the sky is a prettier blue here
maybe due to today’s silence
the bird chatter seems wittier
possibly because of this relaxed setting
dainty renegade flowers jiggle in the wind
reminding me why I love the country
In my youth I was completely engrossed,
By poetry along the byways nailed to a post!
It wasn't composed by John Greenleaf Whittier;
No, the authors were much more wittier!
I speak of Burma Shave signs once all the craze,
But can only be found in museums nowadays.
I don't claim to own the wit of Nast or Nash,
But here are some I might've composed if I may be so brash!
If its a kiss from yer gal you crave
But the stubble on yer mug she hates
Better grab yerself a can of Burma Shave!
When ol' Sarge says you're grown' too much stubble
And threatens to nix yer weekend pass
Slather yer mug with Burma Shave on the double!
When you were interviewed for a host of jobs
But weren't hired because of yer stubble
Smother yer mug with Burma Shave in gobs!
When you insist on takin' her out to dine
But she says no caressin' yer 5-o'clock shadow
Mow yer mug usin' Burma Shave and all will be fine!
If it's yer handsome mug you want to save
Plain ol' Lifebuoy soap won't do the job
Use plenty of good ol' foamy Burma Shave!
Let me tell you fellers about the latest rave
If you want to impress your sweetie pie
Use smooth and creamy Burma Shave!
Their delicate nature entices me to try harder
to stare into their translucence and see their souls
They speak to me from a variety of places
They are the opals, and they epitomize imagination
I wear them cheerfully, understanding their need
To show off their full power, and to enhance mine.
They make me bold, wittier, more effervescent.
They are the opals, and they surround a band I wear daily
enhancing a beautiful pear-shaped blue aquamarine
I have loved them forever, my jewelry box is a reflection of this
Today there's a dissing of Shakespeare
His penning's dismissed as old-hat
Take time to get know him --
He's wittier than Dr. Seuss' Cat
Many point to the Merchant of Venice
To prove he was anti-Semitic
Read Shylock's defense of his profession
It's magnificent, Biblically prophetic
Shakespeare knew the Prince of Denmark
Julius Caesar Antony & Cleopatra too
He described the events of millenia
Pin-point penned every plot, every coup
Yet today there's a dissing of Shakespeare
And the nodding world sheds nary a tear
Laugh laugh laugh
but nothing is there
Pounding furiously
Pounding hard
Pounding upon pounding
Flying higher than you have ever before flown
Being wittier than you ever believed possible
People are amazed by you
You are amazed by yourself
A twirling dervish you cannot slow down
You swirl and dance,
stamping your legs raw
Your toes fall off
but you are too busy to notice.
cry cry cry
because the laughing won’t stop
Laugh-crying,
Racing yourself
Racing your goodness
Racing your truth
Racing to a finish line
Knowing you will never fully be finished.
High on life
On yourself
On enthusiasm.
On you.
Written 4-20-2019
Contest: Your Amphetamine
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Here's a salute to Poet Ogden Nash,
Who was notable for being quite brash!
He was much more wittier
Than John Greenleaf Whittier,
Concocting reams of clever balderdash!
I spent my adolescence writing lots of teenage angst
through poetry, and stuck with it, despite it being pants.
I’ve been to Open Mic nights, and risen through the ranks.
I don’t get heckled quite so much, and even get some thanks.
I’ve had some poems published, and felt my work improve.
It’s given me some confidence when I’m not in the groove.
I watch a brand-new poet. The first time that they’ve tried.
I clap, although I’m jealous, and thinking deep inside -
Oh crikey, not another better poet on the scene.
How come even novices are better than I’ve been.
I don’t want competition from someone just seventeen.
Oh crikey, not another better poet on the scene.
Everyone’s much cleverer, and wittier than me -
I’m slipping down the rankings. I’m in the bottom three.
I wish there was a talent freeze and some kind of embargo.
I wish I had a better rhyme than using Avocado!
Oh crikey, not another novice poet doing well.
It must be genes or talent. It’s such a living hell!
Poets used to start quite poor, get better bit by bit.
I hate all bleeding poets now. I wish they were more sh..
You, and only you
That's all I want
All I would ever need
I'm sure you could find someone more then I will ever be
and yet you choose to stay with me
Even in the rain
you put it in my brain
that you love me and only me
but how could that be?
Because there are girls who are prettier
and wittier
and seem to have everything together
but I always change, like the weather
I was surprised when you decided to stay
even on the grey days
and the days where I just sit and cry
you come and lay with me and stay,
and in that moment I don't ever want you to leave
So please don't leave
but I need my room to breathe
I need you
so feed me with your love,
all you have,
so for one little moment
I don't need to worry
about you leaving me
for one of those girls
who have no personality
so in reality
I say with all my vocality
Please just stay.....
~September, 23~
young man new in town
all of the girls on alert
amazed he chose me
Some of them were wittier.
A few of them were prettier.
He asked to take me to the movies.
I blushed as I said yes.
"Gone With The Wind" was showing.
and Clark Gable was the star
My date had no way of knowing
I thought him handsomer by far,
until I told him in the car.
1/06/2016
Cherries pale yellow tinged with red
Colorful umbrella, mercurial spread
Mellowing veil hovers overhead
Hand staid until dark color, pungent odor wed
Nature's rhythms from youth nurtured in my head
In fowl, tell tale signs providentially inbred
Knowing beak is quicker than the hand brings dread
Before gravity can pull weighted cherries to rotting bed
My pruning hand to the luscious fruit is sentiently led
But wittier birds, for sweet treat, already fragile branches tread
Goring fruit: knifing peel, shredding flesh, tangy juices bled
Colorful, pock-marked marbles left for dead
Sun-dried, pitted prunes left in their stead
For aggrieved spite, all cultured inhibition shed
Manically, with fingers, stem lines forcefully unthread
As I was saying it takes longer
Just to get where I am going.
It’s like boating on the river and
The wind impedes my rowing.
The oars are getting heavier,
I can’t compete with Father Time.
Oh I wish that you had seen me
When I was truly in my prime.
I could write a poem much quicker
Than you could put on your hat.
I could amend it and then send it
In just a jiffy after that.
My love poems were much sweeter
And my limericks were funnier.
My witty lines were wittier,
And my puns were always punnier.
Forgive me while I take the time
To chase a thought that’s fled.
It’s gone I guess I’ll settle
For a lesser one instead.
With dimmed eyes and aching fingers,
I must make some small concessions.
And I have to save the juicy stuff
For my tale for “True Confessions”.
By: Joyce Johnson
Wirtten for new contest "Complete Your Poem"
Previous poem was "5 minute Poem"