Poems - Your favs or your own

[HereWeGoAgain]

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
So Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy was he?

Beautiful.....

 

[HereWeGoAgain]

Go check poets corner you may be surprised

Afraid I might catch the....

 

[Hossfly]

Anuther short pome.

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
To get her poor doggie a bone.
But when she bent over old Rover took over,
'Cause he had a bone of his own.

 

[HereWeGoAgain]

There once was a man from Nantucket,who had a dick so long he could.....well you know.

 

[BULLDOG]

 

[HenryBHough]

There once was a man from Nantucket,who had a dick so long he could.....well you know.

And then there the twins from Pawtucket.....

They were grinning, too.

 

[Ringtone]

A Tiny Brown Moth and a Little Gray Sparrow​

A tiny brown moth, believing his heart above all else,
Battered himself against the window pane,
Thinking to embrace the morning air—wings aflutter.
A little gray sparrow, believing his hunger above all else,
Battered his sharp beak against the window pane,
Hoping to spear the tiny morsel—wings aflutter.
Eager, persistent, furiously tap, tap, tapping.
Bemused!
Frightened!
Angry!
“What is this?” the sparrow exclaimed.
“His soft belly bruises my beak!”
And still the tiny brown moth
Battered himself against the window pane,
Eager to embrace the morning air—wings aflutter

 

[Ringtone]

There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger. —Edward Lear and William Cosmo Monkhouse

 

[Hossfly]

I memorized this poem in the 8th grade over a week-end in 1952 and recited in in class. I can still recite it from memory.


The Yarn of the Nancy Bell
William Schwenck Gilbert 1836 – 1911

• Death
• Funny
• Love
• Melancholy
• Nature

'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship NANCY BELL
That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the NANCY'S men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and, accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the NANCY'S mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM;
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be, -
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear JAMES, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook ME,
While I can - and will - cook YOU!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.
And some sage and parsley too.

"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
''T will soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And - as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see!



"And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play,
But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have - which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

William Schwenck Gilbert

Sir William Schwenck Gilbert was an English dramatist librettist poet and illustrator best known for his fourteen comic operas produced in collaboration with the composer Sir Arthur Sullivan of which the most famous include HMS Pinafore The Pirates of Penzance and one of the most frequently performed works in the history of musical theatre The Mikado These as well as most of their other Savoy operas continue to be performed regularly throughout the English-speaking world and beyond by opera companies repertory companies schools and community theatre groups Lines from these works have become part of the English language such as short sharp shock What never Well hardly ever and Let the punishment fit the crime Gilbert also wrote the Bab Ballads an extensive collection of light verse accompanied by his own comical drawings His creative output included over 75 plays and libretti numerous stories poems lyrics and various other comic and serious pieces His plays and realistic style of stage direction inspired other dramatists including Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw According to The Cambridge History of English and American Literature Gilberts lyrical facility and his mastery of metre raised the poetical quality of comic opera to a position that it had never reached before and has not reached since.

 

[cnm]

Service and Lear the winners so far.

 

[lg325]

1/6/2021 BY lg325

There is A coolness in the air
But hot tempers everywhere
Home ,work and on the street
People standing up on there feet
calloused hands from digging a ditch
Anger causes those hands to clinch
News man seems to only to deceive
working man not sure who to believe
Elite takes his money and looks down there nose
at this working man who's future is to just grow old
But along with the coolness in the air, hot tempers everywhere.
All the deception has taken its toll, we all are marching on the Capitol.

 

[Ringtone]

Go check poets corner you may be surprised

Afraid I might catch the....

LOL! Poetry is manly stuff. Lefty can't write good poetry.

 

[BULLDOG]

Go check poets corner you may be surprised

Afraid I might catch the....

LOL! Poetry is manly stuff. Lefty can't write good poetry.

the screw-game
one of the terrible things is
really
being in bed
night after night
with a woman you no longer
want to screwgame

they get old, they don't look very good
anymore — they even tend to
snore, lose
spirit.

so, in bed, you turn sometimes,
your foot touches hers — god, awful! —
and the night is out there
beyond the curtains
sealing you together
in the
tomb.

and in the morning you go to the
bathroom, pass in the hall, talk,
say odd things; eggs fry, motors
start.

but sitting across
you have 2 strangers
jamming toast into mouths
burning the sullen head and gut with
coffee.

in 10 million places in America
it is the same —
stale lives propped against each
other
and no place to
go.

you get in the car
and you drive to work
and there are more strangers there, most of them
wives and husbands of somebody
else, and besides the guillotine of work, they
flirt and joke and pinch, sometimes tend to
work off a quick screw somewhere—
they can't do it at home—
and then
the drive back home
waiting for Christmas or Labor Day or
Sunday or
something.

 

[cnm]

1/6/2021 BY lg325

There is A coolness in the air
But hot tempers everywhere
Home ,work and on the street
People standing up on there feet
calloused hands from digging a ditch
Anger causes those hands to clinch
News man seems to only to deceive
working man not sure who to believe
Elite takes his money and looks down there nose
at this working man who's future is to just grow old
But along with the coolness in the air, hot tempers everywhere.
All the deception has taken its toll, we all are marching on the Capitol.

And after we have beat our feet
Organic food we shall eat.

 

[cnm]

LOL! Poetry is manly stuff. Lefty can't write good poetry.

Oh. Is the turgid tosh here written by lefties?

 

[lg325]

Fur and horns one
was a judges son
no working boots
on his feet
just another one of the looney elite

 

[Shawnee_b]

"I saw a man pursuing the horizon"
BY STEPHEN CRANE
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never —”

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.


In the Desert
BY STEPHEN CRANE
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”

 

[Ringtone]

LOL! Poetry is manly stuff. Lefty can't write good poetry.

Oh. Is the turgid tosh here written by lefties?

I was joking.

 

[Ringtone]

Private Altars
by Michael Rawlings (a.k.a., Ringtone)​

I have seen the blood that flows from Private altars,
That glistens on wasted flesh and bone.
I have seen the tiny severed Fingers—

pink, adrift in murky, black waters.​

In all my feverish dreams I hear their muted screams,
And in their eyes, those bewildered eyes turned on callous faces,
I see a plea . . . and the wounded face of God.
“It is our Right!” they rant. “Our Right!”
“Yes,” I whisper, small and foolish,
“But the Babies, the little Babies.”

 

[Ringtone]

Washroom Meditations in Blue
by Michael Rawlings (a.k.a., Ringtone)​

Have you ever stood in crowded halls and listened to the footfalls

that approach you and pass you and leave you stranded?​

Have you ever sensed the faint and weightless drift beyond the temporal stream?
Did you touch it?
Did you taste it?
Were you frightened?
Have you ever stood in the pouring rain?
Or felt a Dread so acute that you believed yourself to be teetering
on the very edge of the blackest hole in your brain?
Did you fall?
Have you ever walked on a rainbow?
Or felt the touch of a child’s hand—frail and tiny—

wrap itself around your smallest finger?​

Did the air hold its breath?
Did time stop?
Did you stop?
I should have been a monstrous insect, with fetid breath,

hanging on your bedroom wall.​