"willy" poems
Isn't it awfully nice to have a *****
Isn't it frightfully good to have a ****
It's swell to have a ******
It's divine to own a ****
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest *****
So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your ****
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.
In Willy’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of Willy’s beer.
He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.
Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.
They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***
But THAT I’m not repeating.
Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.
Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.
Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters
(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
For a Child of 1918
My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."
We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.
Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"
my grandfather said. So *****
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?
But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when ***** whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,
"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."
When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.
When we came to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.
7k
The Horse Race.
The announcer says the horse is at the gate.
There is wee ***** on your just silly;
Patty shes riding cupcake bite.
**** hes on hiccup.
The gate open and they are off. It's **** on hiccup, cup cake and wee ***** on just silly.
As the get to turn one it's ***** on just silly,Dick has hiccup at second and patty riding third with cupcake.
In turn two it's just silly,hiccup and cupcake. Turn four its cupcake,hick just silly
And now at the wire you got hiccup just silly and cupcake.
People we have to stop the race. Wee ***** on just silly ate patty cupcake which gave him the hiccups.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
I got into an altercation over a little alliteration. I offended and cant amend it. It was more than an argument, I was almost arrested. I obviously ****** someone off with my honest offering. I wasn't teasing. See, all I said was pretty please...Will you **** my ***** while winding up my windmill and blowing between my **********
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 11:14 PM UTC
Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.
A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.
Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.
Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.
Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate
Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred
Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.
It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!
But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?
What?
Give us some Novocain?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Despite assurances that his treatment would be gentle,
Thoughts of the grinding drill made him feel rather mental.
But soon his spirit returned to high
As the pretty assistant brushed against his thigh.
All was well until he got the bill
Which gave him such a horrible chill.
But soon he was back to his usual mood of cheer,
As he looked forward to
His next taste of Willy’s Pub food
And beer.
NS 22\1\2016
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate
Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of
Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them
Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties
Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference
Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them
Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed
After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon
When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Your memory I did underestimate,
for its to the thought of you that I **********
How can this feeling I once thought so brief
carry on such a semblance of relief?
For little did I know the power
of your presence in my weakest hour
Despite the distance that I feel,
nothing in each day could be more real
than your portrait in my mind ingrained
which makes me giddy like a monkey trained
This nonsensical poetic verse-
oh how it makes my childish laughter burst-
must end now for I did find
that in the duration it took to write this rhyme
The thought of you did overwhelm
such lustful waters at the helm
So let not my abrupt end here seem dour,
for I must relieve and take an hour
to go be naughty in the shower.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
im with *****
Making millys
acting silly
im playing... our pockets empty and we smoking bleezy
selling acid
minds are gold never plastic
yeah we trappin never nappin
summer 13 ******* thats old news, no clue
nbs and fitted i dont need to boost
plain white t's, no j crew
this me, i never knew, killer kush, ***** im never blue
checkin ******* out, i always disaprove
ridin ***** with our one seaters
pop a heater if ****** being nosy call em peter
5'6 ***** eater wearing beaters never beat her but i beat it, so much head i need a breather
****** is talking puppets watching budget always cautious ***** ****** and they mullets looking stupid
floosy girls loose since theyre dad left theyre missing screws
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Today I went on a treasure hunt.
Not in search of one-eyed *****
Or
A new life for myself,
But rather
The old one.
Not for the sake of nostalgia
Was my search,
But for a poem.
The words of someone else
That you thoroughly believed
Carried your heart
Into my own ears.
But I was deaf back then.
Before I developed my selective hearing,
Insisting on my revelation miracle.
Until I
Limited my ears
Only to hear
Your lamentations and tongue-lashings;
Before I chose to
Blind myself
To the
Kindness
Hidden behind your fear.
In our prehistory,
You sent me
A piece of your heart,
Still sopping with heartbreak
Beating with rejection.
You sent me
Someone else’s poem
And now I wonder,
If you knew
You were planting a seed
That when watered,
With months of silence and
Countless looks that passed right through,
Would grow into a beanstalk
That I would climb
To reach back into
Our
Brothers Grimm Love Affair.
With no happy ending in sight
I stepped higher,
Knowing what turmoil I had left
Above.
I awaited the curses we cast
And the wishes we wasted
And I was poised for war;
With my armor coated,
Repellent of
Sarcasm and aggression,
I marched back to look at our battlefield
Ready as any warrior.
I was not ready, though, for memories
That looked as appealing
As Prince Charming,
With the face of
A queen.
No, my love
We did not have a
Happily ever after
But, our
Once upon a time
Wasn't half so wretched.
We were the
Fairytale in reverse.
Meeting at the ball,
In all our glory.
Leaving breadcrumbs
Back to the life that was familiar;
The ones that we didn't realize
We were running away from.
But at the ball,
Looking more beautiful
Than any princess in all of the land,
I met you
On your throne,
Refusing to Rise
In all your queen-like splendor,
Hearing from my
Little bird
That you would request
My presence.
I, your humble maiden,
Approached with
The caution of
A girl who only had
One shoe,
Breaking under the weight of memory.
And while you
Were offering me riches,
I was playing
Goldilocks,
Trying to find the home
That was just right
To rest my heart.
Little did I know
That I had bumped into Rumpelstiltskin,
Thinking he was gold
Luring me away
With me thinking
My heart was sold.
Only now
After I found
That gold weighs
Far too heavy
On someone
Who's only just grown wings
Is it that I find the moral of this story.
And so,
As I gaze at you,
With your now fair maiden
I say a solemn
“Thank you”,
For sending
Your love letter
In another's handwriting,
Because,
Although I never struck it rich,
I realize that the treasure was not in the
Happily ever after,
After all,
But all the magic
In Between.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
Why do you think society expects you to
1. Dress the same
2. Talk the same
3. Have the same problems
4. Laugh at the same thing
5. Look your best at all times
Because you let it.
We’re tired of seeing the exact same photo of you with the exact same people in a different bathroom mirror every Friday night.
Why can’t you hangout with other people?
Will it ruin your “rep” that much?
Is it really necessary to get hammered every weekend?
Why are we the ones who have to sit in one spot while you rotate around the room telling the same story to every one of your “friends”
Are you sure they’re your friends?
Because they talk behind your back
Why do you stay with that *******
You know he’s hitting on twenty other girls, including your “best friend”
You spend money to look like you work for ***** Wonka.
Can anyone say Oompa Loompa?
How come we can’t make it through Instagram without knowing your order for Starbucks?
One grande non-fat white soy peppermint mocha at exactly 120 degrees with an extra shot of syrup extra whip and sprinkles put in the cup before anything else. Please?
We can’t afford to buy gas masks just to walk by your locker.
Spraying that much perfume is deadly.
We can never tell if you’re trying to smell nice or trying to start chemical warfare.
Is that makeup or a mask?
Your bra makes you a C-cup but you’re really only an A-cup.
Shhh, we won’t tell the boys.
Is it necessary to stop in the middle of the hallway to talk to your friends?
No, get out of the way please.
We know you have a car
You don’t have to walk around holding your keys all day.
Why do you spend so long trying to perfect the “messy bun” look?
Boys aren’t looking at your hair.
People don’t see you,
they just see your persona.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
The Psychedelic Deli
Is sometimes in an alley.
It can seem accidental,
Some of it experimental
All completely experiential.
There is no shop, no store
You must have a friend
If you really want to score.
Everyone is different
Under new management.
Let me make this clear;
Anything you want,
Everything you want is here.
From champagne to beer
All the time, every year.
You can send out for *****
And have nothing to lose.
Only just all your money,
But you may think that funny
Once you’re getting chummy.
So mostly bring your own
And don’t drink it alone
Because it’s best to share
That’s true just everywhere
If you have the grace to care.
The Psychedelic Deli
May sell wares ***** nilly
They’ll charge you indecently
As stuff they made just recently
Must be paid for immediately.
They have this and that
And if you pass the hat
You’ll go on a trip with no ticket.
You surely don’t want to miss it.
But there’s always a bit more to it.
So, you better be up to it
Because many more blew it
And ended like a fish on their belly,
Their minds about as stable as jelly,
Shopping at the Psychedelic Deli.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
one day the giant teacher
walked pupils round the world
some small giant boys
some small giant girls
jimmy giant stick your hand
down through the cloudy mist
tell me our location ...
his methods had a twist
think we are in india
triumphant in his call
i can smell the curry
and feel the taj mahal
julie giant,tommy, joe
***** stan, and sid
egypt was the answer
they touched the pyramid
china, shouted sally
i can feel the wall
chinese folk in paddy fields
i can touch em all
tiny taffy last in turn
came trailing from behind
dai stick your hand down through the sky
and see what you can find
BLAENAVON, shouted dai
while clutching at his crotch.
can you feel the big pit?
no,.... some **** stole my watch
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 1:39 PM UTC
the cosmos exudes from between our toes
trails of nebula and spiral arm galaxies
burden the floor with their scented residue
of caramel complexion on mint cream -
expectations fall to the wayside
as the wayside falls to expectations
trust in the infallible,
if the world ( is to me )
saved from the virtuous vindication's of a pacifier society
run to the nearest tree and sway with the blustering breeze !
for the cosmos exudes between our toes
trails of nebula and spiral arm galaxies litter the floor
tell me a tale of who i am ,
yet i know i have not felt myself in my fullness.
for i was born before the cosmos could take her first steps
or the sparkling sun stars could take their first light
i am neither the mountain nor the valley in depth
but within both i am sure to reside ~
out of my womb cascades a waterfall of pixie dust to the glee of several a man .
yet i always had wondered why none stuck around to hear from the well versed band.
I was quite sure the depths that i knew how to love
would create a whirlwind of sorts
enhanced by the glow of a dark purple blue rose , i’m not quite the type for rose quartz
to spend my love ***** nilly , a silly endeavor indeed
not all can handle the burn as i am
Light Sky ,
a fire filled sky ,
i am the sunrise dripping from the heavens in mellow tones of yellow and pink , i am the solar eclipse, sacred geometry in motion
and by association
i am the high tide moon shine get you drunk off one look sunset in the desert , dark purple blue rose kinda lady.
and you ,
my earth breeze , can whistle up a tune to jam with me , like no one would ever believe..
The cosmos that exudes between our toes
stacked layer upon layer
like a pancake tower
are the places we go to when the world
closes it’s eyes.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
i was'nt very clever
at maths at park st school
thick as **** when adding up
a mathematics mule
but i was quite good looking
girls where always there
counting not a problem
with gelled black streaky hair
puberty and progress
next stage after kissing
discovered that my *****
was'nt just for *******
then came my dilemma
a valley ****** vexed
blod the bike from blaina
begging to be sexed
how'd you want it bloddwyn?
oooh!....ten inches would be nice
i counted for a minute....
then i shagged her twice
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
Reginald "combover" Twistleton-Smythe
had hair on his head but just on the side
He wore a big hat when out for a walk
Too scared to shave and have a flat-hawk
One day at his Gran's fell asleep after tea
and woke up to find he was combover free
He saw grandmas scissors behind on the shelf
As she looked in his eyes and said "Be yourself!
With that combover thing Reg, you sure do look silly
Go shave your head, you'll look just like Bruce *****
"But my heads the wrong shape, it just wont do the trick,
I'll look less like Bruce ***** and more like a ****
"Listen to your Gran for I always know best,
I'm not saying go out and run round in a vest.
Just cut your hair short and wear it with pride,
it'll be like a mohawk but just on its side"
Reggie "flathawk" I've heard people say
now runs round in vest shouting Yipee Kiyay
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 11:31 AM UTC
In the freshly seared hours of the morning
there's a hot, bothered growling
coming from beyond
the rose-studded chipping fence posts,
sick with the stench of stained mattresses
and mounds of cage-less garbage-
tossed willy-nilly
into a smoldering, contorted
**** of stacks.
Here,
in this spot of dawn
-in today's un-showered
moist enclave-
I find, syncopated
by the vrooooming scooters
and gassy buses,
a fresh hope diffusing faster
than the steam from drains,
-subtler than the soft soju snores
of last night's curb cuddlers-
slinking up, down, around convenient stores' corners
past every security camera,
bouncing off rib cages,
tickling the barbules of the songbird
perched in my utility wires
in a nest neater than my bed.
This is summer, Korea.
This is Korea in the summer.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
To miss a staff meeting is no joke.
It extends the time between a smoke.
Once outside cigs are passed around:
The air is filled with smoke and happy sounds.
Too soon the session comes to an end:
To the customers’ needs they must attend.
So it’s back to the job,
Where they earn a honest bob.
Norman Stevens
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC
LAST night a January wind was ripping at the shingles
over our house and whistling a wolf song under the
eaves.
I sat in a leather rocker and read to a six-year-old girl
the Browning poem, Childe Roland to the Dark
Tower Came.
And her eyes had the haze of autumn hills and it was
beautiful to her and she could not understand.
A man is crossing. a big prairie, says the poem, and
nothing happens--and he goes on and on--and it's
all lonesome and empty and nobody home.
And he goes on and on--and nothing happens--and he
comes on a horse's skull, dry bones of a dead horse--
and you know more than ever it's all lonesome and
empty and nobody home.
And the man raises a horn to his lips and blows--he
fixes a proud neck and forehead toward the empty
sky and the empty land--and blows one last wonder-
cry.
And as the shuttling automatic memory of man clicks
off its results willy-nilly and inevitable as the snick
of a mouse-trap or the trajectory of a 42-centimetre
projectile,
I flash to the form of a man to his hips in snow drifts
of Manitoba and Minnesota--in the sled derby run
from Winnipeg to Minneapolis.
He is beaten in the race the first day out of Winnipeg--
the lead dog is eaten by four team mates--and the
man goes on and on--running while the other racers
ride, running while the other racers sleep--
Lost in a blizzard twenty-four hours, repeating a circle
of travel hour after hour--fighting the dogs who
dig holes in the snow and whimper for sleep--
pushing on--running and walking five hundred
miles to the end of the race--almost a winner--one
toe frozen, feet blistered and frost-bitten.
And I know why a thousand young men of the North-
west meet him in the finishing miles and yell cheers
--I know why judges of the race call him a winner
and give him a special prize even though he is a
loser.
I know he kept under his shirt and around his thudding
heart amid the blizzards of five hundred miles that
one last wonder-cry of Childe Roland--and I told
the six year old girl about it.
And while the January wind was ripping at the shingles
and whistling a wolf song under the eaves, her eyes
had the haze of autumn hills and it was beautiful
to her and she could not understand.
2.3k
I like to play with your belly button
'Cause it makes me giggle and laugh
I'll let you play with my bellybutton
I bet it makes you giggle and laugh
Exactly as it does with me
It makes me laugh hysterically
I know it might seem rather silly
But I love to do it willy-nilly.
Sometimes I like to blow on your belly
And make that almost obscene sound
It's worth it to hear you laugh, really
Then both of us roll around on the ground.
We laugh and play like a couple of kids
And make no excuses for silly things we did.
Others make love your way and we ours.
We tickle and blubber on each other
And have our kind of fun for hours.
I really like the way you wrinkle your nose
It makes me laugh hard and not for nothing
It tickles me a lot that you wiggle your toes
When you let me play with your belly button.
I'm very happy to be able to testify
Some things in life are meant just for fun.
Belly button tomfoolery, I promise
Is one of the very best kinds of fun.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC