"randy" poems
We all know about Rudolph
and how his nose lights up the night
And olive, the other reindeer
Who help Santa with his flight
But, there's one who is forgotten
From the Christmas songs and rhymes
And I think you should hear about him
Yes, I think it is about time
Randy was a reindeer
He liked to play the reindeer games
But he too, was like Rudolph
And the others called him names
Randy, wasn't much at flying
Didn't like going out most nights
Randy, well, he was just different
You see, he was afraid of heights
He couldn't see where he was going
Either in the day or night
You see Randy needed glasses
He had a problem with his sight
His balance was in question
Always falling to the ground
If a reindeer falls in the forest
Does that reindeer make a sound?
He had a skin condition
He needed special cream to help
The harness didn't help him
In fact, it made him yelp
He was shorter than the others
And his stride was a bit off
And when Santa came to see him
Randy had a nervous cough
He didn't like the female reindeer
He liked the males, more than he should
Randy was "light up in the antlers"
And to Santa, that's no good
Santa couldn't fly with Randy
Randy's name, it was all wrong
It screamed out Broadway not of Christmas
It didn't work in all the songs
Santa said "you're a strange reindeer"
"You can't fly, you're blind and gay"
"And if you led my team out"
"We'd not be done in just one day"
"I'm sorry, reindeer Randy"
"I have to cut you from the team"
"They play one side,you're another"
"If you know what Santa means"
So, Randy, he just wanders
Round the north pole all the while
Bumping into things and falling
With his light antlers and strange smile
He's not a famous reindeer
And I think that it's ok
That Santa has a reindeer
Who, we now all know is gay.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 9:26 PM UTC
I may not do things traditionally
But I'll get them done eventually
If they're the things that are right for me
I'll be okay and set myself free.
In this life of turbulent strife
pitted and ripe with rotten tripe
a sunlight bright pains my sight
but your soothing ice cools my vice
The aid you paid is not ready made
it gives me hope I'm not just a dope
your love is more than a pity rope,
slivered and raw it gives me splinters
But luckily i'm in for a treat
more than a friend sent to mend
oh yes, you're more, my candy store
settle my sweet tooth you randy *****
unwrap the rainbow you insane *****
ride the rhythm of my *** prism
a rod shaped crystal built like a missile
cocked locked and loaded it cant miss-ya.
explodin' and remoldin' the fabric of time
an infinite blanket wraps us entwined
in a frantic romantic purely satanic
ritual of reality, the utmost sensuality.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
One day
Woke up feeling randy
No one else was handy
What's to do?
Get dressed
Satisfy the horn
With badly acted ****
On pay per view
Hopes sink
Cable's on the blink
But twitter lends a helping hand
Bang, bang, come and have a gang bang
Gain entrance on demand
Have a gang bang
Come and have a gang bang
It's a gang bang
Come and have a gang bang
Went out
Followed the directions
Battling erections
All the while
Red cheeks
Granny at the bus stop
Let her vision drop
Then cracked a smile
Half four
Knocking at the door
It opens and a voice proclaims
"Bang, bang, come and have a gang bang
We've far too many dames"
The host was a sight to see
Not far over seventy
And wrapped in a silk dressing gown
I thought I would walk away
But saw that the sky was grey
And it star-
-ted *******
It down
Stepped in
Blinded by a deep gloom
Ushered to a dark room
Curtains shut
Deep breath
Air is old and musty
Carpet feeling crusty
Underfoot
Sprawled there
Women lying bare
And fellas with their organs free
Bang, bang, cover up your **** ****
Regain your decency
Pretty gang bang
Pretty ****** gang bang
****** gang bang
Pretty ****** gang bang
Look round
Writhing on the ground
With squishy little sounds
But something's odd
Fat lass
Itching at her *** crack
Isn't that a ball sack?
Oh my god!
Jaw drops
Granny from the bus stop
Wearing nothing but a grin
Bang, bang, pretty ****** gang bang
What ******* let her in?
She's nothing but skin and bone
With ribs like a xylophone
At least several decades too old
To use the vernacular
It's like bumming Dracula
She's wiry
She's wizened
She's cold
Oh (pretty) no ******
Rasping on my ****
With fingers like a sock
Filled up with ice
No (scary) chance (hairy)
Giving her the slip
My todger's in a grip
Just like a vice
It (saggy) seems (baggy)
Like she's in a dream
While scraping with her ancient hand
Bang, bang, ****** ****** gang bang
My sore and swollen gland
Granny bang bang
Granny granny gang bang
Granny gang bang
Granny ***** gang bang
Knock, knock
Coppers at the door
Go crawling on the floor
And off at speed
What fun
Looking at the punters
Myriad of munters
As they flee'd
Cold, wet
Drowning in regret
With trousers round my knees I stand
Bang bang ****** ****** gang bang
Next time I'll use my hand
Bang bang ****** ****** gang bang
Next time I'll use my haaaaaaaaaaaaaaand!
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
The 3 toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him when she said
Wild things run fast
3 toed sloth, he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo and ***
Now sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Kind people fixed it with titanium
He resumes his slothful days
But now he's more careful with his loving ways
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 4:18 PM UTC
On his body is a ginger bread thong
To soften you up he sings a sweet sugar song
If you hit on him he’ll play along
He’s the **** ginger bread man
He’ll ****** you with candy wine
On a scale from 1-10 he is a 9
Girls look at him and say, “He’s so fine”
He’s the **** ginger bread man
On his face are peanut butter eyes
He has powdered sugar on his manly thighs
He will reel you in with his seductive lies
He’s the **** ginger bread man
On this neck is a chain of candy
Around the house he can be handy
If you add frosting he can be pretty randy
He’s the **** ginger bread man
Out of the batch he is the pick
He has a giant ginger breadstick
It has rainbow sprinkles on it
He’s the **** ginger bread man
You bite the chain and swallow the thong
Eat the stick which is very long
You gobble him up till he’s all gone
NO MORE **** ginger bread man
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 5:37 AM UTC
The three toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him
when she said
Wild things run fast
Randy, three toed sloth,
he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo
and ***
Now even sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Some people fixed it
with titanium
So he can resume his slothful days
But he's more careful now
in his loving ways
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
In 2007, I wrote my first poem.
Life 1
It held two questions.
Questions I have yet to have a answer for.
I'll date it.
I'll quote it.
On December, 14th 2010,
I ask it again.
"Why is there so many racist?"
"What did that race ever do to you?"
I never knew how to feel,
When I watched Roots or Schlinders List.
Until I meet them face to face.
The racist of course
Spewing the racist words they worshiped.
****** and Monkey, I was called.
With black skin and african qualities,
Will earn you those titles.
In my head I wonder;
Should I hate whites because of the KKK?
Should I hate Germans because of the Nazis?
Should I hate Russians because of Stalin?
Should I hate Muslims because of Osama?
Should I hate my fellow Africans because of the corruption that rips Africa apart?
These questions rattle my head.
So once again I ask.
"Why is there so many racist?"
"What did that race ever do to you?"
Quoted.
Signed.
Dated.
Randy Wiafe
December, 14 2010.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 4:28 AM UTC
Spring is in the air and so is married love;
For marriage is a gift from up above.
Holy wedlock offers one unending joy
Which all the sands of time will ne'er alloy:
Once you're married both of you are free
To get stuck into some adultery.
From now on each new fornication
Will have an extra-marital relation.
So go and get your neighbours' tongues a-wagging:
With some adulterous randy ******** ********
*Ah! que j'aime une nuitée chaude de fornication
(tellement, tellement mieux que la ************
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Lazily I sit naked on my favorite carved antique chair,
by the writing table, fully immersed in Kamsutra zen,
the randy one barges in, with a smile,euphemistically reprimands:
"Man, have a heart, your ****** is being unfairly wasted again"
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
The “Perfect” Man
He will get inside my head before he crawls into my bed.
He will be an articulate gentleman, but, straight up gangster when it’s time defend me.
He will kiss me in the club, but, beat up the **** that walks by me and grabs my ****
He will be sensitive enough to read my poetry in the park, yet, adventurous enough to make love underneath the stars when the sun goes down.
He will not be a “Prince charming”. I don’t need saving.
He will be the beast that steals me away from the fool, and makes me understand what a real man’s touch is supposed to feel like.
You see, it’s not hard to be the “Perfect” man. You will already be perfect if it’s meant to be.
Randy McPeek
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
"Here Made of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner
Lyrics By Randy Vera
Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta
http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon
LYRICS :
Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you.
Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name.
Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and ***** I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete.
Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my:
Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert.
Here, made of gone.
Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames.
Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable.
The metaphysical: Known unknown!
St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean.
Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone.
Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink.
Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
I am not the black sheep
I am not the odd duck
I am not the rebel child
I am not the prodigal daughter
Who am I then?
Well...that's a complicated question
I am not your archetypes or storylines
I am not your bad decisions or projections, your should-s
I am
I am what I will be
I am the technicolor, intergalactic unicorn
I am the pearlescent being of divine light
I am the Angel of Death of Dead Tradition
I am the she-Moses getting out of a desert of lies
I am
I am what I will be
Today, I am choosing
today, I am choosing to create me in lieu of inheriting "me"
Choosing well
choosing better
Choosing wiser
choosing more joyfully
Today, I am the randy interstellar unicorn
blazing a neon rainbow trail forward
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 4:22 AM UTC
Pick a cause, any cause, and slap your receipt on your bumper.
Everyone is doing it.
Everyone needs something to be passionate about.
What's your disease?
Not a one of us has it but **** if we don't act like it.
Walk it off.
Blame federal taxes.
Blame the government.
Why not your cause?
Why not your ailment?
Cus' you know Johnny is going to die if we don't do something,
and Susie's just runnin' outta time.
Buy a teddy bear to show you give a ****
Donate that extra quarter.
It all piles up somewhere.
But who, I mean who ever bothered to cure anything?
A million lab coats are workin' on your answer.
Just give em' a sec,
this stuff takes time.
In the mean time throw another buck in like your the only one.
Like this is the only problem left.
Like Santa only cares about breast cancer
or the church only cares about Alzheimers.
It's got one of their own you know.
Uncle Jim's got cancer of the liver,
where's his save the children fund?
Timmy's got cerebral palsy.
Sara's got Aspergers.
Randy has the Typhoid.
Pick a brand any brand and show you give a ****
Like the only one who gives a **** about the only thing that matters.
Forget them, what about me?
What about my issue?
What about my family?
Does the take a penny leave a penny in the seven eleven make you feel important?
Good.
Look here, buy this pin. 10% goes to Katrina victims
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
Finding What Was Lost 1/12/19
I’m searching for something I’ve lost. You can’t help me look for it.
I can’t quite remember what I did with it. This thing that seems to elude me.
How could I misplace something so important?
I became complacent, that’s what happened.
What was an intrinsic part of me, not nurtured, left me abandoned.
If I call to it, it does not come like a puppy who has escaped the yard with its tail tucked in between his legs.
I have to show what I’ve lost, that it is of value to me.
“Hello?” please come back. I swear I’ll do better, and work harder than I ever have.
I know now that my existence is meaningless without this part of me.
Realizing this, I reach into the dark places of my mind for the light switch to flip on.
Recalling every detail about what I love to do, nurturing what gives me purpose.
Because, in the end, only I can fulfill this need.
Reinventing, transforming, and evolving. Finding myself along to way.
Becoming a better version of what I was and, in doing that, embrace me.
Hello soul.
By.
Randy McPeek
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
The woman I see
I look in the mirror at my reflection, and gaze at the woman looking back.
She has been through so much in her short life, and yet her soul is still intact.
She has known love vast as an ocean, and thought her heart would burst from the joy.
As well as the pain from losing that love, so deep she felt her life was destroyed.
She has seen beauty so vivid and golden that all she could do was stare back in awe.
Along with the ugliness she’d rather forget; it made her curl up in a ball and withdraw.
She’s laughed so hard that her stomach hurt, and it took hours to cease.
Then cried tears that left her heartbroken, and numb, from feeling the bottomless grief.
At times she’s been brave, and overcome doubt, to be stronger than she once was.
That very next breath been afraid to do something, and make an error she couldn’t whitewash.
She’s become quite a woman from living her life, and, she has gained so much intelligence.
Yet she’s also been a fool, and brutally reminded, she still has immense incompetence.
The woman I see looking back from the mirror is true deep down to her soul.
I applaude her and believe that, no matter what happens, she is still more precious than gold.
Randy McPeek
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
A randy beetle,
circles a closing lotus;
nightly paramour.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
I'm over you
Roses are red,violets are blue. You think you broke me,but, I'm going to show you.
I'll come back even stronger than before.
Your lies and deceit don't affect me anymore.
I'll be even more confident, wait and you'll see.
You thought you could take my dreams away from me.
My belief in my abilities, and,that is so sad.
You'll never know the diamond you had.
What was once in ruin is more solid than ever, dispite the fact you tore it down.You thought you were clever.
Now who's the smart one?.I am, without a doubt. I've change who I am, both inside and out.
I won't accept anything less than a heart that is true. The days finally come. I'm over you.
If you ever realize the pain you have caused, If you ever see how you made my life pause.
I hope you don't hurt anyone else that deep. Because in the end, what you sew, you'll reap.
Another will come along, that captures your heart and, before you know it, will rip it apart.
Randy McPeek
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
Rock n’ roll music, Folger’s, and paint-smeared hands.
Dresser drawers filled to the brim with undeveloped camera film.
Blue bonnets and overgrown grass, pecans and crunching fall leaves.
Dirt roads and river-rocks, typewriters, polaroid cameras, and feather-quill pens.
Those hand-me-down blue eyes and brown ones that are “sometimes hazel.”
Crystal clusters and Lord of the Rings.
Countless mosquito bites and play-pretend games in the clubhouse.
Early-birds and night-owls.
Trudy; and Randy Hayes.
“Don’t touch everything you see,” and “If you say you’re bored, I’ll find work for you to do.”
Sweet tea and okra and southern dishes blackened and drenched in cheese or gravy.
Grandma always burned everything to make sure it was fully cooked, and to her, it was never burned, just “well-done.”
Cigarettes and carpentry and cookbooks. Wild blackberries and birthday parties at the lake.
Sleeping in all day and staying up all night and procrastination.
Shepherd's Pie, potatoes, and four-leaf clovers.
“Nil Desperandum. Never Despairing.”
I’m from a whole house that eats eggs for breakfast, and I’m allergic to eggs.
And trees as tall as buildings and buildings as tall as trees.
“You should never take the lord’s name in vain,” and “Jesus loves you, so you should love others.”
Day-dreams and stargazing and thunderstorms.
“All or nothing,” and “There is no try, only do.”
Old family pictures in dust-glittered frames.
We are crystals. We have facets, each one makes us who we are.
With only one window of our lives to express, we’d merely be glass.
I am a part of each of these things just as much as they are each a part of me.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 12:36 AM UTC
Here comes
the
***** HOBBIT
It's
that Randy
***** RAMMINS
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
If I could go back to the day we first met, I would have done something different that day.
I could have stayed home,and nursed back my voice. Remember things I hardly could say?.
My goals and my dreams would have stayed my main focus because I'd never left town.
By falling in love,the world I had known,changed me so much I have drowned.
The tears and the pain cut me so deep I thought my soul would curl up and die.
How could a love that I wanted so bad,make me question myself inside?
Was my love not enough? Didn't I give you all that I had,and more?
You were the one in my heart I felt held the most promise. We had forever in store.
The telltale signs that something was wrong,my gut told me you drifted away. Nothing was wrong,you said I worried too much. Your intentions towards me hadn't changed.
I can no longer ignore,or deny it, my love because you mean the world to me.
If I could go back to the day we first met, I'd take back that one day,you see.
If there is some reason, a lesson to be learned,I think that maybe its this;
love needs to be nurtured and cared for,not taken for granted like memories fading because they have no reason to exsist.
Randy McPeek
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
*serpent girl dancing
on a red stone cobbled hill
ritual of
Leviathan
trident to the belly
on stained alters bleached
blood and sweat sacrifice
candles burning
from the bottoms up
dipped in tears and pearls
nothing she won't do
swaying her hips
rhythmically
while toothless mouths sobbing
gum her body
a curse of deification
necromancer
*** pact
gorgeous fornicator
walking under water
her heart like a diamond
player of the infernal tarot
creeps daughter down on all fours
eating ***** with her butter *** up
quantum jumping
doing the planetary bunny hop
on vacation in a fire red bikini
and la dolce vita sunglasses
shes a guest of the sage of pyramids
catching solar rays
reading
from the book of doom
and fake dogmas
lips like obsidian fire
that eat bad children
especially ankle biters
scryer of black warped mirrors ranting
singing in the Vatican of the dead living
worm girls kissing muscular arterial shafts
and ***** in a twist
while making vampire paintings
in dark ritual adorations
****
of
oodoo
voodoo
i
do
to
you you
plying your soul
with dreams
of
Hollywood
cinema
and headless swiveling
Bollywood
jitterbug
beating devils gory
with harrowing archfiends
and ****** heels
for
love money *** and combat
gods above
angels to the flanks
north south east and west
seventy-two demons below
a crystal floor of vice gripped cherubim
with steal shewed pentagrams
holding dominion
with golden ring
enclosed in a synagogue of will
she's my hot randy *****
in leopard *******
don't **** with her
she eats souls
like taffy
while posing
as a kitten
outside her window*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
when I go
it will be
impossibly late
and I’ll leave you
not multi-talented bars
or pairs of randy ingots
itching to procreate
in a splendid explosion
of golden delight
what I’ll leave you is
a stale-air larder
filled just this once
by dully packaged thoughts
and duller feelings
when I have them
they could only couple
if enlivened with musical prodding
or the sigh effecting benefits
from hands full of mood-altering
pharmaceuticals
so please yourself instead
and don’t
put them to any use
bury them deep
better yet
pile them high on Pyrrhic pyres
where the gathering scorch will send
down leaden puddles
while precious platinum curls rise
up to trickle trickster tears
my greatest possible reward
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 8:54 AM UTC
I was melting, right here, finding every. thing.,
a little (too) bright,uneven,on the couch,
when you called me I felt my
throat tighten- breathed in-
your name on a screen.
thesecondtolastring
“It’s all about timing.”
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC