You Bet It (Fun Poem 55)
For JoAnn who knows what I mean.
When you talk on messenger
you type so very fast
to keep the conversation flowing,
but there are occasions
when your typing falls short
of what it should be
and you end up with
a funny kind of message.
I was talking to a friend
and to answer a question I purposed
she wrote or was suppose
to write you bet it.
However, what was typed
wasn’t you bet it at all.
Instead it read you be tit.
We both looked at it
and started to laugh.
Another blooper
for the jam pot that night.
23 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Weekend
My weekend started with great expectations,
a chat with two very dear friends online,
but after that the weekend settled into a decline,
and went right down the pan as they say.
I had a backlog of poems to type,
then suddenly and without warning,
everything was plunged into darkness
and candlepower became the norm.
You cannot run a computer on candlepower
so my typing came to abrupt end
with only six poems left to type.
Sunday wasn’t much better
as each poem that I typed was a sad one
and it left me feeling the same way.
At least I managed to finish them,
but the sadness remained.
I was glad to see the weekend gone;
hoping that the week ahead
will bring some smiles instead.
17 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Thorn Between Two Roses
Talking to a friend last night,
they were saying how
inspiration had deserted them.
I suggested several methods
of how to get it back.
Most of them they had tried,
but with no avail.
Then I suggested collaboration.
They were not to sure about that.
We write in different styles
came the reply.
Therefore, what I said
we could only give it a try.
Reluctantly she agreed.
I dug out a few miss tries
and sent them through.
In the meantime,
I was talking to another friend of ours.
Told her about the collaboration
and she asked if she could join in too.
Of course, I said
I was only too happy
to have her on board.
So the three of us set about to work.
JoAnn, Meggie and me.
And today our first poem was born.
No title yet,
but it has been posted
for the world tom see.
Under the name
JoJo Bean, Dodgy Dave & Meggie Gultiano.
A thorn between two roses.
The poem is seamless
and is difficult to see
where one poet finishes
and another poets starts.
This is our first collaboration
and by no means our last.
Each of us has enjoyed doing it
and is looking forward to the next.
6 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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When You Need Them The Most
For my very good friend JoAnn
There are some nights
you sit alone in front
of your computer screen,
wanting to talk to someone.
You go online with messenger
and hope a friend will sign in.
You just need to talk to someone
to chase your blues away.
You don’t tell them you are feeling blue
for invariably you end up
cheering them up a bit.
In the process, you are helping yourself,
but you won’t let them know
that because it would only worry them.
You just laugh and joke
like a jester should.
Then you say goodnight,
but they never know
just how much joy they brought
just being there
when you needed them the most.
27 March 2007
poem by David Harris
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Faded Pages
Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
one story and one story only,
but a friend of mine at the time
persuaded me to write another and another.
Before long, a volume was finished
with enough stories to start another.
From a one off story I have written over sixty now
about the cat and all his friends.
Now as I flick through these faded pages,
which I haven’t read in years,
I find myself being reunited
with many long lost friends.
26 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Did Anyone Know The Messenger?
What in the world,
Are they doing over there?
'Well...
It's a complicated story.
You see..
The culprit giving mouth to mouth,
Resuscitation to the messenger...
Knocked him out,
Because of a message read.
And...
Before he even began to read,
The people determined...
They didn't particularly care for his attitude.'
What did his attitude have to do,
With a message delivery?
'That's the point the messenger,
Attempted to make.
Then that guy called the messenger,
A bunch of names.
Then knocked him out.'
What was the message?
'Well..
I had to read it,
Because the others refused to get involved.'
What did the message say?
'It said...
Keep your faith, stay strong.
Love one another.
Seek and attempt peace.
And please forgive the messenger,
Delivering this message.
He has been volunteering his time,
Without any pay at all.'
Did anyone know the messenger?
'They all did!
That's what's complicated.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ballad Of ‘Memo’ Roy
For JoAnn
Who in conversation inspired this little ditty.
This is the Ballad of ‘Memo’ Roy
the fastest memos in the world.
Roy writes a memo every minute
just to remind himself what to do.
He even writes one to tell himself
he must visit the loo.
It all started many years ago
when the doctor told Roy
he was suffering from
short-term memory loss.
Now he writes memos
to remind himself to write a memo
for everything he must do.
He writes one late at night
to remind him
to get up in the morning
and one in the morning
to remind him to go to bed at night.
It is estimated he writes
quite a few hundred memos everyday.
His house is filed with little bits
of yellow paper stuck up here and there.
He couldn’t watch TV
even if he wanted to.
There are s many memos on it
you can’t see the screen.
One day his pen ran out
and no memos he could write.
He couldn’t even write a memo
to remind himself to buy a pen.
Then he found a pencil
and shouted that will do.
Now he is able to write memos to himself
to tell himself what to do.
As far as I know,
he hasn’t written a memo
to remind himself to sharpen
the pencil once and a while.
28 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Collaboration
For JoAnn and Meggie
My two collaborating special friends
When you write in collaboration
all authors must have faith
in what the other writes,
for without it,
anything you write
starts showing at the seams.
17 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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It's Kind of Funny
It's kind of funny how those who want life get it taken away,
while those who loathe it wander around.
Almost as if a waste.
It's kind of funny how those who try to do right get it spit back in their face.
The bad walk among us as if to be common people.
They, they get your respect.
It's kind of funny the people you love, they're usually the fall of you.
They say they're there for you but always somehow make you feel worthless.
It's kind of funny how everything can end so fast.
Everything can just disappear.
It's kind of funny how I wish I never met you.
I wish I could tell you.
I wish we could be.
And I wish that everything wasn't so funny and that everything could be what it is.
It's kind of funny how me and you,
we don't matter.
What I say and do will always be funny to you.
It's no longer funny.
poem by Elina Fields
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Horoscope
At one time, I used to read
my horoscope every day,
just to see what the stars
had in store for me.
It always seemed that
they were writing
about someone who wasn’t me.
The things they said were going to happen
and the dates they gave all went by,
but nothing ever happened.
They even asked those who wrote it,
did we get it right?
It made me wonder if they knew
what they were doing
or was it just one big sham.
I got tired of reading them
and now only do it for a laugh,
because whatever they say
is never going to come true.
Well, at least not for me.
Therefore, if you read your horoscope
and read religiously
just take it with a pinch of salt
is the advice I give to thee.
No one can predict
what will happen just to you.
Now I just like the mystery
that each new day brings
and it is much more fun that way.
19 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Why Do I Write
People often ask me why do I write,
unfortunately I have no answer.
I started when I was eighteen
when my then girlfriend
said we were through.
I said to myself
if the Beatles can do it why not try it.
I was lonely with nothing else better to do
and it all progressed from there.
The more I wrote the better I got
and now I don’t even think about it
as the ideas just come to me
and I write them down quickly before they pass.
When I started, my parents said
it was just a passing phase,
but here almost half a century has gone by
and that seems like some long passing phase.
Of course as I progressed, I experimented
with poetry, short stories and novels,
now my back library seems endless
and still I write more and more
jumping from one subject to another.
If I knew why I do it,
I’d bottle it and sell it
probably making a fortune on the way.
Sadly, the answer eludes me,
all I know is, I just sit with pen in hand
and the words come automatically
with line following line until I am through
no matter what facet of writing I am working in.
I never question myself about it,
but just let it happen and feel happy that it does.
Maybe sometime in the future
some scholar will give an answer to why I do it.
24 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Sam Loves Joann
(tia sillers/john tirro)
Joann was is an awkward position
Very unmarried and starting to show
Joann had wanted to be a beautician
She thought it looked like a good time to go
Got on a greyhound to ride up to macon
No one is new brunswick would quite understand
She wouldnt look at the side of the highway
Where written in spray paint said sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Sams on his way to the state penitentiary
He doesnt know hes a father to be
Sam only wanted to borrow a chevy
But the state locked him up and they threw out the key
Sam hoped to take her away to get married
But he never asked her, so much for big plans
Now the prison bus takes him on down that same highway
Where written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Funny how things from the heat of the moment
Like making a baby or getting tattooed
Last a lot longer than ever expected
Feelings might fade but the facts never do
Its all the same in the small towns and big towns
The names might change but across this great land
Just take a ride along any old highway
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What They Will Say
Some times, I wonder if I write for the future.
That may seem like a strange statement to make.
Forty-three years ago, I wrote a poem
that at the time no one wanted to know.
Now it is my best-loved poem
read by countless people around the world.
Thirty years ago, I wrote two poems
and each one won me an award,
but at the time I wrote them,
no one wanted to know.
All of which makes me wonder
if what I wrote in my yesteryears
that then none wanted to know.
Could they all be popular now?
Today I started collecting and retyping
short stories I wrote twenty years ago.
At the time, publishers and agents
didn’t want to know.
Now twenty year on
I am wondering what they will say.
24 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Adopted Sisters
This goes out to my two adopted sisters
JoAnn and Meggie
I love you both
I have two adopted sisters
and write with both of them.
One lives in America
and the other in the Philippines.
I worry about them all the time
like a big brother would do.
I talk to both whenever I can.
The difficulty I have
is the time difference
between us all.
One is five hours behind my time
and the other is seven hours ahead.
I have even known them
to be online at the same time
and I have had to talk
to both at the same time.
My fingers were working
overtime that night.
The sad part of my story is
that I have a real sister
who never talks to me,
but my adopted sisters
are more I feel like my family.
Although I have never met them,
I feel I know both of them so well.
They are always there for me
whenever I am down
as I am there for the both of them,
my lovely adopted sisters
Meggie and JoAnn.
12 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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George Crabbe Wrote Of
George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.
George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.
He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.
Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.
Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Rose Across The Sea
For My Good Friend JoAnn McGrath
Not so long ago I was joking
with a young lady across sea.
I told her that I was a vicar,
or at least pretend one.
My name was Dodgy Dave the Vicar.
A little while later
she wrote a poem aptly named,
The Vicar Is Quicker.
Since then she has written
quite a number more.
I tell her a funny story about me.
No sooner do I tell her the story
it appear as a Dodgy Dave Poetry.
In the time I have known her
not once have, I wrote a poem for her,
that rose across the sea.
She thinks of me as her big brother.
I find that as a compliment you see,
as my own real sister
does not want to know me.
Therefore, I have an adopted one
far away from me,
a rose across the sea.
Therefore, Joann
this poem is just for you,
from your friend,
that Dodgy quicker vicar
who rhymes with liquor.
A substance he never touches,
but I will raise my cup of tea
and say again,
this poem is just for you,
my rose across the sea.
poem by David Harris
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
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Talk To Me
When I see you, girl you turn my head, you make me dizzy
I get a good vibration
When I look into your big blue eyes, I start to quiver and shake
I get a strange sensation
When you walk by me you strut around, you make me crazy, I get no relaxation
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation, talk to me
People tell me that you run around and that youre no good
You got a bad reputation
I dont care what all the people say, you know they talk too much
Its a fascination
All I wanna do is talk to you and maybe go out, and form some kind of relation
So talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me - why dont you
Talk to me - cmon and talk to me
I just wanna talk to you
Girl I wish you knew the way I felt, you think Im silly, that its infatuation
So we better get together soon, because I need you girl
I cant stand the frustration, so
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, all I want is a little conversation
Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me - why dont you
Talk to me - cmon and talk to me
Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me - I just wanna talk to you
(repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Funny isn't it?
Funny isn’t it?
The torture and pain
But don’t worry about it
Wasn’t it just a game?
Funny isn’t it?
Watching her hide from you
Hiding behind people
So scared of what you’ll do
Funny isn’t it?
Ripping up her soul
Well I suppose you had too
You have to be in control
Funny isn’t it?
When you don’t see her around
Proud of your work
That You won your ground
Funny isn’t it?
When your smile starts fall
As you look for that girl
Missing from school
Funny isn’t it?
When the guilt takes its toll
When the worry starts
And it tares up your soul
Funny isn’t it?
When you see her friends looks
When you wish you could give back
All the things you took
It was funny wasn’t it?
Went you read that note
And you saw the reasons
she had blood on her coat
Its funny now isn’t it?
As the guilt take its place
And all you can see
Is her lifeless face
poem by Amie Waddafuck
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Writing A Valentine Comp Poem
Many years ago, I wrote a Valentine poem (the year was 1992)
for a competition on the local radio.
The first one I wrote seemed to me OK,
and then my wife told me that it was too long.
Out came the pen and paper
and I sat down and wrote another one.
I sent it in and lo and behold
it was read out on the radio
and neither of us heard it.
We did not even know
that it had been aired
until a box of heart shaped chocolates
came landing on our door.
Being such a kind person,
I’m going to share the poems with you.
They are called appropriately
Valentine Comp Poem 1 and 2.
Read and enjoy what this silly sod
would do to win a box of chocolates
for his love so true.
31 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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