Best Sot Poems
The 'Undred an' Fifth is the greatest o' Britain,
They charge like the Royal Marines;
They'll shatter the shock, and they'll 'old like a rock,
On nothin' but pork leg an' beans.
They march by the mile, an' they step 'er in style;
At 'ome by the land 'r the sea.
They'll fight like a lion, an' die for the tryin',
For nothin' save crackers an' tea.
Aye! the 'Undred an' Fifth is the best in the land;
They 'ave trampled the gates o' Chardaux.
Brave for the fight, they 'll sail to the sand,
An' they'll march till they meet wi' the foe!
The 'Undred an' Fifth, yes the best o' the best;
They 'ud conquer the ends o' the world.
Not taking a rest, they are game for the test,
Till the Jack o' the Brits is unfurled.
The 'Undred an' Fifth is the greatest forever;
They'll cross any line in the sand.
When others 'ave failed, an' the reg'lars 'ave bailed,
Then the Fifth o' the 'Undreds 'll stand!
They stand in a rank, an' they march in a file,
They 'ark to an ol' rusty sot:
They serve for the Queen, as they camp o'er the mile;
They're the greatest that Britain 'as got!
~ Inspired by Kipling's "Soldier an' Sailor Too".
~ See About Poem for more.
Categories:
sot, adventure, courage, war, march,
Form:
Rhyme
The mind has become a problem,
This ghost and goblin,
Throughout Love’s land!
The mind’s imagination,
Took over,
Love’s invitation,
By a tree of divided information!
It’s like, being love,
But having a relation,
With life and death information!
There was a tree of strife,
Placed in the midst of love’s life,
For purpose of decision,
That caused the house of division!
But a decision was given, to twiddle dee,
For love you see,
Is what the mind’s twiddle dee, be!
But he must see,
By experience, what is best to be,
For the sot has forgotten,
His beloved soul with his cotton,
Love’s seed of the begotten!
For, for the mind to be,
He must truly see,
The love he be!
For love already knows,
As the mind only blows,
What love’s life is yet to learn!
For love created the life,
That mind turned to strife!
With mind being only a part to life,
Let no man deceive you with vain words,
The old man needs a good purge,
Then his life would surge,
With a holy urge,
to be the love of his life,
Not a goblin of strife!
We are love,
From the inside,
What mind tries to hide,
On the outside!
God the I am is love,
From above,
The same as I am inside,
My, I am is love!
But what I be,
Sometimes is twiddle dee,
Of the mind on the outside,
The real me, I try to hid!
Like Adam and Eve,
With the fig leaves!
We must learn to confide,
On the inside,
By the outside,
To be the love that we are,
From the inside,
Outside!
johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
Categories:
sot, inspirational, lovelife, tree, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Rumpel Still's kin are a strange lot
With names not easily forgot
But he was kept asleep
By his cousin, the creep
Moonshine Still was the guilty sot
Rumpel had walked deep in the wood
Where Moon was with bros in the hood
Distilling white lightning
The scene was frightning
They drugged Rumpel more than they should
Moon left him leaning 'gainst a tree
Rump's whereabouts, a mystery
By now you realize
I have mixed up two guys
Rip Van Winkle's and Rump's his'try
Rip slept for years in the Catskills
Rump drugged for finding Moon's stills
Rip was greedy for gold
Rump was growing tree mold
Twisted fairytales of ill will
hmmmm oh wait... that's still twisted!!
Categories:
sot, humor,
Form:
Limerick
I was reminiscing the other day about people I've known o'er the years,
And found it strange that their names corresponded with their careers.
For instance, Joseph Carpenter was handy with hammer, nails and saw.
Clyde Barrister, famed ambulance chaser, successfully practiced law!
Art Paynter, dabbled in pornographic oils and is now confined in prison.
My dentist, Whitey Capps, takes care of my choppers as if they were his'n.
A neighbor, Semmi Riggs, is a long-haul trucker and is on the road a lot.
He married a classmate of mine, Tipsy Toper, renowned as the village sot!
An old army buddy, Hank Roper, is a cowpoke and rides the rodeo scene.
An old girl friend of mine, Freda Flick, is now starring on the silver screen.
The town ne'er-do-well, Don Heller, got religion and became a preacher.
His brother Bob (known as stuttering Bob) became an English teacher!
Willie Wrench turned out to be one of the finest Buick mechanics around,
And his wife Lila (nee Leak) is a plumber and none better is to be found.
Cyrus Cloud is working for the National Weather Service as a meteorologist,
And I hear that Buddy Butts has a thriving practice as a famed proctologist!
Frenchie Horne has his own band and I see him on the boob tube now and again.
An old pal, Gilbert Graves, is the village undertaker located at Fifth and Main.
Was it intentional or fickle fate that wedded these names to their vocation?
I reckon in a sense 'twas both due to a struggling bard's wild imagination!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
sot, humorous, jobs,
Form:
Rhyme
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
Categories:
sot, abuse, addiction, america, culture,
Form:
Rhyme
A football star with super speed,
Our prom king, Kyle, has gone to seed.
No longer likely to succeed,
He's out of work and hooked on weed.
Behind you's Jennifer, the one
Who led our cheers and planned our fun.
Most popular, with honors won,
She's sheriff now and totes a gun.
And over there is rotten Chad,
Once cocky jock, now deadbeat dad.
He bullied me and so I'm glad
That his investments turned out bad.
Well, here comes Sue, who was so shy
She never even kissed a guy.
She's since helped seven husbands die,
But always has an alibi.
A wit and prankster of renown
Who backwards wore his cap and gown,
Was Jason there, our class's clown.
The best mortician now in town.
A teenage tramp in scanty dress,
Yvonne no morals did possess.
She'd cheat and lie, so who would guess
She'd be a judge and great success.
Poor Adam there has gone to pot,
His hopes of being doctor shot.
Divorced and now a lonely sot,
The saddest of this sorry lot.
Remember curly-headed Clay,
The eagle scout and closet gay?
He's quarterback for Tampa Bay,
Is out, and wears a full toupee.
Poor Brook, our class's beauty queen,
Who prompted thoughts in boys unclean.
She's gone from slender sweet sixteen
To hugest hips you've ever seen.
And look at Zack, the puny nerd
With build and beak just like a bird.
Once too afraid to say a word,
He's now a billionaire, I've heard.
A romeo, Jake had his fun.
Most every girl he knew, he'd done.
Now congressman in Washington,
His votes are screwing everyone.
There's Beth, who boys refused to date.
Alone for years, she married late.
Her husband left a vast estate.
That hunk she's with is twenty-eight.
Example of the alpha male
Who knew not how it felt to fail,
My buddy, Ethan, went to Yale.
But he's not here 'cause he's in jail.
I view this wreckage with dismay,
This gathering of youth decay.
For one exception, look this way.
I haven't aged a single day.
Categories:
sot, change, high school, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
I remember living in one room dingy and dire
with old lino on its rotting wooden floor.
I remember crystallised spit dangling from guard at the fire;
as mother cleaned, he'd only honk the more.
I recall how we went hungry, waiting for the paltry sum
he allowed us for board and keep, the cheap fink,
and how he served apprenticeship to becoming a true bum
by treating as priorities his fags and drink.
I remember all the rows he caused demanding back the cash
which was supposed to feed and clothe his we’ans
I remember every Christmas morn' the gifts received were trash
because he'd pissed the present-money down the drain.
I recall one awful night my mother hunting high and low
with a hungry bedraggled child on either hand,
she finally catching that boozy stinker sate in the Dungloe.
How he fumed, outraged that food she dared demand.
I remember his begrudgement of those sparse few days away–
one hour upon the beach or at the fair:
how just when we were relaxing would be dragged from play.
Homeward-bound: him the ‘bookies', us despair.
I remember trudging up to Creggan to the ‘Housing Place'
every week with mother and sister, come rain or hail,
and how that worthless, selfish, monster did not even have the grace
to commend her dedication, instead railed.
I can picture his expression when she got herself a job,
determined not to lose her new clean home.
I remember his wild tantrums when she'd saved up for a hob–
the delivery man was perplexed at oral foam.
I remember those miserable times as if they were today,
how he made odd help with homework living hell–
so that now a friend's assistance, however gracefully
put, grates my tortured psyche so much I cannot tell.
When we started working, my sister dear and I,
it seemed for him a licence to give less.
Many weeks he'd keep house-money and, as the months went by,
we discovered he'd drunk the rent; that was a mess.
So now sot has retired, and it seems his mind has gone–
for he's telling all how great he was those years:
he built house on the prairie. He was such a con:
the only thing he constructed was a legacy of fear.
Categories:
sot, abuse, addiction, anti bullying,
Form:
Ballad
Page 10
‘T wasn’t long before we nestled
In the belly of the beast
And we might not all have fit
If it wasn’t for some grease
Demetre was disturbed
By the prodding of a sword
So he said to Val discreetly
You’re not the only one who’s bored
There’s no time to horse around
Or for gaiety of sorts
Until we win this town
There’ll be no more water sports
I had to be very firm
For these men sure like to play
And focus on the reason
We were all crammed in this way
Achilles’ please stop shoving
There’s no room to give you more
And , Philo please wake up
For, I loath to hear you snore
The others on the beach
Have set sail, and left in mass
As I could see so very well
From a crack found in the ass
Page 11 You're Just Busting My Walls
Then just as we expected
The large Gates opened wide
And all those crazy Trojans
Came out, who were inside
Some looked upon my ass
With glee and adoration
While others sot to burn it down
Without investigation
Their highest Priest, now stepped forth
To speak the voice of reason
Don’t you see it is a "Horse"
A gift we should find pleasing
Still others shouted out, awful words
Not worth repeating
And our ass seem in some trouble
As their tempers started heating
It wasn’t long, till it began
The eclipse was right on time
It convinced the unbelievers
That my big ass was divine
They all bowed down to kiss it
It was a spectacle to see
And I’m glad I didn’t miss it
For it was, personal to me
Page 12
My men until this day
Claimed a tear, formed by my eye
And I quickly turned away
So they wouldn’t see me cry
But the moment didn’t last
As we found we were in motion
They tied ropes around my ass
And applied a slippery lotion
Now the wheels had proper grease
And the lines where taunt and tight
They started pulling on my ass
And were using all their might
We were really rolling now
As we headed for the gate
The men got so elated
That they hardly couldn’t wait
When we finally reached the gates
We had to stop a bit
Our structure was too tall
And this big ass, wouldn’t fit
But one of their members
A fricken genus, if I may
Said, lets tear down that portion
Of the wall that’s in the way
Categories:
sot, funny,
Form:
Epic
Cian careen into Quigley's Pub
for a little Irish whiskey and sub
before long dancing
an Irish jig romancing
the wee fawning lassies lap club
lassies hooting and flapping being bold
with blarney about his pot of gold
money he was countin
while lassies were mountin
full of craic, pole dancing, and few handholds
much Irish brew a sot Cian became
I'm takin my money you can't blame
when he got to his lair
pot did he held bare
shame he did claim but himself to blame
3/26/2017
Categories:
sot, dance, drink, money,
Form:
Limerick
Sue sat on her big bed crying,
her cat and dog lay peacefully
on the rug. Her son lying
to her was sad. Thankfully
he is not a bad boy. Sighing
She did say to her dad sadly
her son was an ass! Smiling
she had a cup of tea quickly.
Sue was all on her own now -
she was fed up of men! Wow
Her old man was a sot - Somehow
he had got all the tax money
And bet it all on a bunny
It was not at all funny!
The Funom's Sonnet consists of 14 lines, each line made up of 7/8 syllabic word count. The rhyme pattern is in this form
The major unique feature of this new kind of sonnet is its words. Apart from the rhyming words, all other words in this poem should consist of not more than three letters
a-b-a-b,a-b-a-b,c-c-c,d-d-d.
Contest The Funom's Sonnet Sponsored by Funom Makama
03~27~16
Categories:
sot, humorous, nonsense, silly,
Form:
Sonnet
It was a time to bond and booze with dear Papa,
An interval all the more naughtily charming
As it inflamed the temper of irascible Mama.
Before happy hour, we two went shooting
With the three o three I bought for drama
In a gauche youth that was always dragging.
Out we drove in my short, fat pa's beetle,
Two maladroits equally socially feeble.
We stopped by some neatly stacked cans
That we shot, exploding wet excrement
Putting a brown pall on our bonding plans.
I fired a random shot as if by witty accident.
Off we went driving by unbroken fences
Till we saw a policeman in bewilderment
Standing over a black and white cow,
By a farmer making a bellowing row.
“We shot the beef, my son,” joshed Pa,
And put the foot down upon the pedal,
Laughing merrily in the hurrying car.
I smiled at his jest however feeble,
A tasteless jibe at the furious farmer.
The very thought I readily dismissed
With a sly, effete flick of the wrist.
The matter of the dead cow was forgot
Until not too long before oblivion
Took hold of every thought of the sot
Aged stupid by whisky and bad living.
“It was because of that cow we shot,
A sin that God has not yet forgiven.”
For a neighbour's dog gored his heifer,
A punishment he had to decipher.
But I think he obliquely gave me blame,
For it was I who shot the bovine brute.
Before his fading mind went fully lame
He reasoned it best to stem guilty root
Before old sins haunted shaky mind's frame.
Dark disputes lingered as he was less astute.
But for me the cow is a point of indifference,
In the abattoir a month earlier of its existence.
Categories:
sot, age, anxiety, death, family,
Form:
Ottava rima
Into Clyde's Bar sauntered a sot named Stutz,
Sporting one of the most ponderous gutz!
Placing his gut on the bar,
He roared a hardy, "Har! Har!"
Saying, "Fill 'er up with cold beer and nutz!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
sot, drink, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
I had a goat whose name was Billy
who grazed in places that were hilly
he never complained
in sunshine or rain
and he even ate all of the lilies
But one day Billy got into the pot
and then he stumbled around like a sot
He ate all my weed
he was greedy indeed
So now he is stewing with the carrots
Categories:
sot, animal,
Form:
Limerick
In all my life
I’ve never spent a full day with you
Dad, the man I know and love
Split in two
I’m proud to call you my father
For any man to model
But only half because the other half
Can’t let go of the bottle
Your different dad
When your drinking or not
Don’t deny your problem
You miserable sot
A 12-pack isn’t normal
Not everyday or so
Grow up, act your age
And just let go
Because we love you dad
We always have and will
But your drinking blasts a hole in me
With nothing to fill
When you ask me for more
I am hopeless to your avidity
But give-in and guide you towards death
For fear of acerbity
As I mature into manhood
I fear that you won’t see the day
I graduate, get married, or start my family
So affirm a different substance for your thirst to allay
I have no shame on my knees to plead
Because we are kin, it’s your blood I bleed
You must end this putrid deed
So Dad, please just let go of the mead
By Nicholas A. Bello
Categories:
sot, childhood, courage, dad, death,
Form:
Rhyme
With my usual paucity of luck I was assigned to seat 34B.
I wanted to be left in peace but as you see, 'twas not to be.
The urchin sittin' behind me pitched a screamin' fit!
He kicked the back of my seat and his mom cared not a whit!
I got so angry that I could have thrown rocks at a hearse,
But as time flew on (so to speak) things got even worse.
The little old lady on my left babbled about her back operation.
The sot on my right snored in my ear without cessation.
He had bladder problems that caused him to climb over me,
To relieve himself of used beer in the restroom constantly!
The guy in front of me adjusted his seat creatin' a very small gap,
And in doin' so spilled my coffee from the tray all over my lap!
Sporadically, an inconsiderate, ill-bred jerk released odious gas.
I think next time I'll spend a few more bucks and travel first-class!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
sot, flying, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme