Best Stubby Poems
Chocolate Fountain Abuse- for the lover
How easily I forget I'm allergic to chocolate
I want to dip the exquisite kosher in a Spanish brandy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
At a store window; a dried up chocolate fantasy goblet
A taste of spoiled milk, nothing dandy with this candy
How easily I forgot I was allergic to chocolate
Snickers Bar, melting under the spotlight for-profit
Not edible, waging unassertive words like a pansy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
Chocolate pop, a candy bar coming out of the closet
There was not much bandy, about this candy
It's easy to forgot I'm allergic to chocolate
Stubby nuts, stomachache, bucket of vomit
Butterflies, flipping when I hear a faucet of cocoa candy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
Enrobed with small nuts, it dwells under the pocket
Caramel and peanuts American walnut vigilante
How easily I forgot I was allergic to chocolate
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
~?~
7/10/14
Your strongest day is standing
just outside your door. Let it in.
Each day the sun comes home to you
it whispers with the wind
calling out your name.
This is no video game.
Life’s a bouquet banquet
made from your reflections.
You do not need directions.
Pick your moments carefully.
Stop and smell the roses,
leave your motor running
for the dangers trust exposes.
Listen to where life comes from
the beating sound of your own drum.
Make the most of music that it brings.
Unraveling all your tangled balls of strings.
With patience Iron out each peace,
holding tight to all you love
with nails and teeth.
Now put your stubby thumbs
through their tiny holster loops
and pull your britches up.
Hitch them high,
and puff out your chest !!
You’ve always been ready for this.
This is not a test.
This is your life.
The SnaffyLaffy Swiger
Looks something like a tiger.
His stripes are big and bright
Just like a rainbow.
They shimmer glittery
Beneath the moon glow
Florescent green, pink, blue and yellow.
SnaffyLaffy is a happy laughing fellow.
In the night he likes to prance,
And he’ll ask you for a dance,
But first you have to find out where he hides.
By my story’s end, you’ll know where he resides!
SnaffyLaffy’s fun and daffy.
He loves sweets, especially taffy.
This swiger, cute and stylish, walks with swag.
His short and stubby tail will start to wag
If you offer him a treat,
But not vegetables or meat!
Remember, SnaffyLaffy likes things sweet.
For a chocolate kiss from you,
There is little he won’t do.
Roll over or do back flips out your door.
I’ve even seen him sweep somebody’s floor!
Yes, the SnaffyLaffy swiger,
Who looks much like a tiger
Can stand up on his feet like you and me,
Or like a speedy jaguar he can be
Because when there is sun,
SnaffyLaffy likes to run,
And in the light of day,
This swiger runs away.
He runs to candy shops the people say.
Running through them, quick as lightening,
He steals candy; it is frightening
How fast he moves.
He never ever stops.
He takes gummy bears and gum drops,
Licorice sticks and chocolate cherries,
Stashing all inside
A secret pouch he carries.
This pouch is on his tummy,
Where he stores things nice and yummy
And this creature has been blessed
With a pouch so strong
It is the very best!
He’s the only creature known that can survive
With only sugar keeping him alive!
When the sun begins to set,
SnaffyLaffy needs to get
Very quickly to his lair.
I’m almost done,
and then I’ll tell you where!
SnaffyTaffy likes the game called Hide and Seek.
If you want to take a peek
At this swiger SnaffyLaffy,
You have to bring along with you some taffy.
He will smell it and come prancing.
Then with Snaffy you’ll be dancing.
Close your eyes and go to sleep
Because his hidden lair
Is in your sweetest dreams.
Dear, precious child,
Perhaps you’ll find him there!
for Get your Dr. Seuss on! Poetry Contest
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.
A COSTUME FOR THE CAT
Cat, my miniature human,
in a tiny costume of fur,
what would you wear if you would dare
to let such crazy thoughts occur?
Person, I wouldn’t wear your clothes,
or want any closets of shoes.
My own bare paws are fine. You saw
I don’t get foot blisters like you.
What stubby feet on your costume!
What short-fitting arms and legs, too!
You’d help yourself to things on shelves
if the limbs were lengthened for you.
Person, my person, don’t you see?
Reaching wouldn’t be the same.
Jumping is cool. Then I can rule
from high places. Now that’s my claim!
Kitty, in a costume like mine,
you can go to school, get a job!
Person, dear me! You still don’t see!
Now I don’t mean to be a snob,
but why do that when I’m the queen?
Your job’s to pet and feed me well!
I won’t pretend. I’m glad to spend
my Halloween time as myself!
October 16, 2020
…or Hey! Who you callin' fat?
There is no subterfuge
In the hippopotamus,
She's just naturally huge
From top to bottomus*.
She loves the rivers more than lands,
On stubby little legs she stands
And grazes 'cause she has no hands.
For losing pounds she has no plans,
Such as Jenny Craig or rubber bands.
Obesity for her's no plight,
To be big and beautiful is her right,
So about her weight, she's not uptight,
Nor loses any sleep at night.
Some say she's rude and impolite,
But she just takes another bite
And says, "So whattamus!"
*My thanks to the Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz".
The doghouse needs a paint job now our dog and I have swapped
our sleeping quarters after making sure, that the penny dropped.
You see I shut up the missus which was a blessing at the time,
but to have her being speechless, in our house is a crime.
It was a Sunday afternoon when my problem starts to flare,
and me on my seventh stubby, so began her questionnaire.
‘How many beers do you drink daily?’ She first said to me,
and I shrugged ‘I dunno; maybe I’d average three.’
‘Three’ she says, ‘every day. So how much do you pay?’
I’m not sure and so I said to her, ‘five bucks each I’d say.’
And of course, this set her mind, towards onward thinking,
so, then she’s asking me, ‘how long have you been drinking?’
When I replied ‘twenty years,’ she went for something greater
to go shaming me by using, her mental calculator,
‘Five dollars each and three per day; each month five-forty bucks.
In just one year that’s seven grand, and boy oh boy that sucks.’
What could I say; she’s right – I took a bite of humble pie,
and waited for the next tirade once she looked me in the eye,
‘If you multiply by twenty, and leave out inflation,
you’ve spent one-forty thousand in a wasteful situation.’
Drinking beer is wasteful! Has she lost her flamin’ mind?
And if I thought she’d finished; that thought soon declined;
‘If you did not drink beer, do you know what you could have done?
You could have saved with interest, and our troubles would be none.’
‘You could have brought an aeroplane after all those twenty years,
instead of flushing down the toilet, all those wasteful beers,’
but then one quote from me, is enough to send her near insane,
‘Seeing you’ve not had a glass of beer, where’s your aeroplane?’
Proudly the white tummies purposefully sauntered forth
Orange arrow beaks decidedly pointed
Stubby feet not nearly strong enough to hold them up
Yellow mirrored eyeballs, reflecting the sun
In sheer giddiness, frightening the menfolk.
I stopped the wagon train and gave them a stern talking to.
Yes, I am the wagon master, thank you much.
And this is the Wild Venus, not the Wild West.
It is a new world, of course.
Unfortunately when I stopped them, they fell over
Onto each other’s laps, making the menfolk laugh and laugh
Making me sorry we had given them their lobotomies before we reached destination
It was the only way we knew to control their testosterone,
Of course, it was my idea, one of my worst I later discovered.
We resumed our journey after they all regained a semblance of composure
Our pet menfolk and our pet yellow-bellies.
I smiled, knowing I might have been right all along.
Women would rule the Venus colony
TVs would be banned, and no animals would be harmed
In cages or hunted or trapped or any of that nonsense.
Some other women came to my wagon that night
We formed a sing along bonfire, and we laughed and talked well until morning.
Knowing our menfolk would be more than willing to get up with the
One point two children we had allowed ourselves and our
Yellow penguin brigade.
Congratulating ourselves on our new status
Rulers of Venus, Committee of Sixteen,
Power of the Woman
In Charge Forever
Until we realized sixteen women cannot agree on anything.
Without at least one or two opinions from the yellow penguins.
That is when it all changed. And they slyly took over,
Feeding us the feminine-out-sauce that took away our will and our minds.
Well done white tummies. Well done!
I heard of a woman whose hubby
was somewhat squat, rotund, and chubby.
The might of his thrust
was rightfully just
overcoming the short and stubby.
To God I am thankful for many gifts;
But none more than a creative mind,
And the hands which are the finest tool,
With abilities to create that I easily can find.
As a child I first learned to cherish
My God-given opposable thumb,
Knowing how versatile a device
It is for whacking a fortuitous homerun.
And stubby fingers were early to meet,
And with artistic freedom employ,
All the many vividly colored crayons
To make graphic forms and scenes to enjoy.
And off running into the world of nature,
My hands kept quite busy in work and play.
Without them I found that I couldn’t climb
Nor protect myself in the occasional fray.
My hands loved to tighten and repair my bike,
Seeming to be a mechanic of special training,
Taught by a higher intelligence unknown
For handling every task without complaining.
With maturity the hand becomes more adept,
A magical marvel for all creation to behold.
And in God’s world of many forms to grasp,
It becomes an unique gift worth more than gold.
Then you find there’s nothing your hands can’t do,
‘Cause God has made them in His special way,
With the same loving care you make toys for a child,
Who might find nothing any better for hours of play.
We need to show God that we feel very blessed,
That He was the architect of this precious treasure;
So that we may join with Him in majestic fashion,
Giving the world with fervent impact endless pleasure.
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise – thee are not
For you wobble when you walk
And gobble – gobble - while you talk
Oh thee! Of stubby legs
Neck hanging in a bag
Of skin that sags and sags
How can you face another day?
Oh thee! With girth rotund
With wings of nearly none
Your flight is but a funny run
Some chase you just for fun
Oh thee! Of feathered frock
Bird of paradise - thee are not
As you lie on chopping block
Ending up in cooking pot.
But come Thanksgiving Day-
Everyone will gladly say
You are by far - the finest bird
That God has ever made.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a
watershed episode from my formative years.
I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than
half of the eraser.
Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one
armed desk made for a 5th grader.
“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE.
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”
*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.
(Froggy)
His big crooked smile; the bump on his nose;
His extra large feet with short stubby toes.
Eyes sort of popping beneath eyebrows bushy;
A spare tire middle with such a small tushy!
His loud guitar music; his funny guffaw;
His love poems so cheesy that fill her with awe;
His spending too much to save any money
Because he likes always pleasing his honey.
More froggy than prince, and odder than odd,
But that’s what she loves; he’s perfectly flawed.
(The Prince)
His brilliant white teeth; the cleft in his chin;
The beautiful body; the unblemished skin.
His elegant style; his baby blue eyes,
Manicured nails, costly suits and nice ties.
His house and his Benz; his deep golden tan:
All proof he’s a go-getting clever young man.
The many smart things to the right people said;
His time at the office so he’ll get ahead.
So seemingly flawless he just can’t see why
His girlfriend ran off with that flawed froggy guy!
For SKAT!
Lush stubby grass bends and sways
A perfect place to spend our day
Forever, it is spread, beneath our feet
Green carpet as far as the eye can see
Encompassing silence with its prickly touch
The sky so blue, with touch of gray
Appears to enjoy a game it plays
Gathering clouds that tease the sun
Who darts, and hides between each one
He sends a yellow ship that sails,
Upon a sea of flowering hills
We spread our blanket under the trees
And marvel at the fickle breeze
It takes a turn, from hot to warm
It soothes the brow, then cools us down,
We lunch with wine, French bread and cheese
Big apples, grapes, of red and green
We nap among the shady groves
Awakenend by the scent of rain
A run for cover beneath a bridge
We laugh like children, once again
And like ripples on a silent stream..
Dripping songs, and unuttered words
Sweet music is played.... new memories are heard
For Carol Brown's contest "Picnic Time"
Tall Tales In Short Form Contest
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
A flying chubby dog indeed, is my Mugsy the pug,
with stubby little legs always acting so smug.
He grew wings about a week after he was born,
by the breeder, how come we weren’t warned?
Last week he ran away chasing Rocky the Irish Setter,
my chubby little dog should've known better!
He spread his pug wings over Rocky and he pees,
"I swear, my Mugsy has small-man’s disease!"
Tough as a board, but scared as a tiny tot,
he barks and Rocky screams, “YOU’RE ANNOYING, STOP!”
Mugsy lands on Rocky’s grass and tears it to shreds,
for his owner just laid sod, “OH MUGSY YOU’RE DEAD!”
Mischievous and naughty he laughs in Rocky’s face,
I asked him where he was, “mom I was flying out in space!”
He’s a brave daredevil when crossing the street,
“oh my word Mugsy, you don't deserve a treat!"
~Date Written: May 5, 2016~