Come all ye old fellers
Gather ye around
We'll talk of our dads
And have another round.
What's to say ? We all had our shares
Of getting out of his shadows
Some escaped soon, others were late
And some are still stunted right out of the gate.
Pointing at him, is like pointing at us
We are more like them than we admit
As we look in the mirror and ask ourselves
Would we have done any different?
So let us all toast
To our imperfect dads
And remember the apple
And where it lands.
The hapless fruit cake has endured egregious loathin' o'er the years!
Bein' on the receivin' end of such a delicacy is some folks' greatest fears!
Shucks! I received many a one while in the service to share with my chums,
(Who savored booze in any form, especially those cakes soaked in rums!)
History reveals that fruit cakes were consumed by Roman Legionnaries,
To sustain them in their numerous conflicts with ferocious adversaries!
Fruit cake with nuts and fruits (Lord only knows what else) I won't condemn!
I'm just one of many discriminatin' fellers who happens to like 'em!
* * * NOT HEADED FOR A CONTEST * * *
Jolly Holly wanted nothing more than to fish
In her entire life, she had made only one wish
All I need is a boat
One that will stay afloat
She had never been described as a sexy dish
Holly had other attributes. She sure could cook
And no one else was better at baiting a hook
With minnows and grubs
She stayed out of pubs
Because most men never gave her a second look
There was an air about her... not a pleasant one
It was a fishy smell that fellers liked to shun
Then one day she met Gus
A man, big as a bus!
He looked at Holly and said, "Take me fishin, hon."
Wasn't long, 'fore Gus moved in with Jolly Holly
The fished all day and made love each night, by golly
He married that lil lass
On a boat, catchin' bass
Got a collie and twin girls, Molly and Polly
For novel fireplace
someone always on the hunt
of forest fellers
[This little note is a word to the Woke…
(that’s people who can’t take a joke).
I hereby point out to avoid criminality
Murphy and Pat are of no known nationality…]
***
Patrick and Murphy had little to do
They feared their financial position
While looking for jobs they heard there were a few
At the forestry commission
Working outdoors was what they both desired
They hopped on the very next bus
Murphy said look there’s Tree Fellers required
But Pat said… there’s just two of us
***
[Based on a joke first published as a cave painting!]
In my youth I was completely engrossed,
By poetry along the byways nailed to a post!
It wasn't composed by John Greenleaf Whittier;
No, the authors were much more wittier!
I speak of Burma Shave signs once all the craze,
But can only be found in museums nowadays.
I don't claim to own the wit of poet Ogden Nash,
But here are some I might've composed if I may be so brash!
If its a kiss from yer gal you crave
But the stubble on yer mug she hates
Better grab yerself a can of Burma Shave!
When ol' Sarge says you're grown' too much stubble
And threatens to nix yer weekend pass
Slather yer mug with Burma Shave on the double!
When you were interviewed for a host of jobs
But weren't hired because of yer stubble
Smother yer mug with Burma Shave in gobs!
When you insist on takin' her out to dine
But she says no caressin' yer 5-o'clock shadow
Mow yer mug usin' Burma Shave and all will be fine!
If it's yer handsome mug you want to save
Plain ol' Lifebuoy soap won't do the job
Use plenty of good ol' foamy Burma Shave!
Let me tell you fellers about the latest rave
If you want to impress your sweetie pie
Use smooth and creamy Burma Shave!
Unruly rabble demolished statues of General Robert Lee.
Now, the politically correct clique is a-comin' after me!
My name is Robert Lee as well and 'twas so inopportune,
That I be associated with the General, my name to so impugn!
The mob wants to eradicate anything to do with General Lee,
Includin' his namesake little old insignificant me!
Besides all of that I'm a Yankee born in the Hoosier state,
And had nothin' to do with the Rebel Cause I'm happy to relate!
So any of you fellers named Stonewall Jackson or John Bell Hood,
Hunker down 'cause a request to change yer name is a likelihood!
Robert Lee (Hinshaw)
What side of the coin will show its face?
Will it be heads or tails to end this race?
Will they count real votes or just the fakes?
It’s been a long grueling year for heaven sakes.
Will they count our votes minus socks and shoes?
Will the watermarked ballots create the blues?
A mind-numbing process will now unfold.
Will they accept the results, will the truth be told?
More violence I’m sure will rear its head.
If we defund the police, how many more will be dead?
Will we get the Great Pumpkin or the Basement Dweller?
I think we’re screwed either way with these two fellers.
There was a young lady from Wellers
Most popular with all the fellers
I said," How do you do it?"
She said,"There's nothin' to it"
"I sort them by buyers and sellers."
8-30-2020
Contest: Limerick Fun
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Syllable Counter
Syllables Per Line: 9 9 7 7 9
Cookie, fire-up yer chuck wagon 'cause th' round-up is begun!
Us cowpokes is gonna cull th' herd frum dawn to th' settin' sun!
We is gonna supply you wid th' cookin's fer our chuck tonight;
Heaps uv good ol' Rocky Mountain oysters broiled fer our delight!
It'll be a hot an' dusty trail as we drive 'em frum th' chaparral,
An' herd them cantankerous kine fer brandin' in th' ol' corral!
It'll take a heap uv sweat an' a lot uv cussin' to git 'em movin', alright,
But it'll be worth it, 'cause we is feedin' on Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Usin' our cuttin' hosses we'll rope an' wrestle th' bulls to th' ground.
There we'll brand an' neuter 'em as they beller an' kick around!
We'll be bruised an' kicked fer little pay but that'll be alright,
'Cause we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Us cowboys works hard wid little pay rollin' 'round in th' manure,
Convertin' bulls into steers; that's more'n them city fellers could endure!
But that's okay, 'cause at round-up time we gits a special treat;
Tonight we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters to eat!
GARDEN LOVE
Landscaped and designed lovingly by yours truly,
Had no option, as lightening hit my favourite tree,
One that my Dad planted, destined to fall
Cracked down the middle, five storeys tall,
Had been attacked overnight, died a death unduly.
Asked the tree fellers to leave stump one storey high,
Would not let my Fathers presence in the garden die,
So re-designed and re-landscaped our garden,
Ignored protests, proceeded, beg your pardon,
Gardener and I worked hard, all marvel as they pass by!
He pulled up to the Triple "T" Ranch in a shiny Cadillac.
In his trailer was an Arabian steed with the finest tack.
He wore Tony Lama alligator boots and Calvin Klein jeans,
And a stylish Stetson hat - he looked like a man of means!
He strode to the corral where grizzled cowpokes lazed.
They chortled at the greenhorn, each of them amazed!
"Where's the boss?" he asked, "I'm seeking a position!"
"Over yonder" said they. (The boss eyed him with great suspicion!)
The boss sauntered over to see what the hullabaloo was all about.
"I'll handle this! You fellers git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized up the lad saying, "Son, I ain't impressed with them fancy labels!
But you're hired! Here's a shovel! Ya kin start by muckin' out them stables!"
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Green Humor Rhymes" Contest
When all the wranglin' chores was done and the sun settled in the west,
The cowboys was lollin' about the campfire savorin' much needed rest.
From early dawn they'd branded dogies and herded cantankerous steers,
Now it was time to unwind, spin some bull and toss back some beers.
Fer supper they had the usual beef, spuds and beans as hard as stones,
Now they fired up their cigars, pipes and a few fellers lit roll-yer-owns.
A guy played melancholy tunes on his harmonica to calm the antsy herd,
And in the distance the yips and snarls of pesky coyotes could be heard.
They had fed and tethered their hosses and kicked off their boots,
And leaned back on their saddles - what a band of hell-raisin' galoots!
They spun tales of wimmen, whiskey, horses, gamblin' and such,
And took turns bad-mouthin' the trail boss who they didn't like very much!
Their slurred twaddle dwindled to a close and it was time to hit the hay,
Knowing that they had to rise early and face another saddle-sore day.
Usin' their saddles fer pillers they sprawled 'neath a big yeller moon,
Snorin', groanin' and breakin' wind, each emittin' a melodious tune!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Helicopters dot the sky
Like dragonflies, but louder.
I wonder if the insect world
Sees them and feels much prouder.
For how their rumbles fill the air,
Attracting much attention,
Although their engineers would claim
That wasn’t their intention.
Still, I prefer the gentle buzz
Of wings to their propellers.
(Except for stinging insects –
I’ve no fondness for those fellers!)
Pleae tell me how to get home
Which way does this old trail bend
Had a little drink with some fellers I know
And I lost my way my friend
I have rode this way before
Still it don't look right tonight
I'm headin' for the bunkhouse to rest my head
But I see the mornin' light
Boss man's gonna have my hide
'Cause we're brandin' calves today
All I want to do is to sleep for awhile
But he'll prob'ly have his say
Please tell me how to get home
Which way does this old trail bend
Had a little drink with some fellers I know
And I lost my way my friend
I could head back south, I s'pose
Maybe go to San Antone
Had a gal down there with a husband named Bob
Guess I'll leave that gal alone
It's funny how things work out
Bein' a cowboy's sometimes hard
Lots of long hours and a little bit of pay
But you've always got a pard
Please tell me how to get home
Which way does this old trail bend
Had a little drink with some fellers I know
And I lost my way my friend
3/7/2017
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