Long Earplugs Poems
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When I died, i arrived in Hell and there was a lesson that I quickly learned.
Satan is using a new kind of torture, people are no longer being burned.
It's a rotten, terrible and cruel thing for Satan to do.
Now he tortures people by forcing them to watch the new Doctor Who.
I did some really bad things while I was on Earth and now I'm in Hell because of what I did.
I'm being forced to watch the new Doctor Who and I can't look away or even close my eyelids.
I've always known that Adolf Hitler was evil but I was wrong when I thought that he's tough.
He screams like a little b**** as he watches the new Doctor Who TV show, it's pretty rough.
While I was on Earth, I was a liar, a thief and a despicable thug.
Now I'd do anything if I could receive a blindfold and earplugs.
As I'm being forced to watch the new Doctor Who, I scream and cry.
I didn't know that such a bad thing could happen when a person dies.
I'll tell people on Earth how to avoid my fate instead of just giving them a hint.
They'd better be on their very best behavior because Hell has a new torment.
There are women who feel a strong need
To nag men until their ears bleed
In a war of attrition
With relentless petition
Is a cruel way to make men concede
Men wish for a life of peace
But get nagged by a tongue that won't cease
Men will just say
It's the female DNA
That must out in its need for release
We can’t help it; we just HAVE to nag
Guess some folks would call us 'an old hag'
But men get on our nerves
When you paw at our curves
Men should give up and wave the white flag
We can suffer from bad PMT,
Become ogres that men want to flee
We scream and we shout
Say we’ll throw you out
But for some reason you wont let us be
Better by far, we should try this next time
It's effective and will prove sublime
By wearing earplugs
In each of our lugs
We'll be laughing whilst nagging - in mime
Laughing together will lighten our day
It's a tonic to chase our problems away
For a really big smile
Can last a long while
And we'll both get along better that way
24th January 2016-01-24
Collaboration by Jan Allison and Rob Bettridge
I am your princess Tiffany,
A canine so sublime
I give a nightly symphony
And it doesn’t cost a dime
You say my singing is a crime,
The howling causes ears to cringe
But I will not take the time
To be bothered by your twinge.
In my defense the neighbor dogs join in,
And the scrappy cats will also sing
On a special moonlit night,
when it’s not a sin.
I suppose I’ll do you folks a favor
before the evening concerto,
I’ll go down to the corner store
And buy earplugs for you bores!
NOTE: I did have a Pomeranian named Taffy. She was definitely a princess!
Every Christmas season
the carolers delight
by singing Christmas songs
at the beginning of night
Joyful and fun to each house they go
folks would sing along as the happiness echos
cheers and treats household shared
for the carolers were beloved dear.
He was tall handsome and charming
his voice velvet smooth and disarming
everyone desired to hear his solos
of course we're speaking of young Joe Joe
For Carl was short and chubby
his voice even sounded stubby
high notes became a screech
singing was out of his reach
But Caroling Carl would not go
this season he was the first to enroll
the others tried kindly to nudge him out
but Carl thought they were jealous louts
His singing lead to despair
his voice no one wanted to hear
word spread and the carolers were feared
for with Carl the people disappeared
Doors remained shut curtains closed
lights went out as the carolers posed
the songs of Christmas went dim
for folks in houses hid within
Caroling Carl could not understand
why on this holiday people went grim
the others wanted to shout
Carl please get out
This could not go on
fooling Carl they all played along
giving him the wrong route
their singing could regain it's clout
But Carl knew it was an innocent mistake
soon enough he discovered their escape
he even sang louder than before
as folks with earplugs hid indoors
Before the Christmas singing was gone
they had to make even Carl belong
convincing him to sing so soft and low
and behind him sang the handsome Joe Joe
Caroling Carl sang so low and grew with acclaim
his soft singing brought Joe Joe hidden fame
for if his voice they could not hear
the more for Carl folks cheered
This was the best Christmas caroling season by far
as the young Joe Joe was the true singing star
and it was all owed to Caroling Carl's so soft voice
for folks enjoyed not hearing it the most.
Written: January 20, 2024
___________________________________________
Sibylline stammer upswells
I'd explore my innermost self
My precious blue earplugs,
which I dropped in 6th grade,
Will be retrieved as I seek zealous bliss
an elusive state seems to evade me,
seldom beyond brief cameos.
A friend got me a sadness box,
and years later, I felt it was his finest gift,
I'd start on a quest to find my jejunity spirit,
Innocence without current anguish
I aspire to recover my purity.
Once eternal faith in various altruism won,
alas, I intend to revive my heart
with a firm faith in a transcendental force.
I'd painstakingly dig for my roots-my core
that molded my identity,
I doubt I can reveal these gems,
a box of sights might be full and unfathomable.
If I find these elusive things,
my propensity to sustain them is dubious,
even in its brittle grace, Earth is iffy,
for squandering what is precious.
But my glance would persist,
I believe that remaining hopeful is crucial,
against allegedly overwhelming odds.
I may not recover everything I lost,
my genuine self may be detected,
since that's all that matters.
cold sounded cute
when it all began
like Brenda Vaccaro
hoarse and sexy
then came to a halt
as the temperature dropped
suddenly water torture
the nasal sink
dripping, nonstop
a box of tissues
not nearly enough
wads of tp
paper towels
free falling
snores rocking
out
husband flees
to guest room
earplugs shudder, shatter
what’s the matter?
a wholesale cold
sometimes work does the trick
flushes out
the sick
but
not
this
time
colossal cold
wigs out
tosses me
to and fro
blowout of nasal passages
cold hands
under
colder water
moist hands
dry hands
moisturizer
tea
yes, i said tea!
over in five
hours
then climb under covers
as husband hides
downstairs
germ free
1/2/2018
`
Slandered wavelengths
from an old worn out speaker
cracking with each unbalanced bass note
Finding my brain on overload
and a slower heart beat
out of tune
Static becomes the union,
tuning dial gone, volume at high
glowing in the corner of cobweb melodies
lingering on a distant shelf
now sinking lower in this
roadside armchair (Where are the earplugs when you need them)
An empty bottled fortress
protects the pain at my feet,
brown glass soldiers stand guard,
bottle cap mementos flip
like dancing beans on a folding table
at El Mercado
One more for the road
(like I need this)
along crooked dotted lines, weaving nonsense
two at a time, smirking
snickering like children hiding from a babysitter,
mimicking the way
Still the static, white noise,
drowns out the joy and the trees cry,
when birdsong of night haunts with a sound
interrupting the dance of the
beer bottle chorus line
and I tap a painful toe
In Secret Caverns, we harken to the darkness.
Our headlamps’ shut off, we are anywhere,
we are everywhere, it doesn’t matter where.
No matches, no breeze, no breath to strike
up the light, no moon, no sun, no shuffling.
Absolutely still - our souls, our conscience,
what disturbs the ash of our ultimate destiny.
No one dares to whisper in this golden cage.
The ages pass by, primordials stir, Jesus is
still in his wrappings. My heart, subdued, like
earplugs in their caves. My eyes, wide open,
stand at attention, to retain the inner light.
I stand in the lake, my life jacket does not glow;
however I grow in sensation; I float upright.
We are the rests between notes. We dote on
the inky calm, not a mere closure of lids; liars,
those pair of skin divers, that blink away shine.
Sans shadows, peaking at the sublimity of time.
Sweet silence!
late in life
I discover earplugs
my wife’s pastel plugs
that fill the ear canal
by compressing for insertion
and expanding once in place
One mauve one sepia
no lawnmowers, no leafblowers
wood chippers or persistent phoebes
water to the thirsty traveler
morphine to the cancer
better than knee surgery
or a negotiated end to the war
Such silence is so sweet
I might try blindness too
like Homer, Borges, Milton
just kidding, should there be a god listening
the veil of life is thin
if one doesn’t believe in mystery
or accepts the rules entirely
One green one brown
two leaves sleep-touching
then a breeze!
the day I left life behind
hitchhiking as the sun descends
morning air cold and clear
I cannot hear what I cannot see
The freedom of summer gone
one more season (and one more after that)
he lived with one eye after that
in a mind there is apocalypse
no one can hear it
but one day you die
and this is the ideal silence you sought
Silence of winter
one elk in aspen
mountains of dark sound
and a stream’s breath song
cities make a silent distant din
with simple joy men may give up desiring to be heard
how much tinnitus can you handle
Graceful as silence
sailing through the ferns and understory
why make a sound or noise or do anything to the page
the national debate
garrulous, querulous
the sound of shoulders shrugging
speech, none, you can’t sum it up in one more metaphor
Censor crop shorten and silence
no tv!, no self-pity
first light, green tea
no sound but wind
yet the sound still comes out of the flowers
smoke the cigarette, sound the subwoofer
and prepare for a powerful anesthesia
Writing in her, warn and atristic, cozy den.
Coffee, Muse, thesaurus and her always flowing pen.
Outside, rowdy protestors chanted for equality!
Burning down businesses ..after all, it was for free!
She wrote of sparkling galaxies and outstanding stars.
But not the policemen killed in front of bars?
As the sun did set, Cinderella wrote of aromatic roses.
But not once, never, of the innocents with broken noses.
Our Cinderella wore earplugs to quell sounds of first responders.
After all, who wants to know of liberty's loss, she pathetically ponders!
3/5/2021
~1~