I have written a poem and I want you to read it and drizzle your praises over me like warm syrup, okay?

Question

Hardened chest fat

saved the ribs

from splintering

the old man

took his hand out

of the flower pot

clenching a .38

special and he fired

twice

the second shot

spun the ceiling fan

the smoke hurt his eyes

the gun's oil stank

and made him angry

the hole in the sheet-

rock told him

nobody was ever there

and now he's mad again

and tired of being crazy.

Answer 1

Somewhere up there, on a holy shooting range on the outskirts of Heaven (nearer to Purgatory, I'd imagine), a youthful & smiling, but still-yet nervous, forever-twitching Barney Fife has stopped what he was doing to eye-ball your echoing words, and is reaching into his shirt pocket...again.

Mayberry Heaven, RFD.

Answer 2

Is this a leftover sandwich?

Answer 3

that's my husband last winter when he was on a drunk/drug binge, i'm not kidding. that was the night before the day he quit drinking.

Answer 4

Your words pour over my mind like melting toffee. I bow before your ability. Pass me that Saturday Night Special.

Rose P.

Answer 5

I am perplexed at the reactions stirred by the deep sadness of being old and lonely, scared and angry.  The thought of his heart pounding so hard as to nearly splinter his ribs was especially moving.

I actually found this very poignant, maybe I am the odd one out.

Maybe not.

Praise.

Answer 6

"Is that Barbarian still at the gates ?"

"Fraid so, Sir !"

"How is the syrup coming ? "

"Only lukewarm, Sir !"

"Well get on with it, Stoke that kettle ..... STOKE !!!"

( Sound of huffing big bellows in the background )

"I'll give him more praise than he has bargained for "  

Answer 7

Your spelling is hot and sticky.

Know that I'm watching you mister.  Oh yeahhhhhh.

*I pooped*

*I cried*

*I fotted*

Answer 8

Crazy is very taxing at times,good that some of us don't have guns.

Would you like some hotcakes with that syrup,or just straight up?

Bows to the man-poet.

Answer 9

interesting concept. I am anti gun so not as appealing to me. But it does show talent and compassion.

Answer 10

Your poem made me cry one lone tear.

*plop*

Answer 11

Okay, syrupy it will be. Oh my what a wonderful little poem. Poor ole coot didn't know what he was doing when he shot that shot. It hit the ole girl upstairs right in the foot. LMAO

Answer 12

Very vivid..

I like

Answer 13

I'd rather pour praises over you like tar and feathers.

Answer 14

Wonderful.  The best poetry I have read all night.  You should publish in in Yahoo! Answers.

Ahh, this is the only poetry I've read all night, and you did publish it in Yahoo! Answers.  I guess that narrows it down a bit.

Answer 15

Your words cover me as molasses coats my morning waffles and sausages. Sticking to my mind, is the whereabouts of the first bullet, as if to penetrate my curiosity. Maniacal with adulation for your wit and composition, I am left dripping....Now I must p**p.

Answer 16

This is excellent drivel. I wonder, though, if the protagonist is mad because now he has to fix the ceiling or because he has a sensitive olfactory nerve. Once you clear this up, the poem will be perfect.

Answer 17

What was spinning, the fan or the room?  Or do your fans spin around the room?  Hardened chest fat, smoked and yellow, ribs too soft to shatter, but how that fan did splatter.  Sheet rock powder .38 louder, making rock a pile of sheet, crazy, ain't it?  Gotta do something about those DT's, They'll kill ya!

Kudos, and drizzling drippy praise!

Answer 18

I hope he didn't shoot himself in the foot then..everyone has bad days..hey...

poor ..guy..being crazy.is a little exhausting  some days ..I know....

Answer 19

Your poem reminds me of all the accidents heard about from carpender's nail guns. Shocking not wanted surprises.  

Answer 20

To me a poem that demands to be reread is one to enjoy.  This is one of those.  I did not pick up on the heart beating initially but when I reread a great flow of words in penning the feeling.  This to me, is really a sad look at probably too many of seniors in our world.  Well said.

Answer 21

Slaps is just wrong -Hardened chest fat obviously fits. Ma, Buk is obviously not a pancake -the hardened chest fat proves that he's a sausage (a sage sausage at that -note that he wanted the praises like syrup drizzled, like the excess from what was poured on the pancakes). One does wonder where the first shot went -but it apparently was less consequential than the second, so the story can be told without it. Bravo!  

Answer 22

Buk,

Two years before my dad passed away, this actually happened to him, except he shot his air conditioner, blowing coolant all over the house, and almost (thank god for that hardened chest fat) broke his ribs. I loved your poem, for reminding me of that story. Many kudos.

Answer 23

Here is some wild blueberry syrup that you requested. Elvis shot the TV.

Answer 24

i'm dumb founded on this one. made me want to c**p out one but couldn't on paper that is on a roll in the bathroom. it is actually good

Answer 25

Would it be okay if I just licked the warm drizzled syrup off you?

Answer 26

hardened chest fat doesnt fit.

Answer 27

It's a poem about being crazy. I can relate to that.  

Answer 28

This is too sad. I almost couldn't finish reading it..

You are really good at writing poems,

When you are famous, don't forget about all us little people.

Answer 29

i loved it :) that was totaly awesome. you should keep writing and try to get published.

(Why did I laugh so hard at the word p**p? It's not the first time I heard it.)

Answer 30

This one's too sad, so unless you're a pancake, I'll not drizzle warm syrup over you...the ones without hope are too painful for praise...

at least, for tonight that is....

ma

Answer 31

sigh

I work so hard to find the right words to convey an image, and yet you make it seem so easy.

I saw the smoke, smelled the acrid scent, felt my ears ringing, experienced the old man's fear and anger..

and I was SO ready to dump on you just for the h**l of it but I can't.

You must be getting tired of this Buk, but I envy the way you can make me 'be there.'