Long Contestants Poems
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When visiting my older aunt,
We sit and watch TV.
When she’s alone she does this,
But it’s not the same for me.
So I was not familiar with
Shows like “Let’s Make a Deal”
Or “Wheel of Fortune,” which to many
Really do appeal.
It seems that the contestants must
Be smiley, showy, loud
And enthusiastic to a point
Of which I’d not be proud.
The audience is into it -
They clap and whoop and cheer,
As grinning hosts might wonder
How they made this their career.
Yet all these shows are popular,
Which doesn’t shock me much,
But makes me see how with this country
I am out of touch.
Oh, the thrill of the annual school ice-skating races!
Back in the days before recent warming trends
good old Lincoln School (K-5), affectionately dubbed
"Stinkin' Lncoln," held races for each class in the
dead of winter, on an unforgivingly frigid Sunday
in January---I don't know how they managed to
pick the coldest day of the year, but they did!
We kids, we contestants, so looked forward to that
special Sunday, where we got to compete for a blue,
for a red, or for a white ribbon; and for the adulation
sure to be heaped upon us by proud family members...
But those poor spectators, our parents and siblings
who froze their fingers and toes off, if not their bottoms
and tops, waiting out there in the howling cold 'forever'
for an event that might take, oh, a minute or two at most---
And did I mention that I fell down, right on my face
at the start of each race? For five years in a row? Until
my very last race (5th grade), when---I fell at the end,
just as I was about to cross the finish line first?...Yet it
remains my most cherished memory of good old Lincoln School
Entry for "My Youth" contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet...
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 21:08
two thousand twenty
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry antennae thin contestants,
hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
whereby said marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
competitors crouched tigerlike
ironically melting starter blocks
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mist tree (oak kay)
man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat.
Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,
I supplicated, necessitated,
implored, and decried divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically prostrating self
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design
nearly defying might
of super Matt nein
bird brainer heron,
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces got knotted
freaking me out clearly
out this world,
wide webbed formerly
Gordian tangled skein.
We do not know what life is by resigning ourselves to death.
Just as we don’t know what love is by only tasting hate.
The poor don’t know what it’s like to never look at the tag.
But the rich don’t know what it’s like to have nothing and not be sad.
Those who own companies don’t know each customer's regular order.
Yet the workers don’t know what it’s like to be judged by the public.
Models don’t know what it's like not to wear makeup.
While the girl who walks the dog doesn’t even own mascara.
The judges don’t know how much each fall hurts.
But, the contestants don’t know what it took for the judges to be at the top.
The cashier doesn’t know why he can’t pay for his food,
And he doesn't know why she’s a cashier.
The teacher doesn’t know what happens at home,
Just like the student doesn’t know what it costs to maintain one.
In the end we are one or the other,
And we may never know the second half.
And I think that’s why no human can know it all.
And people need to learn that that’s ok.
There's a reason why we only live once.
Well, the morons are in the race
A little behind but their keeping pace
Running at a close last
I see its the idiots they finally passed
don’t pull your bets: its not over yet
I see the imbeciles sneaking up on the left
Well the out comes unsure of a race finally won
But of the five judges only three have their thumbs
We look to the other judges in the show
Both of them quibbling so I don’t think they know
Now to the contestants to get their thoughts
Who really won and what was the cost?
The moron explains that the sweat their eyes
Prevented them from seeing, but know the judges don’t lie
While the idiot is sprawled-out on the ground
Their number 1 finger never went down
The imbeciles' eyes were lit by his grin
Their only comment was “so I really did win”
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I went and appeared on a
t.v reality show
And instead of changing my life
and making me a star
It ruined my life and made it
worse instead
It never made me and i didn't
become famous afterwards
like they said it would
And now they won't even take
my calls
Because they are way to busy
auditioning new contestants
for this year's show
And i am yesterday's news
And the same fate awaits this
year's fresh meat they just don't
know it yet
Famous so long as the camera's
are rolling
And once the series finally comes
to it's inevitable end so do the
privileges and lifestyle with it
Kicked back to the day job
only this time with a soured
taste of the good life
Nature held a Beauty Pageant
Guess who was crowned a crest?
A flowery green meadow was the stage and rostrum
Watch who won the contest.
Well, the peacock from India was crowned beauty King
The bird of paradise from New Guinea became Beauty queen.
And last but not least was the Indian tiger, runner up
But care he for beauty that he might as well sup?
And what care any of them
for accolades, crown or cup?
Other contestants were the gorgeous leopards
and the flimsy beauteous butterflies
They'll be crowned
next time around.
For beauty tis rich in supplies.
But nature-lovers alone applauded the flamboyant winners
who gaily stood upon the flora
They did come out with 'flying colors'
Around them nature's beauty an aura.
Miss world bird of paradise yet unaware of her placing
The peacock endowed by God a crown
They might never know of this showcasing
At our staring, gawping, they might just frown!
Then there are those unsung unawarded yet perfect beauties
both among mortals and animals
who join no display contests nor pageants
yet are undeniably glamorous nonetheless
for beauty ain't exclusive
to önly beauty contestants.
Especially one courteously wrapped ably
anonymously gifted to
an aspiring gourmet Chef Boyardee
i.e. not surprisingly... revealing mystery
person none other than...
yepper namely me.
Moost anyone can show
off culinary karate chop
suey, whether schooled among
fishy creatures either
from black lagoon,
or privately tutored,
(this haint no canibal)
courtesy mythological Cyclop,
somewhat riotously,
quirkily and precariously,
when blindsided flop
which slapdash loco motion often
misconstrued for latest dance moves
characterizing boogie woogie
(touting Louis Armstrong talents
as token bugle boy), and/or hip hop.
Audible sigh of relief exhaled by
none other than Chaim Yankel,
whose tail feathers ruffled
linkedin to setback, which former
(malfunctioning microwave) did rankle.
No longer must
hungry tummies all told
eat food frozen and/or cold
leftovers formed into Rorschach,
neigh Horseshack habitat mold
more suitable as clay pigeons,
where strong arms
analogous to accordion fold
readied to take aim and fire
young trumpeting Olympian trained
contestants, albeit aghast at
proliferating firearms when polled
wantonly, indiscriminately, and blithely
taking precious innocent lives
worth more than fine spun gold.
Eve vent chilly this monseigneur
and his madam
(Church Lady) conceding faithful
to follow and acquiesce
and countenance flimflam
toward yours truly,
no matter a fake Imam
who offered up feast
Earth friendly biologically/
genetically modified, prepared
artificial intelligent algorithmically
programmed manufactured in Vietnam,
who cooked delectable
Soylent green eggs and ham.
Best not prepare
former entree in microwave
lest they explode instantly
killing home of the brave
necessitating, none other
than one lame rhymester at large
to end poem quickly senseless verse
in order for his hide to save.
Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet...
concerning yours truly
poor righteous leftist sole.
Great way to begin the new year
mine little feet about size nine wear
sneakers acquired At Ian's Boots
not for profit business
origin of said enterprise
brings more'n one tear.
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 11:33
two thousand twenty two
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry contestants,
hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
the fountain head
whereby marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
then melted starter blocks
competitors crouched tigerlike
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mister (oak kay)
tree - man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat
for sakes Pete.
Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,
supplicating, necessitating,
imploring, and decrying divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (the missus)
salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically pulling
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design
nearly defying might
of super rich a$$ a nein
bird brainer heron
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces unknotted free
and clear whirled,
wide webbed formerly tangled skein
fo shoe more intolerable
than swallowing quinine.
There was once a TV show called Queen for a Day;
Its premise was really bizarre.
Contestants were chosen to prove to the world
How their pathos could lower the bar.
Their sob stories covered all manner of ills –
Like bankruptcy, jail or disease.
The audience listened and voted for one
More pathetic by several degrees.
A meter on stage measured all the applause
(For the claps equaled votes, one supposes).
Then the winner appeared and they gave her a crown
And a cape and a bouquet of roses.
There were tears, there were sighs and euphoria reigned;
Spirits certainly couldn’t get higher.
Then to top it all off, they presented the Queen
With a shiny new washer and dryer!
How that solved all her problems I never did get
But I learned that a washing machine,
If presented with roses, a cape and a crown
Could transform someone into a queen!