sweating -
and suspect I am mega-screwed.
Just bought a mega-big, socket wrench tool kit.
It’s really professional looking.
The sockets are new and shiny,
the box is stained white pine and sturdy.
it’s a thing of great beauty.
Trouble is I can’t find a socket to wrench upon.
Pity, I like to turn things around.
This poem can’t be turned around also,
its stuck tight, try as I might
I seem to be stuck on stupid,
I’m sweating -
and suspect I am mega-screwed.