Romancing The Beard
What women are attracted to
Though to some it may seem weird
Is a man who has a curl-i-que
That we’ve come to call a beard
They seem to love what’s hair-ly
On the chin and down below
That hair they find so rarely
Is that hair that they can’t grow
They love that tickly feeling
When caressing bearded men
Those beards just send them reeling
For those men they have a yen
These ladies have this craving
For men with chin filled bristles
These men who do no shaving
Who have these chin filled frizzles
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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Mister Moon
The man on the moon, alone there in space
We see as a sunny reflection
His smile shows his mirth
To us here on earth
With his lunar facial expression
As he circles our globe at a dizzying pace
Controlling our tides and our waves
We wonder just how
That high jumping cow
Has managed to so misbehave
Mister Moon has a way of enticing romance
Along with those stars way above
Regardless of age
The Moon is the sage
At beguiling romantics in love
Shine on Mister Moon, in your way out expanse
We mortals on Earth need your light
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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We Can’t Go Back
I wonder whatever became of such and such
It’s too many years since we’ve all been in touch
In our youthful naivety we were innocently un-clever
Assuming our ‘then’ would be our ‘now’ and ‘then’ forever
Our roads of life we traveled turned in all directions
Those traveled stops are now has-been recollections
We sometime recall fondly much of the past
The unfortunate facts are, ‘ the past just doesn’t last’
Yesterdays are history stored in our memory bins
Recalling good and bad times, all through thick and thins
A memory is engraved in our brain like a computer data track
‘But the past just doesn’t last’ and ‘We can’t go back’
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Stand-Up Comedians
Stand-up comedians so funny
Joke around to earn their money
They’re never funny sitting down
But when standing vertically upright
Their comedic humor is out of sight
Funny-ing as they act like stand-up clowns
They just can’t be funny or sassy
Sitting on their sorry assy’s
Perpendicular they invite loud guffaws
And with their joke-around renditions
In their stand-around positions
They welcome all appreciative applause
When they’re on stage it is behooved
To have all the sit-down chairs removed
So they can fill the halls with tons of laughter
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
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United Nations
Hussein, a tyrant, a persona non grata
Deserved to be flushed from his high-ranking strata
Our world perhaps safer with Saddam's removal
But removal only with the U.N.'s approval
With little respect for international law
Bush came to shove with his 'Shock' and his 'Awe'
'Wage your war, ignore U.N. dissenters
Might is right' advised hawkish Bush-mentors
As time ticks away and peace is in ruin
Time's running out for our peace-keeping U.N.
Formed to keep nations living as brothers
Some members now feel more equal than others
Respect for America's historical lore
Should have prevented this pre-emptive war
The world's future demands we ease confrontations
By keeping most relevant our United Nations
poem by Stanley Cooper
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A New Animal Kingdom
In the Kingdom of animal royalty
Where cats and dogs would reign
There’d be no sign of cruelty
Nothing inhumane
To join, just sign the application
With paw-prints, you’ll prevail
Complete your obligation
With the wagging of your tail
You’ll never have to wear a leash
As humans are not allowed
Come and go, just as you please
T’would be the cat’s meow
Coyotes and wolves and dogs and cats
All creatures of the night
Like frogs and turtles and owls and bats
Deserve their Bill of Rights
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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First Things First
There we were, on our flight to London, Paris and Rome
When I realized we must immediately return home
I insisted the Pilot turn the plane around
And get us back down on the ground
The pilot hemmed, jawed and hawed
After all, it was Europe we were headed toward
But when he finally understood, he agreed
To turn the plane around 180 degrees
So we wouldn’t visit the Eiffel Tower, or London’s Big Ben
Forget about the audience with The Pope in the Vatican
It was first things first and I understandably reckoned
That compared to where we were headed, they all came in second
After landing, we grabbed a cab and home we went
Got dollied up for our important event
We dared not be late, couldn’t be tardy
For our annual Writers Club holiday party
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Drill Baby Drill
DRILL BABY DRILL
“Oh-oh say can you see”
Any beach-sand oil free
This pollution debris
A gift from corporate B P
DRILL BABY DRILL
This sea-borne disaster
Oil hardened like plaster
Needs a plug-the-leak master
To stop the oil gushing faster
DRILL BABY DRILL
Beautiful pelican creatures
Once with beautiful winged features
Now bogged down in oily slime
No longer enjoy their flying time
DRILL BABY DRILL
B P drilling for profits and dividends
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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St. Peter At The Golden Gate
St. Peter at the Golden Gate
Explained, for me it’s much too late
That Heaven’s gate, without a doubt
Was built right there to keep me out
It’s common knowledge, I’m no Saint
But a real bad guy, I surely ain’t
Heaven knows, I’ve done some wrong
But it doesn’t mean I don’t belong
I know I’m not the most devout
But pray, St. Peter, don’t fence me out
I promise I won’t cause chagrin
To those in Heaven, all fenced in
I’ll run a casino for all to enjoy
I’ll run it as pure as an altar boy
And dear St. Peter, I give you this pledge
At Heaven’s casino, I’ll give you an edge
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poem by Stanley Cooper
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