As I walked out in the streets of Manteca,
as I walked out in Manteca one day,
I spied a young cowboy asleep on the sidewalk,
when prodded from slumber these words he did say:
"You are wearing a Stetson, spurs, chaps, and a six-gun:
I assume then you must be a cowboy like me;
come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
then try to guess which shell is hiding the pea.
'Twas once in the saddle I used to ride gaily,
albeit I had not a horse to my name,
but down in the basement my dad had a saw-horse,
so I rode a steed that could never go lame.
O bury me holding a King and five Aces
with a pint of good whiskey to keep my corpse warm,
and a pair of my custom made dice in my watch fob,
for I'm a young cowboy and I've bought the farm."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boat still waits where water meets the shore,
its hull a ghost of varnish, cracked and thin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
Motor sits idle—no strong hands the throttle to pull
at dawn’s first blush or dusk’s slow-settling din.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
I trace the name he carved with patient score:
Ninnie Poo—paint now like weathered skin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
The pines still lean as if they’re listening for
his whistled tune, the hook’s sharp plink within.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
The perch still school where cattails root and sprawl,
untroubled now by his net or his custom-made jig-spin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
The lake holds silence, calm and still with languor.
Hushed wooden dock moans, wondering where Dad has been.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
Fancy dancy rooster with a cha cha cha
Strumped up like a prancy peacock, with a fah lah lah
Suit jacket was custom made by Dior himself, of course.
Daisies on the lapel are much too much said the horse.
The barnyard was messy with manure and stuff.
Fancy dancy rooster got splashed, stalked off in a huff.
Acts like a male peacock too, a peahen said.
The hens agreed that everything went straight to his head.
He hit the ball and run
Aiming for a touch down
But the wind is carrying his shoe
that was custom made to fit his feet for the game
The dope is sewed up in his gum
And that is what gave him the final home run
Your team is weak, you ambition is cheap
But destiny will reveal your secret
I have thought hard and long,
How you became the champion
You fire the coach, you meddle in dirt
And you cheat your way to the top
But destiny will put you straight to the back
The other team is a better team you
And I hope that their dreams will come through
You have disgraced your devoted team
To fulfill your political dreams
you have no talent and you issue unfair judgement
And you have zero knowledge about everything
your strategy is deceptive and agonizing
You might win the game
but your dignity is covered in shame
Stop playing dirty games.
He is a gentleman, refined and gentile.
A snappy dresser, Lord B.P.C. McBeel.
Look at his brocade suit, custom made of course.
His enormous steed is elegant for a horse.
Lord BPC McBeel did not look like a lizard at all.
He was low to the ground, but he came off tall.
His Dior fashion sense and his orange cravat tie
Showed us all that he was one GQ guy.
I make a perfect dry martini,
I read and write and speak Français,
All my suits, and shirts, and shoes are custom-made.
I own a Porsche and Maserati,
A house on Acapulco Bay
With scores of floors of marble tile that's all inlaid.
I have a staff to fetch and carry,
My every wish is their command,
If I drop things, I just leave them where they lay.
All I need do is snap my fingers,
Someone's always close at hand,
And they look after Señor Jim in every way.
I host the most elaborate soirées,
They're in society's upper niche,
On my birthday and, of course, on New Year's Eve,
Where the hoi polloi and high-born
Mingle with the nouveau riche,
And they're all the better for it when they leave.
This all may seem a bit pretentious,
And I don't mean to self-inflate,
For wealth and fame, of course, do not equate with happiness,
But in my dreams my alter ego
Will oftentimes exaggerate
And make seem real what, to be sure, is pure "b..s".
Big Bertha wore a custom-made silk bra
When hubby first saw her, he was in awe
On their very first date,
He was in a dazed state
She decked him with one huge boob in the jaw
05/12/2023
Contest: A Funny or Bawdy Limerick
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Simple squamous epithelium
That lines the frothing orifice
Of politicians and wine-soaked braggarts
Cytoplasm
That flows equally
In justice and infectious regurge
Genes
That transplant the ghastly
Pale-light abscess of custom-made drivel
God, Ph.D., you too?
John had a favorite reading chair
near the corner of the room
angled towards the fireplace
with a tall lamp light
set at just the right height
padded with his wife's
embroidered cushions by his side
and a custom-made ottoman under his feet
John sat there looking happy and complete.
Silver princess was a regular maid from the valley
By day, a woman who was unassuming and kind
By night she was a super hero, storming the alley
Looking for thugs and rapists with an evil mind
We had heard of her of course, but thought she was a myth.
Until someone called us to Toby’s Street forthwith.
She was there in the flesh, dressed in armor on fire.
Built like a soldier, her smoldering look was quite dire.
Her legs rose forever from boots custom made.
She was obviously as dangerous as a croc from the glade.
I could not make eye contact; for she was intimidating as heck.
Some of the other soldiers did a quick genuflect.
Silver princess is real! How can this be? Asked my cousin Sid.
He did not believe she wore a cod piece either, but she certainly did.
I have never in my life met a more dangerous woman, ready to fight.
I cannot get her out of my head, trying as hard as I might.
Here is what I got for my birthday.
Small glass holder for paint water. Won’t hold a paint brush.
Given to me by a non-painter.
Custom made apron.
Large and medium paint brushes.
Canvases.
Paint pallets.
Paints.
Peach shirt that says “Live your Dream”
Blue hair dye you can spray on to be more punk.
Large jar of jalapeno peppers.
Medium jar of jalapeno peppers.
Bathroom stuff I will never use.
Shower bombs I have already tossed.
Brownies, peanut butter fudge, rocky road fudge, watermelon
Candy bar, pecan pie, chocolate pie, apple pie,
cherry pie, key lime pie, lemon pie, coconut pie,
Did you know that when you eat out and say it’s your birthday
You get free pie
And no one checks your ID?
Today will be a good day.
I won't complain and moan,
About all that I do not have,
Count curses all alone.
Instead I'll count my blessings,
Thank Him for what is mine,
Appreciate what He has done,
To make my life sublime;
For others do not have the things,
That I just take for granted,
Good food, good clothes, a place to live,
It's really as I planned it.
Though everything is not the way,
I'd have it, truth to tell,
He's satisfied my every need,
Most Wants supplied as well.
I have all that I really need.
I really can't complain.
Though some have more, it's still just fine,
For we aren't all the same.
We each are blessed according to ,
What's best for you and me.
It's personal and custom made,
For personalities.
Today I will appreciate,
All He has done for me;
For home, and health, and happiness,
For my security.
The willow sways in the breeze
Flowers emerge from their leaves
Forest creatures come forth to play
It's a lovely, festive summer day
Inside my home's another story
In family quarrels there is no glory
Why can't my own siblings see
Today is custom-made
~ the world agrees
It's easy for the things we want to just be put aside.
The things we've always dreamed of put on hold and left to ride,
Until some time, some future date we hope will come to pass,
And the dream becomes reality not just a dream at last;
But time slips by and other things can over cloud our dreams,
And slowly they just slip away, become forgotten schemes.
But dreams can give us purpose, the power to start improving.
A dream can give us energy, the will to get things moving.
Don't lose the power of the dream.
It helps you to accrue,
The things to make things happen,
And it's custom made for you.
We all sin
I sin
You sin
Everyone is a sinner
A sin is a sin is a sin
There’s no way to win
Your actually guilty before you begin
So how do you actually get a reprieve?
To acquire the salvation
You wish to receive
The game is rigged
And not in your favor
What depravity may I offer you?
What’s your flavor?
Many choices to be had
Mix and match your wickedness
Custom made immorality for the mad
Smoke, drink, inject and snort
Can I have some more? Is the retort
Mind numbing at it’s best
Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,
No time to rest
Gotta get high
I must confess
My blanket
My shield
My sanctuary
Sobriety is quite contrary
To my goal
Of being numb, dumb, and resistant to succumb
So, don’t bother trying to save me you fool
The drugs are my tool
And reality is my school
Follow the line of the diseased mind
You may find it to be kind
If not, a monotonous grind
Welcome to the cognitive bind
Eric (and sometimes not)
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.