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Best Poems Written by Michael Gale

Below are the all-time best Michael Gale poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Michael Gale Poem

Drive-Ins On the Fourth On Many Years Ago Well Memories

July fireworks bring together families and friends 
for a much needed vacation from worries and work.
Picnics at and on the lake just for memorie's fond taking.
I remember the days of old when watching a movie 
outside amongs't the stars and moon.
Playground equipment of a slide and swing
nestled right next to an entraptment framed 
sandbox.Oh to be youthful and exuberent again.
Lightening bugs flickering into the night.
Today's movies consist of many smaller theatres
jam-crammed tighter together than a can of
sardines. An alignment of multifleck'd multiplex
light beamed shows across the screens.
Remember when Fizzies were the rage-Just
dropp them in a glass of water and sniff the
boquet of different fruit flavored bubbles would
tickle the nose. Ah yes, different flavors of instant
soda pop in a colored aluminum or plastic glass.
Just like Alka-Seltzer-only better tasting.
Can you remember back wearing shorts and 
igniting sparklers and black pills of instant snakes
arising from the sidewalks or street. 
Yes those times were just real amazin', and real, real neat.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

I Hate Cooking, and I Hate Onions After I Cut My Finger

Ouch, to cut my finger... 
Pain and blood spills and does longly stay and linger. 

To give my sliced appendaged digit a much needed bath... 
I won't cook for a living, or go to school for typing or even take math. 

Math and onions i do not like... 
I'd rather have a tooth pulled or be super glued to a seatless one peddled 
down hill travelling brakeless bike. 

I'll only eat onions that are totally cooked...
I wont go to a restaurant and look on a menue to oder it from the waitress, 
it will never be booked.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

A Rose Doth Be But What a Rose Doth Be.

That flowering petal is the flag to a nose...
It's signal's is it's beautiful but uncommon sense of one lone single rose.

Leaves often than naught fall all due to a lifely end...
This lone rose does often wilt and fall and likely bend.

A rose cannot fight off and fend for itself but yet, without it's only, lonely thorn... 
A rose is always planted-To never be born.

A rose's beauty is only matched by a nature's lonely girl...
When'st in full bloom-T'will thrill to all it's full beautied, viewable unfurl.

Why be it this my sweety doth love the beauty of this one lonely rose
so much? ...
This one lone rose's beauty is only surpassed by a smell and it's well softened 
petal's touch.

Doth be a diamond as a girl's best friend? ...
Only doth a rose doth one truely knows.

This fact be known only 'til time's eternal timely unexpected arrival
and decidedly unexpected end.

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C Da Dey I Rassled Ay Bear !

I rassled a bear when i was only two yars old...
I wooda kilt him had i not hadda cold.
I rassled with a crockedyle when i was three yars old...
I ritely brag cause i'm really quite bold.
I kicked a cougar's butt when i wuz but ownly four...
That day i ownly walked away just kindda sore, That
varment ran cause he didint want any moor.
I rassled wit a rhino won day, i made him wished he nevert sawed me, 
i made dat sucker pay.
Well today i just turnt five...
If yew mess wit me yew wont b 2 long alive.
Well, i gotta go pee pee, bye, bye.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

How Poe-Tree Grows To Full Bloom

The seeds to the story being, the plot, helps the tree grow in poetry.

Idea's sprout up from this poet's seed, his imagination, and imagery with words 
are his or hers own water, which makes this metephorical tree bloom fully into 
final fruitation. 

A dictionary or Spellchecker program may be considered that tree's fertilization, 
later put into the groundwork of it's compilational completion. 

A final editing might be considered the sun like rays, which in turn, fulfills it's final 
honed growth.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

Catfished Strange Lookin' Critters On Earth.

Catfish hashed halibutt steaks bloodied red rare...
Nothin' more to eat-I really don't care or give a 
dam. No-no-no more mistakes, Sir Sam i am
Don't give a dam flim flam.Hidey Howe and away
we must flee and a'go-go.Paint huffin' kids are 
dumb-asses at best...They could'nt take a test
without failin' or pass.Kids now'a days are spoiled
to the centered core...Their rear ends should be
spanked till tender and sore. Green, orange, pink 
or blue over length spiked mohawks is what these
attention starved brats of today wear...The parents 
should show them they really care, Not have 
complete strangers constantly stare.
What is so neat 'bout wearinf rings in eyebrows 
or a nose? This only makes them resemble
a mexico's bulls.Whats so wrong with bein'
the norm? Why look strange and ugly like on
this planet you shouldda never been born? 
Hippoty hopp, hippoty hopp...Who can be
the worst looking slob?

Details | Michael Gale Poem

The Old Poor Poet,Pained and Old !

Easy money goes from my pocket,as easily
as a man can climb out of the mouth of a
non moving rocket.My wallet is full of
many non-fluttering moth's,My arthritus
makes me move as slow as a slow
motioned tree sloth! Bang the drum slowly
as slow as sand,traveling down the neck
of an hour glass. I may be poor and i
may be slow,but alas i possess a high
falutin' habitual mannered like class!
Friends i may not have many,but i'll tell
you this-My wallet is held tighter than
o'le dead Jack Benny's! T'would be nice to
win that Power-ball lottery,For if it would
happen,i'd be so much more richer than 
that actor by the name of Sean Connery!
Poetry flows from my finger-tips,down to
the o'le computer keyboard,These achin'
joints keep me at bay alot,but these
thoughts just jump up to the o'le
computer screen,Which keeps me 
morally happily serene!Poets like to share
their love to good readers,because they
love to show off their powers as audience
pleasers!    

            01-14-2006'.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

Man's Own Boring Useless Clichets

Light at the end of the tunnel is an old clichet that imparts wisdom
to words that are usually not too appealing.
Clichets describe thoughts with no new original feeling.
Saved by the bell will only apply to a boxer's career.
To have the courage of a lion only describes a person who is unwisely
without fear.
The pen is mightier than the sword, simply implies that a well recieved
publicized report, will have a much more final all powerful effect by a 
printed word.
Clichets will always be around as long as unoriginal words crop up
in the English vocabulary.
Civilized gentlemen will rely on old worn out phrases.
To this final assumption there is a well documentation under that theories basis.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

God Made That Ugly Old Aardvark

God Made That Ugly Old Aard Vark.
Koala bears eat leafy tree vegetation...
But not in our American nation.
Aard varks eat bugs while on the fly...
To this fact, many a zoo keeper cannot deny.
Dinosaurs once walked the earth...
From a volcano came smoke and fire
Which covered a massive widely world's roundly girth.
Adam was the first earthly man...
This was God's original plan.
When Adam first saw Eve...
He pulled and he tugged on that old fig leaf, 
To quench his own sexual desire.
Satan through the serpant blind sighted Adam
in God's own eyes...
After they were kicked out of Eden, 
Adam had the desire for Eve's own thighs.
After sex, they both had a break, 
Then they breathed a many real sighs.
Bed time, play time, was their own
deviously created own timely plan, that they did devise.

Details | Michael Gale Poem

Deadly Macabred Blood Spilt a Spreadly Death.

From when'st this knife fallen from that yonder shelf...
Impels it's long slicable blade deep inside my self.
That blade which bade it's woeful cry so loud...
Gathered many a spectator's viewing crowd.
Blood which spreadeth it's widening reddened shroud...
Instilled it's red bathing, all to a wondering how'd? 
That orange reddened sun bathes the vulture, in
it's heated life shrinking rays of death stalking days...
Serpent's severed head, happly shone off it's protruding, 
elusive pointy forked tongue.
Jackal's fanged teeth had gnarled it's death delivering
quivered smiles...
To all the many horror striked fearing victim's.
The sun had set it's macbre shadow to toil and boil the earth...
Longly and lastly to end on this worldly planed, any chanceful
innocent one's by nature, it's long suffered birth.
Caw, Caw, ... No more forever moored!