Short Hoover Poems

Did Discover What God Would Recover

We did discover,
God will help us recover;
From hell over hoover.

Jim Horn...

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There was a strange dame in Vancouver
who insisted on being a hoover.
She sucked in much dust
till her health went bust
and the council had to remove her....

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Once a witch with a wart on her nose,
And with runners in her pantyhose,
Went and traded her broom
For a Hoover vacuum.
Where she hoovered to, nobody knows....

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There once was a witch in Vancouver
Who traded her broom for a hoover.
She encountered a glitch
When she turned on the switch
'Cause the hoover took off and pursued her....

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Dense clouds of uncertainty hoover
Causing a fog of perplexity
Ending will lead to takeover
For trying to resolve complexity










Nayda Ivette 
11-24-2015...

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Wg Said the GRACE
And Robbie BURNS the BACON,

And Thomas ask for MORE
Mr KIPLING  baked the cakes
And Jude laid down the law
And Lionel MESSI had to clean up
With Hoover>...

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Trump Did Discover

What Trump recently did discover
Like him will not ever be another
Through women ha has clawed
Especially ones with bare bod
Over them he liked to hoover.

Jim Horn...

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J Edgar Hoover

abusing his powers

maneuvered to cover

Big Brother's behavior !






_________________________
5/30/15  For Contest: Cleri-Who?"
Sponsored by Kim Merryman...

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I wasted my life
When you stole my heart
I withered away
The roses you brought me

You married me
And I’ve cooked
You got drunk
And I’ve cleaned

My Hoover
Your TV
My microwave
Your golf

My
Divorce
Your
Loss...

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Sucked off by his vacuum cleaner 
Vicar Jefs' wiener went leaner 
His parish aghast
Told the cops, "Come fast"
The Judge called a Miss de Meanor*

(n.b.,  Baptist Jefs is now a 
Registered Sex Offender so
guard your vacuum cleaner! ...

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Her wing reached down and touched me…
Was it real or was it dream?
Her broken halo splashed, in my fabricated stream…
She fell from heaven with her passion and her lust…
But in the end there was nothing left but her angel dust...

10/9/12
Darrell Hoover...

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birth out in the mist
bright things then have birth
between the beauty and decay
molten lead adjourned

the faithfulness of a century
lies bedridden
the missives continueth

Doom stirs the mosaics of dearth
please do not disturb
the cadence of tomorrow's plan
The butterflies hoover...

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They are closing the shops
the town planners
are leaving on the tram,
semi millionaires hoover
at the half a million flats
how did it get this way?
possibly i'm bothered!
ripping out the centre,
to make sure any indigenous,
person couldn't join the scheme,
when did you stop
being my town?...

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Sixty year old cabinet hinge squeaks
Pain as owner bends her knees
A long relationship at its peak

Cling wrap drops upon the floor
Carpal tunnel lessened her grip
Cabinet door hangs loose from core

Stiff painful back slows grabbing wrap
Lying upon unswept white tiles 
Angels hoover near as she collapsed  ...

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My christmas tree is dying
Its pines scramble for life
The hoover smiles
Like the cat that got the cream

The whole house lays in wait
Somehow a sense of denial is uniform code
We know they are used
To fuel our need to escape

Everything feels too positive
But life isn't like that
I know whats coming
Its the Life After Christmas......

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Swift as air, the jet took me back.....
to my roots.
The pre-Thanksgiving fares to Philly sucked me in,
like mom's Hoover vacuum.
And Lady Luck, her diamonds catching the rays of a thousand moonlit nights, 
held my hand,
when I stayed with an old childhood friend.
Together we walked the fields near the murky river,
and lamented what never became....

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The lingering scent of an evergreen
Pine needles in the Hoover
Ornaments packed and put away
In old boxes from the movers

Outside lights taken down
The wreath removed from the door
Plastic magi figures back in the shed
Our closet door is locked no more

New toys are in the toy box
New clothes are put away
The house is back to normal
In time for New Years Day...

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New Poem Old Poet

I stand again facing the eternal west.
I am an old dude now and,
I miss the western sunsets on Hoover Street.
Those bright orange never-ending endings,
Presenting themselves again like hovering waiters,
Carrying trays of bottled heart-quenchers.
Life is the hat check girl in little orange cap.
When the lights are low,
She steps away privately to dance....

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The mistress of mirth it’s who I am
In reality I am simply Jan 
I’ll try and give you laughs
About my silly gaffes
And entertain as much as I can


My panties once went up the hoover
It was a remarkable manoeuvre
Yes I will disclose
They flew up the hose
Phew- I still retain a sense of humour



In response to limerick from Jack Ellison

15th March 2015...

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His School Project Is Due Tomorrow

By Elton Camp

At two-thirty, Agnes was sound asleep
Into her bedroom her son did creep

He gave her shoulder a firm shake
“Mom, I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“Tomorrow my school project is due
If it’s late, then my life is through.”

“I had forgotten it until just now.
You’ve got to help me somehow.”

“A diorama of Hoover Dam I need
So you’d better pour on some speed.”...

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If all

Life exists in a vacuum

Then Hoover stole a march

On all of us

Before anyone else could

And patented the name

For gain 

Because we equate value in a
brand and a name

Matter's not of the quality of what 
they are selling is 

Absolutely second rate tatt we will
buy it anyway

So long as it makes us believe and
we can tell everyone else just how much
it actually costs

More fool us...

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i'm driving and the air feels like a 
space vacuum
the oncoming trees are copper
and the speedometer has lost its pointer
the specimen jar in the drink tray
has reached newfound heights
how can i run with such fa(s)t legs? 
how do i scurry about this rock
with the intentions
of a madman ...
yet, somehow during this hoover ride
i wished for a camera
so that i may take the best angle of my life
and show it to the world...

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I have been Intrusted with knowledge! 
Completely incrusted with time,
Admirably holding onto wisdom,
Lost for thousands of generations. 
Set free like the busting of Hoover dam.
Overflowing rapids of life altering thoughts,
Of all the great thinkers,
Hoarded up condensing it’s
Own energy from all periods past.
Released to flush the poor unsuspecting main frame for the universal nervous system, 
Of yet another victim of time.
By Desi E. Sherman...

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Down! Once More!
The market falls,
To our great despair.
Down it plunges like 1929. 

Evaporated. Money gone.
Numbers tick down.
Lines with negative slopes.
Savings and investments erased forever.

Hysteria! Calculated misfortune. 
Negative ten percent,
Shown every single day.
Some Hoover or Covid Stew?

Depression. Economic recession. 
Stock markets unstable.
Digital numbers determine everything. 
Recover will certainly come, eventually....

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Your hair is all I have left of you:
It is on the floor and all over my clothes.
Your body is buried at the bottom of the garden,
Yet it feels so far away
Because now it belongs to the earth.
Your hair is the little of you that remains:
You are but a memory
That people would never know you had existed
Until they saw a photo— 
And, even then, it would not be you.
So I will not wash my clothes or hoover the carpet
As your hair is all I have left
Of you....

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