#poetry #humor



A bra or a girdle

A corset or cinch

Panty hose or nylons

What to use, in a pinch


Leggings or hosiery

Tights or a skirt

Stilettos or pumps

But not in the dirt


Fishnets with a garter belt

A feather boa or a fichu

A merry widow or crinoline

Maybe a sari would do


Panties or not

A brassiere or bandeau

Chokers or weepers

I haven’t a clue


Platforms or heels

A blouse with a mini

A camisole or chemise

I’d pick the bikini


A dress or a cat suit

With boots or some knickers

Jeans with a jumper

That would bring snickers


A poncho or scarf

A shawl with a tracksuit

A trainer with thongs

Oh what a hoot


And hats are so varied

So many to try

All of those choices

You just wanna cry


A Fedora or Garbo

A Panama or Derby

An Ascot or Tugue

A Coalman or Coolie


A Bonnet or Sombrero

Or a Glengarry, and a Beret

A Gaucho or Top Hat

Oh what do you say


And then it’s those skirts

And kilts with a lock

A maxi, midi, or mini

Oh, who gives a frock


So much to choose from

To wear in one day

And that’s why there is

So much delay

BOEMS by JA 171   

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When I go, to sleep at night

I fall, into this dark abyss

Only to wake up in morn

And have this, urge to piss


But with my body, indisposed

With its, early morning stasis

All attempts at getting up

Take so much longer, on this basis


And as those fluids start to move

Pulsate and finally flow

It’s like a glazier slowly melting

Disposing, of its ice and snow


My brain engages slowly

Like an inverse lava flow

It plods its way, up my nape

Then ignites my brain, let’s go


And as I sit there, peeing

For I no longer stand

I find it hard, to get back up

So my wife gives me a hand


Then I limp to go downstairs

But find the stairs too steep

So turn around, head back to bed

And go right back, to sleep


Then as I lay there

And I doze

I feel quite torpid

In my repose


Until my wife

Does come along

And gives to me

Her dance and song


“Get off your ass”

“You lazy bum”

“I have some things”

“That I need done”


So once more, I rouse myself

And strain, each weary bone

Crawl back, out of bed again

To face, that great unknown  

BOEMS by JA 174   

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