"missus" poems
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Grumpy **** grumpy ***
There's no need to feel this way
Turn your frown upside down
and get on with your day
I may not be there to cheer you up
but God I'll try my hardest
I'll send as many kisses and as many hugs as I can
Just try to stop being a grumpy ****
Missus Grumpy ***
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
The missus bought a Paperback
...at Val Village, Saturday,
I had a look inside her bag;
....T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".
Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…..
In her left she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.
Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!
Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!
She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
.....I am the dominater !!
Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.
She stood there **** and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left ***
Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My god what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one"!!
Well readers, I can't tell no more;
About what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of Grey.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Drivin’ with the kids in tow
Windows down, nowhere to go
Hands outside, feel wind blow
On country roads, fields passin’ slow.
Saw a hayrack sittin’ by a fence
“Rocks for Sale – Fifty Cents”
Thought I, it makes no earthly sense
To demand for rocks some recompense.
But the sign - unique enough to hail
(I protested - but to no avail)
The missus and the kids prevailed
A sale you see, is still a sale!
Before day and feelings I did mar
Realizing for the course it’s par
I turned around and stopped the car
It’s what I’ve become, and whom we are .
To the rack and rocks the kids did sprint
I got closer, had to squint
So I could read the finer print
Kids might have seen, but care they din’t.
Said the bigger rocks did cost a buck
I knew then that I was out of luck
Between a hard place and a rock I’m stuck
‘Twas bait and switch, and smelled like muck.
But the kids had picked from rocks galore
Put them in the trunk to store
The rack was less some rocks times four
And the coffee can had four bucks more!
PwL 5/16/15
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
He sold his pure soul for a fiver,
maybe, the price of a cuppa tea,
sold it to the man of bonds,
of stocks and shares,
who had no cares,
The customer,
he wanted a *** or a ****
wasn't sure which,
either would do.
Glimpsed him out the side of his eye,
what he didn't note was that he cried,
He didn't care the callous man,
Gets satisfaction however he can.
Girl child, boy child,
one thing for certain,
he gave not a ****
He was selfish and cold,
his currency was gold,
pure gold the purity of just past infancy,
crowding in the shopping mall.
The by-passers wanted to intervene,
unable to believe the things that they'd seen.
Day by day,
still the stay,
They should still be free and able to play.
It's life in London, so they say,
Living pain day by day.
Thought that they may find the streets paved with golden kisses,
Home again the other side,
the punter hugs his Missus.
(C) Livvi
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Fire Walker
Angel Talker
Tree Hugger
Technicolor Dreamer
Imagination Jumper
Long time Barber
Recent Photographer
Twisted Big Sister
Missus of the Mister
Wicked Stepmother
to Some
Auntie of Others
Armchair philosopher
Always a Poet
and my Friends
mostly think
a Know- It-All
but in a nice way:)
Karen Newell
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
An Irish couple buy some fertilised duck eggs and they hatch.
But then they’re missing!
The cat is licking her lips.
Oh No!
They follow the cat to her snug in the barn.
She too has given birth.
Snuggled beneath the cat’s protective paws
Are suckling kittens and DUCKLINGS!
Had those dear ducklings hatched an hour earlier
Or later
They would have been cat food.
But around the birthing time Missus Cat was only a Mother,
Mothering anything that moved.
Mother Nature breeds such Motherly instincts.
A thing of Wonder.
A story that happens to be True.
Since then those ducks grew up
But still followed their “Mother”
Everywhere she went (within reason).
An unshakeable bond,
Lasting for ever.
Paul Butters
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
Standing by the soup kitchen,
Wrapped up in freezing cold.
Not very old in numbers,
but feeling rather old.
The townsfolk snub him,
They ignore his missus.
His fingers sparkle blue and red,
No magic lurks within.
His blanket's rather itchy.
the people passing by,
are either numb or ******
get a job, they shout for sport.
their coffee cup, their only support.
It beggars belief that the poor souls get grief.
There for the grace of God go I.
(c) Livvi
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
Adolf n his nice tight ***
gonna get me a pair o' lederhosen
the kind adolf used to wear;
not the attire the missus woulda chosen
they're sorta ***** - to be fair,
but they made his ***** look massive
n they made his *** look taut
we all know the guy weren't passive
n did things he shouldn'ta ought,
I bet ya missus ****** loved him
when his **** hung out one side,
and as for bombin london,
well -- we'll let that ****** slide;
coz the guy he sure were stylish
in his liddle leather shorts,
goose steppin all the while-ish
with his gusset - and - supports,,,
alan nettleton.
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC
To my Sisters and Brothers in Arms:
Hello, Hola, Guten Tag etc. and Salutations
For the Tribulations and Trials we've Endured...
...I'm sure by this Present Frame
You all (or most) know who you
R and what you THINK? You're
Supposed to B DOING.
I'll start to unwind and
Integrate slowly from here on -->
This Q.C.[O.I.^3]
I already have a ready (but nearly untapped)
Network that should be able to
Mesh me into the Bigger Picture,
At both the Local and Global Scale.
Chow, for now (or until I get bored/BOAR'D/Barred?!/Abroad again);
I'm sure to see you (or you'll see me) down the track sometime SOONISH!!!?
P.S. Would someONE look after me missus until I make it Home?
Hasta pronto, me Amigos.
Col
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge-
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids are on the scrounge.
the atmosphere is thick with queer
Simon Cowells on the telly,
Tom Jones's bones are
th' microphones n
his bowels are
Ooozzing smelly.
through atrophied
arseholes who choose
between iconicity
n the domesticity blues.
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids - are on the scrounge.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
I see the raindrops fall,
They drench everything...
I remember you in rainfall,
You are the only one for me..
I miss you, you are my missus,
Rest of the world is incomplete.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
The thing is Boy,
Yes, YES! I did need a shower this morning, and ****** lovely it was.
Aye cracking........
Let me tell you three things I got just right with my shower this morning.
First of it was HOT.
Not warm, definitely not lukers, as you said when you where a lad, but ****** lovely and hot.
Like the shower after a shift in The Pit.
Now, notice the capitals there, on The Pit.
Not to make it a loud word, I am simply showing due respect to The Pit.
I spent enough years down that colliery to show it that due respect.
The Pit indeed.
Secondly, there was enough water.
In my shower, not the mine now, pay attention!
It can be hard for folk to hang on to my words, I digress so much, hanging on to my words is like trying to grab a slimy mackerel on a sunny day at Porthcawl Pier.
Now that is a ditry pier, due to littering.
And fishing.
Speaking as a fisherman, with you will notice, a SMALL f, as I do not profess a great degree of skill in that area, but speaking as a fisherman, I will admit that there is an occasional tendency towards the dropping of litter.
On the pier, that is.
Quite likely elsewhere as well, but then I only fish the pier, see.
Anyway, yes, water.
Enough of it.
Not a ****** half-hearted trickle, an apologetic drip, but a deluge!
Fair flooded me out, it did.
****** marvellous.
Smashing.
Now, there was a third good thing.....
Ahh. THAT was it..
Someone to scrub my back.
Very important indeed.
You see, in The Pit, or at least, in the colliery shower, after a shift, we had good showers.
Hot, they were. Hot and wet, and we would stand there, warming ourselves under the water.
By Christ, my arms were sore after a day on my side with a pick.
And the soap was hard too, like a ruddy brick.
But the water helped see, took the pain away, it did.
Aye, and all the Boys, we would wash each others backs.
That was the way then.
In the showers.
Aye.
I new my mate's backs better than my missus'
Thirty years scrubbing them.
"Whiter than white" I would say.
When they asked me.
"How is my back Bryn?"
"Whiter than white".
Aye
Good days.
Now this shower.
A ****** good one too, It was today.
The Girl who comes in got it just right.
Halfway between five and five and a quarter.
Bang on.
And she washed my back.
Not as hard as the boys would have done,
but good enough for a youngster.
Not bad at all.
All in all, a good shower.
And that means a good day.
I can wheel my chair to look out the front later.
You'll pardon me for going now,
but I have to go to the bathroom see.
A big ****** task for me now.
Still, no-one in till teatime, and I can manage,
if I take it slow.
And thursday I get another shower.
And I will tell you about the days in The Pit again.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
Some of you go so far as to disclaim any ability to find you, but I've got you.
(sonnet #MMDCCXCV)
Dare claim your writing does not breathe a strain
Of your dear essence: to be fooled. Thereby
Petrarca's soul distills its fervour aye;
And Wyatt cool good sense; while Surrey feign
With mildest touch and Spenser's pure refrain,
Sweet Shakespeare beauing hearts, dare cry
Amain. From Milton's kingly strength's reply
To Wordsworth's cold hauteur, yea come again?
Twas Samuel Taylor Coleridge roused me
To think afresh, his lively fancy through
Each line with his impress. From Shelley's plea
To Keats' indulgence, Missus Browning's blue
Yet mystic charm, don't think all cannot see.
You don't know me? But ah, I do know you.
31Aug13b
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Lumbago ought be a flower,
but it ain't.
Goldfish could have shoulders,
but they don't.
Death should have meaning
and my windows need cleaning
by the missus - but I know-
she just -- won't.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.
"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.
Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.
The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.
The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.
Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.
Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.
The Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks
Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
Said the Codger in the corner
Of the pub at Avonlea
“There’s a missus, who I’d kisses
If she’d sit upon me knee”.
“But I’m eighty, like me matey
And I’m too inclined to ***
So I’ll leave her to another
And keep my faithful Tennessee!”
Said the barman to the Codger
“Well you see here my old friend!
You’ve been sitting in the corner
Since ya leg would no more bend”.
“You’ve been drinkin all me whisky
Yep your love from Tennessee!
Don’t ya know ya have a misses
And she’s looking out for ye.”
Said the Codger to the barman
“Mate now you just let me be
I’ve paid ya all good money
For me love from Tennessee!”.
“And me misses whom I kisses
Who is waiting home for me
Is all weathered, worn and weary
And she naggeth poor old me.”
Said the lady at the counter
Who’d not sit upon his knee.
“Mister if you loved and kissed her
She’d no longer naggeth ye!”
Said the Codger to the lady
“Well Ok! Now let me see
I’d go home to see me misses
But will not leave my Tennessee!”
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 1:00 AM UTC
Cyrus was a butcher,
the ladies thought him sweet,
and when they spoke,
the gals would joke
about old Cyrus' meat.
But soon the missus told 'em,
her one and only beef-
forget the size
or how he'd rise,
Old Cyrus was too brief.
His brother, Clive, the baker,
a young and heavy lad,
was paid no mind
by womankind
cause of the weight he had.
But soon the missus told 'em,
with a twinkle in her eye,
Forget the size,
or how he'd rise,
that boy could eat a pie!
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
this ain't no art, man,
this is just a careless whisper
this is just George Michael
singing in your stereo
this is just your bourgeois-blues
this is merely a bewilderment
this is not the art, you know it,
you ******
you ****
you chronic masturbator
you who dare to write on the internet
dancing with yo papa' shoes
and in yo mama' lingerie
ah, look at yourself, a human miracle
Angel of a foreign Harlem,
you who wasted all away,
speaking in foreign tongues
inside the thighs of a british stripper,
you idiot
you *****
and when i'm done i'll come for you,
like a ****
like a dog
sniffin' and slidin' in your park
in your ***** trailer park
there with your fat-fuck-husband
stalkin' yo every move
you *****
you ****
and when i'm done i'll look for you,
simple as that
simple as an Einstein formula
served to you on exotic dishes
by Norma from Twin Peaks,
cars for the missus and furs for the mistress
and when you'll die you'll ****
between all your champagne wishes
and it'll be ******* ridiculous.
But that's life, babe.
Get down on thursday,
drains you in May.
You *****
so be-my-babe
i say be-my-babe
in black and white
like the Ramones
or the Ronettes or
the Rolling Stone
- i still want to know
how your insides look like,
- i still want to save
your capitalist nature
in my mother's fridge,
- i still want to fly
high on a jet plane with you,
alone,
with or without needs,
crashing on our bridge.
I love you-
love me!
I put my gun in your hands.
I push it. I shovel it.
My bones are broken
bound by all the words
i never dared to say
- and here, my love, right here,
i put IT in my mouth,
i feel the cold steel in my tongue,
-- how much blood from
such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!--
and this, and so much more.
but please, i say please,
would you feed me?
would you need me?
i'm a little angel drowning in candies
who's eating his heart out and ******** his candy
ah, would you say this? Would you?
Just because it ain't cool?
Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night
and take my lunchbox and
shoot Panama down and
shoot Mexico down and
shoot a *** smoker down
and shoot a crack dealer down
and shoot a beer dealer down and
shoot Mexico down
shoot Osaka down
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
my love will gun down all your school
Look at me - i say, look at me!
*Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!*
and don't you forget to say my name,
as i'll
****
YOUR
SKULL
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
recently in a women's magazine
I read an article
about the Duchess of Cornwall
being most ungracious
toward Princess Mary of Denmark
*the Duchess can be a very catty *****
especially when Charles
is eyeing something of more appeal
but Camilla seems to have forgotten
her come hither days
when she was conducting
an affair with the Prince of Wales
under his wife's nose
the protocols in royal circles
have become less civil
and it is about time
she on her high horse
was more convivial
where the crown
and matters of state
are paramount
the Queen should avail
her son's missus
of a polite dismount
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
englishman....one's wife's rather stupid,as thick as one could be,thinks wales is part of england,and some are in the sea.jock....ma womans thick as shite,rite aff her ****** noodle,she took ma rottie fer a walk,an came back wi a poodle.paddy....oi'l be ye all,witt out a doubt,moi missus is da tickest,das ever bin about,she went out for a hen night,somwher near caerphilly,she had ten condoms in her bag,and has'nt got a *****
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
Was catching up on some beauty sleep
When up the stairs I heard something creep
Was very dark, the middle of the night
Actually **** the bed, such a terrible fright
Ugly, clumsy too, big mouth with it's teeth bared
Couldn't move from my bed even if I had dared
Froth coming from it's mouth, twas heavy breathing
Felt like my worst nightmare but I wasn't dreaming
Ugly thing was getting closer now, right at the door
Blanket up over my head, couldn't take any more
It belched and farted continuously, much to my disgust
I took a peek and it's eyes were now full of wanton lust
"Please spare me" I begged and I was starting to cry
"Don't **** me you monster, I am too young to die"
Ugly thing just laughed and peeled off it"s clothes
Jumped into bed next to me and I instantly froze
Dark and with no glasses, I was visually impaired
Started praying to God, hoping I would be spared
Laughing it went under the blanket, starting to *****
Cold grip on my ***** I was starting to loose all hope
Gained some strength, enough to turn on the bed light
Lifted the blanket then and got an even bigger fright
Confronted I was by an ugly face and pair of big *****
Was not a monster at all, twas only the wife in the ****
Seems the girls night out had come to a very early end
Wife was terribly drunk and I guess, so were her friends
I jumped out of bed then thinking no way can I **** it
Ran to the lounge as she shouted "Bring me a bucket"
Knew she would be spewing all night, it never fails
When she drinks two hundred or so strong cocktails
Believe me people, my missus drunk is not a pretty sight
If you ran into her in the dark, you too would get a fright
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
I’ve got to tell you,
yes, you, Muse,
that you can be a real little **** sometimes,
just flirting with me
and merely swirling your skirts.
And I’m so ******* vulnerable!
You hear that? I’m weak!
I’ve been meekly saying yes, yes,
thankee missus, so pathetically obsequious,
while tugging my forelock, or something else,
before scribbling about these ridiculously tantalizing
little glimpses you’ve been flashing me,
just the merest ****** of insight,
when I so desperately need, you know,
the whole ******* vision, the complete picture.
Yes. The whole enchilada!
Now look here.
You’ve got to go a hell of a lot farther than just flirting with me!
I need some of your hot little chilli, see?
Something, you know, incendiary!
You hear me?
Maybe sink my teeth right into your euphorbia poissonii!
Yes!
Even if this ******* well kills me.
Mike T Minehan
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC