Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!
I'll be aworkin'
I'll be away
Threshin' the barley
Balin' the hay
Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!

Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!
Here I've been workin'
Here I will stay
Feedin' the cattle
Strainin' the whey
Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!

Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!
Storm clouds are gatherin'
Sky's goin' grey
But I'll be aworkin'
Right through the rain
Um ****** ******!
Um ****** day!
Diddly um dee ******!
Diddly um dee day!
R Dickson Mar 2015
Hey ****** ******,
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,

Hey ****** ******,
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,

Hey ****** ******,
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.

Hey ****** ******,
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.
A poem to the council about road repair that doesn't go right.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2017
Hey ****** ******,
Some stars gotta fiddle
Just like a Catholic priest.
We have to give them credit,
God saved them when they did it.
And blessed them at the least.

Hey ****** ******
Fat Trump has to fiddle
With women he can control.
He pretends he doesn’t know
What that word simply shows
Since the last syllable is troll.

Hey ****** ******
A high powered fiddle
Is always powered by cash.
But, Mr. Diddler
Unlike a talented fiddler
You are nothing but overpaid trash.

Hey ****** diddledick
We all hope your fiddlestick
Falls off and lays on the ground
Then you could stop it
And the women could stomp it.
And kick your skanky *** around.
The Nameless Sep 2016
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee
Sing this little song with me.

Pull out your worn fiddle and bring lethality,
I've put on my dancing shoes.
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Hurry, hurry, not much time left to lose,
But I'm tired of this **** ritalin musicality.

We were supposed to grow out of it and history.
Aren't you too old for another
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
******* on thumbs, clinging to mother,
Screaming, crying, bathed in **** and finality.

We're recycling *** and morality
And pretending we invented the
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Crusaders, solving the eternal dilemma,
Self-righteous smiles bleeding duality.

Here is the prophesied castration of personality,
And I suppose you're best for being self-aware
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Dance a little closer to me if you dare,
Bathing in **** seems to have a certain sensuality.

Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee
Sing this little song with me.
Bailey Mar 2016
Well, little ****** had been caught in a maze
she married Mr. Cat in their honeymoon phase
On their little farm, a dish they would raise
but the cow and the dog, well they bet on days...

Little ****** knew about the Fiddle and the Cat
and she swore to herself that she would get them back
So, one night she popped up in the middle
and mean old Mr. Cat made a killer out of ******

"Woah! My perfect life!" She cried out with tears in her eyes
"Tell me, what I did wrong!" But a moo and a cackle interrupted her song

On the little farm
the dog and the cow
looked innocent as they lay on the ground
but ****** saw the cow jump to the moon
to see ****** **** the man that had made her swoon

The dog laughed and laughed 'til his face turned red
the cow paid in full as he had won the bet
The sound made ******
itch in the head
so she took a nearby ax and she
killed them dead

"Woah! My perfect life!" She cried out with tears in her eyes
"Tell me, what did I do?"
But she had no clue as to what would happen soon

Well little miss Dish was the talk of the town
Her and the Spoon had been forkin' around
When momma ****** tried to hunt them down
her baby Dish was nowhere to be found

"Woah! My perfect life! Shouldn't have been a mom or a wife"
So a traveler she became, making Goose her name
The towns had no idea of the words that they sang:

"Hey ****** ******, the Cat and the Fiddle
The cow
jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such sport
and the Dish ran away with the Spoon"
it's actually a song I wrote the other day but here ya go
Hugh Lovzewe Oct 2010
The bankers' sliced into the bunker

Now it's the grunts who will pay for the blunder

So don't speak of fairness

For I couldn't  care less

And the dish ran away with the spoon
Donall Dempsey Jul 2018
"WELL...HEY ****** ******!"

It was that
kind of night.

The dish and the spoon
had eloped.

Outrage in the cutlery
and the crockery.

A cow had decided
she wanted to be an astronaut.

Lord looka that cow go!

And man could that cat play
that fiddle.

The Devil came down to Georgia!

And what a turn up for
the bookies.

Shock! England win
on penalties!

Me and the little dog
just couldn't stop laughing.

"Great fun and ourselves
having it!"

as they say in
my part of the country.

Well...well well
didn't they do well!
David Nelson Aug 2011

you got yer Jack be nimble
you got yer Jack be quick
you got yer Jack jumpin over a candle stick
he jumped so high
he almost touched the sky
you see he burnt his nads
and it made him cry

you got yer 3 little pigs
you got yer Goldilocks
you got yer big bad wolf dumber than a fox
he huffed and puffed
and took a big hit
and they all joined hands
they were smokin some ****

you got yer Little Red
you got yer 3 brown bears
sippin on soup and sittin in chairs
Red danced on the table
yeah she danced really good
the bears gave her money
to see what was under the hood

you got yer Jack and Jill
you got yer buckle my shoe
climbin that hill what they gonna do
Jack played pattycake
according to rumours
trying to get inside
of little Jill's bloomers

you got yer Little Miss Muffet
you got yer itsy bitsy spider
he made a big mistake sitting down beside her
inside her purse
she kept a can of Raid
she drenched his ****
and now he's daid

you got yer hey ****** ******
you got yer dish and spoon
you got yer old spotted cow jumpin over the moon
there's Humpty Dumpty
and the fiddling cat
the little dog laughed
to see Jack Sprat splat  

you got yer round the rosey
you got yer ba black sheep
pullin the wool over yer eyes as you sleep
****** ****** dumplin
so what is my point
whoever wrote these riddles
musta been smokin a joint

Gomer LePoet ....
Donall Dempsey Jul 2019
"WELL...HEY ****** ******!"

It was that
kind of night.

The dish and the spoon
had eloped.

Outrage in the cutlery
and the crockery.

A cow had decided
she wanted to be an astronaut.

Lord looka that cow go!

And man could that cat play
that fiddle.

The Devil came down to Georgia!

And what a turn up for
the bookies.

Shock! England win
on penalties!

Me and the little dog
just couldn't stop laughing.

"Great fun and ourselves
having it!"

as they say in
my part of the country.

Well...well well
didn't they do well!
David Nelson Mar 2013

you got yer Jack be nimble
you got yer Jack be quick
you got yer Jack jumpin over a candle stick
he jumped so high
he almost touched the sky
you see he burnt his nads
and it made him cry

you got yer 3 little pigs
you got yer Goldilocks
you got yer big bad wolf dumber than a fox
he huffed and puffed
and took a big hit
and they all joined hands
they were smokin some ****

you got yer Little Red
you got yer 3 brown bears
sippin on soup and sittin in chairs
Red danced on the table
yeah she danced really good
the bears gave her money
to see what was under the hood

you got yer Jack and Jill
you got yer buckle my shoe
climbin that hill what they gonna do
Jack played pattycake
according to rumours
trying to get inside
of little Jill's bloomers

you got yer Little Miss Muffet
you got yer itsy bitsy spider
he made a big mistake sitting down beside her
inside her purse
she kept a can of Raid
she drenched his ****
and now he's daid

you got yer hey ****** ******
you got yer dish and spoon
you got yer old spotted cow jumpin over the moon
there's Humpty Dumpty
and the fiddling cat
the little dog laughed
to see Jack Sprat splat  

you got yer round the rosey
you got yer ba black sheep
pullin the wool over yer eyes as you sleep
****** ****** dumplin
so what is my point
whoever wrote these riddles
musta been smokin a joint

Gomer LePoet ....
these aren't your mama's Nursery Rhymes. :)
Left Foot Poet Mar 2019
The Fidelity of Transmissions

”Cells, the units of life that compose our bodies, are able to make copies of themselves to help us grow, fight disease and recover from injuries. Cells have built-in mechanisms that maintain
  the fidelity of transmission  
of genetic information from one generation to the next, and to control cell division in a timely manner, allowing our bodies to build or rebuild various tissues.”

when the poetry cri de cœur grows unbearable ,
sound mystery-science calms his tumbling transcendency

alas, here too, his ears sit up straight when stumbling on a invitation to
“come write,” for hid within the science jargon, oft rests a snipers shot

redirecting the didactic mind back to the
everyman’s land where-poetry cells split,,
commanding him to delve into, visit new brain wrenching vistas
“the fidelity of transmission”
at its macro level, for science is micro-poetry,^
n’est-ce pas

when you love another
the transmission is a slow pour,
or a radical jarring,
the fidelity extremely extraordinarily variable

the loveliest unpredictable

the sip sip of eyelid kissing adoration,
the irrational irrigation of the no-space-between,
when the television remote disappears in the couch crack,
the screen, complete static, perfect complement, to a rigorous experiment of

the loveliest unpredictable

we manually conjoin fluids in her mouth’s petri dish,
stain the slide for observation,
in full Imax color observe the cells busting and doesy-do’ing over to
a new partner, where bonds of fidelity attach a partnership clause to

the loveliest unpredictable

when a child emerges, the first words are
find that remote, just kidding, first comes a comestible demand,
mother’s milk 98 degree heated,
feed me a white solution to any unanswered cell’s questions, what a

loving predictive predicate

scribble this, ****** that, change a diaper,
while debating whose baby’s assemblage resembles,
overjoyed at the experimental outcome,
proofs of the fidelity of transmission,
the outcome notated, but science demands no bias confirmation,
another test required of tissue rebuilding

the loveliest unpredictable


for is He not laureate greatest poet of all,
developer of the scientific architecture,
inventor of varietal sunsets, moonscapes,
individualized singularity of snowflakes,
love making, gravity and the preprogrammed death
of your own cells,
etcetera etcetera etcetera
all just poetry in motion in fluidity,
ah, fidelity fidelity
Sat., March 9, 2019
ArturVRivunov Oct 2011
life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.

where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr
The Raiders show raiders v st george at GIO Stadium

    with johnny brown and Sue Longways

johnny’   welcome dudes to GIO stadium to this match between the dragons and the raiders and this is going to be a

great match, the raiders are 11th and the dragons are at 14, and whoever wins, I can guarantee it will be a spectacle

and i have Pete from Hawker with us now with a poem for us, hoping to get the Raiders into top swing

Pete”    ok dudes let’s swing it

you see the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’  well, short but sweet, and have you been worried about form in some matches

Pete’   well, yes, but that makes no difference, the raiders are going to win dudes, i will sing it again

you see we are the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’   well thanks Pete and now here is Sue Longways with another fine poem from the crowd

Sue’   thanks Johnny and what a great atmosphere here at GIO Stadium today, a great twilight match, and everyone

is in fine voice to cheer the raiders to beat the dragons tonight, and here is John Barten from Queanbeyan and he hates

how the Raiders went to Canberra all those years ago, so he sings a dragons tune

John’   go the dragons go the dragons

go the mighty dragons team

you see it’s only early in the season

go the mighty dragons cause the raiders moved here

I know we shouldn’t hold a grudge, mate, but i am and there is nothing you can do oh no

go the mighty dragons and i will go for them till the Raiders go back to Seiffert Oval, dudes

Sue”   thanks John and now here is Harold from Lyneham

Harold’   i am the bad and mean raiders fan

we supply the best coming out of the can

you see i go to the footy with mates george and dan

you see we’ll hit ya hit ya hit ya the mighty green machine

Sue’  thanks Harold and now here is the Raiders team, bring on the team

Jordan Rapana and Sisa Waqa and Jarrod Croker and Jarrad kennedy and edrick lee and blake austin and Mitchell Cornish

and Shannon Boyd and Josh Hodgson and Dane Tilse and Josh Papali and Sia Solicia and Shaun Fensom

and the 4 interchange players  Josh McRone and Frank-Paul Nuuausala and Paul Vaughan and Luke Bateman

and now here is Ken from Symonston with his poem

Ken”   i have been coming out to the GIO stadium every time we play

you see it’s fun when we win, but when we lose, we certainly do ****** pay

and the main thing about it is, we beat the easy teams and beat the hard teams but never at the best time

come on Raiders, it’s surely the time to win, oh ****** yeah

sue”   thanks Ken and now here is Rob with his jingle

Rob”     Run Raiders run

as we charge onto the GIO stadium yeah

run raiders run you see we have the team, we’ll win oh yeah

yeah we will come a running, and score a hundred tries

yeah that will be so cool,

run raiders run, oh yeah the Raiders are the team to beat i hope

run raiders run

they are the team that will thrash the opposition yeah

you see we won one and lost one

run raiders run

yeah the mighty raiders, will be our son of a gun

Sue”    thanks Rob for that and now here is the dragons team

first is Peter Mata’utia and Etonia Nabuli and Dan Nielson and Dylan Farrell and Jason Nightingale

and gareth Widdop and Benji Marshall and Leeson Ah Mau and Mitch Rein and George Rose

and Tyson Frizell and Joel Thompson and Jack de Belin

and the interchange men are trent Merrin and Heath L”Estrange and Rory O’Brien and Mike Cooper and Jake Marketo

and here is Mike from Jerrabomberra with his jingle

oh yeah those dragons yeah, they win more than the raiders yeah

they supply all the tries, in fact more tries than the locals, why don’t they win the grand

well i think i know, it’s because we lose our playing ability after thrashing the raiders here and anywhere

so go the dragons, go the mighty dragons, the right team to win the match

sue’   ok thanks Mike and now here is Keith from Latham with his song

carn the carn the carn the mighty raiders team, please dudes don’t make us say **** mate

make our raiders team win, carn the raiders carn the raiders, watch our team win well

on our home ground see, go the mighty raiders for a great victory

ya see i live in Latham and in my lounge room i have raiders cushions and raiders tables and heaps

of videos too including the great grand final victories in ’89 and “91 and the great ‘94

they haven’t won a grand final since in the first grade oh no

but if they win a few games where they don’t drop the ball too much

they will play so ****** hard, GO THE RAIDERS, DUDES

Sue’   ok that is it for me, and now back to Johnny

Johnny”  thanks Sue for telling us the teams and letting us hear some great home truths, let’s hope the

Raiders can win tonight, and now here is ?Bob from Cook with a jingle

Bob’   go the raiders go the raiders, do ya reckon we have the stamminer to win today

go the raiders go the raiders, should we win, should we win

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, how i wonder whether you’ll win

up above the GIO park tonight, make sure we clean this game free of fights

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, go the raiders through and through

Johnny’ thanks Bob and now here is Ernie from Higgins with his rhyme

hey ****** ****** the dragons are ready, are they going to win

all have the raiders put all their dropping the ball crap in the flaming bin

Shaun Fensom laughed at this little rhyme, as hopefully the raiders grab the 2 points

Johnny’  thanks Ernie and first my tip, well to the ladder, i say Raiders, on current form, well raiders be 6, could be more

and who do you support Sue

Sue’    well to the ladder, the Raiders, but on current form, dragons by 2, but i could change

Johnny”   ok, we’ll be back at half time, ok, here on the Raiders show

hey ****** ****** the cat was on the fiddle a conman cat was he
claiming lots of benefits and anything for free

working on the side not going through the book
a proper little villain a proper little crook
he took holidays travelling abroad
with  the money he had made from his  scamming fraud

he started getting watched to stop his little scam
his benefit was stopped now he was in a jam
cat he changed his way started going straight
now he was a honest cat  before it got to late
madameber Feb 2016
i have known nights
where men walk the sun
and the stars count people

sheep huddle together
in grassy fields
of fences
worn down

see, the funny thing
about nights is
at some point
you can’t tell the difference
between the first
and the last

(And hey,
****** ******
The cat’s lost his fiddle
Orion’s got a belt
Round his neck)

the lass
on the moon
plucks planets
from the blue
and decorates
the tangles in
her hair

see, the funny thing
about dreaming is
at some point
you can’t tell the difference
between what hurts
and what doesn’t

(The cat’s started drinking
Orion’s stopped thinking)

decides to sleep in
for just
another hour
or two

see, the funny thing
about nights is
i have always known them
but know nothing
of you

(And the fiddle has gone out of tune).
love to miri and loor for helping me out
zebra Aug 2016
while heaven and hell
where engrossed in their own affairs
the light bringer
an incandescent intelligence
was cast down
to this metallic monument of stone
hurled to the depths
mourning star falling
for aspiring
to greater altitudes
the furthest reaches
perhaps some distant
parametric edge
or insensate endlessness
of the northern most realms
Baals glittering throne

stellar divinity
mourning light
enemy of evil
gave mankind its foundations
fire, technology
the signatures of spirits
those vey veys
the voodoo
that Jews do
the secret of
the dark speculum
polished obsidian
for scrying
door to arcane gods
and spirits dark
of great power
Solomons instruments of wisdom
demonstrating that man might live in grace
without watering the ground with tears

now vanquished in the depths
of labyrinths submerged
and contained in a brass vessel
crypt of sigils
the true names of power

as ages rolled over
we lost our depth of mind
became zombies
shadow beings
at first a mystery to our selves
and then the mysteries
became memories
and then even the memories
became dust

no longer could
we conjure or evoke
from the depths
our Jacobs ladder
those Goetic spirits
and  Amadel
of angelic powers
our protectors
and sustenance
lost and bereft of
aladins lamp
leaving men a drift in reason alone
barren religions of flagging faith
heaven and earth separated
a god absent
based on belief
the words
historic etymology
at its very core
it hides its secret for all to see
a lie

science of endless calculus
a one trick pony
like a sludge hammer
its only tool
which maps the known universe
but understands nothing
about what things mean
like the subtle architecture
of consciousness
and its interconnectedness
to all that there is
which may be nothing
with no physical properties
no volume
no trans-formative elemental substance
energies of light or force
or pulsating quanta
but inventions of consciousness
it self a light
which lacks volume
and physical quality
all of reality mere dreams
by an unknown dreamer
perhaps the child of another

at the stroke of midnight
the darkest point
in the murkiest age
the Kala Yuga
post modern man
remains conceited
while the world burns
paradise lost

Monotheism reigns
in our back water world
millenniums long night
of honor killings
god of the blade
thou shalt not ****
yet all condemned to die

put that in your pipe
slave makers
over bearing pedagogues
god loving war stooges
your god has a bigger ****
while parents
pack up their
shell shocked babies
there little trampled flowers
forced to
plummet to some dark address
tears fluttering
suffused  by poison clouds
in shady groves
where they only dare exhale

have you not had it yet
with gods mysterious ways
if it quacks like a duck
hell goons
****** spiritual stasis
toxicity and contagion
of the simplistic

their god
a shrunken form
projection of an incomplete  mind

those who live by the sword
die by the sword
and those who do not
die anyway
not a leaf falls with out the will of god
are we not all falling
oh man
cast off axioms
of the addle brained

oh priests
of petrified ideation's
if you have a real god
look to reality to understand it
do you see mono anything
or do you see binary everything
love hate
macro micro
life death
creation destruction
as above so below
the tao
male female

no your god
both great and terrible
can not make you whole
with out her
for she is all of space
creator of all form
our human women
vessels of the goddess
who you have
conveniently subtracted
and profaned
for vainglories patriarchs sake

the universe it self
a multitude of powers
from hells deep shocks
and dismal woe
to adorations from the queen of heaven
and the sacred temple prostitutes
now made sullied
by goody goody minds
shames children
a vice of knives
solar heroes they think
while high minded and ignorant

the synoptic religions
feeding frenzies of dogma
beatings of submission
mouldering skeletons
of the abyss
******* blood loving bats
all dressed up
in Don Trump
plush red power ties
made in china
where indentured servants
in state hell mills
are worked to death

while others
prim men
pretending to love
all ostentatious actors
spiritual materialist
fearing hells abyss
outwardly proud
in self righteousness
performing public adorations
while in secret rooms
they ****** themselves
under shadows guilt
blasphemy of gloating piety
begrudging the pleasure of others
there guiding light

there true god
a demon of obedience
bes-tower of agony
you gota suffer now
so you don't have to suffer later
dividing man from himself
All of them covering there heads
to obstruct the gifts of wisdom
and freedom
blocking the rays of Luciferic light
and insight
******* in there own hats
so they may remain undistracted
by their gods commands
having forgotten
that they themselves
made them up
pious dullards
that they are

oh Lucifer bright one
i stand before you
embraced by eight
the number of Majick
in arms that proliferate
the true will
Lucifers eight arms
zebra Jun 2018
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows

what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?

i'm kissing butter princess
witchy **** 
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood

whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?

ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls

oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava

oh my god
oh my god
oh my god
ohhh ohhh ohhh

who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?

better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral

oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
wired into the labyrinth of me
queen of
spun sugar **** 
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews

if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly highminded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ******* ceremony

the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
but not caressed
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
*** adult
Tatiana Dec 2013
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey.
The little dog laughed,
"Jack, jump over the candlestick."
Along came a spider,
the cat and the fiddle,
who sat down beside her
and frightened Miss Muffet away.

"Hey, ******, ******!"
"Yes sir, yes sir."

Jack be nimble
Who lives down the lane.

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring,
and one for the little boy
who lives in Drury Lane.
All the king's horses and all the king's men;
To see such sport,
don't say a word.

"Have you any wool?"
"Do you know the Muffin Man?"
"Three bags full."

And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Jack, be quick,
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.

One for the master,
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.  
One for the dame,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.

Jack jumped high
The cow jumped over the moon.
Jack jumped low
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Jack be nimble,
Mama's going to buy you a cart and bull.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Jack jumped over and burned his toe.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
Hush, little baby,
one little Indian boy
couldn't put Humpty together again.

And if that mockingbird won't sing,
ring a ring o' roses,
and if that looking glass gets broke,
you'll still be the sweetest.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
did you ever see such a sight in your life,
as three blind mice
stole a pig, and away did run.

And if that billy goat won't pull
a dog named Rover,
see how they run,
they all ran after the farmer's wife,
and Tom was beat.

And if that cart and bull turn over,
and the pig was eat,
and Tom went crying,
Mama's going to buy you
A pocketful of posies.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark
down the street,
One little, two little, three little Indians,
Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart.
Much wants more, and loses all,
little baby in town.
Three blind mice,
who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
see how they run.
We all fall down.
All are lines from Nursery Rhymes:
Little Miss Muffet
Hey, ******, ******
Jack Be Nimble
Baa, Baa, Black Sheep
Do You Know The Muffin Man
Humpty Dumpty
Hush Little Baby
Ring a Ring O'Roses
Ten Little Indians
Tom, Tom, The Piper's Son
Three Blind Mice
The Man and the Golden Eggs
Coyote Jun 2011
The owl and the ***** cat
went to sea in a boat
without an oar
When the boat sailed home
the cat was alone
and the owl was no more

Hey ****** ******
I’ll tell you a riddle
and I bet you’ll never guess
That Jack B. Nimble
was Jack B. Quick
beneath Miss Muffet’s

Little Sol Hornstein
sat next to Maureen
eating his Christmas
He stuck in his fork
and pulled out some pork
And said ‘what a bad
Jew am I’.

Wee Willie Winkie
Tiptoes through the house,
Upstairs, downstairs
Quiet as a mouse.
Closing every window,
Locking every door,
Drinking all his daddy’s beer
And barfing on the floor

The hippy dippy spider
went uptown to score
He got a bag of ****
from the hippy dippy
He smoked up all that
**** with his hippy
dippy friends
So the hippy dippy spider
went uptown again

There was a crooked man
Who walked a crooked mile
He met a crooked woman
Who wore a crooked smile
He brought her to his crooked house
And upon his crooked bed
He had his crooked way with her
(And now the ***** is dead)

(And from an old restroom wall)

Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry
When the boys came out to play
(He kissed them too cuz' he was gay)
Deathreat Man sent Mrs.Deathreat to the continent,
dud doves smuggled thru the Chunnel in her clungeal
cavity, but even the Olympicwatchdog’s  
human snifferdogs wouldn’t conduct a narc
nosedive into Mrs.Deathreat’s  Annsummersnumber,
coz the amount of drugs in the drugs
the Deathreats deal is next to nil,
contrabland, all the scorer chorma
minus the highness.  Mrs. Deathreat
was mule with a hole, she was
Muffin the ****, but hug drugs up her clopper
kept the pillheads of La Rochelle
social clodhoppers who danced like Joecocker,
so they sent
themselves to bed early outta pity
for their own unhappening, nonfunspasming
hips. They wanted to be eating their upperlips,
they were brownedoff that the grey gradegetter their mums
had maximised with Omega3 hadn’t had its chips,
in no danger of being Gallic Gatecrasherkids.
They wanted to be braiMDaMAged,
Bezzes in berets on duracell drugs, balistically
blissed enuff for
Balearic drill ‘n’ bass drum ‘n’ gluegun
bhangraggabba Gangsta Abba or the Triphopscotch,
but they were no buzzing sitting ducks
for whatever vibranium vinyl
spun like Lindablair’s head or whatever Tonyblair eversaid
on decks that layer beats.
On the plusside, none of Mrs.Deathreat’s fleeced Frenchies
would do a Leahbetts, but that would not console
the Pillheads of La Rochelle, les herberts, still tediously
on their cognitits unless the Angel Ravey L
- pushermanifestation of the patron saint of getting mashed -
pharmathaumaturgically ticks
up some of that numinous ****
for neurotransmission,
a miracle drug effective without ingestion, Immaculate
Consumption, when all the laws of biochemistry go Petetong.
But, alas, riboflavin and ibuprofen are harder and more
happycore, send
cerebrum more signals of fly bo’ ravin’
than shonk Es Mrs.D
squelchily dealt from out crotchless unmentionables.

Now, the technotarantist addicts d’Avignon,
les personnes adonnees a ‘aving one
from Provencal Pontefract-on-the-Rhone
(where Picasso pimps scrimp
coz Cubist hookers ain’t lookers),
les avaleurs of mitzies and bishies
rather than le plonque (rouge ou blanc),
wou’nt ‘ave it if they weren’t ‘aving it
in that wellaged wine of a town.
They’d be sent spare
if Mrs.Deathreat dared ****** ’em there
with fraudulent Franglais avowals that they’d
‘avoir it large, Pierre!’
There’d be stormin’ Bourbons in Avignon, yeah,
if they couldn’t electwitch to DJ Saintvitus
because of some ***** doves. Adamdroppers
in Avignon know their discobiscuits
from their biscodiscuits, comprende?
But the Pillheads of La Rochelle? Quelle pillocks!

XTCtablet escroquette sent by her deaththreatening
not dishwashening husbandit,
madame des merde mollies sent **** shivers
of letdown lucidity thru the cuddle puddle jungle
drums that pure vexes the cortexes of Senors Beeg
amongst thizz biz fixers, the Cortez Bruvas.
As young fluff she'd boasted more
overzealous sweaty inspectors than Ofsted,
but now Mrs Deathreat's hairy goblet
would be of sweet ***** adams interest
to the syndicate if only her ***** adams were sweeter.
Funnily enough, fact her serpent socket
is no Aladdin’s cave of Hacienda Hedex,
but more an  Anadin Cove of dummy drugs
has dem Cortez muthas jumpy thugs.
Traffikers of Lover’s Speed in hock
to the Sam Madrid mob, they express
narcommercial concerns that mock mookers
up her thrushenflamed damianduff
are so cuttonaffall, it could senda fad for temperance
thruout chemiculture of a continent,all
the bluerooms and dancetents of Europa
being once burnt, twice straight
(or turn respectable taxpaying pissheads,
staying in caining an unprohibited crate or eight,
pickling themselves to preserve the State).
But before suspicion  about the serotonocidal
supplyline snowballs, before the Cortezes
even depart the chilloutroom to ****,
or at least put les frighteneurs on her and the tangy
baggie of humbug harryhills, whack weekenders
up her suspenders and past her pudenders,
his missus was already on the homewardbound Eurostar
- for her darling Deathreat was a disastrous
domestic selffender, who'd sent a guava
to the vet's and put her Pomeranian in the blender,
tho' pertainian to value of life he's vilipender,
so to animedic aforementioned prolly not
Snoopy smoothie sender,
unless off the invoice for the guava's jabs
it might scare up a nice little subtrahender.
Hey Mother Goose,
what’s the use
of calling me a helpless ******?

Don’t waddle over here,
teeth bared, causing fear,
to remind me that my life’s going nowhere.

Your beady brown eyes
and a beak full of lies
“I hate you” in belligerent cries.

You leave your **** scattered around
then complain of a mess through your permanent frown.

Mother Goose,
Mother Goose
Please just cut me loose.
Third Mate Third Jun 2014
You: it is 2:10 am
Me:  Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?

Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...

You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!


I am deeply unsure.

Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?

Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of

Hey ****** ******,
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon

Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.

(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)

When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)

there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
they are called,

and they
Explode me.

capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary

life is groovy...
hey ****** ****** the cat was on the fiddle a conman cat was he
claiming lots of benefits and anything for free.

working on the side not going through the book
a proper little villain a proper little crook.

he took holidays travelling abroad
with  the money he had made from his  scamming fraud.

he started getting watched to stop his little scam
his benefit was stopped now he was in a jam.

cat he changed his way started going straight
now he was a honest cat  before it got to late
Tremors held in the young girl’s face
Quaking in exquisite lace
Pulsing in place
Hip locked base
Ejaculatory race
Spermicidal mace

Thoughtless porcelain dolls
Shatter as bedposts hit walls
Reverb in the halls
Landlord calls
******* stalls
Waiting on drained *****

Thick housing in a fat cat’s den
Seal on the locked pen
Revolving door of men
Seems to break the Zen
Memorabilia of Cheyenne
Windup to go at it again

Shower sprays flakes of gold
Washing off latent mold
Rubbed off in the hold
…These men are old
Temperament’s cold
Cost of being sold
S Smoothie Jan 2014
Ha ha! Here I am again
It's raining it's pouring
The criticism is soaring
******* I said just went and read
And could figure out why it was boring

This old mam she played ham
She played knock knack with my spam
With a sick sack fatty whack give a
Hog a pen this old mam came
Crowing poems

All around the burning bush
The donkey chased the ******;
The donkey thought 'twas all in good sport
Pop! goes the ******.

Hey ****** ****** a kiss and a fiddle
The cow entered the room
The little troll laughed to see
Such runs as the cheater ran away with a zoom!

Little miss stuffit sat on her muffin
eating her cares away along came a writer
Who sat down beside her and frightened mis stuff it away.
i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs

afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before

home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says

i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder

what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking

how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension

those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's *****, freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools

Filipinos scream in the face  of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says

more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones

our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows

just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,

i imagine so much more

i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears
tricia lambert Jun 2013
I dished a crescent moon
onto a page
of poetry
But the point
ran away from me-
it just would not stay put
Perhaps it is looking for the spoon.
Is that a little dog I can hear laughing.
This is a followup to my other poem  here about moon-Edible Moon-which lost its tip. Challenged by startoucher to write about that- this is the response!
Absent Minded Jun 2010
So Happy That Your so **** Happy
That now I'm lost and kind of sappy
Then again its all so flimsy
That I can't begin to fathom whimsy
Or sense the point of all the scuttle
And the dark spice of that laced rebuttal
Heard like a shot popped across the middle
Go down to the river and sing hey ****** ******
While you wish you were quick and svelte and nimble
And could dance like a black cat on the green thimble
At a lounge by the sea down deep in the night
Where I'm never wrong and you're never right.
Come unto these yellow sands,
  And then take hands:
Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d,—
  The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
      Hark, hark!
        Bow, wow,
      The watch-dogs bark:
        Bow, wow.
      Hark, hark! I hear
  The strain of strutting chanticleer
  Cry, ****-a-******-dow!
Bill murray Aug 2015
****** Dee
****** dumb
****** me
Has to buy a
New shotgun
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
Twinkle, star, you are
So high, up in the sky.
And Little Muffett Miss
Has gotten so ******;
Very upset that from
Someone else’s thumb
That was stuck in a pie.
She didn’t know why.

So she cut off tails
Enjoying the wails
Of sightless mice
Though not nice
Not fooling around
She’d blow the house down
Then give a harsh drub
To three men in a tub.

She swiped all the ciggies
Of three little piggies
But she could not see
Why everything was threes.
Narcissistically proud
She was laughing out loud
Then she started to croon
About a cow on the moon.

She looked for a fiddle
She could hey ****** ******
But when she got there
The cupboard was bare
So, she left the dog home
And began to roam.

On the way past Saint Ives
A man beating his wives
Muffet did begin
Beating with rolling pin
And the guy ran away
Not seen since that day.
Miss Muffett turned old
Folk tales into gold.
Daniel Coleman Mar 2011
hey ****** ******,
answer me this riddle
would a cat and a fiddle
make all the girls swoon?
jack can be nimble,
and jack can be quick,
but not even jack flash
would jump over this candle stick.
so it's all fine that
that the fork ran away
with the spoon,
as long as that cow
comes down from the moon.

And when Peter Piper
comes to pick his peck
of pickled pepper,
lets remember to count
how many pecks
of pickled peppers
Peter Piper picked.
otherwise, we
may as well of
given them away for free.

So Humpty Dumpty,
you sit on your wall,
and Mr. Dumpty
when you take your big fall
take solace in the fact
that all the kings horses
and all the kings men
will scramble you up
instead of putting you
back together again
because living as
a broken shell
can only be
a new circle of hell.

And to you,
Old lady who lived
Inside of a shoe,
Why didn't you get together
with Old Mother Hubbard
who had nothing in her cupboard?
it seems to me
you both would benefit
from each other
Bill murray Dec 2015
Fiddle diddles

Rhymin riddles
Gramps needs more sleep

Gramps is ****** skittles
Ate to much of those sugary treats.

Backs aching

I'd love for grandmammy to rub these feet

— The End —