Long Old codger Poems
Long Old codger Poems. Below are the most popular long Old codger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old codger poems by poem length and keyword.
Where are my old white corsets
Right next to your candy cigarettes
Hey! We didn't get today's edition of 'Grit'
It's canceled. They use bad words now like 'Guck' and 'Spit'
Oh, and I can't seem to find my orange Pez dispenser
I threw it out. They've proved that Pez causes cancer
By the way, have you seen the Sunday funnies
They're a no-go, ever since they canceled 'Pogo'
You know I've got two tickets for the Brooklyn Dodgers
Ha, ha, ha! Even Sandy Koufax is just an old codger
Then I'm going cruising in my new Studebaker
--with that benchwarmer from the Minneapolis Lakers?
Before I forget, don't throw away my bottle of royal blue ink
Ball point pens been around since '38, sister, even in pink
So you shan't think me old-fashioned, I just bought a brand-new TV!
-Yeah, a nine-inch black-and-white with vacuum tubes that smile at me
But I paid for it with five million Wheaties box tops!
That's crazy... I think I'll start collecting used lemon drops...
An old codger who farted a lot -
of good etiquette didn’t know squat.
When I met him, his nose
started running. He chose
his new shirt to wipe off all the snot!
Well, a nitpicker also was he,
and I mean it quite literally.
He was picking his zits
as he also picked nits
from hair, lice-infested and filthy.
With no 'shilly-shallying', I
backed away from that creepy old guy,
and I nearly threw up
being offered a cup
of his coffee. On top was a fly!
*Gnalsmoob, my poem's title, is a word new to me.
(from Urban Dictionary): A gnalsmoob is anything, particularly
a person or creature, that is completely and totally disgusting,
repulsive or revolting. Also, Gnalsmoob is boomslang, a type of
venomous snake, spelled backwards, perhaps because a gnalsmoob
is so ugly its appearance stings your eyes like venom.
Just received a message of love
From a dear sweet soul on the Soup
It blew me away brought a tear to my eye
To feel such love whatta a hoot
These friendships here are quite common
The Soup is a place of goodwill
Where all can express our deepest feelings
Where our dreams are all fulfilled
The day I joined, I had no idea
What was in store for this old codger
What a super delight it's turned out to be
Each day it's a real heart stopper
In my retirement years it's a real blessing
To have such a great group of friends
To connect and know that love is waiting
What a great way my hours to spend
All I can say is “long live the Soup!”
May it flourish for many years to come
To know there are so many adorable people
It's the greatest feeling bar none
Get thee hence! Get thee hence!
Away the riffraff from my fence
Ye've rattled window and rattled doors
Till there's no peace upon the moors
The hallowed folk have left their graves
To rid themselves these noisome knaves
The tyrants peal rings through my head
Till any room for thought is dead
I'd rid myself this fearsome bane
If I had not a limp and cane
Yet wield do I that wood in vain
For the blighters to abstain
Their laughter loud begins to boil
Not troubled they at all my toil
Surrender I with naught a choice
For it seems I've lost my voice
I must placate them one and all
Returning to them their playball
For a man of my age, I should no longer dream
Of pretty young fillies, quite naughty it seems
We don't lose the joy to gawk and to stare
When the sweet scent of female fills up the air
Sure hope I don't lose it, this wonderful feeling
While sneakily snatching a look I am stealing
Girls are aware of the scene they're creating
Of many great memories this sight is relating
The happiest times when we all were much younger
These precious memories haven't lost their thunder
When seeing an old codger hardly able to walk
Still straining his eyes, to stare and to gawk
That primordial instinct is never far away
It still hangs around till our very last day
So all my buckaroonies please do take heart
At one hundred years old it can still joy impart
Trust me I'm honest as the day is long
Life still keeps singing its same old sweet song
Obsessed... I guess you could say that I am
Gonna keep on a-gawking for as long as I can
© Jack Ellison 2015
Telephone / Gossip
Written: by a Grouchy Old Codger
1/7/2014
There’s an individual who calls each day,
To reach out and touch he does his best.
Whether we’re at home or have gone away,
He calls, and calls, making himself a pest.
At morning he often calls before eight,
Sometimes from bed he causes Ern to rise;
Or after I’m in bed and it’s grown late,
Upon grabbing the phone, surprise, surprise.
Instructions are don’t call, before or past nine,
And it’s never about anything that would matter.
But I suspect he knows it induces my whine,
It’s just more have you heard or idle chatter.
I’ll lift the receiver and place it back down,
But he’s spreading the gossip causing undue fears.
He don’t get my message, I get lecture and frown,
While he, like an intercom, repeats all he hears.
He’s the last call at night and first each morn,
I cherish AM quiet time and start my day slow.
So he’s as annoying to me as a stuck car horn,
And nothing has happened that he needs to know.
I know his isolation/loneliness is what’s at stake,
But truth is I’m sick of being his phone call dodger.
As I search for solutions to my getting a break,
I’m on my soapbox becoming a grouchy old codger.
Ern has a Cell phone that’s her emergency tool,
Not for toll free calls seemingly coming at will.
Nor is it loaded with Apps that make her drool,
It’s just used for talking not texting that pill.
I wonder why everybody felt the need,
to express their opinions so openly,
about this man who had the misfortune to die.
I watched them slowly strolling past the casket,
like they were shopping for fruit at the market,
I wondered why some of them felt the need to cry..
There were a few folks braver than the rest,
who touched his hand or patted him on the chest,
whispering that now he is in a better place.
Doesn’t he look nice and so peaceful.” they all said,
one lady even kissed him on his forehead,
he looks so natural with that smile on his face.
When it came my turn to look over the side,
my excitement faded and to my surprise,
because to me the old codger just looked dead.
When your stretched out in your casket I suppose.
that’s probably the way that it always goes,
too look like you’re sound asleep at home in your bed.
Opposites attract I've heard it said
A saying from way back yonder
What draws us together no one knows
It sure makes all of us ponder
Sweeter than chocolate candy you are
I'm a mean and cranky old codger
We even cheer for two different teams
The Yankees and the LA Dodgers
Don't know how we ever hooked up
Compatibility is not our thing
Somehow when all the chips are down
Our two hearts in unison sing
Our musical tastes are sure not the same
Mine's more cultured by choice
I listen to Bach and Ludwig Beethoven
You listen to Vanilla Ice
But through it all, the pros and cons
We've kept our flame aglow
Way down deep under the surface
Seeds of our true love still grow
© Jack Ellison 2013
I Stare in the Mirror
I stare in the mirror and what do I see?
An old man with rheumy eyes looking at me.
Who is this old codger, this balding old shell,
Who cannot remember what it’s like to feel well?
Where is the vibrance, the get up and go?
Why are his movements so painful and slow?
Who stole his glowing skin, his dark flashing eyes,
His derring-do, courage, his sense of emprise?
What happened to big ideas? Future? Ambition?
Why do his joints fight a war of attrition?
Why can he see clearly adolescence long past,
When he cannot remember the thing he ate last?
It doesn’t make sense, I don’t recognise him,
With his belly and baldness and weakness of limb.
No! That mirror’s a liar, whatever I see.
Whoever that old man is, he can’t be me!
When traveling a stretch of life's highway
Does it feel like it's uphill both ways?
Does it feel like winter's twelve months long?
Do you work like a dog for small pay?
Well welcome to a newly formed club
The Association of Chronic Bellyachers
We meet every Thursday at the crack of dawn
We're a bunch of cranky “whine” makers
No grins, guffaws, or laughter allowed
Could be thrown out on your rear
We've a couple of burly guards at the door
Wearing scowls from ear to ear
So if there's really nothing that bugs you
You ain't welcome at one of our meetings
Especially if you're really content with your life
You could even end up with a beating
We take this bellyaching seriously you know
It's developed into a new kind of art
The technique we've developed is really simple
Happiness never invades our heart
Now, if the real truth of the matter be known
With tongue planted firmly in my cheek
I'm really this sweet, kind hearted old codger
Never gripes, never lets out a peep!