Long Lickety split Poems
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Christmas roses are red, and violets are so very blue…
Dear Santa. We love our dear Dragon and hope you do, too.
Nightly, visions of colors dance round and round his big bed.
As delusions of grandeur… continuously dance in his head.
For him sugar plums dance swirling, in dreams oh… so… sweet.
As you know… that tomorrow will bring a new, disastrous treat.
But this is the nighttime, as he lays snuggly, sleeping in his bed.
Honestly don’t worry! For the moment, there’s nothing to dread.
See how he looks, like a sweet heart, innocent, while cozy in bed.
But to be truthful, to help Santa, This year like promised and said…
We gave Dragon… Just a few of those wee, little knockout drops.
Now Santa‘s coming, lickety split! We’re ready, here, like on a military op.
No fricasseed Santa, will happen this night, during Santa’s great yearly flight.
Last year was an accident, we swear! It was little Dragons 1st Christmas night.
When he's excited, he tends to throw fire, through the air, like a son of a gun!
We told you to run, not goo and make cutesy faces, after all he was only one!
And truth to be told, those strange faces on anyone would scare him, we fear!
To make matters more clear, we copied our book, on Dragon etiquette, Dear!
We sent it to the North Pole, and a fire retardant suit, in red, made just, for you.
Don’t lift the face plate, on top of the suit, hair singes fast, to blackened soot!
Suddenly, Santa’s sleigh on the rooftop did land, and he was there within a blink.
Last on his list, it was close to the morn, he wanted to meet Dragon, he thinks.
Entering the room, over a penguin he fell, and landed face down on Dragon.
Dragon woke up and gave Santa a hug, as a new story for Christmas was born.
Now all is well, after Santa was gone. For he got to meet the first Dragon child…
In a thousand years or more, and thankfully Dragon behaved as he smiled…
Two icons in life finally did meet, then they went off to Church and back again.
Now, don’t be surprised, such things can happen, on a day where miracles reign.
All had a great Christmas with reindeer, Santa, Trolls, penguins and Dragon.
Can’t ask for more, at Christmas time, where Jesus in our minds, shines on
So have some good cheer and like Dragon and Santa, together, lets celebrate…
You should know, by now, it’s never too late to participate…The End!
Lickety-split, I sit up and look at the clickety clock,
oh my gosh, why am I lollygagging in this cozy bed;
I am going to be so late for dance class, I better skedaddle,
so I canoodle my cats (hugs and kiss that is);
and like a flash I am out of bed!
Oh dear, what a rigmarole of unnecessary complexity,
I run to the kitchen and open a tin of, oh so stinky fish;
for the fur balls, (no accounting for taste,) my tummy rumbles,
I dress in my pink dance pants, brush my teeth;
I look in the mirror, holy macaroni!
I was going to wash the mop last night but didn't,
oh well, the flat iron turns me into a Cleopatra star;
then, I look outside, snow, lots of snow, blast I need boots,
oh yes under the bed where I flung them;
what a stupid kerfuffle!
Walking to dance, a bus sprays with me with slush,
darn nincompoop, I am thinking to myself and then;
a loud honk, and a car roars pass me, I almost have a stroke,
I finally make it and the receptionist says- cancelled,
cancelled, oh la-di-la, that's great!
I am walking back home when I step into a deep puddle,
and my feet are now soaking wet, I am just exhausted;
I will crawl back into my bed for a snoozle I say to me self,
but I am waylaid by my old fuddy-duddy neighbor;
dearie,(she whips out a grocery list)!
You know, I cannot walk in the snow, meantime her cat,
a fat Persian rubs my legs and I have fur from knees down;
but what can a girlie do, I turn around and hocus-pocus its done,
finally, I am standing in my bedroom all tatterdemalion,
like a child in rags, I feel like weeping!
And then I notice the collywobbles in my tummy,
like butterflies swirling, and then a great rumbling;
oh, damnation, I need something to eat, so I gongoozle,
stare that is, into the refrigerator, close the door, slam;
and grab a handful of cockamamie cookies!
_________________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Lickety-Split
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-18-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , Any Poem Written in January 2017
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
I WISH I WEREN’T A BUNNY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I never wanted to be a bunny, I’m not playing this game
I’d reconsider a puma: a lion with a frightening mane
But that’s not my fate, I’m a bunny, a defenseless toy
Other creatures have fangs, claws; they can deploy
I have no defensive arms for use in personal defense
Why nature created a sitting duck, just makes no sense
My choice would be the fiercest critter ever seen
Yep, you got the picture, the ferocious wolverine
Indian lore says, one could cause a village to vacate
Moving in on his territory was a fatal mistake
He’d come after you, if on horse back or if on foot
He’d destroy your tepees and lodges all gone, kaput
But alas, that’s not me: in spite of what I’d like to be
I’m a bunny with soft fur, that’s something we all can see
I have soft long ears, and a wiggly waggely tail
A cute sniffing nose, my gifted maneuvers never fail
Maybe for you, but doesn’t satisfy my lifelong dream
I’m a ferocious beast inside willing to dominate the scene
Mother nature could have given me more traits to bear
Like those big hind legs and speed she gave to the hare
Or a cotton tail that can avoid danger by simply leaping
I spend the day, daydreaming or silently sleeping
But all in all; the object of my wishes and self esteem
Is to wake up tomorrow in the body of a wolverine
Each day when I open my eyes, it’s the same old story
My status hasn’t changed, I’m the example of lonely
When I first arrived every body came over to see me
I was the new thing on the block a real live novelty
But as time progressed visitors were fewer in number
Reducing my activities to intermittent slumber
Bunny (2)
I can’t complain I have fresh vegetables every day
And usually some company, if the kids decide to play
But I’m a one man show unable to live up to my reputation
As a prolific contributor in expanding the population
Each night I pray when I wake a willing doe will appear
I know she is somewhere but unfortunately, not here
In a dream the other night, I was lightening quick
Instead of hippity n hopping, I was lickety split
Those wishes that constantly flood my senses
Doused by the existence of surrounding fences
I’ll just have to accept my lot, be docile, not mean
But between you and I, I’d rather be a wolverine
You think you're Godzilla
but you're just a Gorilla,
that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea,
my skin colours vanilla
my skills are killa and real
you're run of the mill, a fail
can't you tell you didn't do well,
that Kartel manure smell
of Kountry music don't sell,
a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor
in a field riding a wrecked tractor,
tracks that no mind will capture,
you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer
with poor rhyming from your core
the fact is you naturally bore,
getting done by amateurs
that means s**t for sure and below my stature,
take a step back and see the big picture,
there's no record label coming for your signature,
you should turn around and head for the door
and not turn this battle rap into a war,
snore, pass out snore music,
20 years and there's still no use for it,
your rhymes are insignificant
your average skill's no different
stop thinking you're magnificent
and realise you're just a hunt.
Yet you think you're good,
umm missing a nail or screw
let's face facts your music is poo,
can you not make a beat with flow?
Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low
through ignorance your skill's seen no grow,
so excuse my rant but your music is pants,
professional status, you've got no clucking chance.
You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written
lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit
with whatever you pick
to pull out your bag of tricks
because I'll make it unstick
quicker than thumbs can click through your music,
making videos in which you go on the phone,
cliche prone, stereotype replica
look at ya forever inferior,
making out you've golden interior,
but Postman Pat out delivers letters
and is better with more under the hat
you've empty space where your brain sat,
writing rubbish, getting fat,
one year in I'm getting published
you skank like a grandad with one wish
you long to be served a contract,
take note of the situation
you've been rhyming for a generation,
and you'll never be a sensation,
just a symbol of humiliation,
........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks,
while the rest of us just think he's bollocks.
That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you.
Over and out, they call me Sue.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
1. A lion with promiscuous abilities
and nothing mind numbling about
his irresistible showcase
to become an indignation in the lips of many.
My indifference is no reason for an outburst
cos hey! I still don’t really know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
2. You insist to be an unnecessary vinaigrette
when my life is already appetizing.
You willingly showed me your downfalls
and your success stories
of expelling life’s expectorates,
all to add a rouge to my radiance.
No hurry boy! You’ve trawled,
so give me time to know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
3. I’m sober to the brewery of your affection
and to your charm, I am a free born.
Your energy packed efforts
embolden my mind to tame the heart.
A warm handshake
does not get an embrace in a lickety-split.
Don’t expect my compromise straight away
b’cos I still don’t know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
4. A sexy eye can be weaponized
each of its blink can shoot selfish bullets
an inviting heart may be hospitable
so I don’t want to ride
an expensive Jalopy once again.
You’re sweet and nice
but I won’t fall for a lickspittle
thus, allow me get to know you more.
Chorus x 2 [Normal key] x 2 [higher key]
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
Enervated and energized after cold shower
the perfect tonic to gin body though o'clock
wee hours August thirty one two thousand
nineteen - natural buzz to stave off relished
sleep, thus refueled with zest able to chop
chop thru printed material (dictionary seat
of pants newpage turner with a-z characters)
and no crock, but refreshing douse of chill
kept mien ole body electric able to dial back
feeling akin to soap bar man tiredness life
came to buoy quite some hours with joy de
vivre vigor analogous to morning dove (or as
if submerged smooth as ivory into Irish Spring),
until... bubbliness peaked than plunged yours
truly into fast shuteye descent lulled into land
o' dreams courtesy double fan tussy "white
noise," until I awoke with a start, (albeit heavy
grogginess clinging fast - thick spidery whirled
wide cob webbed glommed threads) unable to
offset toe tilly stark realization bare little feet
(plaintively oinking higglety pigglety) felt like
ice cubes, whereby skimpy blanket inadequate
to allow, enable, and provide adequate quality
sleep, hence inspiration piqued to attempt cob
bullying poem gifted (thank you watermelon
pickle) despite raggedy state, not optimal state
string words together rendering sense and cents
ability birthing feeble attempt to sweat out small
medium thoughts lodged within fifty plus shades
gray atrophied matter - begetting literary stillborn
whereby intensive care unit medical team resorted
to heroic measures applying revolutionary punk
chew weighted equilibrium until state of the art
poetic license intervention wrought sudden jaw
dropping miracle – whipped courtesy last ditch
Shakespearean divine resuscitation, (plus all the
king's men and all the king's horses) rendered
dead as a doornail absolute zero metaphoric
lifeless limp bizkit verse, neither lickety split
rhyme nor reason could explain tectonic shift
witnessing pluperfect (donned with little non hex
pence booties) manifestation vital signs, but
metered metrical blue feet in toto - oz needed
close monitoring to ward off 10,000 maniacs.
In eighteen hundred ninety-three,
back in those silver-mining days,
a figure walked into Aspen town,
and it was the devil they say,
come looking for new souls to take.
He didn’t look like you would think,
the first time he appeared.
He was dressed like any old cow-poke,
and spend hours in saloons drinking beer,
a rough figure, but not much to fear.
They say he spoke with some miners,
and stirred up their jealousy.
Got them so mad they burned the house
of their foreman Bud McKenzie.
That night all heard poor Bud scream.
Most folk would’ve written if off
as drunken fools losing their heads.
But in the firelight dozens saw
the devil’s face shift, and grow red,
his sick laugh filling folk with dread.
He vanished that night, and for two days
things seemed to return to form.
But then he appeared as a three-year old
in young Maggie Delgado’s arms,
and she did not seem too alarmed.
She didn’t know her baby lay dead
her body left in the woods for the crows.
The devil took her form and that morning
went everywhere Maggie would go,
‘till ‘she’ jumped down and ran in the road.
Maggie cried out and ran for ‘her,’
when a horse came riding, lickety-split
It slammed into Maggie, trampled her down,
heavy hooves ending her in a lick.
The rider looked down, and was sick.
And then in the street many did see,
Maggie’s daughter grown rather tall.
Transforming into the unknown cowboy
who had lead the foreman to his fall.
He laughed again, having a ball.
Folks started to panic, leaving town,
a few stayed and found the sherriff.
Abner Gidden was his full name
a middle-aged man of quick wits,
would not sit still and put up with this.
He went to a priest of Catholic faith,
who instructed him to God to pray.
He spent a whole day seeking advise,
while many in town fled away,
to be free of the devil’s sick games.
When Abner emerged, he headed up
the slopes of Ajax with his gun.
Spent the day searching abandoned shafts
looking for perdition’s dark son.
Then at nightfall, he found the right one...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Dragon went to the mailbox this morn,
And he came excitedly flying back, yes, toward the house…
So Now, you should… be doubly, doubly, doubly forewarned.
Yep! Now, you GOTTA know… We’re in for a LOT of ensuing chaos!
Yes, He had a letter addressed to him…
With a smile on his face and a letter in his hand…
And what, you ask, had him wearing, such bubbly, bubbly, bubbly grin?
He’s going, this year, to the Fireman Competition, and held the invite so grand!
By Now, you must know, such excitement, so fine…
As usual, made his fire to run, run, run… onto the letter in hand…
And that Date, and the Time? You know, that fire? Well… never mind!
Thought this would slow Dragon? No way! He’s ready, now, for that Laurel Strand.
He flew to the Firehouse, lickety- split…
Crashing into the fire truck, giving it a broken axel and 4 tires flat, flat, flat!
Leaving his head, stuck, solidly, through the window, into the trucks cockpit…
Fortunately, out ran the fire chief, to organize the rescue, of our little dingbat…
When NOTHING ELSE would work, all the firemen…
Put their feet on the door, grabbing Dragon, and they pulled, pulled, pulled!
Finally, it took old Grandpa Troll to pull his head out, by taking the door off…
And then breaking the door apart! My! What a day, I must say, THIS had been!
Then next week’s competition was explained…
As a Charity Event to enhance and outfit their old faithful fire truck!
Now a little rescue practice will never, never, ever… it’s ascertained…
Ever be turned down! And Oh My! And Oh Well! What’s that truck worth?
That is… compared to our klutzy, little clown…
Grandpa Troll donated repairs as Dragon worked it off, day after day, after day.
My Moral is: If great you will be, then mistakes will be made along the way…
As you walk to your destiny, don’t despair; just keep going to your brighter days…
Written By Carol Eastman 5-19-2016
In the cold of the morn with a crisp cloudy day…
A flat tire assailed a young girl, as she went on her way.
Young and full of life but definitely overwhelmed…
She was late for work and her husband had just nearly died.
She sat in her car, sniffling, worrying, and crying some wails.
She’d never changed a tire, a young husband always there.
But hurt he’d become, and in the hospital now remained…
It was up to her, suddenly alone, to make things right again.
She fretfully tried AAA but the wrong number was wrung…
Till Old Granny Goodness appeared with hope, and some fun.
She quickly got her out of the car, and found everything there.
Explaining what to do, Granny decided to entertain with flair.
Together they’d use a spare tire to fix that rickety old car.
They figured out the jack and successfully lifted the car.
But lug nuts are hard and need strength to unleash…
So granny fussed and she bug-tussled but never gave up
Till the young girl laughing, knew what she must do herself…
Grabbing deep into her courage, she ran into the QT for help.
Sure enough, a worker volunteered to help that sweet young thing out.
And the lug nuts came off lickety-split with laughter on top.
The young man was gracious, and ever so kind and…
Yes, he finished the job with his best smile and in record time
And of course he helped put everything away, too, you can bet…
He even helped Old Granny Goodness up off the ground where she sat.
Then with a salute and fare thee well, he went back inside…
While Old Granny Goodness, and the girl put air in the tires.
By now the girl was the lead in the work as she smiled and laughed…
She was empowered; you know… there’s nothing wrong with that.
Yes, the world was saved as all found their way home, with a wink, at last.
Yes, with gratitude, a hug, and a smile… many a way can be found again.
Contest:Write me a Happy Poem 10-31-2011 CSEastman
There’s a little known fact about the North Pole.
Now Santa’s a Dragon, you really should know.
Now think about this and it will become clear.
Santa, like Dragons, is so very magical my dear.
In the very least, Santa has to be… at least partly so.
He’s just a SNOW Dragon, now wouldn’t you know?
He only comes south… in the deepest of wintertime.
And he brings along the snow for good girls and boys.
Now, I wouldn’t lie! I know… that honestly, it’s true!
I call him the Solstice Santa; for he brings winter, its true!
Think! Who brings those sleds when you’re snug in bed?
It’s the Dragon reindeer… Who can fly, high thru the air!
Now, think my dear friend… and you will know that it’s so.
Who loves havoc more, than a mischievous Dragon’s soul?
How come there’s always snow, as they land on your roof?
Because Snow Dragons can breath snow… Lickety Split!
And Dragons love fun… so here come all those Great toys.
Yep, they, too, were made by mischievous, DRAGON guys!
And just where, do you think, my Dragon egg came from?
Grandpa Troll came south, with it, yep, from the North Pole!
When Dragon is grown… Where do you think he wants to go?
Naturally, first North, to visit Dragon Santa, at the North pole.
Gee, the world is spinning, and Grandpa Troll is laughing, too!
No! Say it isn’t true! Grandpa Troll? Did you spike the eggnog?
Again this year? Well, it WAS a beautiful dream… That’s true!
And Merry Christmas, out there, to all you wonderful, You’s!!
Written 12-8-2014 by Carol Eastman It's Iambic something...
Don't know iambic what... Can you guys help me here? What would
you call it?