Sourpuss Poems | Examples

Horse Sense

Are gay jockeys fruit of the loom
when riding a race on the course,
and would they need the helping hand
of a leg-up
to get on their high horse?

Would a long-faced horse,
a sourpuss,
not wanting to be a player,
bolt the barn door
or be a neigh-sayer?

If a broke cowboy saddled with a nag,
a dark horse of a different colour
that's *****,
were bent, a crooked rustler,
would he sell you a bum steer?

Had a Big Heine Horn Haiku

when brain is tiny
he always was whiny
had a big heine 

when on a campus
at times was a sourpuss
saw grass from the pampas

when saw grass we saw 
which they had cut with a saw
shall be sent to a shah
was served with some slaw
was stuck with a straw
which was the last straw
combined with a claw
had been stuck in my bra
was against the law
at my skin would naw 
would eat my meat raw
was against the waw 

kind of would stutter
ate my toast with much butter
did mutter about clutter

Bittersweet For Sourpuss

Remember when each of the tastes
bitter, sweet, sour, salty and umani,
had their own special place on your tongue?
When you could lick and flick a tongue tip
to savor one by one, 
each titillating and tantalizing tidbit,
and avoid the bitter, sour and salty, 
in the hors d'oeuvre samples and starters?
But turns out all the taste buds
of different types are a mishmash,
spread all over the palette
like mixed berry jam jelly on toast.
So blitz the blender, 
pulse, pulse, pulse the mush to liquefy,
to make your next bender meld, 
to an homogeneous amorphous blend,
a potpourri punch 
fit for a sourpuss.

Puddin - Nursery Rhyme Potd 3-2-2023

What's that on the shoreline run, all amok
"Is that a beaver?"Or
incredibly furry duck?"
Ponder they did Koala and Roo
About a stranger, that came into view
We must look closer said the two friends
As they drew near, mud and dead ends
In that very moment, it ate a frog
Then ran back home, to the edge of the bog
As they approached its eyes, sweet and somber
What could its name be, they did ponder
When in that moment, from out of its bill
It said "pleased to meet you both. What a thrill!
I'm not a beaver, duck, or a sourpuss
Names Puddin mates. I'm a platypus!


2-28-2023

Santas Magical Sleigh

Santa’s sleigh turned magical at midnight on the twenty-eighth.
The elves were amazed. One yelled out “Isn’t this great?”
Not sure yet, said a peppermint stick named Sourpuss Tate.
Where is the sleigh going, and does it have any toy freight?

That sleigh just raced over the hill, yelled Gingerbread Nate.
I think something fell out of Santa’s sack, maybe a dish or a plate.
A reindeer ran off to chase it, but lost sight of it at the gate.
I guess if we want to figure it out, we’d better sit back and wait.

I wish it would have started off sooner said Santa. It is too late!
But it is magical, argued the Christmas faerie, from Iowa State.
Come back here! Yelled a persnickety sugar plum, holding some bait.
The magical sleigh raced away from them all, taunting his fate.

She Is My Spiritual Cousin

The elephant was schmanzy and fancy.
We liked her so well, we named her Nancy.
She liked to eat pancakes floating in jam.
Raspberry and strawberry with a sliver of ham.

We thought it was hilarious when she gobbled it down.
She ended up with a red trunk that stuck all over town.
Nancy was a great companion, a friend, a cousin, a pal.
Now wait just a second! Said a sourpuss name Hal.

How can she be a cousin to you?
A spiritual cousin, explained my sister Sue.
He pondered this fact but came up empty of course.
Hal had the mind of a chicken and the imagination of a horse.

A Note From An Octopus

Dear humans,

I am an octopus and I’m unhappy with how you humans think you’re so great.
You might say I have a bone to pick with you…
which would be true if I weren’t an invertebrate.

I want you to know I am more than just a cephalopod
with 8 tentacles who spits out a little ink
for I too have a brain, in fact with nine of them…
and I am much smarter than you think

I have learned to use different tools and I solve problems too
and what if all those times you think you’re watching me…
I’ve been watching you.

You humans think with your one heart you’re as loving as can be…
Well think again mere humans…for every octopus has three.

So the next time you’re feeling superior…
the next time you think that you’re so great
remember…most animals in the world live in the ocean…
and most, like me, are invertebrates.

Please do not lament these facts…
do not become a sourpuss…
I’m sure you have some good qualities too…

Sincerely,

The Octopus

P. S. I know you’re proud of your ability to write…
and to be fair I think that’s great
but in the time it takes you to write one letter…
I’ve already written eight!

God Is Glorious While Calling Us

God Is Glorious While Calling Us

While He has been glorious, 
God can always call all of us,
And realized,
Plagiarized,
Even if sinner or a sourpuss.

Jim  Horn

Motivated by another poem,
God apparently to write them
has motivated.

Amidst Swirling Eddies of Fate

Amidst Swirling Eddies Of Fate...

Negligible power prevails
no matter one jock or nerd
feverishly hollars, fumes
decries, berates... absurd

fickle finger (middle phalange
doubling up as
flipping the bird),
unlikely the powers

that be heard
such lament, would not forfeit
issuing the last juicy,
meaty and tasty word

tis "FAKE" vanity
trumpeting to delude
those, who experience
a sourpuss mood,
when vile unfortunate
circumstances collude

(as if Putin on the Ritz),
whether you be dame or a dude,
no matter, the mindset
finds thee to brood
why without rhyme
or reason Saint Jude

or some other divine being
gleefully laughing out loud,
spurring an angrily strong
temptation to utter a crude
expletive taking by
surprise WASPY, snooty,

and noisily rude
listeners, who quickly exude
a gasp as if ye in pranced the nude
giving slight consolation punching
back at invisible joker
no matter he/she

could not be viewed
nonetheless yours truly
succeeded to read this
mashup, and get thee wooed.

Cats Don'T Play

There was a big hooray in Kind-ville one day.
For a kitten was found, a serious light gray.
The premonition had come true, and in the best kind of way.
An animal with a pink nose was here, and maybe to stay.
Surrounding the kitten was an aura shaped like a fish, a blue ray.
Everybody came outside, and Uncle T did a little sashay.
She is staying inside, he said, indicating my sourpuss Aunt Kay.
She never did believe in premonitions, or any kind of play.
The kitten stretched, yawned, and did all kinds of play.
We brought her food, petted her, and put in a bow, so gay.
All in all it was Kind-ville’s utmost very best day.
Until six more kittens showed up, and refused to go away
And began eating our residents.  I ran from the fray.
Many of us mice got eaten in Kind-ville that day,
Because those unpredictable giant cats really don’t play.

Sourpuss People

Sourpuss People

Sourpuss people are the opposite of sweet,
And can turn a sunny day into mincemeat.
Their smiles are forced and bitterly insincere,
Revealing no sense of humour or good cheer.
They sneer and wink and chatter behind your back,
And rain on your parade every chance they get.
Complaining and griping about this and that,
While arguing with nothing good to extract.
Their cold hearts are mean because they seek power,
And bully others like they’re chopped liver.
And though it’s wrong to get mad and retaliate,
Sometimes lines are drawn when there’s no other way.
   It’s incorrect behaviour to fight with them,
   Because others might not see the difference.

Carny Cat

Circus cat Cecil
Fantastically flew free
Soaring sailing sourpuss 
Projecting piercing paws

Trump Polygamous

Trump Polygamous

Horrible Trump prefers to be polygamous,
Resulting in him becoming some sourpuss;
Likes to handle;
Even mandible,
And when he has gone we will never miss.

Jim Horn

Why do people like putting up with
all of Trump's absurdities anyway?

A Lemonrick

I wondered what was all the fuss,
a new form of poetry thought to be tough,
poets shedding the limes,
using lemons this time,
afterwards looking quite like a sourpuss.



6-1-17

Pencil Press Rap

"Catch that cloud with an upturned eye,"
Said the spy with the sourpuss, sober cry,
When or whether, the weather of feathers fly high,
What are we but watchers of the sighing fly?
Whose wings chop winds with whirling rolls,
Bent in the front of the centerfold gold,
A pyrite prison ground in English pound patrol.
Pussy-foot in parchment, purloin politic by drip control.
So when the locked choke of rotten blood of shank and loin,
Beneath a twist of tumbled turn, of thumb and flipped coin,
Tossed in the tunnels of tin towers by the ton tops join,
To the castles in the east tipped spires spiked to your groins,
Popping, and prodding in the pupils of the papal pedophiles,
Emerging human minds from a wine for a while,
Slurping, and burping on the barfed-bile soaked brain smile,
Smirking snake coils caravan diamond skinny socks of argyle.
"Now catch the sky with an upturned eye,"
Said the spy with the dank dribble goblet drunk dry.

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