Best Whacks Poems
Behind the Veil of Friendship
Your friend, walks very slowly behind you.
Seeing the harm coming your way.
His sword out, he protects you back.
And you know nothing, you are not even
aware of the coming whacks!
You have innocent dreams, that people
really do like you.
He knows far better, how bitterly some do
despise your poetry, too.
While you dream of the goodness of man.
He goes sleepless, in your defense, doing
all that he can.
Nobody will listen to him, in their expensive
pajamas.
But then, they are soulless, possessing
no trained nashama.(soul)
Thank God, for a friend so abundantly blessed.
Who far surpasses any meagre, friendship test!
Both evil and good, exist in man’s veritable soul.
My friend, is one, so courageous, hardly a gross,
self-seeking, popularity mole!
12/5/2021
Two teens shoveling snow that February day,
wanting to hurry up so they could play,
quickly shoveling heaping piles of snow,
into an open 1935 NYC manhole,
Seeing something move down in the hole,
both teens thought "holy mole!"
yelling theres a gator down in there,
wanting to help it out they showed little fear,
Getting a clothesline they helped drag it out,
an 8 foot alligator with a toothy snout,
loosening the line the gator snapped,
while the teens were busy watching their backs,
But both boys were taken aback by the attack,
and decided to give the gator some whacks,
both killing it with their work snow shovels,
whereupon the gator didn't give them anymore trouble,
Now in NYC every February 10th,
the people are reminded of how that day was spent,
with a bronze gator pulling a man down in the manhole,
a quirky subway commemoration reminder for one and all.
4-6-17
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a 'pecker
jonesin' for nutrition, finding squat.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
"You'll find more peace in your life if you refuse to listen to idle chatter."
~ by poet
When a squirrel does it, he sounds like the Madd Hatter
But when doves coo it, it's more like romantic chatter
Chickens cluck pecking for grain that makes them fatter
and Meerkats jabber as a warning signal to "SCATTER!"
Often defined as the noises made by monkeys and birds
but I've heard such gibberish spoken by humans in words
and clinical conversations of dialogue by high-tech nerds.
I wonder if baaing and neighing is chatter among herds.
Chatter can also be considered as gossip or tittle-tattle
or as irrelevant talking, which is idle or foolish prattle.
Perhaps used in bovine circles as mooing among cattle
and the goo goo sound of a baby when shaking a rattle.
I've known a talker or two who I'd label chatter bugs
who can become more annoying then crawling slugs
That's not the kind of people I'd want to give big hugs
for their chatter might persist until I'd need ear plugs.
There's muttering and piffling, cackling and yammers
who'd talk day and night til you put on your jammers.
With nonstop chit chat, they blabber in noisy clamours
until you can make it stop with whacks from hammers!
February 4, 2023
Writing Challenge - C Words Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Lizzie Borden Took an Axe
By Elton Camp
Family love often will subside
When there’s property to divide
Old Andy Borden’s second wife
Came to be a cause of much strife
He allowed his two daughters no say
When he began to give money away
To his second wife’s Abby’s own kin
With them, his generosity did begin
“For you to do like that is so lame.
On the estate Abby has no claim.”
Anger filled daughters one and two
Only the youngest knew what to do
When on a trip her sister was away,
Her crafty plan Lizzie put into play.
Ugly old Abby was at home alone
Her husband was on business gone
Bridget, the Borden’s Irish maid,
Feeling sick, in her room had laid
“Now’s my chance,” Lizzie thought
Unawares, her stepmother she caught
While she was making up the bed,
Lizzie swung an axe to her head.
Alongside the bed she did sprawl
Making not a cry or a move at all
When home to nap her father came
Then she proceeded to do the same,
Quickly removed her bloody dress
Cleaned from herself any red mess
Police,“Where can Mrs. Borden be?
We very much need her to see.”
Then came a shout, all to astound.
Come up here, look what we found.
Lizzie tried to conceal a happy smile
At the two bloody murders ever so vile
To loss of inheritance she put a stop
When into death her parents did drop
The evidence proved extremely strong
That Lizzie herself had done the wrong
She cried, “Oh jury, you must see me free.
Surely you have to believe it wasn’t me.”
To think any woman might be so evil
In that distant day was too unbelievable
Less than two hours did the jury deliberate
Before making their decision as to her fate
“We find pretty Lizzie did nothing wrong.
So open the jailhouse and send her home.
It would take some libelous and stupid fool
To accuse a young teacher of Sunday school.”
It was obvious that Lizzie had much to gain
If to continue alive Mrs. Abby did not remain
Both motive and opportunity, clearly she had
But a gentle woman could do nothing that bad
But the township’s people were not deceived
The jury’s hasty verdict they never believed
In derision, it only took them a very short time
To compose and then chant a mocking rhyme
“Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.”
LIZZIE BORDEN
Poor miss Lizzie, a murderess acquitted,
By a judgment’s ruling of her peers,
Yet command by histories theatrics.
Astound damsel, to the wealth’s elite,
A matron’s old maid, imprisoned by
An unjust fate.
By the falling axes sharpened blade,
Two lives ended, ensuing the public’s
Scandal and out rage.
Does not the rhyme in time not state,
The accusations inquest to her guilt,
Without evidences accuracy to the accused.
Used to frighten the rich and poor
Children alike to behave or else, did this
So go, Lizzie Borden took an ax,
And gave her mother forty whacks,
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty one.
A bloody odes melody, left to
History's swinging hatchet’s,
Rough unsheathed edge.
Rocking, chopping a ticking
Time bomb, of the pasted.
Her story's haunting mystery,
Still intrigues the Sherlock Homes
Detective, in the common man.
Whom did this dirtiest of deed,
The foul plays miscreant, that
Got away with murders perfect
Crime.
Three ghostly voices scream
For justices revenge, a father,
A step mother and the daughter,
Proclaiming her own innocence.
Lizzie Borden's name, lives on
In Infamies guilty court of the
Unforgiven.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Score's zip to zilch, last inning's near halfway through
at Gettysburg Commons' baseball league playoff.
Champion Graycoats at their posts hitherto -
Blue Jackets hear the pitcher's husky cough -
a clue to the catcher - this batter's toast.
Pickett lobs the pitch from high on his perch,
Meade smacks it past the church house roof almost -
a bolt from the Blue, Gray gets lost in the search
and Meade makes an easy trip 'round three bases.
Hancock is next and takes his turn with relief.
He whacks one to the pitcher of all places
running like blue blazes in disbelief.
He speeds to first base while Meade makes it on in.
Then Hancock circles the field - score is ought-two
As Pickett sits on the ball holding his shin.
In shock, he volleys a few words of blue.
The umpire approaches, a'raisin' his hands,
"I heard balderdash," he bawls with a frown.
"Game's called for cussin', but the score still stands."
Singing the blues, Graycoats hand over the crown.
New "toasts" of the town are Hancock and G. Meade.
They both talk a blue streak to boast of the coup.
Dazed by their disbelief, Graycoats recede.
And for weeks, Gen'ral Pickett's leg's - black and blue.
written 12 January 2015
Section 2.
This is where you saddle up, and battle back
I'm sick of kids babbling and baffling
About stuff that'll never happen
Maybe I should be reverberating and throwing verbal attacks
Rehearsing and planning my verbally tactics
I'll be versing and throwing down my verses
And certainly cursing with my first words
I'll disperse and hurt and burn this world
I'll slaughter the gods, and it'd need some audible gauze
Even the titans would be frightened, and they'd outta applause
And stand for my cause, For R.A, And Vinnie Paz
For hip-hop to stay alive, Cause "Legends never die"
All we do is just "Carry on traditions"
Just new people, with new ambitions giving new definitions
With new visions that we will never be missing
We'll be hitting and spitting and carrying this out with our existence
But the distances between this twisted system
Is just us forever living, Gifted kids on there cosmic ****
Comically causing and costing our own cosmic consciousness
For calling and catering our cautiousness, and stomping over whacks emcees confidence
Preparing to constantly conquer all the continents
But not ready for compliments, cause I don't even have an audience
But with this dominance I should be destroying the awesome-est
I'm so monstrous when I write up on these documents
I'm probably properly populating my honestness
And it's quite obvious I'm calling it, quite the dominant opposite of your own conscious gift
Honestly my hypothesis is if I had everyone behind me at metropolis, I'd remain anonymous.
Mam told me I must eat my greens
I’m certain I know what she means
I pick lots of snot,
And then eat the lot
It’s tasty and full of proteins!
Mam’s livid and screams ACT YOUR YEARS
Aged fifty, I burst into tears
She whacks me round the head
Then she sends me to bed
And now I’ve got cauliflower ears!
For a lovely on line friend who gave me the first line and challenged me to write a poem ... it caused many snickers when he got the final poem
12/23/21
I was born a child of The Lord of The Jungle
I was loved, the apple of His eye, His joy in a bundle
He had a great plan for me as His child in His circle of life
But, there a lesser power lurked, one of evil and strife
One day he came and took the life of my dad the King
Then turned on me, his plan from the beginning
The kingship, he wanted, so he began to deceive me
He said I was responsible, no good and I was guilty
Feeling more like a rat than one destined and called
I slunk away, head low and on my belly I crawled
Then I ran so far away, that I couldn’t look back
On my calling or son ship, seeing only my lack
I took the identity of my new friends in Accunamatada
I soon forgot where I came from and who was my Father
I forgot who I was, my calling and my true destination
I forgot my enemy and my responsibility to my nation
But my Dad was always with me, without and within
Sent His Helper to me, His comforter and friend
To remind me of who I really was from the beginning
To leave Accunamatada, go home and stop sinning
I’m too far from that life now, that’s too far in the past
I desire no worries now and my new friends are a blast
So He picked up a board and hit my head with a whack!
Said, “No worries my boy, now that whacks in the past!”
See, Scar is a hard taskmaster to your true people today
And the top of the food chain are cowering and afraid
While he has you happy here in Accunamatada Land
Your people are enslaved there by your enemies hand
Turn from your feasting, playing and procrastination
Remember your calling and your true destination
Stop living in complacency here without an scars
While your family is hungry and weary at war
Get up from that couch now and turn off that TV
Your Father is waiting, get down on your knees
Intercede and cry out and show that you care
For your brothers and sisters who suffer out there
Then I remembered, I was the son of the King
And my brothers and sisters were suffering
I turned around and ran back as fast as i could
I had family to save and save them I would
In an Inn, Pierre pared a pear which came in a pair
But his butt is wack’s coz he whacks the wax one first
That he won, son of a gun, under the fare sun at the fair.
Yet he needed Ann the witch, who kneaded and was well versed,
With sects of belles and beaus who have sex, wearing bells
And bows. Back in the Inn, the merry witch Mary,
Planned to marry off two halves of an ogre, using spells;
She chanted hoo and oohs, too, until the ooze from a fairy
Brewed a brood of eight, plus the maid, that Ann the witch ate.
Who could have guessed that her twice four guests
Who lived on a ferry and made wax fruits and fake cakes;
Yet for odd reasons, buried berries with awls, fore all evil quests.
For Homo's Only Contest
Leather, rubber, PVC
Synched waists, stiletto heels
Chicken cutlets shoved in bras
Body stocking, pantyhose
Sitting around, TV on
Laptops open
Googling...
Waiting
For a sleaze bag
To book a session
Half hour, maybe more
Fingers crossed
The bell rings
Door’s buzzed open
Short, fat, ugly, hairy, thing
You would think he was Brad Pit
The hussy's hover like flies
His cash burns a hole
‘I want to talk to her…
And her’
All of them Yes Girls
‘I’d love that, Sir!’
‘Are you a bad girl?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, absolutely!’
Slim blond, flavor of the month
Big breast, slim waist, round bum
All boxes ticked
He gets a rush
Deal struck
Half an hour
Over the knee
No wood
He pays in cash
Then leads the way
Into a mock school room
CLICK, doors secure
Hands tied behind back
Ankles roped together
Thrown over his lap
Punishment begins
He slaps with much gusto
Dying to see crimson,
Speckles and welts
And sweet cherry tears
‘You’ve been a very bad girl,
You need be punished’
He whacks her with a paddle
She sees bolts of lightning
‘Please, Sir, I don’t…’
‘You do as I say!’
He beat her much harder
“Please, Sir!’
‘Can you have another?
Sure, that’s what I’m here for’
‘It’s not what I agreed to’
‘Well that’s just tough ****.’
‘Now be a smart girl
And listen very carefully
Do exactly as I tell you
And you’ll be okay
‘Open up…wider
Pop this gag in your mouth
Bite down it will help
See how I care?’
She knows not to argue
Struggle equals pain
With the ease of a stealth bomber
Her mind exits backstage
He has a jolly old time
Bombs over Bagdad
An onslaught of slaps
Wood, hand and yardstick
The intercom buzzes
‘Sir, your 30 is up’
‘Thank you, I’m finished’
He works to untie her
‘Here’s a tip, for your markings’
She smiles and says thank you
Truth be told
She has a penchant for pain
Back in the waiting room
She sits on the sofa
The fire from her backside
Warms up her soul
She opens Facebook
Updating her status:
“Interesting day @ the dungeon,
I really heart my job!”
When Judy plays Doctor & Nurse
She always quotes chapter and verse
Then whacks off a tad
(The Rabbi's her dad)
And that's how young boys learn to curse
Leather, rubber, PVC
Synched waists, stiletto heels
Padded bras, chicken cutlets
Body stocking, pantyhose
Sitting around, TV on
Laptops open
Googling...
Waiting
For a sleaze bag
To book a session
Half hour, maybe more
Fingers crossed
The bell rings
Door’s buzzed open
Short, fat, ugly, hairy, thing
You would think he was Brad Pit
The girl hover like flies
His cash burns a hole
‘I want to talk to her…
And her’
All of them Yes Girls
‘I’d love that, Sir!’
‘Are you a bad girl?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, absolutely!’
Slim blond, flavor of the month
Big breast, slim waist, round bum
All boxes ticked
He gets a rush
Deal struck
Half an hour
Over the knee
No wood
He pays in cash
Then leads the way
Into a mock school room
CLICK, doors secure
Hands tied behind back
Ankles roped together
Thrown over his lap
Punishment begins
He slaps with much gusto
Dying to see crimson,
Speckles and welts
And sweet cherry tears
‘You’ve been a very bad girl,
You need be punished’
He whacks her with a paddle
She sees bolts of lightning
‘Please, Sir, I don’t…’
‘You do as I say!’
He beat her much harder
“Please, Sir!’
‘Can you have another?
Sure, that’s what I’m here for’
‘It’s not what I agreed to’
‘Well that’s just tough ****.’
‘Now be a smart girl
And listen very carefully
Do exactly as I tell you
And you’ll be okay
‘Open up…wider
Pop this gag in your mouth
Bite down it will help
See how I care?’
She knows not to argue
Struggle equals pain
With the ease of a stealth bomber
Her mind exits backstage
He has a jolly old time
Bombs over Bagdad
An onslaught of slaps
Wood, hand and yardstick
The intercom buzzes
‘Sir, your 30 is up’
‘Thank you, I’m finished’
He works to untie her
‘Here’s a tip, for your markings’
She smiles and says thank you
Truth be told
She has a penchant for pain
Back in the waiting room
She sits on the sofa
The fire from her backside
Warms up her soul
She opens Facebook
Updating her status:
“Interesting day @ the dungeon,
I really heart my job!”
I cut through tedious chit-chat,
Null knick-knacks!
Zap Idiotic whacks!
I tip toe tapping atop pitters pat.
I’m your best bet seated where you once sat.
Smearing out your tad-bit lacks,
Running them out by the packs,
I tip my hat fancying you purr like my fat-cat.
Up and away my hands shall uplift weights like you.
In and out of reality I’ll take you with me everywhere.
If only you knew how well I’m too do getting through.
Do you think one day to obtain me to be eh unaware?
Personally, I’d charge a big fat whacked out idiotic fee for the likes of thee,
I’m declared as freely expressing many pleasures for the embracing of me.
® Registered: 2010 Ann Rich