Here's a poem from an internet poster calling himself "proof" (short for proofreader):

Two old redneck boys named Jake and Abel
Had a dull fishing show (local cable)
Where they hooked trout and bass. Shared wife Mabel
Cooked and pan-fried them fish for their table.

But the boys found bass fishing a bore.
Maybe try for a swordfish offshore?
“No way”, Mabel set forth with a roar:
“Gutting swordfish is too big a chore.”

Abel sucked on a chunk of dry ice
And exclaimed, “I thought once and then twice.
Let’s go ice fish up north for some spice.
Think mah pickup and boat will suffice.”

So the boys headed northward right quick
Where they learned that the ice was quite thick,
And a clerk in a store (Fred’s no hick)
Said, “You gouge out a hole with a pick.”

Jake said, “Sell me a pick -- make that six,
Just in case we get caught in a fix.”
Both avoided DownEasterly cliques
To catch fish using DeepSouthern tricks.

The clerk in the store shook his head
As Jake entered with wearisome tread.
“We need ice picks, a dozen now, Fred.
Better make that two dozen, instead.”

“Two dozen new icepicks you’ll get,
And I’ll give you a discount, you bet.
At ice fishing, I think I’m a vet
So I wonder why you’ve hooked none yet.”

“In the south, we are fishers of note
And I care not for seeing you gloat.
Soon we’ll have lots of fish, you old goat
Once the hole’s big enough for our boat.”

Drama of a year


My eyes had tears
Drama of a year

Friends turned Foes
Myself I did not soe

Regrets none to count
Blessings did mount

Lessons have learned
Better at every turn

2011 was my Blue Heaven
2012 shall be a Well of a Blessed Year.

The Washington Post is having a contest that you poets may be interested in. This from the Washington Post Style Invitational:

The Style Invitational Week 952: Dead Letters
By Pat Myers

Osama bin Laden has passed away, been taken by his Lord,
Shuffled off this mortal coil, fallen on his sword,
Moved to otherworldly realms . . . Wait, this doesn’t work.
Niceties need not apply! He’s dead — good riddance, jerk.

With the happy New Year, we pause a moment in solemn reflection on those whose lives were lost last year, and then we turn to the Style Invitational so we can write funny verses about them. In our ninth annual Dead Letters contest: Write a humorous poem about someone who died in 2011, as in the example above by Washington Post Poet in Residence (though some among the unenlightened think of him as the Po’ Wit in Residence) Gene Weingarten. It doesn’t have to rhyme, but it should be amusing. Short verses are more likely to get ink in the print paper, but the best longer poems will be published in the online Invite. Song parodies are permitted. You can find lists of “notable deaths 2011,” etc., online.

CANDIDATE FOR A PULLET SURPRISE
By Jerrold H. Zar

I have a spelling checker,
It came with my PC.
It plane lee marks four my revue
Miss steaks aye can knot sea.

Eye ran this poem threw it,
Your sure reel glad two no.
Its vary polished in it's weigh.
My checker tolled me sew.

A checker is a bless sing,
It freeze yew lodes of thyme.
It helps me right awl stiles two reed,
And aides me when eye rime.

Each frays come posed up on my screen
Eye trussed too bee a joule.
The checker pours o'er every word
To cheque sum spelling rule.

Bee fore a veiling checker's
Hour spelling mite decline,
And if we're lacks oar have a laps,
We wood bee maid too wine.

Butt now bee cause my spelling
Is checked with such grate flare,
Their are know fault's with in my cite,
Of nun eye am a wear.

Now spelling does knot phase me,
It does knot bring a tier.
My pay purrs awl due glad den
With wrapped word's fare as hear.

To rite with care is quite a feet
Of witch won should bee proud,
And wee mussed dew the best wee can,
Sew flaw's are knot aloud.

Sow ewe can sea why aye dew prays
Such soft wear four pea seas,
And why eye brake in two averse
Buy righting want too pleas.

Today is Edgar Allen Poe's birthday and the dictionary says:

The classic author gave the world may literary gifts, but one powerful word
in this poem may be his greatest.

"While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,"

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Working on a novel that's got a country and western singer for the love interest, and he's always working out lines for songs, only I'm no C&W song writer, so the poor boy is having trouble completing his task.

What would you guys do with this one?--

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a..............
.................................town

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a pretty little lady
Gonna lose those blues in this old town


Is this your first novel LK?

2nd, Poppy. I wrote plays in the 70's and 80's for a traveling drama troupe and do much better with the discipline of the 1-act than I do with a novel. The first book is beginning to make a little money (e-book on Amazon: Out on Sandy Land) so I'm trying to go for a series.

There's also an e-book out there with my country/family poems, a serious effort that isn't selling at all--folks write poetry but don't read it.

I'm having fun with this, but don't know how many stories I can milk out of Hennessey--these are Hennessey Hometown Romances. Friends have asked if I make any revelations in the books, and I tell them I won't do the tell-all novel until after I've retired!

Thanks for the help with the lyrics. I'm really in over my head with C&W.

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a lonesome AM tune
Drinkin' off my troubles in the Arizona town

Or how about this?

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a lonesome AM tune
Cain't let 'em get me down in this Arizona town

Wish somehow you could work in Poppy's double-clutching love from one of our collaborative poems from days gone by.

I've got a better idea. Country music is about lost love and drinkin' and fightin' and patriotism. But it's also about the generation of folks who moved from the country to city and who who miss the country. How about something like this:

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a lonesome AM tune
That makes me miss my Mama and my old hometown

You guys are great.

This may be too edgy after the shooting in AZ, but I don't know the exact tone of your book. But if you need a bad guy???

Drove into Phoenix
On a Sunday afternoon
Don't know when I've ever felt so down
Got myself a bottle
And a score to settle
They'll not soon forget me in that old town

LOL! I don't know the exact tone of my book...