Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
The ogre was irritated with the woman with the locket
She had accidentally run off with his boot in her pocket
He stumbled upon it a few months later in the woods.
It had been created into a darling house, where it stood.
He did not have the heart to take it back, for he was soft.
There were several children inside, one of them was named Coft.
Coft waved at the ogre and yelled out “Thank you for the boot!”
Ogre was glad for the thank you, so he gave a grateful toot.
Laughter
Laughter knocks on the doors of tragedy selling snake oil.
Its remedy has no cure,
but the symptoms from consuming its liqueur are delightful.
There are all sorts of laughter.
My favorites are the giggle,
a subtle and private revelation of jiggling jello,
and the barrel roll
that takes over everything like a stampede of elephants from a circus.
Whichever laughter you enjoy most,
be it the snort,
the snort with an accidental backfire,
or even a donkey bray,
enjoy a bit of laughter today,
because life is serious,
but it's worth enjoying.
by Martin Braun
October 6, 2023
He can’t see enough of his name in print
Seems public notice feeds his narcissism,
It’s a shame nobody has given him a hint
He feeds on our country’s raw cynicism.
Time will come when surely he must realize
An insufferable bore he’s turning out to be,
He’s not so great as in his very own eyes
More and more folks are beginning to see.
Primary contests prove he’s not as astute
His recommendations are mostly ignored
He needs to discover another horn to toot
Perhaps become more like Gerald R. Ford!
Written March 31, 2022
If you look for
ugly
You'll See it
If you stare
too long
You'll be it
When we
Speak without thinking
to tickle the ear
There is something
to ponder
So as to see clear
When we talk
Just
to disrepute
A manslayer
We become
Killing a reputation
It is mean spirited fun
Just imagine should
The tables turn
And you be the one on the block
being happily sliced and
Diced about
After throwing the very first rock
Being righteous over much
doesn't aid
One righteous to be
Remember but for
The grace of God
goes walking you and me
now my old house
Ain't made of glass
But I'll try to keep this in mind
When slinging,and flinging
around words that I
Choose the ones that are kind
I walked deep into the wilderness
In hopes to get my find
I was looking for some solitude
And a little peace of mind
Then I came across a silhouette
Of an owl in the moon
Right then and there I knew that I
Would find my peace real soon
I took out my harmonica
And I played it through the night
I played some chords that echoed loud
Until they sounded right
Then I danced around in circles
To a hymn called "Tittle a Toot"
And I played that hymn all night long
Till I heard that owl hoot
The night was getting late
And I was felling bold
Mist had made its way around
And I was getting cold
So, I walked around the wilderness
To try to warm my bones
Then I built myself a firepit
And warmed my hands around the stones
5:00am had crept up fast
I was still having fun
The chilly morn had heated up
When I saw the rising sun
Then I looked into that silhouette
And that owl in disguise
Then I started playing my harmonica again
When I saw it blink its eyes
Then I danced around in circles
To that hymn called "Tittle a Toot"
And I played it loud all morning long
Till I heard that owl hoot
Tom Trumpeteer has the rhythm in his ear
I wonder, can you guess what’s protruding from his rear
It looks just like a trumpet and when he’s eaten beans
He toots a toot with every step, at least that’s how it seems
He went to the ballroom, the orchestra were late
Someone asked the kitchen staff for baked beans on a plate
He ate them up and then he started dancing with his date
His dance was pretty awful but the tune he played was great
2 October 2021
For May the Gas be with you farts part 2 contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Back from lunch ate a chili dog full of onions drank some warm orange juice should’ve waited later;
~
Cause my rumbling tummy gotto, gut tossN and churning, when I let one loose in the elevator;
8/2/21 ~2021©
When I Let One Loose In The Elevator Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
God's zombies just formed an hit squad
For poets whose work is slipshod
"If people don't die
Then angels can't fly!"
If "truth" is proof, my thoughts are flawed!
Little ghosts were sitting on a limb.
They were named Big Mac, Ugly Toot and Tim.
One spit out a head.
It was my friend Ted.
Now I am truly terrified of them.
If you had a colon like one eyed Toot
You would be lifting and yelling “oh, shoot!”
A raunchy old chair
Foul smell in the air
With each step you take, expelling a toot
If you had a colon like freckled Joe
At parties we’d all know where not to go
Your unique perfume
Clouding up living room
Your rear end sending out a steady blow
If you had a colon like two toed Mack
You would not be invited much in the sack
You might get lucky
With one town ducky
But you would never be invited back
What was that sound I just heard
Sounds like a tweet from a tiny bird
From my lower back area
The region of hysteria
Twas wayward toot that just occured
There was this entrée; they called it bean soup
My pet tasted some, then let out a whoop --
Doggone it, I exhaled
As Fido wagged his tail --
While I removed all his stench from the stoop...
There's nothing like a pressured toot
to get you out of bed.
The moving sheets, the rustled beat;
of flatulance ahead.
That very sign that life goes on
despite the time you have.
Where waiting on the sun to shine
might mean a death through calve.
And hope is an illusion
of a sleep that's pulled you in.
When your luck means live or die
to a death that's judged your sin.
And you wake with expectations
of a world that's going to love
as you move about your business
in the manner yours will shove.
Young Chuckie has only one vice
He does it each day, sometimes twice
While Mum eyes with scorn
Chuck toots his own horn
He’ll toot your horn too for a price
December 26, 2018
For Tania’s “Bawdy Humor” contest.
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