Best Yokel Poems
Call me 1 Eyed Harry koo loo
From shy town,kalamazoo
No ham and egger here
Just a local yokel yessiree
A party of toffs all so snotty
was crashed by a yokel so naughty.
After passing much gas,
this guy with no class
took a dump left unflushed in the potty.
(for those who may not know: Toff is a person of high-class society
a Yokel is an uneducated, unsophisticated person from the countryside.)
to say that rumor has it
is to say that the World Trade Center
collapsed silently and cleanly like
oppositely sexed Siamese twins
who discovered they could mate
I had all channels going full bore
aiming at involuntary insemination
with the aid of a two-handled clam rake
now there's an archetype of malevolence
just how many categories are there anyhow
an infinity an eternity you decide
rumor has it
There may be more than one infinity
however eternity is but an extrapolation
of the next 10 minutes
who would want to spend it only there
a money robot trapped in labor
dead in a puddle of break time jism
insert your domain name here
a world gone heavily annotated
yearning for the dagger of love
whine your last you holy landlords
at a time when rent is the anomaly
where anomalies are just signals
this isn't a broken hearted paperback
or a lightning burn to the head
the big eye on the horizon says
he's trying to figure out
how far to take the next extinction
but is unsure whether to come to us again
as a mystic philosopher or a yodeling yokel
we've come out of the dark place
into the frozen lips dimness
looking for aids to navigation
having discovered the secret entrance
clues were left everywhere
let's hope it ends with clean sheets
because I just found out my guardian angel
is a rottweiler with a missing leg
and just as many teeth
one eye is a ball bearing
the other a shotgun barrel
loaded with pillow mints
he rides a mean skateboard
propelled across a landscape
of food and sex smells
no wonder I'm on the run
from my own mother
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Homey eyes of peasant stew
A cozy-colored mossy mew
Stony cottage, snowcheeks bleu
The forest fins for frosted fruits.
The warmest thought speaks crumbly bread
A partridge purr puffs through my head
That grants the grunkest grue a ‘Get!’
To packrat out the paquerettes.
Don’t see the speech I say with sneer
As something to be had with beer
Don’t bucker bricks of buttered bleers
And sift strunk talk through quandarous weirs.
The clothes and shelter of your mouth
Has cleaned my frame as cold as south
For queeks are quay, oh when you quoth
And yokel twirls are yaws of youth.
Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.
Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt with you with bread and jam
Is all I am, is all I am…
A blanket for the rawest nerve
A babe beyond the laws of earth
A smile sways the swooping surf
And gifts sweet goods of grinning girths.
Your hair? An electric guitar!
With sprinkles of suburban stars
Might smell of smelting lemon bars
Each strand a sacred seminar.
That hark the realms of Everfar!
And halt the helms of Neverare!
That licks the lich that leavens scars!
Screams “Non septimo, sempris quar!”
I believe you’re Good, I mean you’re blessed
With holy elks that guard your breast
Whose rumps remain on royal chests
And watch for wendigos out West.
A soul of Greyhound bus views darkly
Hushed in cornfields crumps so starkly
With windmills waning wicks so barky
Olive Garden oligarchies.
Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.
Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt and jibe with you with bread and jam,
Is all I am, is all I am.
She’s like a boor or a yokel
who knows no boundaries
such a pain in the neck
that makes others suffer.
Her ways is irritating,
like in many instances
where collaboration entails
either at work or in any human endeavor.
She continues to brag about
her role as someone who’s in charge
but that’s not a big deal;
not even something to tell.
It’s always in that perspective
where one has to understand
that our role as co-workers
doesn’t need so much ambition.
It’s true that human relationship
a proverbial tone in all sectors
that conflicts come to the fore
inevitable, a challenge by nature.
Confrontation or dialogue
with sincerity and openness
difficult but meaningful
especially in our culture.
It’s nonetheless a real picture
about ourselves in actions
the work of human principles
negate hiding and sugarcoating.
Well, that’s life in reality,
always the common reason
co-existence in similar institution
needs prayer and communication.
A rhetorical question finds me asking
(to no one in particular) why I recall
the names of grade school teachers
approximately fifty years ago (whose
names listed below), when the need
to retrieve necessary information due
ring examinations (less time ago)
often found me seized with sudden
inability to remember any vital ants
sirs (even including my name), thus
grudgingly handing over blank test paper
analogously surrendering a vital
document gracing terms of defeat
into the scaly claws (zen nay), sans
first to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout,
Missus Shaner, or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably majority of first thru
sixth grade accorded accredited
ancient authenticated creatures.
They freely exercised diabolical
churlish beastial animalistic zeal
us yakking, wickedly unprintable
upon (unprincipled urchin) at
receiving end of fiendishly grue
some hellish instructions. Assign
ments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period
earlier in dawning primate con
sciousness. Lesson material kindled
with justifiable license in league
with garnered insignia. Heft
to bring pupils to heal predicated
via warp and weft woven wonder
fully. Wrought writs welcomed
whips with warranty whenever
recalcitrant ruffian refused
respecting reptilian rubric repre
sentative rattling (The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of
the Screw and Whipping Cords
Will Serve You More Than Ropes
Will Ever Do), which loosely
rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons
freedom granted to interpret
as one decrepit, hawkish insignia
certified one beaming Eve and/
or stud deed brute soffit. Education
often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to and/or from Aunt
Emma. Nefarious mean linkedin
kickstarter jawboning torturous
treatment tolerated, asper imps
of the pervert, mutant Ninja
Turtles duty bound antsy
youthful yokel yodelers
weathering ululating sing-song
and quintessential precepts.
Summer Fairy Land
Beyond mounds,beyond dells,
Thorough thickets,thorough nettles,
Athwart sludge,athwart crag,
Into creek,Unto mist,
I dost err upon the ether crest,
I dost stray deep brine,
Rovering hither and thither,
Forth pasty cloud saddle be,
Soaring swifter than the blazing speed,
Soliciting heaven's shower for the peasants
Flow! Flow!Flow!
Flow,thou summer rain pour,
Fall accessible unto plowed soil,
For boors sing their carol of high hilarity:
Ho-Ya-ya!
Greensward bides for bedewer,
Hopper delays to hop,
High and low:
Chirp-chirp -chirp
Far and wide hum,
Pipers doth sing dear,
Coo-oo...Coo-oo! Sing ecstasy.
Oxen bellow, kine low;
Let this weighty yoke be loosened ,
Toiling bulls whine,sigh.
Song thrush,with symphony,
Sing in sweet melody,
Lulla,lulla,lullaby!
Where the butterfly land,there land I;
On the periwinkle sepal I lie;
There I dance whilst bee buzz.
With summer breeze I do blow
Bracing tiring grower in paddy field
Oh! Mercy grower! Swallow me enough sip ! Air crys
Blithely,blithely, Yokel done and yearns ;
Churls unfold smile on lips,
Hope and fantasy lodge in their eyes,
Pleasant whoops,
I sow my yellow kernel below earth,
So shall I reap my fortune to yield lavish,
Leap and rest
I float back to the higher Elysium.
Blessed I!
Date :26/06/2018.
PARANORMAL
Zeny
Yokel
Xeno
Wizard, Woolley headed
Voodoo, Vagabond
Unicorn
Tyrant
Stupid, Surreal
Robot
Quirk
Pygmy, Pixy, Polygamy
Oberon
Narcissus, Narcotic, Nancy, Nightmare
Monster, Mermaid, Micky- Minnie
Logy, Loony, Lunatic
Kiekshaws, Kalki, Kibosh
Jack Frost, Jaunty, Jekyll and Hide
Idiot, Insane
Halloween, Hermaphrodite, Hyper, Hell
Ghost, Grumpy, Genome
Fairy, Frankenstein
Eden, El dorando, Electra
Dragon, Drug addict, Dwarf
Cupid, Club footed, Crazy
Belial, Bi sexual,
Abracadabra, Albino, Angel, Anima, Animus
12/27/21
' PARANORMAL
Contest by Robert James Ligouri
What to Submit?
1 original, poem on the theme of ...Give me your zaniest funniest Poem you can Muster up~~Be Silly
Cyril Brown
Oh his name was Cyril Brown ,
An he weighed 300 pound,
An the Sand goannas sidestepped,
where he stomped.
Little centric was ol Brown,
Sometimes, often came to town,
To watch the kids,
and peanuts there to chomp.
Oh his poor old car did suffer,
With a sandbag for a buffer,
And his voice got a little gruffer,
A flaming counterweight .
Bark hut to house was sort of,
On the Station ranch was thought of,
Brother Mark would listen,
to the snakes under the floor.
And the Rabbit bunnies springing,
The birds were chirping, singing,
And carpet snakes were bringing,
Tucker more n more n more.
Brownie had an iron bed that suffered,
Bowed and flustered, busted ,
And the peanut shells,
stopped the opening of the door.
Once he towed young Mark to town,
On the Fergie tractor, brown,
And at 50 mile an hour was still a flying,
And the tractor was a bouncing,
trying to touch the ground,
announcing, would he ever get to town?
Mark wasn’t really sure, why.
A friend waved to ol Brown, hi,
At 7 foot tall, a local yokel clown.
So he hit the anchors with a frown,
Tractor tried to knock the back door down,
Brownie muttered with surprise.
So then back off to town,
Dragging tractor,
sidestepping round,
Got to Dirran then he stopped,
To buy more peanuts brown.
Don Johnson
Younderward yokel yap
Yore Yorkshire yield yeager york-felow
Yak yiddle
Yammer yack yells
Yard yew yellows
Yellow-tails, Yellowhammers
Yonder yellowfin
Yellow yam yesterdays
Yuca, yogurt
Yesteryears years
when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably the majority
of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)
freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish beastial animalistic
zealous yakking, wickedly,
aye (a basket case) deplored
unprintable (epithets) this then
(unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
viz fiendishly gruesome
hellish instructions mean teacher scored.
Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.
Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warpped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...
(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.
Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.
Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.
adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated
in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
My dearest little garden
that grows my plants
The finest yard of numerous
that holds my beauty
My wholeness that grants my draft.
My obese garden that stays and stands
Even though you know I am a Yokel.
I owe you much
My till, till and till.
My own mine, I whole you all
Cos you have stood by me
In no place and less vacuum.
What on earth did I do to deserve this fate ?
From my insouciance I awoke much too late.
'Tis to Tomi now in exile on the Black Sea
Augustus in his wisdom has condemned me.
Julia's company and that poem where I erred
Removed me from the leisured life I much preferred.
And now my sorry assize I needs must thole
With only my wife's tenderness me to console.
This crude and inclement clime I must now call home
Sequestered so far from my distant beloved Rome.
Surrounded I am by dull furs and guttural sounds
Where in my mind life with bright togas and verse abounds
If I am not to lose my precious muse
Their language I must learn and use.
Caesar hopes me to have metamorphosed
From sophisticate to rude yokel indisposed.
Yet my Epistulae ex Ponto plead for his mercy to contain
Hopes for my return to Rome, though that all looks in vain.
If my poetry cannot soften his implacable heart,
Then perhaps others will appreciate my art.
Enchained as I am in this Hades of a living tomb,
My poetry must transform it into my Elysium.
Where Rome was once my sucus et sanguis,
Tomi must now serve as my grand palace
The village air is pristine, filtered and non polluted.
It is from all the germs, diseases and bacteria disinfected.
The country folks are simple, natural, serene and beautiful.
They are unaffected by ego, vanity but are truly cheerful.
God made the country and man made the town
Man made the town but the industries have
turned them artificial, selfish and only to groan
villagers are strangers to the hustle and bustle.
And many a worry of modern mechanical
metropolitan life, the jostle and tussle.
They live in the soothing silence of rural solitude.
Hospitality and charity is their warm attitude
They can digest whatever they dine.
At the daybreak they wake up fresh, fit and fine
They know what true exertion, true appetite,
true satisfaction and true sleep is.
They the various reveries and sounds
of nature do not miss.
The cock's clarion, the hum of grinding stones
the tinkle of farm bells.
The splash of waters, rustle of leaves,
the lowing of cows and the chime of temple bells.
It is a pleasure to listen to the whispering
wind and to see the golden rising sun
The laughing flowers, the evening shadows
lengthening and the crimson setting sun
The humble dwellings are built of clay and
thatched with cornstalks and hay,
No wonder the yokel here are content,perky,joyous and gay.
Blessed are those who enjoy the village life's pleasures.
Machines and industries have made man
mechanical without any measure.
The sky above may kiss the grass
Astounded by the ethereal beauty of the village life.
Don’t spread cremation crumble on burnt toast.
Is what the undertaker said about dad’s ashes.
My furrowed brow responds…
Why? Who would do such a thing?
If you were to follow a random person
from the street, ever wonder, where it might lead?
You just might pick some ordinary schmo.
single?
innocent?
cavalier?
kind?
You may find out something—wishing you hadn’t
psycho?
shallow?
yokel?
callous?
hapless?
omnicidal?
Would you spread cremation crumble
on burnt toast or follow a random street person?