humor
To Eat Like A King
My friend Cherri shared the meme, I then remembered the "Fit For A King" cookbook by Elizabeth McKeon, Ralph Gevirtz and Julie Bandy and thought I could write a poem using the same lyric structure of the song "My Favourite Things" from the 1959 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical "The Sound of Music".
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred 4 months ago in Poets
Where's Joy?
"Where's Joy?" she called. I knew she meant her daughter. But it felt desperate. Maybe through my rose-tinted ears it mirrored or echoed or conflated my own desperate plea into the world. Conventional experts on such matters would suggest the sun shining down on this green and blue land. Or the laugh of children at play, without a care for where their lives might head in days and years to come. Yet others— strange blind people— might suggest it's in the demonocracy they rely on to set matters straight. Even if those matters are battles over the safe passage through a perilous section of water most hadn't heard of before. Where's Joy? In the naked embrace between lovers? Frolicking. Do we frolic enough, like we're on Little House on the Prairie? Frolicking is harder to do in the face of everything and everyone. But does it diminish it? Yes. But no. But always barefoot. On the sand. The field. Or in the pool. Who wears shoes to a pool? Commies? Putin? He dips down, balls first, squatting with a wide thigh gap and double dips. The greedy little fucker. Putin the time and effort to make sure your balls are not shrivelled from all that you do before you double dip the testes in the Volga. Genitals point to the vulva— or asshola, you angry old dwarf.
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
Texas Ain't Changin'
Well, slap my face and call me Sissy! You simply don't get it, Missy! Y'all cain't talk "New York Style" here. Yer in Texas now, M'dear! Now, before y'all up and go, There's a passel more to know. Show some manners and you'll find Life here gits a mite more kind While yer at it, have a go At dancin' to our “Cotton Eyed Joe”, If y'all can keep up the pace! And 'fore eatin', we say Grace. It ain't like we're proud or picky, But the lifestyle here is tricky And we we practice what we preach, Which we're also glad to teach! Don't go gittin' in a tizzy 'Cause yer life “back home” was busy. Whoa up, and we'll treat you to Our best slow-cooked barbecue. “Barbecue”'s a wide selection Of fine foods, grilled to perfection And unless it's on yer grill, No suggestin'. Jest keep still. If yer cruisin' on our highway, Interstate or dirt-track byway, That friendly wave you jest saw? Y'all return it – that's the law . Open doors for complete strangers. Don't talk smack about the Rangers. Hats off comin' in the door, Or expect to git “What For”. Y'all can see, I'm sure, it's simple, Sure as my butt's got a dimple. Texas won't adjust to you. We'll leave that for you to do. *** I'm not sure why this one came to me today. I think I'm just glad ot be publishing. Y'all enjoy, y'hear?
By Dana Crandell4 months ago in Poets
Silence
This whiney little rant was intended to be published just before the verification issues began. It's a gentle, slightly humorous reminder that I really appreciate comments. The rhyme meter follows Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" The video above is Disturbed's version, which hits hard. I suppose my poem could be labeled a parody. Enjoy! Hello Vocal, how've you been? I wrote a story here again Because I thought it might get some reads Maybe some comments, but my heart, it bleeds 'Cause my thinking was, sadly, off the mark It was a lark. For all I read was silence. And so, I waited for an hour I used the time to take a show'r, Shave off the stubble, put some clean clothes on, Had me some coffee and when that was gone, I sat back down to answer all my friends, But that depends On comments left, not silence. And now the day is halfway gone. I think I may be catching on. The story sucks, or maybe it's just me Thinking someone might leave words for me, Just to say, hey buddy, this was good! I understood! But naught there was - just silence. Not long from now, evening sets in And I'll reset my brain again. Perhaps I'll write another tale or two For someone who is waiting for me to, But I know, tomorrow, here I'll be, Because, you see, Much can be said, with silence. So thanks to those who took the time To read this rant disguised as rhyme I know I shouldn/'t publish it at all, But my good judgment's here behind this wall, And I've never really had much of a knack For holding back. I'm just no good at silence. ***
By Dana Crandell4 months ago in Poets
