Long Biddies Poems
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I don’t have a drinking problem
I drink til I get drunk
Then I stumble home
Where I live all alone
And I diddle my own junk.
I don’t have a drinking problem
The problem is you see
When I am sober
I look the world over
And the world has a problem with me.
So I go to the neighborhood bar
Start with a whiskey and beer chaser
Every one of them that I belt down
Acts like a problem eraser.
All my troubles disappear
Then I fall off of the stool
I don’t see
What the problem can be
So, what’s the matter with you?
I don’t have a drinking problem
I drink til I get drunk
Then I stumble home
Where I live all alone
And I diddle my own junk.
I don’t have a drinking problem
The problem is you see
When I am sober
I look the world over
And the world has a problem with me.
So I go to the neighborhood bar
And put down a pint or ten
Soon all the old biddies there
Start looking beautiful again
I start flirting with the ladies
Must of’m older than me Mum
Then I pinch all the lasses
Upon their big asses
And get tossed out on me bum.
I don’t have a drinking problem
I drink til I get drunk
Then I stumble home
Where I live all alone
And I diddle my own junk.
I don’t have a drinking problem
The problem is you see
When I am sober
I look the world over
And the world has a problem with me.
So, I go to the neighborhood bar
Where I drink all day and night
My beer muscles start growing stronger
And I go looking for a fight
My slurred words start the trouble
My pushing eggs it on some more
I get punched in the eye
And in my reply
My face hits on the floor
I don’t have a drinking problem
I drink til I get drunk
Then I stumble home
Where I live all alone
And I diddle my own junk.
I don’t have a drinking problem
The problem is you see
When I am sober
I look the world over
And the world has a problem with me.
SHE RAN AWAY WITH THE CIRCUS
The neighbor‘s daughter ran away
Gwen is gone .....her brothers say
When the circus left the town
She was nowhere to be found
I heard them whisper –all the biddies
While they tended little kiddies…
…..With the circus.....
Did you know it?
How that mousey girl could blow it!
Throw away her farm girl life
Plans to be a farm boy’s wife .
Who would want to see a city
Drink excitement with the witty--
Who would want to fly the coop
Jump the jump and hop the hoop?
Oh-- those biddies dream their nights
Of Gwen-stolen guy in tights
How he grabs that sly trapeze
Sails the tent with cat-stealth ease.
Me--I wish that girl the best
Hope she’s happy and the rest
Wish I had the guts to run
Find out what is west of sun
But I’d rather read about it
Let the others scream and shout it
When I think about her daring
I envy her for not despairing
May her dearest prayers come true
And her skies flash starlight blue
Hope the circus shapes her life
Wilder than a cardboard wife.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
09/13/2012
Knowing you as I do,
you entered the room shyly.
Saying nothing, you took a seat
next to your sister.
Then your ear homed in on the speaker.
You tried not to notice
some of the ladies paying
way too much attention to your blouse.
Sensing your insecurities,
your sister leaned into your ear
and urged you to pay them no mind.
"They've been like that for at least as long as I've been here. Ignore them."
She gave you a smile full of teeth and
just like that, you were home.
"Maybe I should button up my shirt a bit?" You whispered to her.
"Stay just as you are," she reassured you with a gentle rub on the small
of your back. "You're JUST fine."
The speaker kept speaking
and you both kept whispering, attentively catching up on each other's lives and giddily reminiscing of the shenanigans of your youth.
Then, the door opened and the third sister barraged in.
"What did I miss ?" she almost shouted as she pulled up a chair next to you.
"Shuush"! The others said, giving her an eye roll, and then, with pouty mouths, returning their attention back
to the speaker.
"Forget those ole biddies," she snapped
and then immediately jointed in the conversation.
"What are you doing here?"
You asked her.
"You said you were too busy."
"I know," she said. "But, I thought about it and I said, 'I don't see y'all near enough. So, I dropped everything and came!"
The three of you sat and talked and laughed
til the sun died,
and rose again.
Finally, you broke the chatter.
"Maybe we should pull up another chair.
She could be here anytime now."
The eldest eyes smiled. She took both of your hands and replied,
"No need for that just yet.
I spoke to her just before
I left to come here. She has a lot still to do. She'll join us
as soon as she's finished."
They all smiled at each other.
And with that,
the conversation resumed.
Charlie’s got an old bar outside of town.
It’s pretty seedy and plenty run down.
Characters who don’t lightly suffer fools
go there to drink whisky and to shoot pool.
Some huffy stuffy ladies from up-town
decided one day they’d shut Charlie’s down.
On a crusade, they made it their mission.
All ‘round town they paraded petitions.
Didn’t like the cartoon-graffitied walls
or the limericks written on the stalls.
They said Charlie’s scarred their town’s pretty face,
called it a blight on the whole human race.
Charlie and friends put their heads together.
They called in Ben, the college professor.
A curious plan began to unfold
as they recalled the legends they'd been told.
The prof walked around. He nodded and "aw"ed
read the walls, and he’d guffaw and applaud.
"Charlie," he said, "think I know what to do
to save our dear bar and make you rich, too!"
He said, “Good man, this place is a gold mine!
Thanks to Andy Warhol and Gertrude Stein!
Except for this 'Careen? Abdul Jabbar’—
Your walls have been graced by many a star!”
“Historical” says the placard outside.
Now, the uppity biddies point with pride.
It all worked out fine. Charlie's got his friends,
his whisky and pool, and plenty to spend.
11/29/2018
Charlie's Cartoon Characters Curiously Careen and Crusade Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Kutsinger
~a first place
My open-ended lines can convey more than one idea. Verse 3, middle line, ends in “I am.” I am both okay (today) & puddles on pavement.
whispering birds through wind and light rain
no drama of wildly flapping wings & lightning
sweetness in covered tones, under umbrella
mine is red and white, candy-striped, mint
moment at the beach, ebbed into tall mug
heat of cream & coffee steam my a.m. lens
just peachy in mid-May, Mother’s Day past
don’t have to pretend to be okay today, I am
puddles on pavement, swirls of mud and moss
sounds of Spring tympanic, tinkling & symbolic
dull day, verdancy not at all bright, nice chill
still those tweets invite a kiss of heart, mind, soul
louder tweets, grow, not as mad as thunder, tow
not of under, nor rip; chorus of natural sequence
and consequence, harmonious, non-disclosure
biddies somewhere are moving their beaks
cheeky in gossiping, speaking curses not kisses
only man intentions to kill, imagines the hearse
be sweet, as proverbial pie; as best homemade honey
don’t terrify anyone with a storm of marmite words
lightly flap your wings to visit the poor in your dreams
thoughts cohabitate with nature, change moment
to moment, pierced and pecked synchronization
not numbed out by a blinding sheet of buffeting sound
Who is afraid of the “Big Bad Hen”?
“Not I!” exclaimed Sassafras,
My bear cub chasing chihuazer,
Just before she got a little too close
To that loud squawkin’ quick peckin’
“Big Bad Hen” –
Before she knew what happened.
Quicker than you could say, “Scat,”
That hen jumped right on Sassy’s back!
This was no ordinary hen –
She just hatched out nine new chicks.
And when my little dog came near,
She was in a very bad fix!
“Bad Hen” spread her wings real wide.
While squawking in a frenzy,
She sunk her claws in Sassy’s back.
Pecking my little dog; oh what rage!
Both Sassy and the “Big Bad Hen”
Have two humans for their friends.
So when the “Giant Ingrid” arrived,
One peck in Sassy’s neck, “Hen” fled.
Quickly, to her chicks she ran.
She clucked and called them near.
Sassy and “The Big Bad Hen”
Were runnin' buddies no more.
Playing days came to an end.
After that, they were not friends.
But when there are new biddies,
Upon which a mother hen rests.
It is always best to stay away when asked,
Who is afraid of the “Big Bad Hen”?
But that was not the last time
That hen chased and squawked --
My fearless, chicken lovin’ doggie, Sassafras.
Might one day learn to be afraid of…?
The “Big Bad Hen”!
© July 12, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Enormous eggplants peppered her Easter hat.
They were a bit heavy, but purple and exact.
However did you find them, and what fun!
The old biddies said, when they saw her in the sun.
Why thank you, she said, pleased as all get out.
Her children had gone on, one with a little pout.
They were dying their eggs, with dye all over their hands.
They were playing their tubas, in their Sunday noon bands.
Rhe sat in the gazebo in her lovely dress of green.
She was the loveliest ghost many had never really seen.
Her delight was apparent, biddies gone away for now.
Her dancing was beautiful; her face was a wow.
She was the best dreamiest dream I had ever had.
She was big and beautiful, buxom busy and bad.
She was her own person, danced to drums of long ago.
Prancing into my head and she did not move slow.
Where did you find her? The fuddy duddies soon asked.
Hilarious, and funny, in her humor I basked.
She’s part of my imagination, I claim her as my own.
So naysayers, go away, you are not part of this poem.
This poem was entered in Julia Ward's contest but I've decided not to write for her.
At the footbridge I pause for one last glance
at naysayers who never gave me a chance.
River rushes in a roar, stronger than my rage,
my anger uncontrolled like the aggression of old age.
I am leaving behind a life gone wrong.
No longer happy where I don't belong.
I have to cross the river to be rid of my woes
and escape the cruel biddies, those jealous foes.
A smile touches my lips once over the footbridge,
I stare longingly at the mountains beyond the ridge.
A deep breath taken, and then two more,
calming me while the river continues to roar.
Behind me shrill voices screaming my name.
I grow tired of hearing them taunt me with shame.
My rankling increases as they hurl stones.
I turn to curse them, those bitter old crones.
With two pointed fingers, an evil spell I cast.
At the footbridge, I watch them breathe their last.
7/18/2016
you gotta join in the struggle for the ill-gotten gains
of the movers and the shakers on the streets Wall and Main
we will take what we are due like the Sioux we'll count coup
on the heads of the masters and their double-talkin pastors
on the bankers and their chumps and the phonies on the stumps
on the bosses in their offas and the supers in the sweats
no more settlin for the scraps at the foot of the table
no more truck-wide income gaps ablin biddies to wear sable
at the time that we have won they will know that they are done
and we'll be sittin pretty like Scarface own the city
and the ones who called us chums they'll be fightin for our crumbs
wonderin how the heck that happened while they're suckin on their thumbs
(chorus)
first restitution
then redistribution
sweet retribution
if we don't stick together like those birds of a feather
we will never take our place on the seat of the throne
where who you want you can punish and the rest throw a bone
Peonies and cannas are blooming along my walk
While birds are tweeting messages to one another,
I suspect the small animals are taking care of young
A newborn spring fawn stays close to its mother.
I am certain the newly built Robin’s nest has eggs
And I see the chimney swifts chasing insects on wing
The sounds of spring are delightful to my hearing,
Even the chimes on my neighbor’s front porch ring.
A fox is scoping out a flock of chickens scratching
The peace interrupted as a crow begins to squawk,
Signaling to the banties and biddies danger is near
I spy overhead the silhouette of a red-tailed hawk.
A simple life includes the sights and sounds of spring
The joys of a walk through the meadow in the sun,
Pleasures derived from a lifetime of love for nature
Anticipating good weather and a hot summer’s fun.
Written May 15, 2022