Short Strop Poems

The young say that granddads have ruined their lives
They’re getting themselves in a strop
But can they explain why, when they want jack boots
They go to a fancy dress shop...

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You can’t admit wrong 
And always blame me
Act as though strong 
when clearly weak 
Rage and shout 
childishly
Create the scenes 
disrupt the peace 
Paranoid 
think you’re headstrong 
Easily annoyed 
turn red and strop 
No one can tell you you’re the problem 
You’re emotional hell that doesn’t stop...

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Without values life may whop
And you cannot even yawp
As the destiny may strop
A valueless person nonstop.
If your values from life lop
It is zilch and make you fop –
Fop – a man with concern atop
For dress than character prop.
Without values we may drop;
Cannot stand or walk; sit or hop.
So respect values that clearly mop
All bad, illicit or forbidden crop....

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Book is the only stop
Where all halt from top
For knowledge or whop
Of all sort and thoughts slop.
Though it clear drains prop
For teacher or for carhop.
They are vaguely clear lop
Whenever read makes plop
Of cognition to take you atop.
This is for money a great swop.
These are sooth in great strop
For those who keep them at doorstop.
What a pleasure they are as sop.
I loved to have ignorance to mop....

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Sanmati, my messenger, is no more a milksop.
Ardent though is she never will yawp.
Nagging sometimes though in some shop.
Merrily walks in crowd alone till atop.
Amends her needs; tackles one with strop-
Till he agrees with her, else does lop.
In always high spirits, ready to swop
Joy or sorrow equally treats like gumdrop.
Angry if treats us like a bellhop
In our home or out, but never plop
Nor cry in public to show us flop....

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Yard sale searching

While looking through the rubbish pile, 
Something found did cause a smile.
My fathers broad old razor strap,
Can see him strop his Bengal at.

When I raised his temper, feel,
leather strap, buttocks to heel.
Respect for father’s, worked back then,
On Discipline you could depend.

But all at an end, minority’s descend,
So chaos rules the young,
No penalty now my friend,
Rules have a weak bung lung.

 Yard sale contest   12-june-11...

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