Best Toss Out Poems
You’re all in charge of authoring a story
Of love and humor, suspense and glory
You’re writing starts with your very first thought
And doesn’t end til your life is naught.
Know, My Dears, these books; your own
There are no cowriters; authors unknown
Flip those pages and make your quills dance
Miss no opportunities, take a chance
If somewhere in those thick tomes of yours
You have questions “whys and what fors?”
Do not ponder and then overthink
For there’s no such thing as permanent ink
There will be some tearstained pages
Most likely in your middle ages
There will be words you’d like to forget
Or phrases in which you may regret
But when it reaches the golden stage
The best of the story in a later page
Grab a pencil and throw some sparks
And don’t be afraid of eraser marks
Then once it’s written and you do find
There was a time of hurt when life’s unkind
Go ahead and toss out awful chapters
Because Momma loves Happily Ever Afters
Take Out the Landry
Dirty laundry for years on the floor
finally the dirt is out the door
Quebec is cleaning house
separatists being laid to graves
like Napoleonic mouse's
bury their rhetoric too
twelve feet deep
Wrinkled ex leader with
no musket or balls
no lead, leaderless
man of poisoned dreams
nationalist and king of hate
trumpets play for his distaste
if your wool is not pure
you do not belong on his shore
Villain as Lucifer or Lucien
robbing the people of their future
all for his midget delusions
now to be inhumed
in his own dirt
he will of course blame
the Chinese laundry mat
who lost his ticket
He is not to be interred
in red rags
honor will shed not one tear
where is his Nazi flag?
Boxed at Notre Dame
the church like Vichy
honors dictators and their clan
funerals they all say nice things
still
they toss out the laundry
as Canada sings
Only Toronto thanks him
for the prosperity
Come with us Halloweening.
We’ll frolic in the streets.
We’ll race from house to house to house
Spouting “Trick-or-Treats.”
And eagerly we’ll each collect
Confections in a bag.
Fellow ghouls, we’ll abandon you
If you even start to lag!
No slackers in OUR party
As we dash from door to door.
Unlit locations far removed
Instinctively we ignore.
Our goal: to get all we can hold
This wickedly winsome night,
This “Hallowed Eve” of children’s dreams
For fancy and delight.
A time that kids’ imaginings
Collectively take flight
In form of costumes of all kinds-
Of whimsy and of fright.
For Dale and I, that’s part of the fun,
But even better yet
Is what we’ve counted the days off FOR-
The bounty we’re going to get!
And through the dark we onward dart.
Watch as we trespass
People’s lawns, but yards with dogs
We cleverly bypass.
And when we need to go back home
To get more paper sacks,
We drop off treats we’ve got so far,
Then quickly double back. . .
Until we’ve covered every block
Of every foreknown spot
That we had ever frequented
And some that we had not!
Then good and late we homeward speed
With just a little dread,
For darkened windows greet us
And most folks have gone to bed.
We throw our candies on the floor,
So much there is to eat!
We count each chewy chocolate bar,
Each popcorn ball and sweet.
We toss out raisins, apples,
Tiny suckers, silly fruit,
Or give them to our siblings
Who received too little loot.
Then off to bed, our day complete,
We dream of how we’ll feast
Each day with glee, while savoring
Our treasury of treats.
For the Halloween Night Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Seren
Ah but what a radiant lass
Blonde and soft and born with class
Nightingale and nursing the unborn
Her heart is wrapped around all the forlorn
Loving animals
As only a Star knows
Her smile is soft and always glows
Cuddles and cwtch by the river that flows
Ah but one you see… says she’s crass
Now who says that to a beautiful lass?
Little man with ego bruised
Shall we buy you manners or remove your shoes?
Some in this world are sad and mean
They toss out bitterness, they so keen
The reaper one day shall even the score
Stars shall shine, as we slaughter the boar
Angels and Stars way up high
Their beauty we admire up in the sky
I am tired of making lists for the store, I can't even get out the door. Last year is over and so are my thoughts, I tied them all in knots. I am tired of stinky thinking, so maybe I should take up drinking. My mind has been working overtime, and not on just a new rhyme. My car got a lube and oil, My thoughts need some new planting soil. Mind toss out the old and bring in the new, I refuse to spend this year blue.
Date Written: 1/8/2021
1/10/2021 Poem of the Day win.
Why do some of us write poetry, what is it that makes us even care.
Could there be a specific reason behind the rhymes that we might choose to share.
Maybe it’s just for enjoyment, or a contest to let your words glisten.
You could be like the Lawless poet, who writes because no one will listen.
Some poets will write about God, or for a love that has left them behind.
Individually we have our own reasons, a cause for each of us to find.
We might, seek a little fame, things are not always what they seem.
A few get to spill ink for cash, while others are just living the dream.
I usually write from the heart, I’m not afraid to toss out those dice.
Sometimes it’s a break from reality, enjoying my own paradise.
I will continue to write what I want, that has always been plain to see.
If you don’t like my words or my rhymes, then pass me by and just let me be.
An occasional chance encounter
With a stranger on the street
Can change life like a tidal wave
And lift us off our feet.
The mystery of wakefulness
Like the dance of rolling dice,
Is filled with rhythm, love and hate
Virtue, darkness, light.
Bending ‘round from sky to ground,
Heaven, hell and in between;
An occasional chance encounter
Can turn a whore into a queen.
Who may have been lost in paradise,
Trampled, beaten, bruised;
The **** you spit on yesterday
Might well have been just you.
Or the skid-row drunk whose soul has sunk
So low you can’t relate,
To the pain he knows each time it snows
And the cold winds won’t abate.
Unless, until somebody fills
His heart with dreams again;
An occasional chance encounter
Might mean the world to him.
A word or two of hopefulness,
From nightmares all day long;
A helping hand, one measured stand
Turns sorrow into song.
And now and then when nothing’s wrong
And everything feels fine;
No dark cloud storms or feeling worn
Cast clouds upon the mind.
When all feels well and quite routine
And there’s nothing much to say,
An occasional chance encounter
Can change us all in many ways.
A look in the eye and words that fly
Out of one’s tongue and mouth;
Before we know it love starts to show it
And the heart starts heading down south.
Running away like a child at play
As if never before set free;
Wild in the wind as one begins
To open up eyes and see.
That blindness isn’t limited
To those that have no sight
But affects us all the weak and small
Every day and every night.
As now and then like a Zephyr wind
A stranger comes a’ calling;
Before we know we’re all a glow
In love and freely falling.
Like a coin toss out of nowhere,
Probabilities, unimaginable;
An occasional chance encounter
May render life numinous, unfathomable.
Trust me when I tell you that
There are riches deep inside;
Every soul that ever lived,
Struggled, loved and died.
As it is written in the book of life
And inscribed inside our heads;
An occasional chance encounter
Can find beauty in the beast within
And love where hatred led.
Out Of Date Lean Cuisine Or New Years Resolution Gone Sour
Toss out
I shout
The Shed.
The door creaks open and refracted light creeps in,
A place filled with creation, even in the bin.
Smells of shaven eucalypt and mountain ash fill up all the senses.
Planes, saws and a miriad of tools are propped atop the benches.
Unrecognisable shapes sit in the vice await to become a toy
carefully crafted and lovingly made, designed to bring some joy.
The untrained eye would gaze upon and think the place a mess.
The master doesn't mind, of opinion he could care but less.
Tibs and tobs are strewn about, awaiting to be mended.
The master smiles, he'll do them soon, the cook has been offended.
In the shed, no relevance exists of space or time,
The hours are wiled away with glue, nails and timber pine.
When did it occur that this place has been destroyed?
So called progressive people, their own ideas employed.
Not termed a shed no more, but now a man cave.
A neandertholic term made up by some poor knave.
Hand tools replaced by couches and television screens.
Electronic game and pizza ovens instead of oragon beams.
The drill press has been removed, it once was hallowed ground.
An espresso machine now in its place, it really does astound.
The rally cry goes out to all you men and boys.
Toss out the things that don't belong and bring back wooden toys.
Don't make it something that its not, its just a simple shed.
Not a memory of times gone by the shed will not be dead.
Piles
Piles of things I need to do...
Piles of things I need to sort through,
Piles of things I'm collecting for his girls when they are older,
Piles of memories some that make me smile and some that make me cry,
Piles for his babies when they are old enough to understand them,
Memories all carefully placed in piles.
Piles of things to toss out of here sooner than never!
Piles containing the importance to his lost life,
Surrounded by my piles that mean so much yet not enough.
These piles mean your life was important!
You did exist but it's now reduced to piles!
Piles I wish you could crawl out of so I could hold you,
Piles I wish you could come out of and surprise your babies,
Piles which can give no explanation to these questions,
Questions never answered as I rearrange and move these piles
Piles of what you were and what you could have been...
Piles of things I need to do...
Being the worlds chief of police
Is so overrated
With all that we do
And they all still hate us
We're only here
To keep up the peace
Spread our name brand
Of Democracy
If you don't love us
Then kindly leave us
If you don't trust us
Won't hurt our feelings believe us
We'll bring it to order
One way or another
Kick out the leaches
Close down the borders
Once that is done
And they're out on their bums
We'll build us a wall
From the North to South run
The only thing Canadian
That we will let in
Is Celine Dion
And their cheap medicine
And that little Chihuahua
From down below
Cause we love Taco Bell's
Mex food to go
As far as the Middle east
They can do as they please
We won't be around
To kick sand in our face
We'll pull out of there
Our American troops
Not just a few of the lucky
But one hundred proof
They can fight it all out
Amongst themselves
If they stick with the program
There'll be nobody left
We'll turn in our nukes
We won't need them no more
As we won't be playing
In their silly wars
We will be by ourselves
Closed off from it all
Unplug the phone
If they try to call
Live in our bubble
Stay out of trouble
No longer hang out
With that bunch of numskulls
So lock up the door
Turn out the light
Toss out the key
As we say goodbye..
Eiger counter
"Don't throw the baby out with the bath water," please the water was clean after
father and mother and the water was better than ever even after the brother but
when eye took my bath the poor baby was lost they looked in the drain but poor
baby was gone there forever. The moral is kept as a memorial there does not
toss out the clean water.
A coward dies a thousand times but a hero dies but once and a man who lives
much like a DOG is always spit upon but to be a dog still tied to the living is more
to be desired than heroing because the bible says a man who lives is better
than the dead.
We will get married in JUNE no we will marry in JULY or even MAY is better
because the ewe is born the first time in the month of May showers and what’s in
JULY well the CHARLAX was born and bred.
Bread was given out according to status. Workers were given the burnt bottom of
the loaf, the family got the middle and guests got the top or the "upper crust."
The loaf of bread is still the status but now the homeless man gets his loaf
without the burnt part on. Eye am now the uppermost crust.
Making the batter up planting the leaven worth leaving the center for mye family
clan.
Pease and thankzx ewe one and all for peas given do not thaw until the fall from
vine refine the peas and make a handful last for days.
This is why the nursery rhymers’ fortold:
Peas porridge hot, peas’ porridge cold, pea’s porridge in the pot nine days old."
Enter laughing.
It was a sign of wealth that a man could "bring home the bacon." They would sit
around with guests, cut off a bit of pork and "chew the fat." Then they would toss
the ole pigskin.
Play leap pig again. Slop the children. Smoke the hambone and root in the cellar.
What a feller this poet seems at work. He has a eiger counter at his home.
Moving Forward
People are judged by their past,
No matter how clean they may be now.
People toss out the new you,
And focus on the old now.
Like back in '06
When you were a drug addict.
You went to rehab '06,
And have been sober ever since.
It's a new day,
the old has passed away.
Falling off like loose chains
Now's my chance to get away.
The old has passed away
And new adventures
are headed my way.
Coming around the corner
You can catch it on the speedway.
No longer dwell on your past,
Instead move forward
And stay on track.
Fear will no longer hold you back.
Keep moving forward,
Life is like a roller coaster;
And you don't know
when it's going to stop.
But when it stops
Your time is up.
At least once a month
the stench from my kitchen
sponge gets so bad I refuse
one more soap saturation
of this primitive sessile.
Why is it that I can’t toss
these replicas of marine life,
amongst the simplest animal form,
free of tissues, muscles, nerves
and internal organs? After all,
during the course of one day I toss out
all sorts of rubbish—paper towels,
chicken bones, cheese rind, empty cartons,
newspapers and rotten fruit, but have developed
a deep attachment with this soggy, smelly
two-dollar purchase. I take it into my hands
and scan it, as if looking for the spot
of defending stench or to hear the ocean
from where it came. Finally, I decide
to toss the thing into the dishwasher
with my daily load, to keep it vital
a little longer, perhaps a day or a week
or at least until I’m able to establish a degree
of separation from this rectangular block.
My only explanation for this drama
is my daughter is a vegetarian and animal rights’
activist, and like her, I want to save all creatures.
electing the new pope (conversation between two cardinals)
christian child molester with “holy” guise #1:
“psst…has joey been locked up
in the cage (vatican)? has he been
put in a safe place where he can’t be heard,
where his senile ramblings won’t reveal
how many little boy’s that we’ve
raped & molested?”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #2:
“yes, i think he’s done with his waving &
tearing eyes, he has done his last
praying hands, he has been shuffled off
somewhere where he won’t be found out.”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #1:
“has he been cleaned up? i mean, is all
the evidence gone? we don’t want any traces
of the little boy’s DNA, we don’t want it
getting out that joey was just like the rest of
us.”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #2:
“i understand.”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #1:
“i certainly hope you understand, because we have
to get another old shriveled up, white haired,
babbler up there quick, before easter you know.”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #2:
“certainly.”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #1:
“because you know the catholics of the world can’t
be without their little figurehead on their little
day of illusions…”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #2:
“of course not. we wouldn’t want that! (laughing)”
christian child molester with “holy” guise #1:
(laughing with him) “the herd needs a shepherd, or they
might start think for themselves & toss out the whole
thing.”