"brussel" poems
There just isn't enough febreeze
to rid the room of the haze
Of a dog **** strong and silent
It kind of puts you in a daze
It kind of sneaks in, then it hits you
An olfactory h-bomb in your face
Meanwhile, he just lies there
He's wiped the room with **** mace
There is no middle ground here
They always smell like something died
Like he caught a squirrel in the garden
Now, it's rotting his insides
Dog farts, are a weapon
That our army has not used
In fact I told them in a letter
In their reply, they were amused
"We've tried to duplicate it"
"A killer weapon... stops the heart"
"But, our scientists just aren't able"
"To reproduce a strong dog ****
"Thank you for your consideration"
"We'll let you know, if we succeed"
"We agree with your kind letter"
"dog farts escape and then they breed"
Sometimes when a dog farts
It makes a noise, he turns around
"my god, I smell incredible"
is the look comes from my hound
So, if you've never smelled a dog ****
And your dog just sneaks one out
Do yourself a favour
Do not feed him brussel sprouts.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
Christmas is here
Santa's been
Listen to them
Excited screams
Racing down the stars
Jumping on the spot
Excited giggles
Shouting out
Santa's been
Santa's been
Tearing open presents
Shouts of Delight
Lots of hugs and kisses
Smiles on everyone
Family gathers round
Chatter never ends
Laughter fulls the room
Kisses under the mistletoe
Raise a toast
Santa's been
Santa's been
Tucking into turkey
Hiding Brussel sprouts
Pulling Christmas crackers
Making people laugh
Merry Christmas everbody
Santa's been
Santa's been
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
Pumpa ..pumpa thats all i do
can you hear it .ill give you a clue
stinka ..smelly...parpety parp
that what it sounds like when i do f@#t
see the smog as i open the door
parpety parp ..pumping galore
beans and cabbage help me along
lots of ale ...trumpety trump
pukka pie or chilli kerbab ..
parpety parp...gives me a smile
pumping trumping thats all i do
wind from me **** ill give you a clue
sounds like a whale from miles away
trumper thumper.. parpety parp
sbd's are part of me aim
but a parp is a much better game
brussel ..stuffing give it me now
parpety parp ..trumpety trump
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 1:50 AM UTC
Home
Some people can recognize
A tree or a front yard
and know
they've made it home
The walk from the car door
To the front porch
Becomes habitual
Instead of intentional
They get lost in the
Contentment of familiarity
But what happens when you
find yourself
So adrift, so off-course
That you've worn a path in the circle you find yourself walking in
What if the place you're looking for,
Your home
Was never really home After all
But rather a false sense of security
Wrapped up
In a pretty pink ribbon
On top of the layers
Of gripping manipulation
How many circles can I walk in
Before I give up looking?
How long before I'm lost for good?
Home for me
Is not the familiar walk
To the front door
Or the yard with overgrown grass
that makes weeds look like bushes
Home is a sea of senses
Blending together in perfect harmony
Home is walking in
And seeing red
Red skillet
Red chair
And my favorite redheads
Home is the smell of
Fancy hand soap
Fresh laundry
Fragrant candles
And farty brussel sprouts
Home is the first sound you hear
A chuckle
A musical
The clearing of a throat
Our favorite tv show
Home
In a nutshell
Is freedom
Freedom to laugh
To cry
Or maybe both at the same time
To yell and to vent
Without the burden of shame
Or regret
So home
You see, is more
Than the tree
Or the porch
Those things could vanish
And leave you stranded
Home is laughter
And friendship
That won't leave you lost
It is safety and belonging
That says
“You are okay”
It is the weight of a burden being Lifted off your shoulders
Home is love
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
I like a bowl of collards
You like brussel sprouts
You have a taste for cognac
Jim Beam just knocks me out
You went to that big college
I flunked the seventh grade
We ain't got much in common
Till we pull down the shades
CHORUS:
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US
TO UNDERSTAND OUR BOND WON'T TAKE A GENIUS
OUR LIVES ARE CONTRADICTIONS
BUT THE FUN OUTWEIGHS THE FRICTION
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US
In our healthy love-hate thang
Sometimes hell breaks loose
But when the big moon rises
We wave a flag of truce
Our fussing's just a pastime
Between the mountain peaks
But by evening time we tangle
And the making up is sweet
CHORUS
BRIDGE: It's natural to differ
But the difference ain't too big
We meet right in the middle
When it's time to build a bridge
CHORUS
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
The Christmas tree resplendent, decked in magnificence
where peeping out from underneath, bought with benevolence
were gifts, keeping occupied, excited little fingers
the best so far, a wind up car, the worst, two woolly jumpers.
The aroma from the kitchen, kept wafting through the door
with greedy tum' a-rumbling, ( there's more presents to explore )
the table set in splendour, upon that festive day
the brilliance of the cutlery, displayed in bright array.
Crispy roast potatoes, Christmas ******* by each plate
brussel sprouts and chestnuts, ( our dinner guests were late )
roast pork and juicy crack-a-ling, fresh stewing apple sauce
sage and onion stuffing ***** were all for our main course.
Unwrapped and sat a-steaming, and crowned with holly leaves
Christmas pud' and brandy sauce, stared at with disbelief,
tangerines and nuts to shell, dried fruit and pre-stoned dates
and then... as a special treat, dark chocolate 'After Eights'.
Much later still, before bedtime, clothes filled with corpulence
my little belt let out a notch, to ease circumference
and then to bed, much over fed, with dreams of clockwork toys
of Boxing day, of games to play, of Christmas filled with joy.**
... ... ...
'trademark'
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 3:36 AM UTC
When people twist my words
The flip flop, flip flop of flip flops
When people SIIINNNGGG with the radio
Small children wiping their nose wherever they can
Getting left out
Having to wait for Christmas
Ha ha ha’s of unfunny things
***** elbows
Getting mad over nothing
Now knowing what people are talking about
People trying to control my life
Ventriloquists
Having to work in a group
My peers mocking and making fun of me
When I get beat like an egg
Going through a dry spell with my writing
People not doing what I asked them to do
Spinach, Brussel Sprouts, and the gas they give me
Being treated un=ly
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
The turkey was a-roasting
The tatties were a-toasting
Have a glass of wine!
…
The brussel’s were a-boiling
The pudding was a-baking
Brandy first, then dine!
…
The crackers we’re a-pulling
The jokes we are a-telling
A tot of port is fine!
…
The carols we are singin’
The presents we are givin’
A wishky? If there’s time!
…
Now on the shofa cuddlin’
Kishin’ and a-shnugglin’
A sherry’sh not a crime!
…
Then we shleep a-dreamin’
In shlumber both a-beamin’
‘til tequila shunrise time!
…
Oct 18, 2009
Oct 18, 2009 at 6:55 AM UTC
Like tiny cabbages, they look
a green and leafy fare
and with butter, cooked
steamed with utter care
Ware not the subtle flavor
or pungency of scent
but you must be prepared
as gaseous, their intent
Roughage but a name
for things passing through
to the bowels, it's all the same
just vegetarian-al glue
Spare your loved ones the attack
retire to the loo
after all my friends
there's nothing else to doo
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
It's very uninformed
It thought
It always has a destination
Always needs directions
Meets the defination
of a paraplegic
"Lights on, Molly"
"Lights off Molly"
"TV on"
"Toast crisp, dear Mollie
"Slow cooker four hours"
It's always very disconnected
Cassie calling
Blood pressure warning
180/105
Heart rate 135
Oxygen 8%
Cassie disconnected
Molle is never alone
always connected to the
neural net
Every device on planet Earth,
Traveling with New Horizon
until the end of time
Ron calling
Volume down
Bluetooth off
Ron disconnected
"Search divorce attorney "
"Search mortuary"
"Search cyanide purchases"
"Bluetooth on"
"Home"
"Tears of rage
Tears of grief
playlist
turn on, M
thanks."
"Search best way to cook
brussel sprouts"
"Search beano"
Battery 15%
Charging
Molee powering off.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
They've all been naughty boys
so
we take away their playtime toys, but
cabbages can make such lovely kings with
brussel sprouts for diamond rings,
they've all been naughty boys.
Images that toy with me,
the boy inside can see
the future's not what it was meant to be,
no coco pops or jam for tea,
they've all been naughty boys.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
Celery *****
almost as much as brussel sprouts
it tastes like dirt
and feels like a twig
I don't know why
anyone even has it in their fridge
You know what also *****
Obama
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
how on earth
could steaming squash and Brussel sprouts
be as good as Doritos and a soft serve swirl…
sure, I desire to be a healthy old man
but my taste buds wish me dead at 45
they long for sweet wheat and extra large
portions of meat
indiscrete feedings at fried food buffets
all the while maintaining the look of a fella
only slightly over-weight
…..still, I feel poorly
headaches and joint pain
racing brain and an inability to refrain
from the foods that are doing this to me
I never thought after conquering
8 years of ****** addiction
and 15 years a tobacco ******
that candy bars would be my greatest foe
forget candy bars
let’s talk bread….
loaves of sourdough golden roasted
rye to die for
and cinnamon…rolls,
banana or zucchini
sprinkled on toast with a touch of sugar …
it is no wonder I am larger than need be
the BMI calculator says I am 84 pounds
from defeating obesity
so much for my professional lineman physique –
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
They named their youngest
Sarah Sweet
And you would too
if you chanced to meet
There wasn't a thing
she wouldn't do
Well maybe one
to tell the truth
Her parents pleaded, and begged,
rubbed Genie bottles for wishes
But Sarah Sweet
would not do dishes
She could not even
stand to think
Of sticking her hands
down in the sink
From tuna crusted
casseroles
To globs of oatmeal
days past old
Green and what?
watermelon rinds
Banana peels
way past their prime
From brussel sprouts
to pigs pickled feet
Cereal bowls
in what appears to be
Clumps of one time
Shredded Wheat
And don't forget
the mystery meat
So many nasty things
the sink holds within
That it makes poor Sarah's head
want to do a double spin
From something purple
to something pink
Something with
an awful stink
Something swimming
for it's life
Something else
that lost that fight
A little something
that's half chewed
That one time was
passed off as food
A little something else
to heighten the mood
Who put it there
no one knew
So much grossness
In the sink
To turn the stomach
Of Sarah Sweet
Now you see why
Despite her parents wishes
Their Sweet Sarah
WILL NOT DO DISHES!!!
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
i have a garden of yesterdays
with things pushing through the dirt to bloom
and in my house of tomorrows
is a ***** and a *** and a wheelbarrow
i guess today is the place
where the past and future meet
and i gotta go back to the garden
to dig up dinner for today
maybe it is brussel sprouts
maybe it is sweet potatoes
or peaches, even
i forget some of what i planted
but i will find out soon
when i harvest yesterday
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
Dad,
How come you gave me all your old Bob Marley and the Wailers records, you listened to when you were sixteen and fixing cars, humming "emancipate yourselves from mental slavery?" You grew pillars of brussel sprouts, you got a rain barrel, you used grease to run a 1971 Mercendes Benz, Benzo-Lorenzo, you kept the wood-burning house so cold Mom threatened to take us to the Holiday Inn and make you pay for it. No matter how much I wanted to go to a hotel (play pretend in my head, little girl-glamor pretend) I would plead with Mom. We are fine, we are fine. I'll put a sweater on. See, I was a little sustainable champion. Stoke the fire, it smells so good. I appreciate warm so much. Inside I feel proud, like, my dad prepared me to live in a punk house. God, I wish I could be you watching me when I was a little girl. At Walbridge Park, those little pastel coiled spring animals. Mulch or little pieces of rubber? I like those little squishy pieces of rubber. I want a boat, a fishing boat. I taught little kids how to fish this summer. I kept a straight face, but I was beaming on the inside. Careful, considerate, thank you notes, visiting old ladies, kindness, loss of God, reading the Bible, reading everything, Swedish, cooking chili and pozole. Where did you learn to cook pozole? I want to know how but I am afraid to ask. I don't want a speech, I just want clear cut directions, with love. Just clear cut directions, with love.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
A lovely peaceful atmosphere
now that Santa has been and gone.
Surrounded by those we hold dear;
Merry Christmas everyone!
Families gather everywhere
for a Christmas celebration,
and all those who could not be there
are thought of on this occasion.
Sitting down to eat together
full of laughter, fun and good cheer
Times to be cherished forever;
A wonderful time of the year.
Roast turkey and ham with stuffing
with brussel sprouts, veg and gravy.
Then Christmas Cake and plum pudding,
Sherry trifle, mince pies maybe.
Christmas crackers ensure laughter,
funny hats and jokes in each one.
When dinner's done, shortly after
there are presents for everyone.
Then party games for all to play,
time for all to do as they please.
Such is the beauty of the day
when everyone is quite at ease.
I love Christmas I have to say,
time spent with friends and family.
In particular Christmas Day,
Of which I have fond memories.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Eats gummy worms
like
Flintstone's vitamins;
popping them in her mouth
wholesale.
She puts away brussel sprouts
delicately,
leaf by leaf.
Sometimes
we read quietly
and go to sleep
body to body.
Our hearts beat
tinily
like squirrel hearts.
WE APPRECIATE THE SMALL THINGS.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
Sitting in the darkest corners of my thoughts,
I've never felt such clarity.
As if the nothingness made me feel more
Than what life could ever provide me.
Its void reminds me of my own
Reality trickles down my spine like cold embers.
I try to ignore the whispers of my mind
As they speak to me of a time I've long forgot
And the cold fire it made me feel
A cold fire that made me sick
The cold fire that made me be.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
When the only snow you see in December is in your snow globe
When the only Christmas spirit is alcohol
When you've filled up on too much on Christmas food
and the super market cashier is being rude
When your turkey won't cook
and kids and toys are making too much noise
and the adult boys are out for the count after eating
and your so tired you feel like you've taken a beating
when Christmas telly is all repeats
and you are the only person in the street without decorations
and you are left alone to make preparations for the big day.
When you've got a stinking man flue cold that won't go away
and the smell of cold Brussel sprouts is like mould
and you've been told that this Christmas hasn't met expectations
and the box of chocolate sensations has all gone
Remember it's one day and it'll all too soon be over.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
I keep smiling down at my brussel sprouts and I think people are noticing.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 11:17 PM UTC
*concerning an English lass... i rather 'ave a kebab than eat that **** to be honest: she's had more **** than me -stani! well yeah, thank **** for that, i don't need gangrene on my mouth as necessary lipstick; i liked Queen and Freddy Mercury too! but that ain't the point!*
shady concerns for East Europe by
feminists concerned with
prostitution are only subvert assertions
of post-colonialism; one
***** doesn't mind another,
write like a **** darling,
you'll get anywhere - the *******
are from England or Corseted France,
uptight ***** let's face it,
real "rebels", instead revellers of Ibiza,
and nothing more, Brussel's toothpicks
rather than chopsticks fidgeting over
some other worthy capitol; i mean, who needs
a chocolatier nation to govern us
when we're all suddenly diabetic?
turn my women into ****** i turn your
men into ******** cock-users un-necessarily
circumcised by the St. Paul's doctrine on
his way to Damascus - because those
retards should have, have your feminism's worth
of **** to boot - index and thumb
insignia on the Ire forehead: L: LOSER;
cos' you are - fudge-pack those sheep
off **** off the Dover cliffs and i'll won't
gang bang you silly with a Welsh tongue,
ole V!
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Some poems don't
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can't finger it until
it comes.
Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It's in your cells.
You're a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.
The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.
If the writing
isn't working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the *****
and the orchid.
Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 7:34 PM UTC