Miss Jones
Her lower jaw
(a class three, my dentist father
would have termed it)
jutted forward pugnaciously.
He hair hung limp,
pinned at the side.
Her body hunched crab-like
(probably osteoporosis) .
She wore cream blouses,
stout shoes
and a cardigan
when it was cold.
She adored Mr. Cuthbertson
(head of radio drama)
with the fierce passion
of a lonely spinster.
She fussed over his tea,
typed his memos lovingly.
Her Christian name was Aimee.
Sad really.
At her retirement party
Mr Cuthbertson pecked her on the cheek.
She blushed hotly
and happily.
poem by Alison Cassidy
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Related quotes
Corona Inutilis
I TWINED a wreath of heather white
To bind my lady’s hair,
And deemed her locks in even light
Would well the burden bear;
But when I saw the tresses brown,
And found the face so fair,
I tore the wreath, and left the crown
Of beauty only there.
poem by James Lister Cuthbertson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Raindrops Falling On His Hair
The people standing all around
That slight limp body on the ground.
It shouldn’t be allowed you know
Said one old lady, even though
I think they bring it on themselves
They start on drugs when they're just twelve
They never have a chance it seems
Of having childlike childhood dreams.
I blame the parents, said her friend
They were not with her at the end
Nor were they there much in her life
If only someone else had tried
To bring her up a decent way
That’s really all I have to say.
The crowd dispersed and standing there
Raindrops falling on his hair
Stood one sad man sad man indeed
Seeming that he couldn’t leave
He wore the clothes of lonely men
Eyes heavy with abandonment
He wore the weight of someone frail
He wore the look of someone failed.
Then he knelt down and kissed the air
It was his daughter lying there.
19 September 2004
poem by David Keig
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No Crab
Whether it's Crab soup,
or whether it's crab cakes,
whether it's crab puffs
or whether it's crab flakes
crab gumbo or crab dressing,
it's all the same to me,
for crab is crab is crab
and I detest the taste.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Blotch
I compelled my hand-blotch to be a care
On this soul of mine. So far, my cares
Diminished, as bending was difficult for me
And old tables remained like my skin.
I wore a cardigan that day, and could it be
That my wearing of this item of clothing
Be strict and due to ancient nature,
Or the feature of an old saying
That forbade my age to enter history.
My hands tie meaning with my shirt
Or shall I say cardigan, just the sold one,
The one so forgiving of my age.
Age carries stiches,
I stretch my shirt, or cardigan,
And look at my hands.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hell Of A Band
Ladies and gentlemen.
Please welcome to the center of the stage, the one, the only...
You got it my hips are shaking left to right and uh, Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Say uh, Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Sin, sin, bullet to the head, little John slaps that beat.
Sammy hits that bass hit nookie, rumble you outta your seat.
Now where's that freaky ass son of a bitch?
That guitar raving man?
Lethal's scratchin' up them balls,
Limp Bizkit's one hell of a band.
Left, left, left, right, left.
Left, left, left, right left.
Yeah, my back is aching, my belt's too tight,
My hands are shaking left to right.
I said uh! Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everbody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Ha ha! Uh, Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Uh, Limp Bizkit...(fades out).
song performed by by Limp Bizkit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dentist Chair (Fun Poem 99)
Everyone hates the dentist
some much more than me.
Just the thought of the drill
and the light in your eyes
puts the chills up me.
One of my worst encounters
of the dentist chair came in the 1960’s
when a cold in a tooth made my face swell
on one side like a melon
and I could only drink through a straw.
They knocked me out to remove the tooth.
Having no recovery room
they put me back in the waiting room
and sat me in a chair out there.
It was the dawn of the plastic moulded ones
and the one I sat on was so slippery
I kept slipping down.
I mumbled aloud about the dentist being no good.
Some of his patients took one look at me
and decided I was right, then made a hasty exit
from the waiting room.
With the side of my face swollen to the size of a melon
I can understand why.
Another encounter with a dentist
was quite a few years later.
A different dentist with a wholly different approach.
He was having his waiting room decorated
and I was the only one there.
He came in with a Cheshire grin across his face.
“Mr Harris, do you mind if this gentleman
takes out your teeth today? ”
Being I and thinking it was a student,
I said I didn’t mind.
The dentist then said, “He is my interior decorator.”
The smile still implanted on his face.
I nearly ran out of there.
Now the third tale concerns my wife
and she fears the dentist even more than me.
She had an appointment
and when we arrived,
the surgery was closed for lunch.
We went for a little walk
and all the cars we passed had dents in the side.
“See that.” I said.
“Yes.” She replied.
“That’s what the dentist does
when he can’t get his own way.”
As we approached, a corner
there was a church on the other side.
“Why don’t you nip in there for a quick pray
that the dentist doesn’t come back? ”
She thumped me I wonder why.
As we walked back to the surgery I assured her,
that everything was going to be OK.
They calm you as soon as you walk in.
She looked at me suspiciously and asked how?
They have a big mallet just above the door
and bop you on the head as you walk in.
Your teeth fall out in the process
and the job is done.
Now I wonder why she has never asked me
to go to the dentist with her again.
1 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Difficult Body
A story: There was a cow in the road, struck by a semi--
half-moon of carcass and jutting legs, eyes
already milky with dust and snow, rolled upward
as if tired of this world tilted on its side.
We drove through the pink light of the police cruiser,
her broken flank blowing steam in the air.
Minutes later, a deer sprang onto the road
and we hit her, crushed her pelvis--the drama reversed,
first consequence, then action--but the doe,
not dead, pulled herself with front legs
into the ditch. My father went to her, stunned her
with a tire iron before cutting her throat, and today I think
of the body of St. Francis in the Arizona desert,
carved from wood and laid in his casket,
lovingly dressed in red and white satin
covered in petitions--medals, locks of hair,
photos of infants, his head lifted and stroked,
the grain of his brow kissed by the penitent.
O wooden saint, dry body. I will not be like you,
carapace. A chalky shell scooped of its life.
I will leave less than this behind me.
poem by Mark Wunderlich
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The Bush
GIVE us from dawn to dark
Blue of Australian skies,
Let there be none to mark
Whither our pathway lies.
Give us when noontide comes
Rest in the woodland free—
Fragrant breath of the gums,
Cold, sweet scent of the sea.
Give us the wattle’s gold
And the dew-laden air,
And the loveliness bold
Loneliest landscapes wear.
These are the haunts we love,
Glad with enchanted hours,
Bright as the heavens above,
Fresh as the wild bush flowers.
poem by James Lister Cuthbertson
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Ice Cream Hair
My mom's hair is made of Chocolate Ice Cream.
My dad's hair is made of Mint Ice Cream.
My sister's hair is made of Vanilla Ice Cream.
My halve sister's hair is made of Strawberry Ice Cream.
My brother's hair is made of Coconut Ice Cream.
My halve brother's hair is made of Blue Berry Ice Cream.
My baby sister's hair is made of Banana Split Ice Cream.
What is my hair made out of?
All of the above,
and a hint of sprinkles; -) .
poem by Jasmine Aira
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The Australian Sunrise
The Morning Star paled slowly, the Cross hung low to the sea,
And down the shadowy reaches the tide came swirling free,
The lustrous purple blackness of the soft Australian night,
Waned in the gray awakening that heralded the light;
Still in the dying darkness, still in the forest dim
The pearly dew of the dawning clung to each giant limb,
Till the sun came up from ocean, red with the cold sea mist,
And smote on the limestone ridges, and the shining tree-tops kissed;
Then the fiery Scorpion vanished, the magpie's note was heard,
And the wind in the she-oak wavered, and the honeysuckles stirred,
The airy golden vapour rose from the river breast,
The kingfisher came darting out of his crannied nest,
And the bulrushes and reed-beds put off their sallow gray
And burnt with cloudy crimson at dawning of the day.
poem by James Lister Cuthbertson
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Dinner Party
Creme-de-la-Creme
Soup de Jour
A trayful of nibbles-to bite
Party favors and
Mixed drinks
A Dinner-Party-Delight
Martini's and Vodka
Rocks
Gin and tonic or Baileys and Cream
Crab cakes and Marinated
Mushrooms
A Dinner-Party Most Sypreme
Ah-and The Main Course
Now that's a secret hidden to all
But seven courses-hold
It Together
For The King And Queen Of The
Ball
poem by Theodora Onken
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Crab
When I eat crab, slide the rosy
rubbery claw across my tongue
I think of my mother. She'd drive down
to the edge of the Bay, tiny woman in a
huge car, she'd ask the crab-man to
crack it for her. She'd stand and wait as the
pliers broke those chalky homes, wild-
red and knobby, those cartilage wrists, the
thin orange roof of the back.
I'd come home, and find her at the table
crisply unhousing the parts, laying the
fierce shell on one side, the
soft body on the other. She gave us
lots, because we loved it so much,
so there was always enough, a mound of crab like a
cross between breast-milk and meat. The back
even had the shape of a perfect
ruined breast, upright flakes
white as the flesh of a chrysanthemum, but the
best part was the claw, she'd slide it
out so slowly the tip was unbroken,
scarlet bulb of the feeler—it was such a
kick to easily eat that weapon,
wreck its delicate hooked pulp between
palate and tongue. She loved to feed us
and all she gave us was fresh, she was willing to
grasp shell, membrane, stem, to go
close to dirt and salt to feed us,
the way she had gone near our father himself
to give us life. I look back and
see us dripping at the table, feeding, her
row of pink eaters, the platter of flawless
limp claws, I look back further and
see her in the kitchen, shelling flesh, her
small hands curled—she is like a
fish-hawk, wild, tearing the meat
deftly, living out her life of fear and desire.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Shallow Questions
after dinner
the birthday party of her spinster sister
the usual fried chicken and rice
long noodles for long life
an imagery
of so much superstition
some yellow mangoes
sweet sour
red wine on the table
some fine classic glasses
a toast of
her having to have another year
of boredom
some questions after some drinks
a little drunk he must be
some personal questions as he carries his baby
the mother is lazy i think
and they must have quarreled with her mother-in-law
i don't mind
i keep my own mind
there are other concerns
but he is drunk now and asks me
why i don't go to church on Sunday for the mass
i evaded such a lousy question
an interference on my religious belief
my own convictions
God is somewhere and has a permanent residence
In my heart in my mind in my body in my soul
etcetera
but it is the dinner birthday party of her very lonely spinster sister
i beg away from a drunken discussion
about God and Politics
No heated debates this time of the year
this moment of happiness on a birthday like this
Jokes and light matters
Feathery and Smooth and Comfortable must be the theme
and Points of Convergence
i shift to something life.
'Hey, you have grown more hair, my friend'
we laugh.That i think, is a happy ending.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Porphyria's Lover
The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me – she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!
poem by Robert Browning from Cavalier Tunes (1842)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Change
The change
has come...gone...
Leaving one nickle;
three pennies...
And one song
stuck in my head.
The party is over, the ice cream's
turned to cream.
The confetti has
blown out of town.
Said she was gone...
And all the stars have
huddled around the moon...
Shivering in the cold
of a January...
Night, nite, nite
and goodbye.
poem by Midnights Voice
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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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Jealousy
She wore braids in her hair
every single day.
Not because she wanted to.
It was her mother's way.
She braided them so tightly.
She thought her head would break.
Sometimes just the thought of them
would make her poor head ache.
'Why can't I have my hair
flowing down my back?
Her mother's frown would let her know
to try some other tact..
'Mother can we cut it
just above my shoulder? '
the answer that was given was
'Not until you're older.'
And so she wore her hair like this.
She never wore it down.
When at night she unbraided it
she looked just like a clown.
She knew she would cut it
the very next day
right in front of her mother
to see what she would say.
Her mother watched and sat down
and had a cup of tea.
Her mother simply said
'Now you're more beautiful than me.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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There is nothing fantastic or ultradimansional about crab grass... unless you are an sf writer, in which case pretty soon you are viewing crab grass with suspicion. What are it's real motives And who sent it here in the first place It only looks like crab grass. That's what they want us to think it is. One day the crab grass suit will fall off and their true identity will be revealed. By then the Pentagon will be full of crab grass and it'll be too late. The crab grass, or what we took to be crab grass, will dictate terms.
quote by Philip K. Dick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Havin A Party
(s. cooke)
Producer: martyn ware
Album: non-album track
B-side of the two people single
Were havin a party,
Everybodys swingin,
Dancin to the music on the radio,
Champagne is in the icebox,
And the popcorns on the table,
And me and my baby,
Are out here on the floor.
So listen mister dj,
Keep those records playin,
cause Im a-havin such a good time,
cause Im dancin with my baby.
And everybodys swingin,
Jackies doin that twist now,
If youll take requests,
Then Ive got a few for you,
Play that song called soul twist
And what about the one by that fellow I knew,
And dont forget the mashed potato,
No other song will do.
Yeah listen, mr. dj,
Just keep those records playin,
cause Im a-havin such a good time,
Dancin with my baby.
Were havin a party,
Everybodys swingin,
Dancin to the music,
On the radio.
Havin a party,
Everybodys swingin,
Dancin to the music,
On the radio,
Well one more time.
Were havin a party (havin a party),
Everybodys swingin (everybodys swingin),
Dancin to the music(dancin to the music),
On the radio (on the radio)
Champagnes in the icebox (havin a party),
Popcorns on the table (everybodys swingin),
Me and my baby (dancin to the music),
Out here on the floor (on the radio),
Oh now everybody.
Everybodys swingin (everybodys swingin),
Dancin to the music (dancin to the music),
On the radio (on the radio).
Were havin a party (havin a party),
Everybodys swingin (everybodys swingin),
Dancin to the music (dancin to the music)
On the radio (on the radio).
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Another Night
(ian hunter/mick ronson)
Oh no, the fuzz, all in a line
My oh my, I think Im gonna die
And its just another night
Its just another night
Got a long black face; who goes there?
All the reefer madnessput a poor kid in jail
And its just another night
Yeah, its just another night
Oh take it easy boy or its doa
Chrome on my body and a lot of folks say
That its just another night
Hey, its just another night
Oh, its just another night on the other side of life
Head ones a saw-bones and he wrecked my chair
Said howd you like to do it in a room downstairs
And its just another night
Oh, just another night
Hey now, papa joe, dont you pull my hair
All this intrigue, it gets me out of my league
And its just another night
Its just another night
His old man spent a fortune just to get him in
But baby boy growed up just as stupid as him
And its just another night
Its just another night
Its just another night on the other side of life
Just another night, hung down slow
I dont like the hotel let me go
Hells bells! give me a chance!
This rock n roller dont wanna dance
Just another night
Just another night
Well, its just another night on the other side of life
I never felt so bad; wheres my shades?
Its gonna be a long one getting crazed
A head spoutin noodles said, what do you plead?
I said you aint got to touch a man to make a man bleed
n its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night (on the other side)
Its just another night!
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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