Guess Who,
One Clue,
Old As Dirt,
Sometimes Curt.
Tom’s Opinion
1/13/2021
She preaches forgiveness and promotes divisiveness,
and isn’t plagued In her purpose by indecisiveness.
She’s had years of practice at spewing false claims,
A partisan politician who excels in fanning flames.
Any articles of impeachment she’s not apt to table,
and disagreeing with her, gets some west coast label.
It’s said when she gets mad she can throw a hissyfit,
and even if somethings good she still wouldn’t like it.
If found on her bad side she’s not slow to lambaste,
and like Churchill “she never lets a crisis go to waste.”
She’s like a bulldog in a hay barn taking a breather,
she won’t eat the hay and won’t let others eat it either.
Well how do you feel, now that you're over the hill
you know that you're now well past your prime
happy birthday to you, I wish you fifty more too
but remember, fifty years is quite a long time.
You're feeling as old as dirt, every body part hurts
only the hairs in your ears and nose grow
you think to yourself that you're as old as an elf
and you were forty just ten years ago.
Well don't feel so bad, there's no reason to be sad
it's not the end of the world, so don't pout
please for goodness sake, enjoy your cake
and make sure to blow all fifty candles yout.
You shouldn't have fear because fifty is here
just relax and make sure you have fun
enjoy life instead of acting half dead
besides, this time next year, you'll be 51.
So happy fiftieth to you, I hope I reach fifty too
and remember, it could always be worse
be as happy as you can, that you drive your own new sedan
instead of being a passenger, in the back of a hearse.
by
Benjamin Macieo Davis
ThePrinceofPoetry
A land unto its own as old as dirt
Condemned by voguish northern state of mind
This realm you'd be hard-pressed to disconcert
Though his'try would prefer it be maligned
The secret twisted oak and winding creek
The tapestries of moss that grace the swamp
They whisper in a language few can speak
Revealing true that fair southern beauchamp
There is no match for tender Georgia peach
To Cajun gumbo nothing can compare
And off the Apalachicolan beach
Fresh oysters make the finest southern fare
Sweet Dixie with your blemishes and charms
No place I'd rather be than in your arms
Jan. 4, 2017
The American Deep South - That magical swath spanning from east Texas eastwards and upwards through to the Carolinas
For the contest by Silent One Re: Sonnet About Where I Live
P Post-truths are words designed to mislead us
O Obviously, yet "facts" that are appealing.
S Some are political; some petty; why fuss?
T Talking points survive, despite de-bunking.
T Time has come to bid post-truth a goodbye;
R Right thinking minus intent is old as dirt.
U Under devilish distortion, the author of lies.
T "Truth is absolute," our Creator sighs.
H He knew about word play before Eve ever heard,
S "Surely God did not mean you would die."
written Dec. 17, 2016
How old are you?
Old as dirt
When I was young
Men wore skirts
No such things
As jockeys then
Guys bent over
Showing Big Ben
Men were men
And ladies demure
No skin showing
But still had allure
Just goes to prove
Defining what's hot
Is what we imagine
Not what you've got
Forgive us guys
It's how we're built
But you've been seen
Looking up our kilt
The moral is this
Believe it or not
Men chase women
Till guys get caught!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Are you the Aphrodite of the Greek tales
Or the Artemis who admirers drooling sent?
No, for Aphrodite had her little flaws
And Artemis the fortunes of Orion bent.
Nor are you the stunning star that the Magi led.
For the over-told story of the Magi is as old as dirt
But your drowsy rounded eyes look so cunning fresh;
The kind of tools that the will men pervert.
The famous Ishtar cannot be your match
For she lured with looks in order to kill;
And Inanna may have tried to rival you a bit
Had she not given in to Dumuzi’s antique skill.
And tired of prating about deities, I now must say I love you.
I know that time is so much gone, and so is my chance;
The remote luck I thought I stood some years gone
Must now be as extinct as the Pyrenean Ibex of ancient France.
Nosy bird says you vowed holy nuptials yesteryear,
Iron twines that a luck-loving man must never sever.
Yet can I ever lose you without losing all breath,too?
Do I toy with the time-oiled vice that damns forever?
How old are you?
Old as dirt
When I was young
Men wore skirts
Guys bent over
Showing Big Ben
Didn't wear Jockey's
Way back when
Men were rugged
And ladies demure
No skin showing
But still had allure
Just goes to prove
Defining what's hot
Is what we imagine
Not what we've got
Forgive us guys
It's how we're built
But you've been seen
Looking up our kilt
The moral is this
Believe it or not
Men chase women
Till us guys get caught!
© Jack Ellison 2012
How old are you?
Old as dirt
When I was young
Men wore skirts
No such things
As jockeys then
Guys bent over
Showing Big Ben
Men were men
And ladies demure
No skin showing
But still had allure
Just goes to prove
Defining what's hot
Is what we imagine
Not what you've got
Forgive us guys
It's how we're built
But you've been seen
Looking up our kilt
The moral is this
Believe it or not
Men chase women
Till guys get caught!
Poor old Sammy warming his tired bones in the morning sun
the passing car excited him so he forgot his age and tried to run
I got his breakfast ready something easy to chew with an added treat
placing his bowl within easy reach in time he comes to his feet to eat
I stroke his head and I am moved to reflect on the passing of time
In dog years he is as old as dirt surely neither of us are in our prime
Yesterday he could run like a little quarter horse doing what a dog does best
Today he contents him self with short walks, gentle play and plenty of rest
When he barks in his sleep his paws are on the run
running and barking in his dream just having fun.
He’s a Weimaraner in love with a Great Dane her legs go all the way up
love is blind and he’s out of his league but that would be a beautiful pup
As he guards our home all nobel nosed wearing that doggy grin
I like to think his daydreams are of things that might have been
In Memory of our beloved Samson
see related poem: A Man’s best friend is his dog
You know that you’re old as dirt
When your whole body does hurt—
You grab a cane ‘stead of quirt
And you’re just too old to flirt.
It’s when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your big ears—
You’re sure that those creepin’ years
Has justified all your fears!
It ain’t that you’re gittin’ old
Or Father Time is too bold
Or the last crow has done crowed—
It’s sittin’ ‘round till ya mold!
But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be too shockin’—
Don’t take your tack for hockin’,
You’re jest rollin’, not rockin’!
So when you’re payin’ for sins
And seems your life never ends—
You’ll know just who’s your true friends
When they has to change your Depends!
You know that you’re old as dirt
When ever thang done hurt—
And you trades a cane for quirt
‘Cause you’s too old to flirt.
And when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your ears—
You done knowed those creepin’ years
Has justified your fears!
It ain’t that you’s gittin’ old
Or Father Time is bold
Or that last crow has done crowed,
It’s jest sittin’ till ya mold!
Old sport, jest what’s the matter?
You ain’t no mad hatter—
You ain’t old, that’s jest blather—
You is jest gittin’ better!
But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be shockin’—
Don’t with yer tack go hockin’,
You’s jest rollin’, not rockin’!
So when you lose all yer friends
And seems life never ends—
You’ll know ya ain’t on the mends
When ya end up in Depends!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.