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Best Poems Written by Jd Maxwell

Below are the all-time best Jd Maxwell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Story of the Pot and the Kettle

Fresh upon the morning grove,
With day becoming hot,
And sitting there upon the stove,
A kettle and a pot.

The kettle blew and lifted high,
And poured into the cup,
With that to see it’s bottom by,
And so the pot spoke up.

“Pardon me to even know,
For I don’t mean to meddle,
But you are all black down below,”
The pot said to the kettle.

For a moment to rebuff,
The kettle answered back,
“I’ve seen your bottom oft enough
And yours is just as black.”

Looking down and much contrite,
The pot did then exclaim,
“It seems that Kettle, you are right,
I guess we’re both the same.”

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The Grinch Epilogue

The feast was all done,
For Grinch and the Who’s,
 And after the meal,
Came terrible news.

For Max and the Grinch,
And Who’s gathered round,
No one spoke a word,
Or a single Who Sound.

The mayor spoke up,
About our grinch crook,
Of all that he broke,
And all that he took.

“You still did the crimes,
So you’ll be on trial,
For crimes of last night
And all in your file.”

The chief of police,
Had sprung in a-bound,
He handcuffed the grinch,
And took Max to the pound.

So off they all went,
And hightailed to jail.
The grinch stole from all,
So none would bail.

The grinch shared a cell,
With a cat that is said,
Had terrorized kids,
With a hat on his head.

Along with the cat,
Was a small orange beast,
Harassing the ones,
Who’d cut down all the trees.

A few days had past,
With no time to lose,
He went to a judge ,
And a jury of Who’s.

They mounted their case,
Which started to grow.
When grilling the grinch,
From crimes days ago.

Recordings were there,
And prints were abound,
And from the Roast Beast,
DNA had been found.

His lawyer had rested,
No proof to dispense,
As you could expect,
With public defense.

The trial was quick,
And done in no time,
To choose if the grinch,
Should pay for his crime.

The jury came out,
With none of the strife,
While serving the Grinch,
With thirty to life.

So as for the Grinch,
His heart may be greater,
While stealing Christmas,
He paid for it later.

Details | Jd Maxwell Poem

The Fine Art of Axe-Throwing

Ever gone to throw an axe?
You’ll love it if you try.
Grip the handle and relax,
Standing firm into your tracks,
Release and let it fly.

Over end, the axe will spin,
And through the air will whisk.
To the target, caged within,
Close to center, you will win,
Like darts with more the risk.

In the target, there are rings,
That circle round the eye.
Each a different point it brings,
When towards the board the axe it zings,
And wedges in the ply.

In the corner, there’s a spot,
Which comes with much acclaim.
Blue, the color of the dot.
If you have a killer shot,
Can help you clinch the game.

When you come, make sure to pack,
No shoes your feet expose.
If the board, it gives a smack,
And the axe comes bouncing back,
Will help to save your toes.

Grab a beer, this social game,
Is just as good as any.
It may even help your aim,
But too much is sure to maim,
So please don’t have too many.

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The Island of Thrown Away Holiday Candy

Past the salad fields of green,
With ciders flowing in between,
An island sits though out a-ways,
Of candy from the holidays.

They’re thrown away and tossed aside,
Without a bite or even tried,
So past the days of fresher primes,
They cry about forgotten times.

The candy corn all in a heap,
Continue on to slowly weep,
Passed over for a candy bar,
To sit untouched inside a jar.

And next to them, the tootsie rolls,
Were pushed aside in candy bowls,
They sob next to the candy canes,
Who watched alone the Christmas trains.

Just look who’s sitting by the docks,
A full but lonely chocolate box,
Who never shared dessert with wine,
Or eaten by a Valentine.

The hollowed bunnies hop around,
The jelly beans upon the ground,
But stuck among a larger mass,
Of artificial Easter grass.

They weep and think about the day,
And time that they were thrown away,
As now it’s here they sadly roam,
Their misfit candy island home.

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My Ty Lesson

One day I got up off the john,
And to my desk to work upon.
An hours passed.  I looked around.
To my amazing eyes I found:

My paper took a shade of brown,
All up the page and even down.
My muddy desk, my muddy pen.
My muddy walls, around my den.

Furthermore, my hand it reeks,
For sure to come between my cheeks,
A lesson learned, remember it,
To wash your hands after you .

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Empathy For the Shredder

Masks are all the rage these days,
Not knowing when we’ll stop these ways,
If how long live in your fears, 
I’ve worn a mask for 30 years!

If you care to guess my name,
Here’s a clue- we’re now the same.
And of trends, I am a setter,
For I am known as the Shredder.

Now and then it’s nice to find,
My metal mask to hide behind.
When emotions start to race,
It’s good my Clan can’t see my face.

Both of us, we had no choice,
To stagger from our muffled voice.
Coming from two kindred things,
For rats are bats without the wings.

It sure gets hot under the mask,
But I’m the one that’s up to task,
And despite my taste for crime,
I was a man ahead of time.

I hope it’s now that you can see,
And have some empathy for me,
So don’t be shy and say hello,
Just watch out for those turtles though.

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A February Independence Day

A February Independence Day

It was a chilling winter day,
When Jefferson had come to say
“Lets all agree and make a vow,
To claim our independence now!”

But speaking up was fellow John,
Who had the nerve to speak upon.
The council, bitter, cold and wary,
This coldest day in February.

“Tom- if we choose this very date,
It’s way too cold to celebrate.
Too harsh and raw for leisure perks,
And standing out for fireworks.

The picnics out at parks and lakes,
Would give us all the fevered shakes,
Instead of risk an icy storm,
Let’s wait until it’s further warm!"

When they agreed the vote to stall,
They left the cold and icy hall,
As Jefferson let out a sigh,
And waited til that years July.

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My Tractor Is My Mistress

The yard’s a mess and grass has grown.
It’s time for me to mow.
Not hard to figure on one’s own,
Don’t even have to show.

Some don’t agree about my plea.
I’m even given strife.
If you think, who that might be,
That person is my wife.

My tractor is my mistress,
I’m having an affair.
Who’s only living interest,
Is cutting earth’s green hair.

She gets so mad, I have to hide,
And mow when she’s not here.
Alone outside it’s that I ride,
Just me and my John Deere.

Peering out, she watches me,
And peaks between the blinds.
Oh the burning jealousy,
That seeps inside her mind.

I plead with her, said she could try,
And give the thing a spin.
I said I’d even keep an eye,
And damn try not to grin.

And then one day, I went outside,
My mind went oh so nervous.
For it was gone, and then she cried,
She’d hired a lawn service!

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When I Upset the Applecart

They rolled along the dirty road,
With apples fresh among the load.
They stopped a mile from the mart,
As I upset the apple cart,

I stood in front as if to stop,
Causing all the fruit to drop,
Telling where the road had led,
And warned of dangers up ahead.

Told my time of being there,
Coming back all worse for wear.
Be it known, I planned in part,
To NOT upset the apple cart.

These things they didn’t NEED to know,
I felt it was my duty though.
I don’t mind to take the blame,
If things for them don’t end the same.

Thanking me for being nice,
Exchanged an apple for advice,
A different road they did depart,
When I upset the apple cart.

Details | Jd Maxwell Poem

The Snowy Road

A time ago,
After it snowed,
My friend forebode,
A certain road,
The shortest way to go.

Yet I was slowed,
So on this night,
The moon was bright,
I took a right,
And went on down the road.

And to my sight,
I could defend,
Against my friend,
But would depend,
On if the end was bright.

But at the bend,
I saw it close,
And so it goes,
The road I chose,
Was dead upon the end.