a blind man led me to Vision
where he pointed was a direction i never prepared myself for
wisdom is not of sight but of mind, body, and spirit
my shielded self was exposed picture perfect,
AND I DIDN'T EVEN SEE IT!
a blind woman whispers in my ear
seashell philosophy inspires me to have the urge for going
of the many things that i have envisoned,
i was still walking in a blindness unseen,
AND I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT!
here i am now
anniversary present in hand
as i knock on their door,
i realize that their eyes are now mine
as i announce my presence,
they both hand me a note saying
YOU CAN LEARN A LOT FROM A DUMMY
sincerely, Mr. and Mrs. InnTin'd
Little Jonny returns with a brand-new toy.
He’s back under the bleachers, this naughty little boy.
He’s got a cattle prod that he has named King Tut.
It’s fully charged and ready to zap someone in the butt.
He looks front to back and side to side.
He spots a plump quarter moon and smiles with pride.
It’s little Susie’s Mom as she sits and cheers.
Little Jonny gets ready, as if he’s throwing a spear.
Little Jonny takes aim and plunges it deep.
A quarter moon bullseye right between the cheeks.
He cries out in joy, this sure is fun!
She screams in pain and little Jonny runs.
The moral of this story is be mindful of your third eye.
When you sit in those bleachers be sure to get up high.
You never know when little Jonny shows up to take a peek.
Always pull your pants up and never show your cheeks.
November 23, 2020
Make Me Laugh With Some Humor - Any Form - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Under the bleachers, I do declare.
Some undergarments and underwear.
All exposed with little fear.
Will anyone see? It's not real clear.
Little Johnny plots with rubber bands.
While all these butts become his fans.
These rubber bands, they soon will fly.
Spectators will jump up for the sky.
He strikes at will, the sting they bring.
Both hands they cup, on buns they cling.
Little Johnny laughs, heads for the hills.
The screams he hears, does give him thrills.
The compact disc now adds full sound.
Our mothers preach from all around.
Explicit lyrics and songs of sin.
We sneak in vodka, some rum and gin.
KISS, The Crue and Guns N Roses.
They play the gym, big hair now poses.
I see my sweet across the stage.
J Geils we dance, rage in the cage.
The smell of hairspray and old spice linger.
We dance real close, ballad of Winger.
The high school dance I sure do miss.
My first real buzz, my first real kiss.
Our parties raged on past the dawn.
The after party still parties on.
Our hidden drinks from all of the teachers.
Come dance with me, under the bleachers.
3-18-20 : "Kim Rodrigues' DWM Contest"
IBM
UBM
ICBM
On the floor.
LOVE UNDER THE HIGH SCHOOL BLEACHERS
Some time ago, within a memory
deep in my dark, and most forbidden past,
when I recall your teaching only me,
there in the dark--with love that could not last!
Nor would we ever have such love today--
such great delight--but wicked from the start,
'tis in the past--and there must always stay,
but just a trace is here--to warm my heart;
so I can call--to mind--if late at night
when love seems not to be what love should be,
and I can feel in me, with great delight--
your love again--your lesson given me.
Here-in I be--still deep in love with you
the half-time of our love I'm going through.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
the man
standing in front
of a microphone
asked me a question
the question is
would you rather
be high,
or a gibbering idiot
for the rest of your days?
consider life.
i pondered this question
i pondered it well
i looked at the man
in his navy blue
double-breasted
i said
that is a simple question
with a simple answer