Best Warning Poems
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
My turds float like choc’late marshamallows
Just lurking about in the shallows
I guess that my butt
Is truly kaput
So doctor suggests bitter aloes
I questioned such treatment regime
Doc said it may keep my butt clean
Aloe on my finger
Won’t cause me to linger
And floaters will look like whipped cream
Doc chuckled and said “Listen here
Your floaters are nothing to fear”
Poop floats cos you’ve gas
Which is passed through your ass
No treatment’s required my dear.
DISCLAIMER - THIS IS NO REFLECTION ON THE STATE OF MY BOWELS JUST NEEDED A LITTLE LIGHTHEARTED RELIEF AFTER A VERY CHALLENGING WEEK
Due to growing Nimbus clouds of oppression
an area of low pressure has been building
Rest assured, it won't lead to bouts of depression
but rumblings of thunder have now been heard,
foreshadowing the bombs of fury soon to come.
Be advised: the ripping winds will not be deterred.
To counteract and neutralise any negative vibes
this Poetry Souper has been on a strict vegetarian diet
of lentils, cabbage soup, curry and beans; re-fried
They have been consumed in copious quantities.
Take shelter from wind gusts. There may be a riot!
Steps are being taken because many have died
from the expulsions of a toxic build up of gas.
It's predicted to be tornado level turbulence
emanating from winds blown out of my a s s
Anatomically referred to as expelled flatulence.
Blowouts should be considered as lethal blasts,
and not to be taken lightly, ignored, or scorned.
This is a public service alert of severe wind forecast.
The approaching storm is of gigantic proportions.
Gas masks are advised. You have been warned!
Warning Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
Submitted to Weather Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
2/28/20
Well guys I’m going to tell you a secret
You don’t really know me
I have not been honest
I am not who I say I am
Yesterday I discovered the real me…
I’m a ninja – yes honestly I’m a ninja
I have proof from www.anagrammer.com
Ninja Salol …………………….…..Jan Allison
So I thought I’d have fun with a few names here
Hope no one is offended.. but they are quite amusing!
Casual Pull …………………...... …… Paul Callus
Diarrhetic Ande ….…………….Andrea Dietrich
Archaean Cans …………… …….Casarah Nance
Ard Man ………………………….......……. Armand
Hmm is Tit ……………………....…….Tim Smith
Savour Hart ……………………...…. Arthur Vaso
ill can Jokes ……………………....….Jack Ellison
Hencoop **** ………….….….…..Shane Cooper
Horny Rash Ram ……….………Harry Horsman
Lycra Nim ………………….…......……. Lyric Man
Go Mercurial Ire …………….….Maurice Rigoler
Peer over………………………......….….Eve Roper
Ramshackle Cure……………. Earl Schumacker
Salutes Sir…………………………....….Lei Strauss
Mercy Tis So ………….……....………Mystic Rose
Can Hear Microchip………Charmaine Chircop
Upgrade Gent…………………….….Peter Duggan
Warrants Done……………..….. Darren Watson
Sit Leprechaun................... Paul Schneiter
9th February 2015
It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves
from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing.
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims
into the arms of its mother sea.
It is a private beach at a spot in the world
were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug.
It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.
The young woman with me is my lover of four years.
The golden rays of light from the bright morning star
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm,
but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.
We are young, in love and safe
inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
Her red lips and light drenched skin glows
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head,
jerking my lover's whole body towards me
locking her in the strength of my grasp
inviting her to quench my desire.
I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss
and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms
naked for all the Gods to observe.
I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her.
I hold back both her arms and use my mouth
to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters
that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.
Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me,
like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh.
The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void.
Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion.
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch.
With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture.
We dance now to the precise notes
of an escape into the arms of serenity.
In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share.
Cooling waters flame our sins.
We explode like a building
imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound.
Until eventually we pass out naked
locked in each others arms.
We find ourselves lying on the warmth
of the fine white sand beach when we awaken,
tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
There was a horny man from Timbuktu.
Fell in love with a girl from Kathmandu.
Bursting with desire and lust.
Felt she's the one he can trust.
Asked for a game of sexy peekaboo.
Finally switched on their video chat,
but he realised he had been a prat.
Slowly lifting her pink frock,
revealed a ginormous cock.
The shock almost gave him a heart attack!
Aunt Ethel said to Uncle Fred,
Let’s attempt the starfish in bed,
Old Ethel insisted,
Till Fred’s back got twisted,
They best stick to sleeping instead!
Original poem by Jan Allison
Fred couldn't stand and was writhing in pain
Ethel was mad and looked on with disdain
So he took a blue pill
Then went in for the kill
And now performs like a stallion again.
But the blue pills power started to wane
As Ethel begged him to do it again
But things came to a stop
Poor Fred started to flop
So they gave up and cracked open champagne...
Then Ethel got hold of a book
Fred fainted when he had a look
Twas the calmer suture
Some poses may suit her
But Fred said it made him feel crook
Aunt Ethel said Freddie my dear
You truly have nothing to fear
Cos tonight’s the night
Much to my delight
We’re swinging from the chandelier!
Old Fred said I don’t understand
Your desire’s got right out of hand
If you want so much sex
Go next door and see Rex
He’s the randiest guy in the land
Aunt Ethel said you’re being silly
At aged ninety I’m no young filly
I still want to have sex
With you and not Rex
Cos Rexie’s got a tiny Willy!
The champers made Ethel quite woozy
Fred’s shattered so he had a snoozey
They were woken at four
It was Rex from next door
No thank you said Ethel I'm no floozy.
Rex hammered again on their door
He said Ethel I've said this before
My sex life is shocking
I hear your bed rocking
These paper thin walls I abhor.
Fred woke up with the pounding on the door
His language was very blue as he swore
He said " what do you want Rex" ?
He said "geriatric sex"
Cos' with Ethel I've done it twice before...
Ethel blushed and she said sorry Fred
Just last winter Rex took me to bed
BUT you were with fat Mable
Making out on our table
So I slept with Rexie instead
Final verse by Belle Bellevue
Fred said Mable has nothing on you
But what’s a poor bloke supposed to do
I heard you and Rex
Planning to have sex
What’s good for you is good for me too.
Collaboration with Jan Allison.
Written 2nd June 2021.
Humankind
8/9/2023
How oft’ have you been told, to not
rock the boat!
Just go along as an obedient, mute
billy goat.
Just chew on the green, fresh, cud,
Or smile always , be it in rain or in
thick mud.
This may be peachy keen for goats
you see.
But we are special, we are humanity.
When our brothers freedom and rights
are being stolen.
We must stand as one, for tis the God of
the Universe to which we are beholden!
Caution. Watch your head. This underpass is very low!
Is it one you think you can get under?
Unless you’re blind, it’s something that instinctively a driver ought to know.
So if you drive a great big truck, you’ll know you’ve made a blunder
if coming out the other side, you find your roof from your cab is torn asunder!
Written Oct. 17, 2016 For the Warning Contest of Viv Wigley
There may be a flood in the Isle of Man
From the bladder of poetry Jan
There is no denying
Inco pads I’ll be buying
I’ll judge the contest as fast as I can
27th April 2015
He masquerades as an angel of light
That's who the devil is
So be very, very careful
He will betray you with a kiss.
He walks around like a roaring lion
To devour you for himself
He'll tempt you with all kinds of riches
And promise you much wealth.
The devil wants to lead mankind
Lead us all astray
And pollute our minds with sin and lies
A place where he can play.
The cross is a place of victory
The devil knows that well
That's why he wants to con mankind
And take us all to Hell.
So take great care and be on your guard
To the ones you listen to
For it could be the devil in disguise
Just carefully grooming you.
I have the outhouse in view
I had grandma’s squirrel stew
Dessert was a tart
I will not dare fart
I will sit in my own pew
*in honor of Jan's Birthday tomorrow*
Today it’s Pancake Day and there’s to be a pancake race
Entrants are on the starting line with a smile upon their face
Old Ted ‘s ready with his frying pan, he is a fat old josser
but when it comes to pancakes, Ted’s an expert tosser
The gun goes BANG and off they go, Ted’s busy tossing away
busty Bertha's in the lead, if she wins there’ll be hell to pay!
Ted’s won the race the last five years, he tosses night and day
the trophy’s been on his top shelf, he hopes that’s where it’ll stay
Bertha stumbles, her pancake drops and she begins to cry
Ted sneakily stamps on her pancake; he’s such a crafty guy
The finishing line is in sight, there’s about fifty yards to go
Ted frantically tosses his pancake; his wrist goes fast not slow
Bill makes a sterling effort and comes at Ted from behind
they toss their pans in unison; Bill's got winning on his in mind
Ted lunges at the white tape, but the result’s declared a draw
Bill suggests they have a ‘toss off’ - there’s not been a draw before
Both men take a breather, awaiting a fresh pancake to toss
if either of them drops their pancake it will be a great loss
Both men stand on the finish line and flip and toss like mad
neither of them will concede, whoever loses will be quite sad
A crowd gathers, all eager to know who’ll be crowned the winner
suddenly a seagull swoops and grabs Ted’s pancake for its dinner
Ted starts to shout and stamps his feet when it’s announced Bill's won
he takes it all too seriously, but Bill declared the toss off was such fun!
Poem edited - originally posted in 2017
02/16/21
A fella’s promoted at work
His office sign makes people smirk
It reads W. Anchor -
Head overseas banker
His shortened name drives him berserk
Work colleagues all know him as Billy
His parents name choice, was so silly
He's named William Anchor
It fills him with rancour
He's lucky he wasn't called Willie!
A fella with a lengthy willy
Said, “Reduction would be so silly…
“I make all my friends laugh
When it’s used as a scarf
Which prevents my neck getting chilly!”