Long Doling out Poems
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Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
There's a little old elf in our bathroom
His name is Mr. Reginald Stinky
He's a very sweet accommodating soul
When you need T.P. for your winky
He stands there patiently holding his nose
Sometimes the smell gets atrocious
Especially when the little kiddies need to go
They get messy and quite malodorous
It's a service Mr. Reginald Stinky provides
For the betterment of the environment
'Cause the T.P. he issues is chemical free
It's the latest government requirement
So three cheers for Mr. Reginald Stinky
A hero we should salute and admire
For providing T.P. and enriching the world
As you leave the bathroom inspired
© Jack Ellison 2013
Mr. Stinky is a ceramic elf patiently doling out
toilet paper for us in our hour of need!
Lemme titillate thee
regarding myself daily soldiering thru breastworks
read out loud to experience where dangerfield lurks
twenty five years a husband unknown marital perks
bachelorhood to die for, cuz warp and weft
courtesy webbed and wedded bliss
incorporates life threatening quirks.
Hazardous beyond belief
analogous crossing a landmine good grief
ensnared yours truly mistaken for Baghdad thief.
Impossible mission to step up pace
when ambling one room to another
footfalls of generic guy approximating brisk,
cuz one misstep could find me flat on back
with damaged spinal disc
worse fate than experiencing
strong arms of law reach out his hands that frisk
old meister wordsmith
merely ventures innocent risk,
yet may as well surrender self to Taliban,
who would willingly whisk
Garden variety Caucasian American bloke
afraid to tread amidst belongings strewn
pell mell outranking rating tornado 5 courtesy
enhanced Fujita Scale
whereat Good Housekeeping ostracized spouse.
As precautionary safeguard, I carry amulet
to ward off ill luck toward life and limb you bet,
especially when gingerly
taking one step after another with lights turned off
owing steadfastness to prayerful debt
intoned toward guardian angel to get
self groping in dark without bifocals
envisioning severely myopic
(blind as a bat generic guy
without spectacles) met
bedded objective where
menagerie of stuffed animals
(albeit Woodstock favorite pseudo pet),
which aforementioned Peanuts character
called warm fuzzy as sobriquet.
The missus bursts out laughing,
whom I damnably scoff at and berate
as I trip head over heels
cursing said spouse ever since first date
at Tex-Mex restaurant
in North Wales, Pennsylvania,
a gut level intuitive sense -
even then our sealed fate
cursed analogously crashing thru Hades gate
antagonistic altercations in actuality
displaced suppressed anger toward parents,
which father and mother (both deceased)
their sole son of did hate
for afflicting psychological trauma
regarding them furiously irate
doling out ultimatums
interestingly enough comfort found
within company of loving mate,
she weaseled compassion
evidenced by poetic prattle I prate,
whereat ye can (of course) highly rate
feedback I eagerly await.
(alternately titled: impossible mission goes awry
probably mortal enemy cast spell binding jinx)
Both mental versus
physical tasks necessitate
laser sharp attentiveness
triggered within blinks
similarly on par when people toast
momentary instance utter silence
before more'n one
wine glass simultaneously clinks
cheering hurray, especially
if delicate circumstance
incorporates telecommunications downlinks
critical vital communique transmitted courtesy
think outlier (christened
Saint Matthew Scott Harris)
with acute instincts
held hostage between warp,
and woof fifth of dimension
far away beyond where
outer limits exhibits kinks
nsync with twilight zone
dwell alienated ratfinks
resembling authentic animated
Doctor Seuss characters
where one after another
third eye blind winks.
Lame excuse told cosmic speck (me)
sending yours truly on wild goose chase
an underhanded way to rub
inept feeble poetaster punster
out webbed wide world existence
purportedly great eats boasted
deep inside black hole sun pub
must make posthaste
to nearest galactic grubhub
mission control haint made no flub
boot deliberately thought
ineffectual doling out futile drub
cuz mister flibbertigibbet (me)
ostracized from highly selective club.
The aforementioned synopsis and
ultimate banishment cheered with big bang
decreed courtesy kangaroo court
constituting beastie boy gang
think star wars movie,
where farcical charges trumped
offering accused two choices,
either to hang
suspended (think piñata) and beat
to (fictional) pulp
torturers obviously ignoring pang
of utter emasculation, but rather sang
a song of sixpence*
while downing flasks of vintage tang
crafty entrepreneur William A. Mitchell in 1957
phallic drinking vessels
resembling Chewbacca's oversize wang.
---------------------------------------------------
*Lyrics
Sing a Song of Sixpence
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird
And snipped off her nose.
Pigeons Out Of Place
Pigeons, sit on cold bronze heads
Relieve themselves all day and night for spite
Fallen soldiers have no say, they are dead
Dirty birdies on branches don’t look right
They belong on buildings, rusted statues
Cold soldiers are toilets on scheduled flights
Among the people in their human view
Sitting on the park bench doling out bread
Man yawns, while birds bob heads when they are through
All of God’s good creatures need to be fed
Even filthy pigeons that tarnish things
When food is finished, parties head for bed
In the morning the birds of nature sing
Pigeons decorate bronze soldiers like kings
Created on 9/08/14 for Terza Rima (About anything you like) Poetry Contest
Pleasantly radiant, tranquil weather
blue skies & gently benevolent wind
a shimmering gift from Mother Nature
(a smoldering summer lurking in the distance)
Compulsively tracking an unquantifiable self:
steps, exercise minutes, calories, symptoms, etc.
stoical statistics dutifully logged into tired devices
(a futile endeavor to control life)
Cacophonous news oozing from the Malverse
menacing memes ricochet around the planet
updates of a horrid war threatening to devour the world
(a looming nuclear apocalypse)
Occupying space in old unedifying edifices gathering dark energy
running out the accelerating clock as civilization nears its breaking point
desperately seeking diversion while doling out doggerel
(a quest to imbue a desolate existence with meaning)
How long before it all falls apart?
Pallbearers filled the bus
Off to funerals in an angry rush
It’s the wicked; they say who have no peace
That’s why the Pallbearers get their release
They chose to capture all these kind
Stifling fear often & following blind
Praising their maker for the coffee they get
For it keeps them alive and physically fit
Gravestones etched and set aside
For those of them who fought and died
I suggest we find away
To corral the ones who have been led astray
Our focal point has been defaced
By all the ones who claimed disgrace
Let’s satisfy their wants and greed
By doling out just what they need
When tyrannical freedom tries earning its place
It’s the Pallbearers who will be leading the chase
So, lock them again in their pristine sleeping cells
Then pray they don’t remember their path out of hell
The Corona Virus is in town
Our schools have promptly shut down.
We are sending packets to each child.
They are rather daunting, nothing mild.
Two hundred pages are going out for each.
You know these kids are going to screech!
Children who sit in school for seven hours a day
And do not fill out more than a half a page, just play.
We are over confident down in the golden tower
Where the bigwigs sit and think up this stuff by the hour.
The A students will be excited; it will keep them busy a week.
The hundred and ninety-six others will not open them even a peek.
The Corona Virus is in town.
Our schools have promptly shut down.
We are sending these packets in an optimistic silly way.
Most will not be returned at all no matter what the day.