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This is sampling of poetry penned by the great Eric Schramm and Jim Collar in their spare time. All works are copyrighted and may be used elsewhere if appropriate credit is given. Also, please let us know if you find our work pleasing and worth your time. This page is subject to change from time to time since it is foolish for us to post all of our gallery of over 300 poems. When possible the date is given for when the poem was written. Also the index number is listed. A warning to some: These are not all polically correct and Eric and Jim will not take responsibility for your predictible discomfort. Enjoy! |
| Recent Updates: | Poem Index |
| 12/5/01 - Added 3 new poems, 2 from Vol 6, No 6 | |
| 11/23/01 - Added 6 new poems, 3 from Vol 6, No 5 | Poetry Page 1 |
| 11/17/01 - Added 3 new poems from Vol 6, No 4 | Poetry Page 2 |
| 11/10/01 - Added 6 new poems, 3 from Vol 6, No 3, 3 from Vol 6, No 2 | Poetry Page 3 |
The meals they deal are quite a steal
Down at Alan's diner
From grits and eggs to chicken legs
They really can't be finer
They serve it up and ship it out
Through waitress Rita Steiner
You always bust your gut
When you eat at Alan's diner
In my dream a golden stream
Flows from flesh to pot
With men around I can't make a sound
I give it all I got
I can't pee or poop with others
Even though I give my all
I guess in public places
That's why its called a stall
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A guy at work, a royal jerk
Invited me over for dinner
But you know me, the food was free
I'd entertain this "winner"
He lived alone and had no phone
A loner, probably inbred
His culinary delight soon was my fright
When the dish was our boss's head
A bidet, they say
Is the cleanest way
Americans ask, what is it?
Oh bidet, your spray
It wipes away
The remnants of my visit
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Cooking Contest (#0326) 12/4/01 The breads were all placed in two rows
A cook was not wearing clothes
The judge tasted pickle
The cook said quite fickle,
Thats because we were using dill doughs
One day I had an idea
I'd jump the electric fence
I ran and ran, I practiced hard
Even without my pants
The day came for me yet to jump
The electric barbs and chains
I jumped and was impaled
And now inguinal pain remains
Rip roarin Rufus ran across the ragtag road
Down the street a dumptruck driver
Shoveled up his load
Rolling down the street
The dumptruck driver rumbled
A skull was crushed, a body flattened
After rufus stumbled
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