"seuss" poems
dedicated to all the better poets here...
don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...
as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...
Oh dear me,
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers
Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!
the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily
this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...
all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
(Inspired by and dedicated to John Edward Smallshaw, and his "Spice")
I am a summer-man,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
Let it and the other two Musketeers,
boon companions to me,
Sun and Wind,
erase my discomposure as I
reside in the Poet's Nookery.
Let them have almost
all that troubles,
but not all.
I am a summer-man.
On the bay, on the beach,
I see birth, I see death,
osprey nests, carcasses of
mussels and horseshoe *****
This, somehow reassuring,
the cycles,
this circularity,
the tides and inevitability.
I am a summer-man.
Student of languages seasonal,
Peaches, plums, cherries, poetry
and loving Woman.^
This, the summer alphabet-soup
of my multiple tongues.
I am a summer-man.
Sancerre and Pinot Gris, super cold,
Paul Simon, Nina Simone,
with proper aging,
getting hotter,
Salsa and Afrikaner hints,
super louder,
Even "Still Crazy After All These Years,"
that-who-wud-be-me,
chills outer.^^
I am a summer-man.
When ever this lad's writes appear,
it proves once again,
there is no truth that his
name was once Dr. Seuss
In a prior life, even if
each is signed by
Ogdiddy Nash**
I am a summer-man.
**Disrespectful of the calendar,
if I can, try to make
summer season stretch-marks from
May to October.
I would add April,
but the IRS is already
****** at me.^^^
Though the cherry blossoms of May
now gone away,
the lilies of June
arrive, but but for a week or two,
soon, like my mom, withered away.
Acorns in August^^^^ have arrived too swiftly.**
This summer, beloved,
and love of summer,
deep-rooted.
Season of my Peter Pan Poetry Galore Festival.
A love, incapable, impossible, of ever
growing old, ever growing cold,
it cannot wither.
It is summer heat reminders exposed,
how it misses its man,
that hide in the flames of
the teasing, popping, reminding
Winter fireplace's crackling popping***
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
Sparkling petals slice through feet of wanderers
Dashing hopes and slitting tendons
Each day she visits
Sprinkling books and soda-filled sponges among the wire vines.
The sizzles excited her
And she smiles in spite of her sizzling feet
Pleased in her harmless sabotage.
The suffocated earth shutters beneath
Layers of circuit boards, damp and rotting
Steam rises from the core
And crinkles the pages of
Jane Austen
Dr. Seuss
Kurt Vonnegut. Her mother’s journal from pregnancy.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
start
set the scene...
somewhere enclosed, close and closed
like a bed
(tight, restricted like, uh, the world all around me, how fitting
now it’s political)
on a morning
and maybe the sun will be rising,
or setting−yes−to represent the ethereal dusk of my cognition,
Say I’m with someone−don’t identify whom−it’s meant to be a mystery:
unfinished, left.
it could be you
and I’ll search the dictionary
for words to make my pseudo-philosophical, imagist, absurdist poem obfuscated, esoteric,
tanquam yet favillous; beyond recognition
So that it sounds like Dr. Seuss,
that is, a Dr. Seuss that knows Althusser, Derrida and the early writings of Flaubert.
add some random enjamb-
ment. cut out the capitalizationandspacing. start a sentence;
end it. Section break
Oh, I’ll need more words, you know, to remind my peers of my intellectuality,
-out of place words that don’t actually mean anything:
Specificity or
literati
that’s good. Now, to end-
bring it to a close in one all-encompassing word:
(to be read over-dramatically)
pretension.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
black girl
burnt fingertips on blunts and radio knobs
singing along to the words
pretending to fall in love
black girl
stuck with scratches
ashes
burnt skin
a taste for
female friends that benefit
black girl
can't hide her DNA
as easily as her true colors
black girl best friend
back girl white for a black girl
black girl lives on the north side
has a side girl on the south
black girl plays blues
bumps Kings of Leon
and Future
wondering which of the two
will be her future
black girl
never cusses in front of her sister
even though all she says is
'fuck it'
black girl white car
black girl no license
black girl speeds
black girl art school
black girl need scholarship
black girl raps
and forgets the words
black girl gossip girl
black girl breaks cigarettes
black girl never laughs at me when I think she will
black girl psh
black girl so much better
than who she thinks she is
black girl can't take a compliment
won't take credit
black girl so beautiful
black girl never pays for drugs
but gets high every night
black girl sometimes makes me jealous
sometimes I want to make
black girl jealous
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Welcome to the con! The con starts with the author, Dr. Seuss.
He's no doctor. And that's a fact (and no it's not the only truthful
thing in this diatribe of mine). He used the doctor moniker to
sell more books!
That guy in the book pestering the other guy to try "Green
Eggs and Ham"? Turns out to be the ham and egg salesman,
Sam I Am.
It's a motivational selling "won't take no for an answer"
how to sell book disguised as children's literature.
And Sam I Am is psychotically relentless in his pursuit of a
sale. He needs a restraining order slapped on his ***
"Would you eat them in a box? Would
you eat them with a fox. Would you eat
them with a goat. Would you eat them on a
boat". Would you eat green eggs and ham,
would you eat them Sam I Am?
Dr. Seuss
And on and on. Sam I Am goes stalking him from page to page.
I had a friend of mine, Mustard Joe, ex war veteran with more
than twenty kills (you don't even want to know the things he's
seen) take a look into this green eggs and ham food source that
Sam I Am is pushing so hard. Here are some of the ingredients
he may or may not have found.
Ham -- 30 grams of sugar (questionable )
-- 15 grams of caffeine (untested)
Green eggs -- Trace amounts of nicotine ( not verified)
-- Handfuls of ******* (rumored)
As you can see, It's not an exact science.
People. When eggs turn green, that's mother nature trying to
warn you that your food has gone bad.
But in the end, Sam I Am gets the fool to finally try the green
eggs and ham and he absolutely loves it. Maybe the books lesson
is about to not be afraid about things you don't understand or
never tried. But I still believe there is insidious deception and
evil in the book. I have to think that way. Because after all -- I'm
Willoughby !!
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
don't understand me. this is not for you. It's for you.
my Gemini shin splints are pirates. hopeless Romans, romantically dismantling
the things you Undo. the things you You.
I Doctor in your Seuss canal.
with a frontal lobe, more Job
than a postage stamp -
in this Day and Age.
It's grey and rage -
with the tooth torn
out !
Out
through the probable snout
of the next mummified god-king
of our interlocking rot...
our chamber pots
spotting the oft begot good
of our evil
Mummenschanz
we are crepes' rue; yet we roulette best
in Typhoons
from murk
placid.
with 2.8 kids
and damp
matches.
we are
struck in a gale
of flaccid
dumb as a Belle of the Ball
that Squares
a Rube
with an Ism.... from Ix.
sometimes.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
there once was a nerd, in his pastime he led a pony herd and drank mountain dew while his patchy mustache grew, he fingered a bag or three of Cheetos and studied tuxedoes, but the point i try to point is the point that this nerd was a sir, true and fair, and how dare you put him, leave him, in the grim grim world of the friend zone?! now pick up your phone and call that mountain dew can armor wearing amour back into your life and be his wife because *** is only for the married.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
heartbreaks like bad breaks
make bad days feel like fate
heartbreaks like new wounds
for more hope to heal soon
heartbreaks like inmates
that do time for mistakes
heartbreaks like small snakes
with fear there but it's fake
heartbreaks like brown dirt
with brown eyes and more hurt
heartbreaks like old men
with old lessons and new men
heartbreaks like better days
that move on in better ways
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels
Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"
The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz
Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File
Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs
Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?
Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico
You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
strawberry frenchfries dipped in chocolate fondue.
cry me an 8 oz cup of water when i step on you with my giant blue shoe.
dance through the forest with gnomes stapled to your shoulders.
hide your foil gum wrappers in manila folders.
left and right. front to back,
oxygen in the atmosphere may lack.
pluto and jupiter intertwine when night falls.
orange and green leather sewn to your ragdoll.
licking the excess frito crumbs from under your fingernails,
eyes pealed to the scenery of wacky inmates in jail.
selfish yellow and blue fish yelling at dr. seuss,
reading books in sunrooms drinking orange juice.
camera flashes and ripped dollar bills,
making chocolate pancakes on top of cherry hills.
hazy eyes drowning into a dream,
winter nights as cold as ben&jerrys; ice cream.
red hand chasing numbers on a clock,
movement of legs turns muscles into rock.
acid drops from black heart clouds falling onto driveways.
little kids on scooters munching on happy meals while saddened by the loss of sunrays.
23 degrees celsius and shine forcing itself through.
ice cream trucks and roadraged humans trying to get through.
bumble bee roads with lines and street signs,
teens boredum, smoking dope, drinking ***** getting fines.
police on the prowl everyday, every night, seeing through lies,
keeping their sight wide-open like a mouth in surprise.
fettuchini alfredo at fancy restaurants.
ice cold water knocked over on a ladys lap.
words missing letters, conversations missing sound.
apples and basketballs losing shape and sense of round.
flat chested skinny ******* slipping through cracks in wooden floors,
obese transexuals getting stuck in between doors.
puzzle pieces glued to the top of a bald head,
veins appear blue but blood is red.
blowing kisses, blowing out candles
cats,dogs,birds wearing sandals.
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
Take my hand, friend
just for a sec-
let's leave this ****** land of
SATs, PSATs, APs,
and college admission essays and guidance counselors
and homework and pop quizzes and exams and whatever else-
behind.
Let's be two again.
Let's make Pringle-chip-duck faces
and grin with orange peel smiles-
I'll paint my nails yellow and we'll read Dr. Seuss with British accents
in the dimming light of the old
falling-down fort of pillows and blankets (that's almost too small for us)
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
That we've never seen the glowing screen of
televisions, computers, IPods,
that we haven't spent weeks wearing down our thumbs on text messages.
Let's forget fights over boys that weren't even all that hot.
Let's sit in my yard and eat raw cookie dough behind my momma's back
And make too-sweet fresh lemonade, and blow dandelions
(into other neighbor's yards, of course)
Spray garden hoses at each other
and laugh and scream and giggle and make mud-pies.
Let's make twenty different secret handshakes,
Eat wild raspberries and hide sticky fingers
And pinky promise- again and again- BFFs forever.
Let's lose ourselves in the bliss of childhood
just one more time- please.
Just in case Peter Pan decides to visit.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
One shot two shots three shots four
Five shots six shots seven shots floor
Tiny bubbles in my whiskey
makes me happy makes me feel frisky
seven and sevens on the rocks or sours
whiskey has some magical powers
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 2:20 PM UTC
I feel as though I have an obligation,
A duty, you could say, to address something
We ignore almost everyday.
Washington walks on, head high
Strutting around like it owns civil liberties,
Like hearing its name is something so profound.
So I think I’ll ask what gives you the right
To tell my best friend who fights with herself
In the dark, at night, who cries herself to sleep
Because of the hardest decision of her life,
That she can’t make this choice with her own mind?
That it’s wrong when you’re so right, about things
Like pro-life.
And what gives you the final say on my brother
And his boyfriend, and their wedding day?
Oh, the bible does? Really? Okay.
Because you know there is such a thing
As separation of church and state, I’m sure.
And if religion, if God is your problem,
Where is your scorn? Why aren’t atheists and agnostics being burned
At the stake because of your proverbial witch hunt?
Ah, right, because discrimination is against the law,
And law is something you can’t shun in light
Of running a political race, or else have your own medicine
Shoved in your face.
If God is the only thing you can think to use
To your political values that are so terribly flawed,
Did you ever stop to think that I don’t believe in Him,
Your God?
That maybe I like mine better, He accepts us all.
Honestly, tell me please, how in the hell you expect
To get my vote with all your arrogant decrees?
I sincerely hope before you run, you rethink your thesis’s,
Or before you go around telling me who I can and cannot be.
So what if I don’t believe your God,
Your religion or how you live it?
What if I believe in exhibits, or Dr. Seuss?
But that’s not really the point, is it?
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
What gave you your direction?
What made you want to write?
What ever was the reason
that saw you editing all night?
Perhaps you loved Lord Byron
or for you was Poe the man
or maybe Keats or Dr. Seuss,
with his green eggs and ham.
What had you writing poetry?
Who did you want to be?
The answer to that question
is an easy one for me.
You'll probably howl
when you hear of my choice.
He's hardly a Jane Austin
or Helen Steiner Rice.
And it wasn't Charlotte Bronte
who gave to me the thrill.
But a little fat comedien
with the name of Benny Hill.
As a youngster I remember
his rather raunchy rhymes
that some would look at with contempt
but they did that in those times.
I just remember that he creased me up
and I would laugh and laugh all day.
I would memorise and tell to friends
when we all went out to play.
As the years went on and I read the greats
everything grew in my mind.
I read and read my poetry
anything that I could find.
But of all the brilliant scholars
that have written and do still.
None will grace my heart and make me feel
like that poet Benny Hill.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
White walls washed with winter
mingle with a breeze born from ocean spray
and wind sails.
There is a smell here. Familiar, unique.
It smells clean. There is a bugambilia tree
in the center with arms outstretched
like Moses a splash of pink
that pitter patters
through streets built by Dr. Seuss.
Delectable delights demand your senses
there is white on white, a deep white
of many coats with white doors and white
walls and white houses and white sand
and white wine and white people
next to the blue sea.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
*this poem didn't come easy. written amidst buffeting emo's, V will not be natural flow, probably flawed. You, self-chosen people, will come along, please, to see the process, and the proceeds too.
But as usual, the poem was write before me, needing only human kindness overflowing to guide the way.*
V
V words lord, excluding all others,
phonetic juggernauts,
never met a V word
that had no personality.
victory is the one word that
my/our brains
think of first.
sure there is vortex, victuals, veer
and valor exam,
the latter,
what ever it means is a gift,
curtsy-courtesy of auto-incorrect.
but it is victory
on top,
victorious in its own way.
try it on another if you must...
what is the word that starts with a V
that first comes to mind?*
so let us talk of victories.
so oft, I write in the dark,
even as I do now.
came home soul weary,
face worn-worry,
gotta go out to meet
Peter Bogdanovich later,
to chat about his latest movie.
woman looks me over.
X-ray glance,
an MRI of my heart,
no deductible charged,
but oh yes, a co-pay due, indeed!
Peter will keep,
tonight you're-mine,
to bed I send,
right after we consume
Large Thin Mush,
cause pizza with shrooms contains
mood serotonins,
that erase the
"pain of the day"
that be a victory nonpareil.
a Waterloo, a Normandy landing,
that be a victory where
both sides hug and kiss,
and make with their long,
stubby Churchillian fingers,
V's all night long
with goofy grins,
cigars and bowler hats,
just to go along.
so here I am in the dark,
having been "put" to bed,
one mo' time,
slicing and dicing letters
into a word-salade,
instead of resting.
dreaming of the day
when I can no longer need to
pretend to be a Seuss, but truly,
can be writing poems for all my
children~friends.
one for each letter
of the alphabet,
teaching us to write
upon our faces
laugh lines thin and fine,
mine, ours, yours.
product of pizza poems,
some that come not circular,
but tonite shaped
just like a woman,
just like a
V.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
**** and Jane phenomenon
Baby Sally - See Spot Run!
Think-and-Do Book leads the way
We Look and See
We Come and Go
We Work and Play
Until Dr. Seuss's smash-hit breakaway...
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
Bunny Rabbits
Bunny rabbits are cute,
But with out pity they root,
our hard-tended vegetable garden.
Deer, majestic, beauteous to look upon.
But they fine dine with a good vine,
on our expensive shrubbery.
******* rabbits and deer.
No earthly good for anyone,
but poets and kids.
So I guess its's ok.
Let the ******* rabbits and deer,
chomp away....
Maybe some day I'll return their favor,
With venison and stew on
my dinner menu.
Grinchy Seuss
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
If Stephen King was black
Obama would not be president
Segregation would exist all over again
OJ would have gotten guilty without a trial
Except the black part would be technologically advanced
cars that navigate themselves
Sonic energy distribution
portable wings
the Rockateer would also therefore be black
Disney Land would be scary and real
Darwin would have been black
Go go Gadget’s engineer would be black
Malcolm X would have been mixed race
Carl Sagan ran the blackest gang in Oakland
If Stephen King was black
Therefore
Stephen Hawkings is black too
Einstein invented Compton in ten minutes
On a coffee break
The bees Einstein was referring to are the African Killa bees
And Einstein was the father of Wu tang
Stephen Hawkings hangs out with Mike Tyson and Alicia Keys
The Black Panthers like every other morning in the blackest house Washington DC
Made me eggs benedict with fresh eggs and ham
Dr Seuss is therefore black by association
Aunt Jemima would run the FDA and tap maples trees in the Berkshires
But she is white now
America would turn a blind eye and play more volley ball
and in us
God would trust
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
As a newbie, we are unaware
We go through life as if we care
Incompetent inept go here or there
Thinking that we know it all
Inevitably comes the fall
Then we slowly realize
As it begins, the End
of our demise
we didn’t compromise
However, it’s more
Than just the fall.
We thought
We were
Impervious
10 feet tall.
The older we get
The more we realize
The ignorant follies
Of the less wise
Pride before the fall
Comes towards us all
We paid no mind
To the warnings call
Greed, Lust,
A wild ride
Envy Wrath
Look inside
Gluttony, Sloth,
Our Guilty Pride
Don’t let this list
Be your guide
It’s OK not to know everything
It’s OK to be a teen in between
It’s OK to misread a panic scene
It’s OK to admit your wrong
Do the dance,
Sing the song
Don’t act wise,
Apologize
Pretending
you know it all
Inevitably
The jig is up
Never ready For the call
Will you learn the lesson
of the fall
knowing you don’t
know anything at all.
There is always
a lesson.
To endure
It’s OK not to be sure
we were all
once an amateur
The difference between
a young adult
Sprung on life
And a middle aged
Disillusion lost soul
Is our experiences
The lessons learned
When It’s your turn
To be on top
Oblivious
Ignorant
Acceptance
There will be a time
When you’re not
It’s not how high
You climb
It’s how you endure
After the fall
Wisdom
comes to us all
Will you ignore it?
Or answer Life’s call
Inspired songs;
My life 1978
Billy Joel
Don’t fear the reaper 1976
Blue Oyster Cult
Signs 1971
By Five Electrical Band
Bridge over troubled Waters 1970
By Simon and Garfunkel
Both sides now 1969
By Joni Mitchell
Foot note
This was written for a seventh grade grandchild going through life on stress levels. She creates herself. She says this to herself now it’s OK to be wrong. I don’t have to know everything.
I’ve always said to the grandchildren, you have two ears, and one mouth listen twice as much as you speak
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 3:49 AM UTC
Son-of-Sam-I-am
with a ghost of a chance perchance
to stalk the block
where unsuspectings walk
Die-cast metal guy-am-I
all alone I sense the stone
reaching in to break the bone
Another one done for fun
Aren't I the fortunate son?
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 11:15 AM UTC
I watch you sleeping,
Impossibly long eyelashes, black as rooks
flutter against yesterday's sun blushed cheeks,
small digits twitching,
right thumb firmly in mouth
suckling salt soaked skin.
You are the sea my boy,
the earth, the moon and stars.
I sip at my coffee,
eyed by Spiderman
as the Joker grins
and the Riddler envies Dr Seuss.
This moment is perfection,
a little bit of calm
before the tornado hits
with the blue of your eyes.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
The prophetic use of Dr. Seuss
made it clear to Joshy
that he will face the world with joy
and return to tell his story.
His mountains will be oh so high
his mountains will be marvelous
Joshy will enjoy the climb
and Joshy will be fearless.
Sometime later, late at night
when children should be sleeping
Joshy will then tell his tale
but his brothers won't believe him.
Joshy will then smile and grin
and tell them they're just daft
if they just can't believe his tale
he'll not tell the stranger half.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
*We're all familiar with Dr Seuss,
Tho pronounced like voice, and not like Zeus,
One fish, two fish, the cat in the hat,
With fish exclaiming that mother "won't like that".
Eccentric strange names, bizzarely named towns,
Unusual creatures, his imagination abounds,
There's mean Mr Grinch, where evil's his art,
And poor Herbie Hart, taking his Thromdimbulator apart.
We remember most fondly Horton hearing a who,
And the cat in the hat releasing Thing One and Thing Two,
How lucky you are, with dear Mr Potter,
And his monotonous job as T-Crosser, I-Dotter.
The things that we saw on Mulberry Street,
With so many stories, and people to meet,
Not forgetting the Lorax, or the places you'll go,
Or me singing high with my Ying that sings low.
I read them each night with my dear gentle Ben,
Stories we enjoy, both time and again,
The stories we read, are always his choice,
From the magical worlds of the one Dr Seuss.*
Cinco Espiritus Creation
2017
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC