Best Whooped Poems
Miss Muffet sat upon a velvet stool
I know 'twas a tuffet; learned that in school
But Muffy was the tart
Who broke the spider's heart
I'm telling the story, so shut up, fool!
Humpty Dumpty had no wisdom at all
That stupid raw egg sat upon a wall
Tempting luck, he gambled
Kerplunk...he got scrambled
Oh what dire fate for an egg to befall
Robbie Rabbit had a fly on his head
It flitted to his tongue where it fell dead
Robbie's halitosis
Was a bad neurosis
He was banished before allowed to spread
The scoop on gardener, Mary Mary
Is she liked to sip Bristol creme sherry
Her tummy was growing
Pregnancy was showing
The dad? Tom, Dick, Harry; maybe Jerry
Jill followed Jack up that hill on a whim
She thought he was cheating on her with Kim
The buxom preacher's daughter
Jill was jailed for slaughter
She beat both of them with Jack's bloody limb
Such a bad little boy was Jack Horner
Spent many hours in the time out corner
Jack was dumber than dumb
Ate plum pie with his thumb
Wagged his purple tongue at each laughing scorner
There was a speedy racer, called the hare
He was so fast, thought he'd have time to spare
The tortoise whooped his butt
The hare shouted some smut
I won't repeat it. No way I'm going there!
I read the tale about Cinderella
Who went to a ball to snag a fella
Bippity boppity boo
She ran off and lost a shoe
And stepped in some sticky mozzarella
Hey, where are ya going, Baa Baa, black sheep
Leaving your meadow, Master, you're a creep
You sheared off my wool
Tired of your bull
I'm joining the herd of Little Bo Peep
Three oinkers built houses with diverse ideas
Straw and sticks? Those guys drank too many beers
The bad wolf huffed and puffed
Piggy three had him handcuffed
The bricker was much shrewder than his peers
I was dancing and prancing
And singing whooped Dee Dee
Not realizing I was not alone
Until he opened his shirt to me
He threw out the mayo, some jam and some jelly, a real hoot.
I caught the chocolate milk in midair, he was dancing up a toot.
He laughed and winked and some ice fell down his crushed ice shoot
He was a rascal, a scoundrel and a womanizer to boot.
I have never seen a dishwasher who can move like you
he said holding out his hands.
The oven, his furious ex, reddened her burners and threw out some pots and pans.
We laughed and we swirled and we boogied and we dipped.
She threw out ovenware but The frig and I ducked every one.
I shut his door, so we could dance up a storm.
Refrigerator boogie was so exciting and fun!
Dishwashers are reputed to be the best dancers around,
And I was confident as we twirled, we were breaking brand new ground
The ovens burners were blood red now, the kitchen was like a Sauna.
I blew him a kiss and whirled away giving him back to his ex, so sound.
As they trotted through the the kitchen, laughing, their sensors lit,
I danced around them with a loud dishwasher's whoop Dee Dee
Now whenever the three of us decide to liven the kitchen a bit,
We dance cheek to cheek, and throw sauce pans, the wild three!
Absurd situations amuse me; they get written into poems.
Foolish generalizations about groups of people infuriate me;
they also get written into poems.
All Irish, all whites, all English, all red-heads, there is no all.
It makes not a whit of sense.
But the one thing that has gotten my goat faster than any other thing?
“All women over forty are dried up.” Yes, I know. It is crazy, but I heard it.
When I was forty-four, twenty-two years ago, and it still irritates me.
When I think of it, which is not often, I relish in the thought that the man who used it is incarcerated now, using all kinds of other silly sayings,
that probably get him whooped daily.
He loved to generalize groups of people. “All men in their twenties,
all Swedes, all people who wear overalls, all women who wear gloves…”
I soak myself in friendly waters, not worrying about this stuff usually.
Tonight I slathered my worn-out self in a luxurious lavender bath when I thought of it again.
It is weird how the most random stupid things will pop into your head, irritating you at odd times.
She pumped the air and whooped,
'The holidays are through!'
She danced a jig, she spun,
and did a moonie too.
The grinning mother yelled,
'They're back to school again!'
But then her laughter died,
she groaned in awful pain
and mopped her furrowed brow,
for she's a teacher now...
written 20th August for Francine's Back to School contest
We got a bubble machine and rigged it up a bit.
To the cow water trough, it was a really tight fit.
Come on! I urged Bubba, grandma’s nap won’t last.
I knew if she caught us, we’d be whooped hard and fast.
We were giggling so hard, probably due to the beer.
Who brought it over to Grandma’s, it really ain’t clear.
What you mak’n? Asked a young’n, making me mad.
Never mind, I told her. Go away, try to find your dad.
You better not be making no still, came a voice out the window.
It was Grandma, so we all held ourselves real quiet and slow.
We were mak’n a Jacuzzi out of her cow trough with the garden hose.
Whether it came out better than the spaceship, only God knows.
Karl Marx was a historian and scholar
Groucho Marx whooped it up and hollered
Both of them were starved for attention
Neither of them honorable menschen *
____________________________________
* 'Menschen' in Yiddish literally means 'men.'
But it is used to describe honorable, decent
human beings, kind and caring.
We are young
Love to sing the red maple’s sorrow
Love to ask why people are so busy
Love teasing merchants as they crazily whooped
Sometimes we see sparrow’s head overturned
We will laugh all day long
Life is dancing with the cloud and moon
Poetry is the vintage
Drunk together with sunset
The days passed, nonsense with reveries
The old prophet read my palm prints
He saw a great success in my future
But, what if it lost its tune, just like a song
No more applause and I will be totally alone
As dad and I trod over the newly tilled fields
Feeling warmed by the prospect of the day’s work
His eyes aglow within those granite features
I followed his sight to that field beyond as yet unsown
He called it virgin soil or heavens harrowed field
So long ago as I stood in awe of the man and his earth
So clearly I recall the rich scent of tilled broken ground
How the green corn melted with the sky horizons away
His powerful leathered hands how gentle they were
That chiseled brow that could see into tomorrow
He told me the one thing to always remember
A man is only as good as the work he puts into the world
Then that mythical man from my childhood, my dad
Pulled me up into the saddle and whooped at the horse
We headed back to the barn to finish the day’s toiling
Now all these years later I understand his gift of that night
As I stand with my son on the old harrowed pastures…
I believed those cartoons when Popeye whooped Bluto.
If you're wondering if it was real, the answer is hell no.
When I watched those cartoons, I was dumb because I believed them fully.
I decided to eat a can of spinach and then face the neighborhood bully.
I believed the spinach would give me super strength, I had no doubt.
But that bully nearly broke my neck, he turned me inside out.
I was shocked and horrified when I didn't win.
I was humiliated, I'll never watch Popeye again.
Spinach is healthy, that is one hundred percent true.
But if you eat it and then face a bully, he will kill you.
Wacky Willie whittled while whistling weirdly
Widow Winnie winced at Willie's wacky whistling-
And wrecked Willie's weird wooden whittled whistle.......
Woefull winded grandchildren whooped with delight...
If you havent guessed..lol ...for the Tongue Twister contest...
For eons, as a spirit on this earth
I’ve dwelt; I still recall the autumn‘s cold
when I was human on this new year’s birth,
that “hallowed eve” when spirits would grow bold!
Our homes were unlit and uninviting
lest spirits might possess our souls that night.
We’d gather round the fire priests were lighting
and whooped like ghouls to give the ghosts a fright!
Through time, I‘ve seen such changes, and a drought!
I followed my descendants to the shore
of this America. Here kids go out
on their new “Halloween” from door to door.
My kin had wrongly feared the likes of me.
This night is mostly about the candy!
By Andrea Dietrich
For Russell Sivey's
Halloween Fun Contest
An old nincompoop from Madagascar
Bought a jalopy and entered NASCAR
He avoided the crashes
Drove around all the smashes
Too bad he bought a slow not a fast car
The race over, the old fellow was sad
To finish in last place hurt him real bad
Then a girl gave him a kiss
You can't imagine his bliss
The poor fool war-whooped and hollered like mad
March 01, 2021
Two Limericks - Let's have some Fun! Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Syllable Counts 10 - 10 - 7 - 7 - 10 each stanza
Checked on Poetry Soup Syllable Counter
—The sense of sound—
He was curious, he opened the door,
he heard a scream, then he yelped.
He suddenly banged the door,
someone cawed from behind the door,
it changed to crackle crackle,
then became an incessant echo.
He again opened the door and heard,
the roomful echo changed to murmuring stream,
then turned into rumbling violin. He whined
for annoying sound, then he whooped, then
he yelled, finally he smiled and yodeled
for his curiosity made him aware of
many different sounds there are
in the behind closed door.
Screamin’ Bill Wilcox was quite a man,
Carved from a block of stone
With a face of leather, deeply tanned
And a voice you could hear in Rome.
A cow hand he was, best with a rop
Could ride both bull or stead,
Quick with a joke, quick with a laugh
Quicker still dealing with thieves.
One cold night on old Montana’s plain
The heard milled, restless, unsettled
Then ray when they heard a lone wolf’s howl,
A test to a puncher’s mettle.
Screaming Bill road out ahead hollering
His voice booming and proud
The cattle swerved in a moment’s spell
And Screamin’ Bill went down.
We found nothing much left of Bill
Just his trampled, yellow hat
We buried him with it, twas only right
Then rode, a herd to catch.
Month went by and the job rolled on,
Long hours for little pay,
And we rode out to green Idaho
A new herd to drive away.
One gray evening the clouds moved in
Lightning crashed across the land,
The cattle spooked, into a grand stampede
With thundering hooves they ran.
And I alone out in the great range
Was answering nature’s call,
Turned and saw a crush of steers
A writhing and churning wall…
Just then a men he cut across
Hollering out ‘This a-way!’
The cattle turned and charged at him,
But he whooped as if at play!
The next day found the heard amidst
A stretch of fertile grass,
Feeding quietly, quite content
No thought of the near past.
I road along to find the man
Who’d saved my life last night,
I found only a yellow hat,
Glinting in the sunlight.
The others they did cross themselves,
But on my face a smile played,
Because I knew right then, for all of time
Screamin’ Bill would ride the plains
Sir Rule, Ian Ballew and Ock, a marine
set off on a houseboat to study
the difference between greenish-blue and bluish-green.
The deep blue sky on that fog-foggiest of days
they mistakenly thought was the sea
which explains why to us, when they saw a green haze -
Ian whooped, "It's a film on the water!" And so...
Sir Rule smirked, "Ock, go get us some popcorn and Pepsi."
Ock started to cuss, "---, why do I always have to go?
Since blue means profane and if naive spells out green,
Who wins the Oscar? It's not hard to see -
greenish-blue, naively-profane - Ock, a marine.
or if you prefer:
bluish-green, profanely-naive - still Ock, a marine.
Author's Notes: The names in this piece are puns for the colors, cerulean blue and aquamarine. No reflection on the hard working Marines who serve our country so well.