Q: What would Roy Rogers have been called if he had been a singing farmer?
A: King of the Plowboys.
Q: In the Beowulf saga, who was a male child of the hag Grendel?
A: A real sonofawitch.
Q: What's the slogan for an ad campaign for a certain fabric in Copenhagen?
A: "Something is cotton in the state of Denmark".
Q: What is fear of joining a fitness club?
A: Gymtimidation.
Q: When she worked onstage in a comedy, what could actress Elaine do for an audience?
A: Keep it in Stritches.
Q: What might you call the LGBT version of the glass slipper story?
A: "Transgenderella".
Q: Also for theatre and film buffs--What would you call public transportation in a ghost town?
A: A streetcar named Bizarre.
Q: Why did the man tell the 911 operator to please send help quickly when his spouse appeared to be choking?
A: It was a matter of wife or death.
Q: What is someone who hitchhikes across the country studying different dialects?
A: A roads scholar.
Q: How did the Glasgow "Evening Times" reporter headline the story of the party boat that sank after hitting an iceberg?
A: Scots on the rocks!
Continuous sobering thought crippling me :
' Seven hundred thirty six million
women, means almost one In every three'
are vulnerable to molestation.
Most shocking Global Statistics to mention :
A nasty ruthless truth , hard to believe !
Is this progress of civilization ?
With respect and peace how can women live ?
Sexual , also physical violence
by intimate partner or non partner :
Thirty percent women experience.
Sexual harrasment to count later.
Where lies remedy ! What's the solution ?
' Woman to respect and protect always.'
From very childhood, male child to learn
' That's prime duty of man ' ! I must say..
To honour a woman at every step
should be a perfect Man's priority.
Sure, this moral concept will prevent rape
building a happy healthy society.
Toothless mouth, dying grey hair
Will never be my deepest fear.
Hunched shoulders, a third foot
Are not the shadows I dread.
Will my conscience serve me right
For the life I've lived?
The opportunities I let slip
Will they haunt me in old age?
I fear not living alone
But will I be remembered when I'm gone?
Will my name grace the list
When a male child is born?
My fear is never death
For I've long lived with failing health.
My fear is guilt consuming me—
How will I ease that burden?
Samuel saw her screaming for help in the sea.
Esta failed to save her friend who was drowning
And some people could make fun of the victims.
Two brave men by the seashore jumped Into the sea
to rescue them, as they were in the harzardous
zone of sharks and some dangerous reptiles.
They succeeded to bring them to the seaside
and managed to organize some hot coffee
and tea for them in few minutes.
Esta and her friend thanked Samuel and his friend
for assisting them when some other people wished
their death into clear blue water.
Their friendships turned into love after some weeks.
Samuel came to love Esta so much and they decided
to live togather as wife and husband.
So their parents met to discuss about the dowry.
Everything was concluded according to their culture
and traditions, then they married traditionally.
so their dream of living together fulfilled.
A year later , they got a male child and named
him" Remembrance."
To express how he got a wife of his choice
through assisting some desperate women in the Sea.
April 08/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Constance la France
Theme: SEA
At six months old dada were the first words
to ever leave my mouth
His name in Hebrew is "son of my right hand"
He is the Boaz to my mother
and the Abraham to my sister and I
He sacrificed his need for higher education
and passed on the torch to me instead
He is both a phenomenal writer
and nature enthusiast just as I am
He missed an opportunity for my mother
to bear him a son from the seed of her womb
but I am positive that if I would bare a male child
He will form an indestructible bond
and cherish him as the son he never had
My father could've been deceased or disowned me
like those of many of my friends and acquaintances
but today he is alive with his soul
filled with health and joy
and always remain faithful to his family
like the lion of his jungle
Although his own father is resting at the gates of heaven
he will always have us
and his spiritual Father on the throne
watching over him day in and day out
The Goddess of Death (completely made up! for contest)
in the new of days
when man was
but a first of
the new things
for the gods
to play with
a male child was
to be born
and many gods
look and gave
gifts to the unborn
children to be born
of man
were loved
as any new toy
is first loved
but this was the first
for Apollo
Apollo, the god of light,
gave the child
three gifts
one golden string
of light
to change his hair
to the color of shining gold
so that the top
of his head
could be always
seen by the heavens
two drops of
Heavens blue waters
dropped in each of his eyes
to calm even the
roughest of seas
three small whisper
placed on his hart
and his feet and last
in his ear
so that if he listens
he could hear
and win all that
he faced
as man grow
life was easy
until
his love grew old
he made a plan
and to set a trap
to keep
his love near
and trapped
the lovely dark goddess
with his very own whispers
and did just as they commanded
now that she was trapped
he could make a deal
it is said no
two love
may ever
walk hand
in hand to the gates of
heaven
again
for this very reason
Nothing like Diabetes!
Roger has been quite at ease:
A Devoted Yam Planter,
Who stops to drink Sweet Fanta,
To Raw Energy increase
And Fine Harvest not decrease…
Fairy Tale Diabetes!
Roger’s breaths not in wheezes.
He had, too, been on Quanta;
A Sure Double Strength Granter;
You won’t Helping Hands tell “Please!”
How would it get in: Disease?
Roger too is a Rice Planter,
Who work suspends for Granta:
A drink for Clearest Vision,
Against all Mind Division
That would breed Plain Confusion;
Male Child gives after Fusion
Low Sperm Count Quick Revision…
Fanta has results produced,
Granta more intake induced;
Nothing like Diabetes!
A Paul, too, has been at ease!
A mother lives for her only child,
Even The Decidedly Tiger-Wild
Her son’s unspeakable action mild,
Though a whole town has been beguiled.
A mother exalts her only child:
Never ‘The Ragamuffin’ styled,
Believing no of case filed;
The Crime Crackers numbers dialed:
Her son who‘d’ portrayed no candle
Nor his headache could handle,
Her daughter liable to wrangle
Because of an unreachable bangle.
A mother could tears check for her son,
Whose savagery had shone;
For her intractable male child
Whose rape cases have high piled!
At the birth of every male child,
At his hair-cutting event styled,
At first birth-celebrations wild;
At his sister's ear-ring pomp, mild,
At school when their admissions filed,
Blasts the crumb, whole soul forces, piled...!
When enjoying a silent sleep,
When solemn meditation keep,
When, within, alone, cry or weep;
When as rituals blind-faiths, seep,
When in farms rich harvest we reap,
Roars the crumb of drum like bomb-heap...!
When boys go mystic in playground,
When girls hysterically bound,
When kith-and-kin awe-filled surround;
When moralists sow seeds so sound,
When, wildest of the wild gets crowned,
Booms crumbs of music; all get drowned...!
At great festivals of marriage,
At bride-groom's glamour-horse carriage,
At bride's courtyard like effleurage;
At death, with mourning, like steerage,
At mingle of broods like peerage,
Cracks crumbs with fullest coverage...
Crumb, for us, is not bomb or shell,
Nor any grand ancient witch-spell,
Nor blast of some planets far dwell;
It’s, loud noise pollution, like hell,
That, in truth, is a rude death-knell,
Though we cherish it like church-bell...
19 January 2022
Every male child is a good cyclist,
Their rugged terrains toughening his wrist;
Some of them my students in the morning!
Not one of them a conceivable cripple,
All on purpose, Unstoppable People;
Their roads after rains remain slippery,
But Riding Philemon wouldn’t be jittery.
Their sons are all briefed about their palaver,
None could cry if one turned a cadaver;
To battle fronts marching without a boot
And still their enemies dropping with cock-and-shoot;
Those behind their burnt houses and deserted ones,
Their buildings with roofs that forfeited them at once;
Where for the first time a teacher ate Snake
And discovered that it was another cake!
7th December 2010:
Right now, he is eyeing another ten!
The not-true that may from lips spring
And in nearby and far-off ears ring;
Usually saving an innocent skin,
Scarcely for this reason a sin;
With usable sounds and alphabets
The trapped setting free from nets:
The midwives avowals to infanticide pharaoh
To reverse a male child murder show
Our false assurances to The-Much-Worried
About their Now-Dead-Once-Sick
So that they too wont be buried
From the wounds of the truth we lick….
From a wise wife of an alcoholic
To his friends visiting for a frolic,
Hundred percent sure that he was indoors,
Of his having just left for a good cause:
A timely frustration of killing glasses of whisky
Or the throat-burning gin no less risky:
From the heavens, Gods wave of Approving Hands
His singers angels, eyes for their bands.
An old Asian named Asheet Midrawz
Pooped himself; then discovered the cause
Eating too many plums
Gave poor Asheet the runs
His wife loves him despite all his flaws!
*Asheet is a genuine Christian name whilst the rest of the poem is fiction
BY JAN ALLISON
Asheet Midrawz had a problem for sure
When he couldn't open the toilet door
He let out a wail
His wife grabbed a pail
Been used for bleach now his rump is so sore
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Asheet I've heard has got the runs
Dripping down from his wretched buns
And his wife Pu Phlung
Of his troubles sung
A little ditty and some cracking puns
BY TIM SMITH
Asheet married when he was young
His beloved’s name is Pu Phlung
When they had male child
His grandparent’s went wild
As they christened the baby Dung
BY JAN ALLISON - INSPIRED BY TIM'S POEM!
Little boy Dung was a bit of a chunk
Made a kerplop when the vicar did dunk
Water all about
Poor Pu did shout
Because the whole congregation now stunk!
BY TIM SMITH
10-13-17
Amusing is easy. Real is impossible.
March 23, 1949 I arrived to spectacular reviews.
When I was first male child things went swimmingly!
Passed around to waiting, loving arms was a delight.
It wasn't too long before I wore out my welcome.
My father was a war hero, a bomber pilot who escaped
from behind enemy lines when shot down over France.
I interrupted his adulation and he was none too pleased.
Pilots took speed to fly many long missions; addicted.
He was a loving and angry man. I never knew which and
I grew into boyhood balanced upon a precarious blade.
I learned to be a jester and leave them laughing and
that worked until it didn't and then all bets were off!
Beat me and I'll beg for mercy. Scream at me and I cringe.
Send me to my barren room. Threaten me with all you've got,
and all I'll do is bide time and amuse you back to my will.
Laughter is the best medicine. Let's resume a "normal" life.
You senselessly hurt me,
Then, demand I do not cry.
You frustrate me,
Then, unsympathetically punish my display of anger.
You ridicule me,
Then, taunt me when I strive
to win your approval.
You swear long-standing tribal love and protection,
Then, crush my small, unprotected heart with indifference.
You set impossible goals,
Then, painstakingly dismantle my ego.
You demonstrate blatant distain,
Then, draw me inside your dark, secret circle.
You demand the obscene use of my disarmoured sheath,
Then, discard the confused Soul indwelling.
Who taught you how to love on the Dark Side?
Were you not once also a child,
Alone, and frightened in the whispering darkness?
Did you not once also smile, laugh and sing?
Who taught you to hide your innocence,
In the filmy guise of unrequited bravery?
A male child cries hauntingly,
In the background of my dreams.
If children learn what they live,
Who taught you to love on the Dark Side?
All over the house I find
Bits of Christmas left behind.
Crumbles from the Christmas bread
Dropped by little ones as they fed.
Each memento brings a tear
For Christmas is gone for another year.
Glad tidings from the Christmas choir
Have been like wrappings, tossed on fire.
If I could turn back time, I would,
Just for more Christmas if I could.
Kings knelt before the new born boy,
Love filled sweet Mary's heart with joy.
Mooing cattle looked with awe.
None would forget the scenes they saw.
Peeling bells in triumph rang,
Overhead the angels sang.
Quite rapidly the news was spread,
Reporting on Babe in the hay bed.
Shepherds gazed at Child with awe,
Told to others what they saw.
Until Herod spilled his harsh words out,
Vowing to kill each male child about.
When parents gathered the Child and fled,
X rays would have found no Babe in bed.
Years have passed and details grow dim.
zealously we tell the tale of Him.
January 10, 2016
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