Best Tee Shirt Poems
Gold Dredging
Early morning first light
Camped on the rugged, mountainous terrain
Out of our warm sleeping bags and tent we crawl
To the smells of pine and clean fresh air of the mountain
Wood starts a sizzling, spitting, crackling campfire
For early morning hot coffee and a warm breakfast
I Dress in tee shirt and swim suit,
Hubby is in his wet suit
We walked down to the creek
Pull the dredge into the creek and get it started
When he hits bedrock where gold might be hiding
I stand beside the sleuth watching the
Gravel run over the riffles
I make sure the riffles stay clean
So the heavy gold
Will deposit behind them and on the mat
I see the flash of color and utter excitement
I yell, “We've hit gold,” impatient
With my tweezers and small jar
For safekeeping and
I keep on cleaning
When the day is done, tired, wet, and weary as a drowned rat
We clean the miners mat into a bucket
By the campfire we sit and pan our gold from the black sand
After the hard day’s work we undertook, it is wonderful
To see all the sparkling gold dust in my pan
The same warm excited feeling
I felt when my husband placed
My gold wedding band on my finger
12/27/2014
You were always happy, always on the move
with a great zest for life and a heart full of love.
We loved you too and checked to see if you’d get mad
if we mimicked your habits, but you laughed instead.
When we were in school together, you often horsed around;
I ribbed you about eye trouble, eyes too close to the ground.
You lived life with gusto, knowing your time was short;
playing hard, working harder, often with a jolly retort.
Honest to a fault, you saw the positive side of things;
kept things in order, solid rock with no mood swings.
Cut off jeans, gray tee shirt, tinted glasses, baseball hat;
great big grin, teasing quip, a big hello, a friendly chat.
You were the best teacher any student ever had;
I could call on you to help as though you were my dad.
You drove my school bus on many a winter morn;
dressed in brown coveralls, bottom legs frayed and worn.
You were there in summer, helping coach baseball games;
at football with your camera or turning cartwheels in the gym.
You taught us how to care, how to study, how to play;
how to work on the computer and make the most of every day.
So determined to learn, spending hours at a throw;
self-teaching all the things a teacher needed to know.
You are the poem of my life, who you were tells the tale;
your poem will last forever, healing memories never pale.
You wrote the words of this poem, pages of my life tell the story;
you will read them back to me, when we meet again in glory.
Oh how I fantasized that his large
dark eyes would look my way.
Seated behind him in sixth grade
I memorized the back of his head
his dark hair, his neck, his ears.
I watched him play ball with my
infatuated smiles that went unnoticed.
Honey glazed Italian skin in contrast
with a tight white tee shirt led
to romantic dreams and schemes
for him to look and notice me.
One time I took a pencil from his desk
I saw him biting on, he didn’t see.
I loaned him one of mine, he kept.
My captured heart drowned in ecstasy!
2-14-19
(Not for the contest) Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
A Random Act Of Kindness
A little old nun all dressed in black
A habit on her head and chest
Contrasted in white with her silver cane
Doubtful she could cross the street
A little boy sat on the curb
Playing with his spinning top
His hair a shiny yellow mane
A tee shirt and pair of shorts
He saw this figure very old
Dressed dramatically in black
A brandished sword was in her hand
A weapon that she did not hide
He stared at her with so much awe
He walked to her and took her hand
And checked the traffic as they walked
Then crossed her on the other side
She smiled at him and then she said
Thank you, little lad, you are very kind
You’re welcome lady, he said with pride
Any friend of Zorro is a friend of mine
Random Acts Of Kindness Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
March 7, 2018
For half an hour,
he was a few feet in front of me,
trying to tame the little metal beast,
jittery under the torrent of none-too-gentle
dos and don'ts coming from me,
his 6-year-old legs getting bullied by the pedals,
his hands on the handlebars fighting the side-to-side
spasms of the front wheel,
all four limbs wrestling with the fear in his mind.
Then, suddenly, he was 20 feet ahead of me,
then 50, 80,
the short sleeves of his oversized tee-shirt flapping like
fledging wings,
his neck and arms looking especially scrawny in the
horizontal lift-off,
hair gelled by the newfound wind into an
aerodynamic crown,
all of him flying down the promenade of the
dusky park.
The world has many lessons in store to replace
the things I’ve tried
to teach him through the years.
Just not this one.
I'd have whispered, "you're daddy's little boy,"
my everything, my bundle of joy.
We would have explored the cafes, parks, and glades,
snapping photos and improving your grades.
We would have gazed up at the stars above
feeling secure in the bond of our love.
And together, we would have shared the earth,
rejoicing in the miracle of your birth.
If only we had more time...
I would have explained the golden rule,
teaching you the lessons not taught in school.
And during your early, formative years,
I would have nursed your hurts and wiped your tears.
You would have entered your teens chasing dreams,
Defiant, in your tee-shirt and blue jeans.
And we would have discussed the birds and bees,
learning about life as you skinned your knees.
If only we had more time...
My heart would have filled with a father's pride
when you knelt at the altar with your bride.
The tears I saved to bless your wedding day
are not able to wash my grief away.
You spent six months amongst those who loved you,
and we gather here today to wish you adieu.
I think of all the things we would have done,
but fate chose to take you away, my son.
If only we had more time...
(Rhyme)
2/26/2016
Picture it.
3:00 AM
Niagara Falls, Canada
We are rudely awakened
by an intermittent buzzing
very loud
irritating, nerve grating.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Fire alarm,” he answers.
We get up, wide awake now.
“Maybe it’s just a drill,”
he says, hopefully.
A disembodied voice
“Please remain calm, please stay
in your room while we investigate.”
The message is repeated at intervals.
He goes back to bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s probably a false alarm,”
he answers. I wonder.
I’m thinking that if it’s real
we’re wasting precious time.
We’re on the ninth floor.
I’m thinking of the arthritis
in my knees, knowing we would
not be allowed to use the elevators.
I get dressed, make coffee,
immediately apply my makeup,
check my hair.
The word is passed along the halls
“Evacuate, evacuate the hotel!”
I grab my purse, jewelry,
camera and poetry notebook.
He puts shoes on bare feet,
exits the room wearing only
a tee-shirt and sweat pants.
The stairs are crowded with people
in various stages of undress:
Fuzzy slippers, long sleep shirts,
flip-flops, nylon jogging shorts
flimsy gowns, satin boxers.
A moving mass, silently descending.
Outside, hundreds milled around,
quietly watching the fire trucks
parked at the curb, motors running,
red lights flashing.
I un-sheath my camera, begin
capturing the moment.
When the all-clear sounds,
he starts back upstairs.
“I’m going back to bed,”
he announces, and begins
the climb back upstairs.
“Not me,” I say, “I’ll see you later.”
I find a chair in the lobby,
sit down to watch drama unfold.
A couple from Toronto had
walked down from the 22nd
floor, she with a cane
(hip replacement surgery).
A young woman from Louisiana
with Aloette Cosmetics,
roses in arms,
waiting for the shuttle bus.
Families with small children.
A bride, whose new husband
had walked off without her
gives him an angry message,
a rude gesture, a divorce threat.
Free Starbucks coffee supplied
by the hotel, followed by a bill,
shoved under the door,
seven hundred sixty-three dollars.
“For three nights!” he rages.
“It was worth it,” I say,
“I wouldn’t have missed it!”
Don't get a bug in your butt because I like to eat
So it's none of your business if I can't see my feet
My tee shirt on the line looks like a sheet
While driving, my right hip's in the passenger seat
One serving of ice cream just won't do
So I buy a half gallon, it contains two
I'd tie my laces but I can't reach my shoe
I bought a diet book and I ate that too
Really, I think I should take some weight off soon
When I bend over the neighbor sings Allegheny Moon
When I start breakfast at eight, I finish by noon
When I wear corduroy pants, they play their own tune
I'm sick of TV shows saying I gotta be thin
I'm very well rounded for the shape that I'm in
When I touch my knees I display a horizontal grin
If there's a pie eating contest in town, you know I'd win
Really, I ordered a pizza because pizza is great
I told him to slice it in six because I couldn't eat eight
Really, don't call me names, that's something I hate
But if you call me for dinner, I'll never be late
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20 years he cut it, short back and sides or trim
whenever my hair got too long, I went round to him
The RSL grew bigger, not the special place we knew
with a big hotel as part of it, dress regulations too
no more for the working man, with blue tee shirt and thongs
or even the old Digger, didn’t feel like he belonged
It was now a money maker, not the place it had been when
you’d always meet someone you knew, a place for working men
They still had darts and pool of course, if you wanted a game
but smoking banned, and count your beers, it just wasn’t the same
now Gunther’s place was not as busy, as once it would have been
they pushed his shop outside the doors, the entrance hardly seen
one day he said he’d had enough, it was time for him to go
another nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know
to find another Barber, now that was quite a chore
these places they all had “Hairdresser”, written on their door
the women all talked kids and shops, and clothes that they’d seen there
no sport, no racing, no latest tips, unless they were in your hair
never had a woman cut my hair, or a man with streaks in his
and the very first that did, I thought she took the pizz
when she said, I don’t have a cutthroat, so I can’t shave your neck
maybe your wife can do it, when you get home, like ‘eck
as if I’d let my loving wife, get that close to my throat
with a cutthroat razor, I’m not a silly goat
I don’t think she would let it slip, she still loves me, although,
it would be the last nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know.
Man, you look fat
Some manscaping a must
Tight tee-shirt of grue colour
Makes one want to puke
This body was not bodacious
Looked more like an emoticon on a chat site
Diet and sexercise is needed
To make a more delishful sight
So come on man shake yourself
Make your body a sight to behold
Irregardless of your face
Give me a smile of delight not a frown.
Manscaping, Grue, Bodacious, Sexercise, Delishful, Irregardless. These are the
Words I Used.
penned 24 August 2014
ho ho ho the bus drive nothing to hide
a little dog in the window
of memories to tell the sadness of nuff
I am here tonight to show the trick
of society or the spending not afforded
by the puppy to be send back
as teary eyes ask you to dole a save
for a tee shirt forever stain by greed
of a pay check and a kill
Took the kids to the Petting Zoo.
All the tame animals came through.
While I was standing watching the monkeys
And chimpanzees there in the few trees
I felt something tugging at me;
I turned around to see
A goat eat-ding my tee-shirt.
I shrieked, walk backwards, fell to the dirt.
Standing intently beside me, the giraffe
Stretch out its long tongue with a laugh.
Out of my skin cut and scraped, I shout,
Crawl on my hands, as I was tensely strung -out,
Stole my bag of buttered popcorn.
Crawling backwards dirt-borne,
Screaming, flapping my arms in the air.
Everyone stood to stare,
Laughing everywhere.
11/28/2020
Make Me Laugh With Some Humor -
Any Form - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
A Random Act Of Kindness
A little old nun all dressed in black
A habit on her head and chest
Contrasted in white as she held her cane
Doubtful she could cross the street
A little boy sat on the curb
Playing with his spinning top
His hair a shiny yellow mane
A tee shirt and pair of shorts
He saw this figure very old
Dressed dramatically in black
A brandished sword was in her hand
A weapon that she did not hide
He stared at her with so much awe
He walked to her and took her hand
And checked the traffic as they walked
Then crossed her on the other side
She smiled at him and then she said
Thank you, little lad, you are very kind
You’re welcome lady, he said with pride
Any friend of Zorro is a friend of mine
Random Acts Of Kindness Contest
sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
February 7, 2017
I wished and wished for a girl like you
That I could cherish until a hundred and two
How can I ever get you to notice me
Write you a poem of how it could be
Then present it to you down on one knee
That's just too corny, you wouldn't believe
The old fashioned style just isn't the key
Should I act like a man, dress all in black
Grow a mustache and drive a Cadillac
Throw money all around like I'm a fat cat
God only knows what you might prefer
Tee shirt and shorts or a long mink fir
I'll just be me the next time we meet
I'll probably keep it short and sweet
And invite you out for coffee or tea
Westboro Baptist Church Member At A Funeral
By Elton Camp
A sign he held and tee shirt wore
Same as he went to funerals before
Mourners gathered around the grave
To him, some outraged looks gave
While they were dressed all in black
He had “God Hates You” front & back
The poster he lifted these words did tell
In large, red print it read, “Rot In Hell”
He reacted with the greatest of surprise
At the looks he saw in the mourner’s eyes
“How you folks feel, I really don’t care
To funerals, this is what I always wear.”
One pointed out the name on the headstone
That showed the identify of the one gone
When a gander the man did take
He realized his horrible mistake
Fred Phelps was the dead man’s name
Westboro Church Founder was the claim
He took his sign and slipped away
He’d use it again some other day
But more carefully he’d investigate
Just who it is he intends to berate