"wizz" poems
meanwhile,
the Big Fat Yellow Bootay
was getting right tired of
waiting for the election to end.
so,
she set off down the highway
going ninety five...
"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!" she cried
as she gunned the engine and
threw herself in gear.
"HOKEEEY POKEEEY! MOTHER *******
twice she cried,
"HOKEEEY POKEEEY! MOTHER *******
this second time
for extra good luck
with the unfolding election.
cool Fall breeze caressed
her yellow metal,
her big fat yellow bootay,
a glorious day to
be out on a drive!
well, except where she had
come from.
beep beep
beep beep
always driving her
beep beep beeping insane!
it shore nuf was quiet
out this way!
she turned the shiny
silver dial to turn on the
radio.
'gonna have to get me
some better speakers
one day soon.' she thought
to her big fat bus self.
and what came out blasting?
"That's Alright Mama,"
by who else?
but the King!
Elvis!
Elvis has left the building
and now,
Elvis is ON THE BUS!
she didn't quite know all
of the words,
but what the ****
she sure could sing!
As the big fat bus
with the big fat bootay
was driving along,
singing joyfully,
she glanced in the rear
view mirrow and what
did she see?
why the ghost of Elvis himself
was sitting right there
right in the back of the bus.
He starts strumming on his
own guitar and singing,
'that's alright mama.."
so she turned off the
radio to listen
to the ghost of
the King,
Elvis,
himself,
singing in the back
of her big fat yellow bootay!
she also watched him eating
a lot of food
in the back of the bus,
her bus.
his ghostly figure
seemed to
fluctuate between fat Elvis,
and skinny Elvis,
like a seesaw.
by and by
says he,
(not the really fat one
but not the really skinny one
neither.)
'I need a pit stop.'
says the King
so the big fat bus,
with the big fat yellow bootay,
asks,
asks she,
'you wanna stop at the next
stop & go,
or
the next
fizz & wizz,
or
my fav if you really
need a constitutional,
the stop & plop?'
at this particular junction in time
this ghostly King,
was in the shape
of Fat Elvis
but very cooly outfitted,
bellbottoms and rhine stones
or were those all diamonds?
note to self,
the big fat bus
squirreled away,
check on that.
are those real or not?
more mulha is always
good
and this just might
be mana from heaven
in the form of Elvis the KING
himself
and maybe just one
of those diamonds
will fall out and
get lost in me.'
mighty strange happenings
going on around here in this
big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay.
' the stop and plop little mama,' elvis replied
with that
ohhhh,
soooooo,
divine Elvis drawl
and that darling little
thing he did with his mouth,
but was doing now
as he was sitting there in the
back of HER big fat bus
with HER big fat yellow bootay!
OH MY,
it really is a
HOKEY POKEY day! she sighed.....
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
Perfectly Imperfect
there are so few things that I do correct
hell I'm still learning how to stand *****
with my ape like qualities making strange sounds
the stupid words I utter could be measured in pounds
you know deep down inside I really do care
I have a ton of feelings that I will gladly share
but sometimes my thoughts get caught up in the word I
I won't stop talking until I make you cry
I miss the banner T says at the bottom of the page
I go from weeping chimp to a silverback in rage
trying to get a grip on my now empty heart
I wanna go back again go back to the start
why is it that sometimes you find out too late
that you should keep yourself in a cage or crate
until you learn and understand what smart really is
and no I'm not talking about a scientific wizz
I guess I'll continue writing self deprecating lines
until I learn more than just swinging on vines
I don't know how else to explain how my heart burns
hoping someday my sunflower returns
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC
Don't call Trump a chimpanzee.
Chimpanzees can't talk.
Don't call him a pile of ****
A pile of **** can't walk.
Don’t call Trump an Orange
That would be indiscreet.
You see, different from an orange
Trump is in no way sweet.
Don’t call Trump a swindler
Take his fat *** to court
Because when he needs proof
He will always come up short.
Don’t accuse him of bribery
Unless you have the proof.
He’ll just change his residence
To another unlisted roof.
Don’t call him a squanderer.
He’s not if it’s his money.
Trump likes stealing from other people
He finds that hilariously funny.
Don’t accuse him of gross lechery
He feels that is his right.
Don’t appeal to Trump’s conscious.
He doesn’t have one quite.
Don’t expect Trump to speak the truth.
He doesn’t know what that is.
When they were passing out ethics
He was off taking a wizz.
Don’t whine to us about that ****
And how he disappoints.
He’ll claim you heard him wrong
And that is his only point.
Don’t hope everything will work out
In any way in your favor.
Doing what’s right for regular folk
Is not Donald Trump’s flavor.
Don’t look for anyone in authority
To rescue you from the dump.
And, of course, most of all
Don’t call Trump.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
the game is in the trenches.
bullets wizz by
making us afraid to stand and
walk out of our mud-hole
our filth hole.
... to stand
we might get torn to bits.
or, upon our walk across the green of the battlefield,
we might find the true happiness.
we might look the shooter in in the eye
and he will elect not to fire.
we might be the ender of the war,
the influential tinkerer of history.
... or, we might get torn to bits...
so in the name of fear,
we stay in our hovel.
and the blood and mud
and stench
stay with us.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
I’m here because I stink
I’m here because I drink
I **** because I eat
I wizz what that I drank
Stuff in; stuff out
Ergo, I’m alive, I think
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Tick, Tock, Goes the clock,
Striking the bell as the hours go by,
Tick, Tock, you hear it again,
Time goes on but I do not.
Tick, Tock, the day goes on,
The sand trickling from lifes hourglass
Tick, Tock, How long will it be,
How long till I'm just a memory,
Tick, Tock, whats this?
Days? Months? Years even?
Tick, Tock, still waiting.
Letting life just wizz right by...
Tick, Tock, Is this the end?
I dont know anymore, what am I waiting for?
Tick, Tock.... Tick, Tock....
Time goes on, But I do not.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
We all have many selves —
There’s the real self
And the others behind the mask.
The 'real' self then gets ****** aside,
When our alter ego doesn’t want to hide.
Out comes the "good girl," Rambo, and the billionaire,
Into the darkness flees shame and despair.
There’s also superwoman, the tech-whiz kid, and the social entrepreneur,
A shy, sly, son dogged by 'not enough' hides his cares,
'Cos if they wore their hearts on their sleeves
They’d get beaten up and find no reprieve!
Is this the way we want to live?
Hiding out, these pressures not wanting to give.
They’re our protective armour in ourselves,
Wanting fame and fortune is not where our true future dwells.
We keep on this 'armour'
because it’s become part of us,
We need to release these selves and
know we’re good enough.
It’s not an instant switch, like the internet promises,
But a slow journey of taking off the personas,
And being okay with who we are,
reconciling what we think, do and say.
Let that little voice deep within,
Look to Him, who knew no sin.
Cry out, let Him in, and be redeemed.
Re-birthed and on a journey of being restored.
Dec 18, 2023
Dec 18, 2023 at 10:36 PM UTC