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Frog in a coconut shell.

Thai proverbs
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Tree's Frog - Parody Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never fail
to see with glee a frog full pail
less lovely than a poem which
most must with difficulty stitch.

Who's uninspired by froggy frail
leaves cheeks livid, features pale –
their sale may even make one rich
when cogent rhyme spares metre’s (gl) itch.

Sage frog we sing as holy graal
not trite, - right pristine risqué trail –
write neither tedious nor kitsch
preposterous or piteous pitch.

Wage man in name of culture’s flail
culls brazen female framed with veil,
In time of need none sex may switch -
unlike the frog, who’ll spawn enrich.

When frog finds itchy leg is pressed,
although he’ll jump, he won’t protest,
croak lends itself to joke’s delight
where faced with sore mosquito bite.

A cloud of frogs is treasure chest
most moonlit lovers has impressed,
with warble charming much unlike
officious neighbours swift to strike.

We rummage words which stipulate
fine frog’s resilient verbal gumption,
days, grievance sweeping, meditate
on nightly summer song’s resumption.

The nightingale’s no consolation
except for poets orthodox,
for Frog’s flag flies for every nation
as arcane jumping jack in box.

Against vain heckle we exude
full confidence in frogzster’s mood
whose speckles toad – more lecherous –
looks on with envy, missing bus.

For toad, four toed, can only yammer
in jaded solitary stammer,
Frog, indistructible none unhinge
resilient, when on singing binge.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Phileas the Frog

Phileas the frog was awfully large -
To see the muscle in his thighs -
A sight bedazzling to your eyes!
With plenty there to feed a town -
If you would dare to take him down!

Phileas the frog could tow a barge.
One hefty bound could clear a tree -
A scary sight I'll guarantee!
And something else to make me dread:
Were he to land upon my head!

Phileas the frog was known as 'Sarge -'
Accounted by that massive chest.
No other frog would care to jest
That tidy Phileas!

So if you've sense and know your place -
And hold some value to your face,
Then don't get supercilious
With Phileas!

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved.

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Evening Coconut

The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut

song performed by Neil Young
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hop Frog

Well they call me a juicy hop-frog
you can see me in any wood bog
don't you know that they call me the hop-frog
hopping frog
I'm a hop-frog
a hop-frog
they call me the hop-frog
hop, hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
see me in any wood bog
don't you know that call me a hop-frog
hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
see me in a wood bog
they're calling me a hop-frog
hop-frog
You can see me in a ballroom
you can see me in a bedroom
you can see me in the woods
hop, hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
they call you the hop-frog
well they call you the hop-frog
hop, hop-frog
Frog

song performed by Lou Reed
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The Frog and The Nightingale

Once upon a time a frog
Croaked away in Bingle Bog
Every night from dusk to dawn
He croaked awn and awn and awn
Other creatures loathed his voice,
But, alas, they had no choice,
And the crass cacophony
Blared out from the sumac tree
At whose foot the frog each night
Minstrelled on till morning night

Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart's elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
And the whole admiring bog
Stared towards the sumac, rapt,

And, when she had ended, clapped,
Ducks had swum and herons waded
To her as she serenaded
And a solitary loon
Wept, beneath the summer moon.
Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
"Bravo! " "Too divine! " "Encore! "
So the nightingale once more,
Quite unused to such applause,
Sang till dawn without a pause.

Next night when the Nightingale
Shook her head and twitched her tail,
Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
And had cleared her throat to sing
She was startled by a croak.
"Sorry - was that you who spoke? "
She enquired when the frog
Hopped towards her from the bog.
"Yes," the frog replied. "You see,
I'm the frog who owns this tree
In this bog I've long been known
For my splendid baritone
And, of course, I wield my pen
For Bog Trumpet now and then"

[...] Read more

poem by Vikram Seth
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Punch Up At 'Dart Man's Aim

Fifteen stone and just five foot eight
And yet he doesn't seem overweight
Deep, deep chest and shoulders wide
The strongest in this countryside.

He's the mighty Dan the frog
From the house beside the bog
Swarthy looking with raven hair
A happy man without a care.

He's no plans to take a wife
As he prefers the single life
And he's still a young man anyway
Just twenty five on his last birthday

Froggy is his dad's nickname
And that's from where the name frog came
But his nickname of frog he doesn't appreciate
In fact the word called frog he's grown to hate.

Fastest man for miles around
To part with the green back pound
In him you'll find nothing cheap
Money he can't seem to keep.

He's a happy sort of bloke
Happy even when he's broke
He's got the right mentality
Never down, always carefree.

Likes his guinness doesn't like beer
Drinks his liquor with good cheer,
Whiskey makes the man walk tall
And he likes whiskey best of all.

He is merciful though strong
And without good reason won't do wrong
But do him wrong and he will fight
And with his fists he'll put things right.

He'd prefer to crack your jaw
Than chastise you with the law
Solves his problems like a man
That's the way it is with Dan.

And though when need arise he can be hard
Dan the frog is no blaghguard
But his type you don't kick around
As men like him do not yield ground

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Snail Goes To Heaven (A One-Act Tragicomedy)

Bare stage. A square neon sign on extreme right which reads: “This way to Heaven”.
Prolonged silence. Enter Snail, moving very slowly throughout the play.

Snail:
I’m a dead snail.
I’m going to Heaven.

I’ve lived for 15 years.
That’s a ripe old age.
I’ve been blessed.
Had a marvellous sex life, you know.
Well, if you know snails
we attract a mate with our slime.
Oh, slime turns me on, baby.

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Well, maybe I should focus on holy thoughts.
Purity...refined thoughts...you know...
Snail God does not like sex.
Copulation is not exactly what
Snail God meant when Snail God declared:
'Go forth and slime the world;
be ye together...'
Snail God demands purity
so let me be so...
after all, I’m going to Heaven...
a dead snail and moving on to Heaven...

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Had a precarious life,
you know,
all these 15 years...
A farmer saw me in the grass.
I heard him curse
and he raised his foot to crush me.
Well, unfortunately for him
he stepped on a snake
and the last I heard of the man
was an expletive
and the last I heard of the snake was a hiss.
Yes, I’ve had a long life
a risky life - but it’s all worth it
for an eternal life in Heaven
is my reward

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

(Enter Frog, jumping. Snail looks at Frog in amazement. And Frog stops and looks at Snail in amazement.)

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Frog

France and China feed from your demise,
Restaurateurs are not exactly chums,
Oh how they rave about your tender thighs!
Gourmand orders - another frog succumbs…

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Frog Prince

Frau Doktor,
Mama Brundig,
take out your contacts,
remove your wig.
I write for you.
I entertain.
But frogs come out
of the sky like rain.

Frogs arrive
With an ugly fury.
You are my judge.
You are my jury.

My guilts are what
we catalogue.
I’ll take a knife
and chop up frog.

Frog has not nerves.
Frog is as old as a cockroach.
Frog is my father’s genitals.
Frog is a malformed doorknob.
Frog is a soft bag of green.

The moon will not have him.
The sun wants to shut off
like a light bulb.
At the sight of him
the stone washes itself in a tub.
The crow thinks he’s an apple
and drops a worm in.
At the feel of frog
the touch-me-nots explode
like electric slugs.
Slime will have him.
Slime has made him a house.

Mr. Poison
is at my bed.
He wants my sausage.
He wants my bread.

Mama Brundig,
he wants my beer.
He wants my Christ
for a souvenir.

Frog has boil disease
and a bellyful of parasites.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Sexton
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Coconut Telegraph

By: jimmy buffett
1980
For the gang at the fish house
Tuesday on the island
Not much goin on
The parties are all over
They ended just past dawn
The jungle drums are beating
With the tales from late last night
cause stories bear repeating
For everyones delight
Chorus:
You can hear em on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
Cant keep nothin under their hat
You can hear em on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
Sayin who did dis and dat
Dis and dat, dis and dat
Now Im not one to deal in gossip
But was he that big a fool
To do a belly-buster high dive
And miss the entire pool
And what became of sweet melissa
And the boy nobody knew
Did ricardo ever find her
I swear its just between me and you
Chorus:
But you can hear it on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
By now everybody knows
You can hear it on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
Just who comes and goes
Comes and goes, comes and goes
La, la la la, la la la
La, la la la, la la la
La, la la la, (la la la la la la la)
La, la la la, (la la la la la la oooooh)
Ah!
Its hump day on the island
The lines have all gone dead
All the juicy news is history
I guess everythings been said
But when the eagle flies on friday
And the boys break out the rum
And the joint begins to jumpin
And youll hear those hot lines hum
Chorus:
Ah, put it on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
All the celebration and the stress
Baby put it on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
In twenty-five words or less
I want to hear it on the coconut telgraph (telegraph)

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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A Frog's Fate

Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village-pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byway
Hopped along the imperial highway.

Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a Frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet,
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet:
The night-dew, when the night should come,
A travelled Frog would send him home.

Not so, alas! The wayside grass
Sees him no more: not so, alas!
A broad-wheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke: -
‘Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all!
My road to fame turns out a wry way;
I perish on the hideous highway;
Oh for my old familiar byway!’

The choking Frog sobbed and was gone;
The Waggoner strode whistling on.
Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that Waggoner strode on -
Whistling (it may have happened so)
‘A froggy would a-wooing go.’
A hypothetic frog trolled he,
Obtuse to a reality.

O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all.
The mangled Frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog:
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Walking The Frog

I have a pet frog
We go frog walking every day at 6pm
He is fine until he sees another frog
He sniffs & then tries to jump
I pull him away

Last week we had a problem
My frog stopped to do his business
A passer bye said stop your frog fouling
I cleared up after him but it left a slimy mark
The other man slipped on it

My frog likes water
Especially ponds
He likes jumping on lilies
The local gardener is mad
Control your frog he shouts

Well now Im in trouble
Despite the sign
Beware of the FROG
He bit a policeman
A fine guard frog

My frog is now banned
From walks anywhere
Poor froggy is in a cell
Eating flies & drinking water
Its a frogs life

poem by Alan Draper
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Dont Believe Her

Music :rudolf schenker, jim vallance
Lyrics:herman rarebell, klaus meine, jim vallance
Out for a thrill
Got time to kill
Just livin up my dreams
For heavens sake
Shes on the make
A twisted vicars queen
And then one night we took a ride
She was all over me
Outrageous
Just aint real
I was too wasted to see
Before you get in too deep
And you get burned by the heat
Oh yeah
Shell take you there
You know it happened to me
Shell make your heart break
Shell give you fever
Shell tell you everything but dont believe her
A perfect stranger
She knows the game
Shell promise heaven on earth
But dont believe her
Out on the street of broken dreams
Where no one ever wins
Just when you thought youd made a start
Youre back where you begin
Before you get in too deep
And you get burned by the heat
Oh yeah
Shell take you there
I think you know what I mean
Shell make you crazy
Shes such a teaser
Says youre the only one but dont believe her
She deals in danger
The girls insane
Shell promise heaven on earth
But dont believe her
Before you get in too deep
And you get burned by the heat
Oh yeah
Shell take you there
You know it happened to me
Dont believe her (dont believe her)
Dont believe her (dont believe her)
Dont believe her (dont believe her)
I cant believe her (dont believe her)

[...] Read more

song performed by Scorpions
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Brent River Bride

Flow proudly fair river,
For one who fell under
Your spell was the liver
Doc, Gershon - asunder
Found all his plans, muddled
By nymphs of the water -
He greatly befuddled
Then married the daughter
Of Count Joe of Wandle
Far south of the city
And went on to fondle
Her milk flowing titty.
I send this wet letter
To Brentische planners;
Such amour is better
Than yekkishe manners.

LRH
6.5.06 In reply to GWH's Bride of Brent of 6.5.06

Bride of Brent

Unlike Lucia from far Lammermoor,
fair Linda, hailing from far Chaumonix,
excels when she’s preparing salmon or
deep-frying spuds and spinach that aren’t gammony.

She tried to keep the frog which wooing went
outside the net she guarded as a goalie
till she became the Bride of River Brent
and played the role of Princess Rowley-Powley.

The frog, he always used to say “Heigh-ho, '
because he knew that he could never find a
more lovely princess once she’d kissed him so
he was more charmed than Chaumonix by Linda.

Inspired by Linda, who married me at the Brent Bridge Hotel in August 1996, and by “A frog he would a-wooing go”: [Old folk song].

A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho! says Rowley,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.

So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigho! says Rowley,
And on the way he met with a Rat.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.

[...] Read more

poem by Linda Hepner
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My Frog

As I was walking by a pungent lake
Just outside of Meigs,
I stopped and did a double-take,
A frog with four hind legs! ! ! ! !

He was a rather normal frog,
From his head down to his waist,
And even with his excess limbs,
He had a certain grace.

So I picked him up and took him home
And there he would be today,
If that Molly girl hadn't come along
And stolen my frog away.

She snuck into my house, that thief,
And took him from his bed,
Then later had the gall to say:
'I had to bury him cause he was dead! '

Well one day Molly came to school
And said something about her frog
And when I questioned mine's whereabouts
She said she'd found hers on a log.

She went on to say that yesterday
Her little frog had died;
She sat there a while, just sat and sat
And cried, cried, cried, cried, cried.

I went to her frog's funeral,
Just to ease my suspicious mind,
And there lay a frog with four hind legs
Which looked a lot like mine!

Once again I questioned her
About her frog's strange state
And then she told the strange tale
Which I will now relate.

As she walked through my house
She heard a small voice say,
'I will gwant you any wish
If you'll take me away.

'Fow I'm not an owdinary fwog,
And with some love and cawe,
I will be bown again with golden wings
And Heavenly will be my share.'

[...] Read more

poem by Lydia Thacker
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The Greenie

A frog, dark green, sat in the gutter
and waited for the frightened flutter
of insects native to these parts.
He heard, that evening, just farts.

He had been raised by his grandmother
together with a younger brother.
His mom had died when she was two
inside the cistern of a loo.

The plumber had installed within
and fastened by a stainless pin
a reservoir that would dispense
blue liquid here to recompense

for odours, stains and other matters
like flying pieces, even splatters.
Yet no one had observed the critter
who spent her days inside the shitter.

Her skin was green, she was depressed
although with man and children blessed.
Postpartum blues had been the rumour,
her neighbour whispered the word tumour.

She was in somewhat of a trance
and took the first and final chance
drank Mrs. Stewart's liquid blue
and found her private Waterloo.

But I digress, back to emissions
they sound in insects like small fissions,
though frogs can never ascertain
if creatures on the windowpane

are moving, ready to be guzzled
or if their rectum is unmuzzled.
The flutter is what Nature chose
it is a way to diagnose.

A thunderbolt now shook the city
what follows really was a pity.
A huge white bird with bright red feet
reached up and grabbed, to taste and eat

the frog, our hero who had not
hatched from his mother's rooftop cot.
Still mourning noisily her death,
he took a long and final breath.

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The History Of Frog Pigment

A frog is green not by design,
but by his own volition,
it started all with Father Rhine
where Grandpa did his fishing.

Back then pollution was a word
used only by the teachers,
it's what they read and overheard
on air wave science features.

Each Saturday, my Opa sat
down by the raging river
he was a stocky man, not fat
and had a touchy liver.

I think they told us kids that fate
had brought him this affliction
I had my doubts....at any rate
it was a plain addiction.

His tackle box contained the lure
and hooks and rooster feathers,
two flasks of Russian Vodka, pure
a snot rag which was Heather's.

He'd spend the afternoon in place
and caught some on occasion,
a buddy from a different race
would join him, he was Asian.

The Asian fellow saw him first,
a frog of brownish colour,
and while they stilled their urgent thirst
Opa began to holler:

'This animal seems bigger then
the fishes in these waters
I think it is a water hen
with lots of sons and daughters.'

It is unclear what happened now,
the frog took great exception
he raised one eye beneath each brow
to tender this subreption.

He had, from passing fishermen
heard of the Northern creatures,
there was a land beyond Big Ben
where publicans and preachers

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Kittens Got Claws

(coverdale/vandenberg)
Walking down the street
Youre the center of my universe
You got the world in your pocket,
My manhood in your purse
You aint a bad girl, honey,
No matter what the neighbours say,
Its just that you were those skin-tight dresses
With your g-string tuned to a
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Heaven sent, youre an angel dressed in black,
Cool, stiletto strut, youre a drop jaw cardiac
Youre the genuine, feline, prettiest girl Ive ever seen,
With your thief of hearts smile
Youre a certified pleasure machine
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Dressed to kill in diamonds and fur,
You get what you want
With your pussy cat purr
But, the kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shes a heart attack
You treat me good,
Sometimes you treat me bad,
But, keep it up, honey,
Youre the best time Ive ever had
No matter what you put me through I must confess,
Oh, you got more style than a brand new xjs
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Dressed to kill in diamonds and fur,
You get what you want
With your pussy cat purr
But, the kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws,
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shes a heart attack...
Walking down the street
Youre the center of my universe
You got the world in your pocket,
My manhood in your purse
I know you aint a bad girl, honey,

[...] Read more

song performed by Whitesnake
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fantasy: Eyes On Dreams; Shape-Changed; Daylight; Dormant

Eyes On Her dreams

The frog, living at the bottom of the well
by the Wonderland-Lake, waiting for a princess
to come along, hoping to be recognized as a
Prince in Disguise, frog-leaped to
Shahrazad, the crocodile

demanding a kiss, she did as instructed by
the imperious frog, almost imbibing him as
guided by her reptilian heart, nearly
choking in the effort to keep from
swallowing him; she started to

blunder and bluster and obfuscate; the frog
was disappointed while Shahrazad left in a
hurry, already late to meet Okefenokee Al,
her only real pal, who could be expected
to be there for her all the time

meanwhile the frog, tired out from his efforts
at being kissed by a crocodile, slunked away in
true froggy fashion until he met the Ice Princess,
walking along with her eyes on her dreams
when the frog appeared

with his request for a kiss; she asked what would
happen should she kiss him, he replied he would
turn into a Prince, even a King; she dreamily
complied, her lips trembling and cold as
behooves an Ice Princess spawned

on a Mountain of Glass, the frog looked up in
disappointment; ordered her to kiss him again
with more fervour and enthusiasm, she tried
again, kissing the little green frog,
left by the King of the North

at the bottom of the well by the Wonderland-
Lake… What happened then, dear Scribe,
would you care to tell us
sometime?

Shape-Changed

It is wonderful to be alive
when I have shape-changed
into a mermaid in my mind
gamboling in the Gulf Stream

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice
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Victim Of Love

Victim
She can take you
Anywhere she wants to
She can show you things,
That make you weak
She can make you think,
That youre the only one,
She can steal your heart,
With just one wink,
Why shell hold ya tight,
And she wont let go,
Shell make it last and shell make it slow,
She tell you things that you should not know,
Cause your the victim, the victim of lo-o-ove,
Framed by the night, touched by the glove,
Your the victim, the victim of love,
She can freeze you, when she doesnt want to talk,
She can work it on in, yea she can go take a walk,
She can have or leave it, she can do the skidoo-o ,
Well you better believe it, shes having fun on you,
She can hold you tight,
And she wont let go,
Shell make it last and shell make it slow,
Shell tell you things you should not know,
Cause your the victim, victim of lo-o-ove,
Framed by the night, touched by the glove,
Your the vic-tim, victim of lo-o-ove,
Thats right,
Oh when shes calling you out,
You better run to her-er,
When shes just falling out,
Youd better care,
Oh when she needs somebody,
Oh you better run to her-er,
Oh when she gives in too soon,
Its just not fair.
Oh well shell hold you tight,
And she wont let go,
Shell make it last and shell make it last ,
And shell make it slow-o,
Shell whisper things,
Youd never know,
Cause you the victim, yea,
Victim of lo-o-ove,
Youre framed by the night,
And touched by love,
Youre the vic-tim,
Victim of lo-o-ove,
(repeat, fade.)

song performed by Cars
Added by Lucian Velea
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