I love music
With a rapping beat
That boom, boom, booms
You right on your feet
...but Mama don't like
I love tuna
Really, fish of any kind
It hits the hollow part
That makes life divine
...but Mama don't like
I love movies
With a message of hope
Cussing is warranted
If it provides a hangman's rope
...but Mama don't like
Mama likes westerns
Where violence creates a world
Old time values
No justice for girls
...I don't like that
Mama likes patterns
That build sturdy gates
Change is scary
For those who can't relate
...I don't like that
Mama likes pleasure
That is permitted by "god"
She won't even look
At other paths to trod
...I don't like that
I love Mama...but Mama don't like me
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-02-2026
The
other eighteenth
centurion was rewired to beat whip-
ping cream by trans-
ferring it to one of free flood plain car-
rier amigo acid barriers and then em-
BARK-
ing on his var-
ied
own
creep dis-
cussing raw plans in a goop text where he adds
a spam
and melon
ball twist to a clutch-
ing figurine piece depicting
an angle between those sidewind-
ers required for
hooking spouts
with ambiguous traces of lawful fake
muse bots
spread-
ing
gas unrest using automated pest practices
that
put real intel-
ligence to sleep behind the Wheel of Miss
Fortune's even
grey-
er and darker than usual
Legion of Heavy Petting Metal Maniacs.
The Beauty Of Baseball Poetry Contest
Matt Caliri
A supposedly wide-open, empty street
A rubber ball, a plastic bat, and a real game.
Kids playing to the baseball beat
The diamond asphalt is just the same.
Lines are drawn, and teams are picked.
The pickup games are for bragging rights
Where emotions are high, and egos are nicked.
Some kids haven't reached their grown heights.
The bigger ones hit the longer ball
The little tots hit short liners that hit parked cars.
Homers hit homers over the wall
A neighbor’s house is seeing stars.
Foul balls find a garden bed
Where a stampede of kids thrashes the roses.
A homeowner is cussing and seeing red.
Today's game comes to an end and forecloses.
Tomorrow’s stars have a dream
To play on the big stage.
Where it all started with the pickup teams
On the streets and to the homeowner’s rage.
Baseball is America’s pastime.
Hot dogs, sunflower seeds, and lemonade fill the plate.
There is a passion and a youthful chime
And these kids arrived early and don’t want to be late.
When Shakespeare's a mind for a cussing,
There's no indirection or fussing.
It's straight to the point,
A fool to annoint,
A wit-loaded bold blunderbussing.
Out of line sometimes life's events don't always rhyme and if I hear hey bro the line is over here, um going to lose it, throw a fit and then maybe get inline. In line out of line online all these lines still nothing straight.Lines-you going to make it, heard that line so many times it rhymes.you may not like it when I start cussing and again tell me sir you out of line..no worries today I will acknowledge that I am out of line no worries tomorrow I will get online, inline do rhyme cause yesterday I needed that.. I was . . .
Aunt Bertha’s been drinking with Mable
Ten Guinness cans litter their table
They’re ‘nissed as a pewt’
This fact they dispute
But cannot stand up, they’re unable!
Old Mable can’t rise from her seat
She’s cussing (words I daren’t repeat)
Then she yells, “Get help quick
Cos I’m feeling quite sick"
Which angers the barman named Pete!
Two students help Mable to stand
She blurts, “Getting drunk wasn’t planned”
As they guide Mable out
She hears the barman shout
“NEXT ST PATRICK’S DAY YOU ARE BANNED!”
Do we allow the compelling mind to control our unwilling steps?
Do they obey or deviate from the path smeared with insecurities?
Isn't it sad to seek unfairness instead of much desirable closeness?
Many have adopted this absurd concept that leads to nothingness!
Incredulity is the changeless anthem of the cynical and the stubborn,
within their unyielding spirit lies the ultimate reason of self-treason;
they won't settle for anything less than a bundle of useless allusions:
their trust spurs from doubt, their anger can incinerate aspirations!
" Quell clamorous voices, hush their madness before unrest rises! "
Is this suppression or plain ignorance to compare the final outcome?
The enraged Vaillant emerges from the cussing crowd and shouts,
" Isn't it sad to seek unfairness and desert others that show pride? "
" We'll be defeated and furthermore humiliated, whipped or stoned
in public squares and the mob, as always, is devoid of conscience. "
No interlude can spare lives, no pardon from popes in fancy robe;
no tears from sobbing mothers can halt the ax that drips blood! "
they called it mercy,
the white coats and clipboards,
a room with thick walls, sterile,
and him sitting there—
eyes like rain-soaked concrete.
Florida sun spilling in
too bright, too harsh,
as if to spotlight the damage,
to make sense of the silence,
the soft snip of scissors
cutting away at whatever was left.
he used to play cards, talk shop,
had a sharp way of cussing,
could laugh till his belly shook—
but now, he was hollowed out,
stitched up like an old doll
left to the attic dust.
in the end, they called it 'care, '
as he sat there, vacant,
a chair in a room with no light.
his name was two steps,
it took him
half an hour to walk one hundred feet
to the chow hall,
I was a child, twenty years old
and it shook me to my very core.
They arrived in rusted cars and ancient trucks.
Slugged blue-collar champagne from coffee mugs.
Playing one-eyed poker with calloused hands.
Laughing like jackals -cussing like burning crabs.
They solved all of the world's many problems.
Through unfiltered thoughts and whisky logic.
Smoking Swisher Sweets while nodding heads.
Agreeing between puffs and silver nods,
That a godless world is better off dead.
The next morning, the sky was hungover.
They tallied tackle and fired up grandad's Evinrude motor.
That night, they gazed upon God's waning embers.
Enshrining lost lunkers and the ghosts of old friends.
Sunday morning, they slowly packed up paradise.
Hand-me-down tackle and one-eyed smiles.
An angel in the shallows waved them goodbye.
Down a dirt road they drifted away like misty skies.
The following year there'd be one less from the caste
In a sacred place they laid an old fisherman's hat.
My BP's up, my face is red,
I grind my teeth and stamp my feet
as steam is coming from my head,
my cussing making folks retreat,
I'll pound the punchbag til I'm dead...
You wanted me pure
But we both drooled poison.
We were,
Interwoven.
Since the first eye contact..deep stroke
when you asked me to bust
.. I
Melted with you.
Earned my trust mid thrust,
eyes on me saying:
“I’m cussing inside of you”
I was a fool.
We locked deep with our mouths and we sucked out our souls.
Two fallen angels, half of one whole
DO YOU REMEMBER WALKNG TO SCJOOL ALONE AND HOW ARE PARENTS
NEEDED COMMERCIALS TO REMEMBER THEY HAD PUT IS OUT, YOU REMEMBER
THE FEELING WHEN NO ONE SCREAMED AT STREET LIGHT DAWN, KIND OF
HAPPY KIND OF WORRIED IS SOMETHING WRONG THESE ARE DIFFERENT
TIMES NO LAWN DARTS NO SOAP IN THE MOUTH WHEN I START CUSSING
WHATS THE FUSS WHERE IS MY KID SEARCH THAT BUS
Tragically, I am happy,
not much to moan about.
Contentment can get old real quick.
Mind suggests turning on the TV
to Fox News or even CNN.
Tragedy! Doom everywhere!
Now I am back,
now I am cussing under my breath,
but softly
so my wife don't hear.
Join the runners at the line,
clean out all those pantry shelves.
Make a promise to spend time,
creating a healthy self.
Throw away all the junk food,
maybe head down to the gym.
Eat less, get more sleep, and walk,
try to make my body slim.
Why not learn a new language,
or how to knit and crochet.
Put away all my pennies,
to save for a rainy day.
Quit smoking and less cussing,
consume no more alcohol.
Adopt a pet, learn to cook,
buy local and not the mall.
Go to church and pray for peace,
try something new every day.
Just relate and meditate,
speak only when there’s something to say.
Be early and never late,
turn away from the TV.
Say the words, “I Love You” more,
to my wife and family.
Spend more time getting outdoors,
enjoying life’s little things.
Try to be more confident,
maybe even learn to sing.
Don’t judge people by their look,
think awhile before I speak.
Look for the good, ignore the bad,
stand up for the lost or weak.
Spend less time on my cell phone,
more time with my family.
Write more words, make some new friends,
be the best that I can be.
Sometimes loneliness kicks in,
And I reminisce on what was.
I drown myself in what could have been,
But I remember what was.
Sometimes less is more,
And more is less.
My newfound freedom makes me crave it less—
More kisses,
Less peace of mind.
I miss how goofy I’d be,
Seeing you,
Then remembering how half of me I was.
Your smile was my favorite scene,
Your cussing at me, the worst.
Peace gets lonely too,
Just like having you did.
I wish you all the love life has to give,
Still,
In my lonely.
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