"clooney" poems
Women are always saying, why are there no good men out there anymore?
I say there are plenty of good men out there.
Good men with great qualities.
Might not look like Brad Pitt but strong enough to never quit.
You can't wait for a George Clooney you may go ******
You chose to go out on a date with that handsome man.
Who drives the fancy car and wears that fancy watch.
That handsome man wined you and dined you.
Took you back to his place where you ended up staying late.
You left in the early morning hour, heading home for a shower.
A few days have gone by, that handsome man never calls.
You're feeling sad and rejected, thats what handsome men do.
A good man would not have rejected you.
A good man who drives an old pickup truck.
Who worries when the rents do.
A good man working to make ends meet would sweep you off your feet.
Good men aren't hard to find.
Just open your eyes and you just might find.
That there are a few good men out there.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
the soft grass tickles
my bare feet
as I walk across the bluegrass
and I realize that it may be
a bit sterotypical for a girl like me
a sundress wearing
sweet tea drinking
southern girl like me
to tell you that Kentucky
is not a place i want to leave
but heres the thing
I've got all my teeth
a pretty full vocabulary
and a 28 on my ACT
and here in Kentucky,
we're hobbits, not hillbillies
we're more than just a basketball team
and maybe in the dictionary,
its Daniel Boon and geography
and home of the KY Derby
but hell we've got Johnny Depp and George Clooney
and the beautiful mountains and trees
in Eastern Kentucky
and we have culture and cuisine,
and so many things
that if you still think I'm stereotypical, then maybe
I dare you to see what youre missing.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
for Nave
Busyness makes one idiotic and forgetful. And we nearly sunk the night
didn’t we darling, leaning on the wrong swing.
(It is always the peach tree.) Katrina doing her Harpy on Fullblast thing
with such deftness and professionalism she leaves us no room to respond
to legs and offers of spread cheese. And poets cave in like lonely black holes
if they cannot response as fully as they have peaches in their coffers to do so,
or at least they think so and so do we so I escaped to shower, and tried to make
the water hot enough to round me straight again, but my skin still gets in the way.
I wanted to peel off everything and douse my soul straight in the hot and the lavender, questing
for a readiness beyond the pale, some state rare, and infinitely usuable.
It was only when, and this is true, when I decided to make a list of
why I love you that the water went in
and the lavender grew instantly between my toes. And Rosemarey Clooney
danced you in to me and you were a happy Papa at last, and we knew enough. And there
was finally room enough to
mambo home.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
Love the name.
Got upset
When the man called out, Seen.
Stupid man.
It's Sean, and not Shawn.
A year older than Gerald.
Two younger than Kevin.
Two older than me.
That's Sean.
Daddy wrote home about us.
Maura was working at the hospital.
Sheila was finishing highschool.
Kevin won the Science Fair.
Sean plays ice hockey with the All Stars,
All over Canada and the U.S.
I found the letter, penned in '62,
A jagged European cursive. They tend to write the same.
I've seen the words, run together to hide the spelling;
With JMJ's and TG's sprinkled like manna throughout.
The last page was missing,
Just when Daddy'd write about Gerald, me, and Marlene.
Gerald with his Beetles haircut.
Me, mimicking ( probably mocking),
Some unknown priest, to my father's delight;
Marlene, the wee pigeon, he missed most when he worked
Away from home.
Jimmy, The Bruiser, wasn't here yet.
The last of an Irish brood settled in Canada.
I discovered it in the spare room at Granny's and Frank's.
There was no mention of Michael, Eucheria or Particia.
He exaggerated about the harsh, six-month winters here,
And our proximity to the North Pole.
Suggested Frank try putting copper wires around Granda's wrists;
The Egyptian mummies didn't exhibit signs of bone deterioration.
Daddy was hard-pressed to be proven wrong when he concocted.
Sean had a drawer full of ribbons, medals, trophies and plagues,
And a large S, his Senior Letter.
He also had sideburns, a much smaller nose, and, smelled
as good as he looked,
The Elvis dip-curl, the Connery swag, the Selleck stash to Clooney cool.
Sean kept a disposition of hidden pains secreted for others.
A heart of tears.
A spirit of adventure.
I love Sean, I recall.
He is always welcome here.
Drops by sometimes.
It's always a great surprise.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney.
Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks.
Our dicks—the archetypal genital signal—
Are hidden from sight, &
****** wagging
Will get you arrested.
Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer.
Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio:
(As read by Don Pardo, postmortem).
“Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.”
Blessed are the
Underarm Sweat Removers,
A Labor cohort
Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . .
Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ...
https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter.
Ka-Ching.
Ka-Ching.
And Andy Stern’s suggestion,
Probably the best for anyone
Searching for a new mate, or
Wanting to move up,
Move up to a new relationship plateau,
Move up to a higher class of ******
Open your nostrils.
Take a deep breath.
Bio continues:
“Dr. Winifred Cutler
Founded the Athena Institute in 1986,
Selected that name
Signifying the mission;
Helping women increase
Wisdom and skill,
Relative to
Their Bodies,
Their Health,
Their Wellbeing.”
Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler?
Testimony follows:
“Pheromones magnify my mojo.
I wear the love potion that makes
The most gorgeous gal in the bar--
That kind of gorgeous gal,
Usually out of my league—
Makes her look my way.
Welcome, my fingers
Touch her siren shoulder.
She turns,
‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly.
‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage.
She grins, looks me
Up and down—
Mostly down—
And says, “Not really.”
The verdict?
Apparently, the scent of pheromones is
Still overpowered by nerves.
Let’s face it:
Women can smell fear.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
I look like my dad.
My mom looks like Audrey Hepburn,
with a dash of Twiggy thrown in
for good measure,
but I,
I look like my dad.
(My dad, for the sake of clarity,
looks nothing like Audrey Hepburn
or Twiggy.
He’s more the George Clooney type -
which is a great look for George Clooney
and for my dad -
but not
for a girl who wanted to look like
Princess Di,
or Cindy Crawford,
or Julia Roberts,
or Gisele…)
A woman now,
wiser now,
older now,
I look in the mirror and know that -
all things progressing as they usually do -
a time will come
when the mirror will be the only place
I will see his face.
And I hope,
when that time comes,
I can still remember
how to look at myself through those eyes
that knew I was beautiful long before I even knew my own name:
How to look
like my dad.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
*** without passion, is like dancing without music .
Not much fun, but kind of amusing,
Lying there upon your back,
Has the ceiling got a crack?
The shopping list is planned at best,
Thoughts of George Clooney, in your head,
Just hoping now he'd hurry along,
Not fumbling around, getting it wrong,
Still not cleared up the plates from supper,
And you really just fancy a nice hot cuppa.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Interesting that we older men now flag our own decline
Composted in this shameful ruse enacted over time.
We point to prime examples of our keynote men of age
De Niro, Keitel, Clooney, Hurt…all class acts, on the stage.
Take Clarkson, Rush, O’Toole and Bean…they brim like vintage wine,
Having come to terms with baldness and the sagging paunch decline.
Like them, we’ve learned the lesson of absurdity of life,
Where the trick to aged contentedness, is to pacify the wife.
An awareness of fragility in that pending death is near,
Is offset by the peace of mind of subdued *** and beer.
We say, to Hell with gradual fade of hairline, health and wealth
When a crystal glass of single malt can smooth it all by stealth.
So quell the racing, thudding heart, lean back in wisdom’s shine,
Secure in that with shaky hand…We can still quaff vintage wine.
And should the youth lose patience with a hesitancy there
We can usually still their arrogance with a knowing senior stare,
And should there be a question of a competency still?
Remind them their tomorrow too.. is running fast downhill.
Don’t sweat it with the walker, for it all arrives too soon
And sweetly on the wireless there was Perry Como’s croon,
Take comfort in the fact that soon they’ll put us out to grass
When oblivion comes creeping in Altzheimers foggy clasp.
To tabulate the good and bad within this lifetime’s span
Leaves the negatives predominant, should truth reveal her hand,
It becomes a bit obsessive when the mind’s allowed to dwell
For around the corner, probably, …. is a one way trip to Hell.
M.
Pukehana Paradise
Auckland NZ
May 7 2014
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
a drinking duel to George Bush I lost once
a woman to George Clooney
I spent many George Washington's
foolishly
Listened to George Harrison sing about
My Sweet Lord,
and related more to Thorogood
One scotch , bourbon, beer
I wish I was funny
as George Carlin,
or had the clarity
of George Orwell
But my name is not George.
I am not Patton.
Can't sing like Jones.
Or compose , like
Gershwin.
I tried to change my name.
It did not help.
so , don't
call me George.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC
liberal FIasco!! get out of my hair you nibbling twittling tweeting frenzy! Circus of sole, circus of politicians, dancing with strings, with grins of overnight whitening, of dance, dance, of orient! Whose in charge, and who is next! Of line! Not in the sense of the actors call, no, no, of the line of parliament! Of the line of veto power! and the veto power rests in the lap of clooney, whose approval is spoken with a glance from the camera,
Liberal fiasco!! you shuddering thorn in my hat, away with you, where did you come from? that democratization of art, took it too far, press press press for your issue issue issue, for the children children children,oh you noble big headed liberals, of charity, of farting and calling the shard charity! you poopsicles! walking around with swirles on your head, prefer the taste of baby green or delicious brown custard scream? you pompous boils, of anything but honesty, of swivlling chairs you are, you Oscar, call yourself stone!
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
Rev it up
revelations
Poems
I am starting to heat
Like a sweet ***
The thirst to quench
The sun stays never to be
switched
Like a birth
glowing rich
The procreation bloom
Egyptian words
Do they really need more room?
((One Day Creation))
575 Haiku 24/7
A spiritual touch
of the Rumi
Kabuki
Whom he?
Through me
His poem
Knew my assumptions?
Run around to Sue-me____
Mooney Cafe George
Clooney
5-Loves too many?
7-Moves money talks
5-Doves peek woo
Love me do
You know
I love Poems
More than you
Loves five fire tribe
and words enlight
The punchy resolution
That's your flight
Shes higher love doves
He craves all her words
((Divination))
To resist the
temptation
Fruit punch someone
got a hunch
One Stanza not a bunch
The Nutcracker Ballerina
Italian Archetypal Piza
Celestial Poems
Mystical poetically
loved
Hierarchy of her
poem potent
well-fit glove
Such words to build
Strength with
dignity such a rarity
Her patience deep set
With such potency
The Republicans or
Democrats
Higher than the Penthouse
or wearing ballet flats
Poems need to be heard
Robin-joy to the world
Double breasted
he's suited
Please no copycats
Poems cheek to cheek
The dancer true
romancer every
poem week
Fred Astaire
Madame and
Monseir fresh
baguette
Poem goes deeper
then the crust of bread
Don't underestimate
the difference
How words can
make lives change
The world so
Parametric
We are all
Programmatic
Poems and loves platonic
Shakespearian force
With style and
gravity
Meet her sexuality
Make the transition
The sonnet sailing
Fourteen lines
Let's not get greedy
((With All Assumptions))
Not to be disturbed
please no interruptions
Poems are our lives
You wear the crown
Leave them
unwanted ones
for the class clown
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
George,
just throw away
the restraining order
and marry me!
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
If George Clooney were a fisherman
would Amal have taken the bait?
If Angelina had been a char
Brad would have given her a tip
or maybe the slip
and that would'a been it.
If Montgomery were disguised as a ***
Alice would go home when her shift was done.
If your boyfriend worked down the sewer
would you go all the way down for the cure?
Do ya think Melania would'a said I Do
if he couldn't afford his daily hair-do?
Set for life or a set up for a life of strife
at the house of white?
Would Tiger be putting more *****
if Wood's be zipping it all the way up?
How many wolves in sheep's attire
get through the BS detection without
as much as an ounce of rejection?
How many I Love Yous slip down the loo
only to end up at the other end of the grand sue?
How many roses does it take to say it
when you no longer can locate it?
Makes ya yawn doesn't it!
Still we're all chomping at the bit.
Would risk it all for just one more hit,
a total hissin' fit
of the I Love Yous.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC
she used to sing around the house
songs from the Hit Parade
there was a little transistor radio
slim, dark green with a telescoping antenna
kept on the kitchen windowsill
she would listen to music
singing along while cooking and cleaning
or going solo a Capella
Rosemary Clooney, Della Reece
Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams
Jo Stafford Weston
she told me that when ‘Daddy” was in the hospital
he had his favorites
Don’t You Know and You’ll Never Know
he asked her to sing them again and again
her singing came from a good place
somewhere deep inside her
a place where she could just be herself
apart from life’s responsibilities
far away from the roles of wife
and mother to too many children
leaving behind the frustrations
of carrying on in poverty’s face
if only for the moment it took
to sing a song
she would sing about pyramids and sunrises
about a lady with an enigmatic smile
cheating hearts and when she might fall in love
and we learned all those songs too
as her hearing worsened
she stopped singing
as if she lost a piece of herself
she’s gone now
but we still have those memories
a musical legacy for her talented children
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
White smudges like maps line the walls.
Crinkled bills sit on the counter.
The shades have wiped away the sun.
And humming drifts through the room,
Without a greeting.
Air sits thick upon the chest.
A pencil skipping skillfully to the tune,
Of Rosemary Clooney.
A single bead of moisture glides towards the desk.
One single tear of a paper takes us from Monday to Tuesday.
And it's here we find ourselves.
Again and again and again.
Until everything changes once again.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
*The line up at the movie theatre is long.
And the rain crosses
the scene in diaganol lines.
that's when I saw her
so frail painfully thin and cold.
her face had been pretty once.
she still had the most beautiful blue eyes.
almost too big for her now gaunt features
she carried a sign
two children and homeless please help.
I recognized her as she got closer
I had seen her a week ago
at the bus station in town.
Then her sign read
cold and hungry please help.
someone threw a handfull
of loose change at her feet
she knelt down hurriedly
trying to pick up
every single coin.
I had only twenty dollars on me.
But suddenly the movie banner
with George clooney and
Catherine zeta Jones
smiling down at me
lost its apppeal.
I ****** the note into her hands.
she looked at me with her blue blue eyes.
Then i had to walk home
in the rain as fast as I could.
For I had an overwhelming urge
to hug my teenage daughter.
and tell her I loved her*
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
(I fell for him right away.
I have no idea why.
He is no George Clooney.
That's for sure.
My mom and best friend
Said are you sure honey
He's a bit funny looking.
And he has rough edged.
I said I will clean him up mom.
She gave me her told you so look
of disapproval.
But he made me laugh nothing ever bugged him.
He used to laugh at problems.
Nobody will give a **** in fifty years
He would say his rough edges sparkling like a diamond.
He would say on Sunday mornings
After he made love to me
I am smiling ear to ear honey..
I just made love with the sexiest woman alive.
He made me feel beautiful.
How the heck did he do that.
When the kids came
He told them they were beautiful and smart just like your mom.
,they adored him.
Perhaps almost as much as me.
I got very sick
He carried me around nursed me back to health.
Even mom said he's not so bad.
He cried when it looked bad.
Don't you go and die me honey.
I am lost without you.
But he went and died on me.
And I did not know what to do.
He hid his sickness from me.
I am a bit run down
Need a tonic
A bit of vitamin F would good for me.
I laughed and we made love.
Until he couldn't any more
And I knew...I knew.
His last day he held me close and said
You know something honey.
If I had been offered another ten years but without you
I would say no thanks I will wait for her in heaven.
.I have tried dating again
But when I get home
I fall asleep and he's back in my dreams.
Boy oh boy it's good to hold you he says.
And I say
Its always you honey.
Only you.
And the sleep
is peaceful and deep once more.*
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC