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Best Poems Written by Delysia Hendricks

Below are the all-time best Delysia Hendricks poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

Fave Poets Meet

Meeting my homegirls Wilma Neels
and Kim Van Breda with shrieks and squeals
hasty introductions and we're on our way
for a night of reading at Poetry Café

We've Yasmin to thank for arranging the meet
with fellow Soupers, a veritable treat
Yasmin the sneak had their names withheld
we're apprehensive yet still by curiosity propelled

My fingers are crossed to meet Eileen 
fave poetess mine, the Passionate Queen
dare I wish to meet hamsome Ryerson
not to mention Anne-Lise Andresen?

On first glance the café seems somewhat rowdy
from one of the corners a chorus of "Howdy!!!"
heaven help!!  I'm rooted to the spot
all my fave poets from the Souper pot

The Queen of Passion, my special friend
Eileen Ghali, an angel heaven-sent
with open arms and that beguiling smile
that's touched us all over thousands of miles 

I spot our Father Christmas, Jackie Ellison
Oh my, mercy me, the hamsome Tim Ryerson
then the beautiful being, Anne-Lise Andresen
and our pretty young doll, Anne Poetess Currin

Andrea, crack writer and popcorn freak
and Nette Onclaud, Madame Linguistics
the talented and sweet Leonora Galinta
oh, for a long time I've longed to meet her

There's the much-loved Reach-Out Lamoureux
a stylish gentleman, delighted to meet you
our very own Linda who happiness spreads
memorable the day as Brown Licia meets Red

He who writes poetry with a golden pen
bestest, fantasticest, hamsomest friend
Rich-Heart Seal-ed Door, my bruv from abroad
by his smile I'm bowled over;  by his charm I am awed 

I'm jumping with joy at my fave poets meet
befuddled, bewildered;  who first to greet?
midst the mountain of talent I'm on a positive high
overwhelmed, I simply break down and cry


This one needs a whole lot of polishing and smoothing 
out, but I was too excited to submit it.  I'll iron out the 
crinkles soon.  LOVE TO YOU ALL, LICIA

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Haiku Versus Rhythm and Rhyme

My favourite pastime:
crafting poetry in rhyme
but not so this time

Ordered by Debbie:
from your comfy box break free
haiku it will be

Debbie, what's with you
to rhythm and rhyme I'm true
I loathe haiku

I'll stay in my sphere
sans rhythm poetry's queer
Oops! I rhymed in here

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

On the Rocks

Whiskey on the rocks, advised by my doc
combats dementia, so bring on the blocks
no need for a glass;  I'll have me the bottle
with a big bowl of ice this baby I'll throttle

The whiskey's gone, now a brandy'd be fine
my inside's on fire, there's a hoop up my spine
swigging from the bot comes at a price
I'll temper the fire with whole blocks of ice

The flames have been doused;  rum, if you please?
my head's in a clamp;  ice will loosen the squeeze 
now, be a sport and pile on the ice
two bowls or more I think should suffice

Three bottlesh down, all on the rocksh
my tootshiesh are shtarting to curl in my shocksh
my shmile is chemented, my lipsh glued together
my fashe the feel and texture of leather

Twishe left, thrishe right my head ish shwinging
short, long, short, long my earsh are zinging
either I'm crosh-eyed or my brainsh have been fried
elsh why are my legsh by three multiplied?

I'm freefalling on shixh feet firmly earthed
alternating twixht lower and then upper berth
vocal chordsh tangled, shizhably crimped
I'm walking with a lishp and talking with a limp 

I'm teetering-tottering or tettering-tortering
I've no clue which ish which and given up wondering
the world ish a blur;  I musht be plarshtered
the liquor went down well;  ishe warsh the barshtard

On all foursh – nay, twelve, I reach the bed
now I'm pondering and shcratching my head:
am I waking up or about to retire?
I shimply topple over, my whole being on fire

In the Land of Nod I'm harnessed by tether
in comely dreams of cowboys and leather
when plagued by a swishy feel in my bladder
swelling as fast as a pregnant puffadder

Abruptly awakened when a stream emanated
unable to move, still intoxicated
stuck to my bed and severely drenched
nausea ensued in the encompassing stench

How my stomach reacted I'd best not relate
suffice to say it was a full freight
soiled and hung-over, a word of advice:
liquor's fantastic but steer clear of ice

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

Hostile Head Takeover Part 1

I'm near cuckoo
This Monday blue
A day not eas'ly recommended
for making sense
I'm way too tense
And hung-over to comprehend it
 
My mind's on the bend
my imaginary friends
are threatening to abandon en masse
I was perfectly sane
till they pissed in my brain
negotiations are at an impasse
 
It pains me to mention
the bone of contention
menacing our peaceful existence
my voices of own creation
went above their station
with mutinous and unfair persistence

Old Mother Hubbard
had sneaked to the cupboard
to steal skeleton bones for her yapper
the skeletons in-wait
welcomed their bait
with little resistance managed to trap her
 
As to why she'd no clue
their demands were few
and until met they'd keep her as hostage
twixt two skeletons squeezed
the hag was well-pleased
only in dreams she was ever in bondage
 
The skeletons vacated
on their long-awaited
crusade for their rights to be equal
a sudden scurry in my head
when the voices I have bred
became hushed, which was rather unusual
 
The spokes-skeleton
passed a colorless wind
voiced their single demand:  to remain
"We were made to vanish
to a dark cupboard banished
we demand henceforth to share your domain."
 
A resounding "No!
You'll stay down below
we're totaling 20, including the yapper
there's hardly space
the din to embrace
and an hour-long queue to the crapper."
 
"Then the beldam Hubbard
will remain in the cupboard
lore would have it, bare to the bone
the cupboard, that is
not the hag, whose Maltese
diced up raw will be fed to the crone.

We implore you most
kindly engage our host
in negotiations and if necessary plead
we want into his brain
and share your domain
or prepare for a skeleton stampede."


PART 2 TO FOLLOW.  THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, AS I'M LOCKED IN HOSTILE NEGOTIATIONS

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The Vanishing Organ

Sam Ebenezer
a sad ol' geezer
was lamenting his shrinkage of late:
my worthless ding-a-ling
is a bell without ring
my manhood in diminishing state
 
From whence I salute
is thin as a flute
and soft to the touch as cashmere
I search with persistence
it offers resistance
on nature's call to appear
 
On heeding that call
no waterfall
a few errant droplets at best
where once from the middle
I gushed, now I piddle
and half of my load veers west
 
Both feet on the urn
pushing forth from astern
I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus'
with my punctured esteem
watch the pitiful stream
dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus
 
Our wee-membered friend
wished his size to amend
the stiffness rerouted from his joints
have it rise to occasion
and stand to attention
consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint:

My snake is dead
no flesh;  just head
lies comatose and useless 
my garden hose
once warmed my toes
now wrinkled, dry and juiceless 

The senile old doctor
by name Alfred Proctor
had most of his wit in absentia
his breath smelt cheesy
Ebenezer felt queasy
Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia
 
Doc's hand took a dip
to just 'neath his ribs 
as Ebenezer voiced his concern
Doc smiled all the while
said:  your hopes are futile
there's no cure for your vanishing organ
 
I lost my virility
before my senility
long mourned my lost pride-and-joy
put my plight to rest
on realizing I'm blessed
to have in hand my own built-in toy

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Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

Foreplay

Yer briny whore
akin to boar
wit' mangy hide 'n scurvy-pocked
chomped 'n chewed
me black 'n blue
wit' carnassial chompers as of croc

Be curs'd, yer nit  
me ample bits
equated ter yer own be nowt 
yerz be carnivorous  
scaly 'n scabrous
yer plaque be axed ter beef up grout

Uncomely wench 
yer skunky stench
blunted me hook 'n scorched me beard
me peepers stung
me hornpipe hung
shorn ter th' bone 'n shrivelled 'n seared

Comely 'n curvy
riddled wit' scurvy
th' cap'n's whore-maid tooken yer whole
yer rat o' th' sea
holed and *****
yer fired yer cannon in a rottin' port'ole


Blow me down, lover!!  I love it when we talk dirty.

(Hahahaha.  I see the Soup powers-that-be deleted my word.  I swear it's not used as a swearword.  The word rhymes with "hussy".   lol)

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Tattoos

A two-legged canvass
in crimsons and blues
dragons ginormous
and suchlike tattoos

Diamonds and rare gems 
that shimmer and shine
flowers on long stems 
with sleek strokes and lines

Exciting ones hid
in crannies and nooks
all that's forbid;
condemned by the Book

Exposed on the outside
pleasing to prudes
on out-of-sight hide
erotica and nudes

DELYSIA HENDRICKS

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

I Refuse To Count Sillybulls

There once was a poet who despaired
though blessed with a fair amount of flair
that he was way too thick
to master limericks
counting words an arduous affair 

Limerick-writing he'd master not
count sillybulls, meter and whatnot 
the elusive punchline's
too troublesome to find
with his thoughts roughly tied up in knots

Spatial dimension impediment 
a meter doubled in measurement
at the best of times three 
lopsided prosody
shoddy despite its being eloquent

Sillybulls ignored and miscounted
charge around angrily, discounted
with their hoofs on the slam
they step up the bedlam
bewildering chaos uncounted 

With pep talks and deliberation
resolved:  they're too high 'bove my station
so to rhyme he should stick
and give up limericks
where wordcraft counts naught but summation

*Sillybulls = syllables.  My thanks to Ephraim Crud for the loan of the word.
To Wignesan:  am I stooopid or what???

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

Simply Me

Inexpert at rhyme 
or singing in time
I bray like a laryngitic donkey
my artwork's inept 
I'm ham-fisted except
when doodling things that are wonky

Of style I'm bereft 
my feet are both left
splayed in an opposite direction;
'tis little wonder
I blindfully blunder
into despair and abject dejection

My mind is a bog 
of gunk and cheap grog
my gray matter's shrinking, I fear
today is a haze 
yesterday a maze
and everything's clearly unclear

My dress sense is eish 
and fits not my niche
nor do my shorts, come to that
my flip-flops are worn 
my t-shirts all torn
one boob is fat, one is flat!

Despite many a flaw
I'm not an eyesore
though ungainly and lacking in style
with my stunning good looks
I easily hooked
your soon-to-be-ex with my smile

Details | Delysia Hendricks Poem

The Green Waltz

Mary Jane aka ganja, grass, marijuana and a host of other names.

Serenity is yours to gain
being led in dance to fairyland
swing waltz with Mary Jane

Sapped by undue stress and strain 
tango’s for two yet ‘lone you stand 
serenity is yours to gain

When music sounds an odd refrain 
discordant noise in every strand 
swing waltz with Mary Jane

One-step, two-step to higher plane 
wild rumba to a one-man band 
serenity is yours to gain

Cha-cha and spruce your addled brain 
Skunk, Lebanese, most every brand
swing waltz with Mary Jane

When life is sucked dry vein-by-vein
reborn yourself with spliff in hand
serenity is yours to gain
swing waltz with Mary Jane

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A SPECIAL VILLANELLE TO ALL GANJA-GUZZLING OL' GEEZERS