John Greenawalt's PoemsEverybody

John Greenawalt's Poems

August 6, 1997

Dan caught his dong in a bloody bush.
His insides flowed out in a floody gush.
He let out some cries,
And then all the flies
Ate what was left of his meaty mush.

Tristan's little fiddle really set off the smoke bomb
When he dropped his drawers and rolled a ribbed rubber on.
He smiled at sexy Tommy
Who screamed for his mommy,
But then Tristan got it on with his moms.

Josh went to jail for jacking a jolly Jew.
There he learned to do as the deranged do -
He settled his bob
On the front door knob
And Wally said, "My, prison has changed you!"

Dan was a guy I thought I knew
Until the test he most heinously blew
He claimed he was cheated
But him mind overheated
Due to his infinitesimal I.Q.

There was a whiney wanker named Jericho
Whose weenie with women got scared to grow.
She pouted, "Am I too fat?"
He cried, "No, it's not that!
It's just that I don't know where it goes!"

That blue box vehicle belongs to Dan -
You should watch it whenever you can.
But don't be mistaken
When you see the thing shakin' -
That's why it's called the Mystery Van.
Daphne says, "With darling Dan at the helm,
This Mystery-mobile can really overwhelm ya."
If you look inside you'll find
A little bump and grind
With Dan on top of good ole Thelma.
Meanwhile Fred is hanging out at its bumper
To see if Scoob or Shag is more Forrest Gumper,
When suddenly they seem
To hear a piercing scream,
And surmise that Dan's pulled at his Thumper.
Well, Daphne blushed and sucked on her pinkies,
Thinking how she loves getting donked by dinkies.
The guys all laughed as one -
They knew ol' Dan was done,
Cuz it's just all over when Thelma cries "Jinkies!"
Out of the van, spent Armstrong slithers,
His head seeming to come off at the dithers.
But Scoob gives a "rut-roh" and points,
While Shaggy just exclaims, "Zoinks!"
Big Dan turned out to be old man Withers.

haha...I just noticed Bill was in that list.
well, anyone who gives gets to take a little :}

Once in the wilderness when the West was wild,
There was an warty witch who weaned a child.
The hairy kid's head had a horrific proboscis,
And his blackened gums caused cronic halitosis.
So the wicked witch sold the ugly four-year-old
To a lame leprechaun for a green pot of gold.
Lucky the Limper was a lunatic, and alone
Who wanted a lackey to love his little bone.
But little kid Kennedy was a capitalist
And demanded payment with his greedy fist.
Poor Lucky was hard, but hard up for cash,
So he sold off his stash of happy Irish hashish.
He'd given away his gold and now sold all his pot,
And gave the ugly kid the tidy profit he got.
With a few cool ones to keep the baby brat happy,
Kid Kennedy was slurping on Lucky's little slappy.
Soon word about him spread fast throughout town,
And horny little green men came from miles around.
But the kid was talented in making money off thrills,
And that's why he's now called Dollar Dollar Bill.

August 8, 1997

There once was a guy named Wes
who bragged that his charms were the best
but his brags all fell flat
when he tried to get cat
and his chatm in his pants made a mess.

Fat black speakers in blue boom box,
The van king now turns down the treble,
Tweaking and seeking the balance that rocks -
Can't leave the knobs level!
Boom baH BOOM!

August 12, 1997


good ole Brent the computer user
has arisen from the obscurity of being a loser
he bows for the gentry
looking for some rear entry
cuz his father was a baby bunghole abuser

Dan the bunghole must be some kinda dumb
he ignores blowjob rules of thumb
he walks around saying "Yum"
his mouth full of cum
he says it delights him like Doublemint gum

yesterday I forgot to give Josh his props
he reminded with a few polite coughs
so I said "my bad"
and kicked in his 'nad
and shoved his bunghole full of dirty mops

Wes prefers expletives to song lyrics sung
Instead of "Tra la la" he sings "Bung, bung!"
But Bill heard him at his lunch
And said "That's bunghole, you assmunch"
And threw his holy bung into a pile of dung.


August 18, 1997

there once was a satirical bard
who said that rhyming wasn't hard
especially with bums, misers,
and dumbass supervisors -
you just call them a tub of lard.

there once was a guy dumb as a bug
whose face was all flat like a pug.
he thought he had cunning,
but when he was running
that dumbass was slower than a slug.

dan is something of a programming drone
who'll use your computer when you're not home.
he's known to say
"the mice will play"
because he'd rather not buy one of his own.

August 20, 1997

Once upon a time there was a guy named Marcus
Who looked rather effeminate wearing thick parkas
When Tristan started to drool
He said "You faggot fool"
And disposed of queer Tristan's dead carcass

Long ago, legend holds, it came to pass
That Tristan almost made it with a lass
She started to get barer
But he screamed in terror
Upon sight of the dong hanging out her ass

Have you ever met stud Tristan's ex?
You'll understand why he's under a hex
He doesn't like to brag
She was a queen of the drag
You see, RuPaul just used him for sex

August 21, 1997

Dan is known as the programming slut
He likes to show off his cybernetic butt
When hacking in Java
He can piss out lava
But his ass is warbly as Jabba the Hutt

At van-fixing Dan may be the best slugger
And though he might not be a tree-hugger
You know he's as popular
As his butt is globular
Cuz all the fairies want to pump his bugger

For stereo tweaking Armstrong is a solid name
Who when busting your speakers is never to blame
He'll either hit you with bass
Or hit you in the face
But it's blowjobs that are his real claim to fame

When Dan's low on cash it's not an ordeal
Nor is it when he needs his next meal
If you've got a buck
Then he'll happily suck
Because you know how ol' Dan loves to kneel

September 3, 1997

Dan is the most memorable of idiotic names
He's off with his family boffing old dames
His stupidity perhaps
Is just permanent memory lapse
And he's not even here to respond to flames

Once upon a time Tristan got his head buzzed
His bald dome felt like a pillow of peach fuzz
And though he isn't gay
After rubbing his head all day
You can bet his roommate wished he was!

One guy who needs to be slighted is Brent
His name is just screaming to collect a dent
And yes I wish him well
As well as a gay day in hell
Not that he needs to go to hell to get bent.

Wes...that name automatically spells your doom
Anytime you try to go near his stinky room
He's perfected the art
Of the noxious fart
And don't light a match or, well, kaboom.

September 8, 1997

Without Dan to tease, work here is boring -
I'm falling asleep and Ramsey's snoring.
The missing-him reason,
Is that it's idiot season;
It's raining here, but with Dan it's be pouring.

We all knew Brent was a quirky fool
The Army send him off to Armorer school
That nerdy slob
Can't hack his job
Now he's learning that PMCS can be cool

September 10, 1997

here's an objectivist poem I wrote probably in '93.
I forget its exact title...Crayola something or other.

Standing at the walls with a sea of blood before us
And a million desperate choices whispering from below,
My best of friends calls out to them "Please do not ignore us"
Like one of many voices dragging hope in tow,
To wonder what befalls us beyond expanses desparate
When sound that cries boisterous, and why I claim to know.
Oblivion lets not him live in but the substance he has given. --

c&c welcome, John

September 16, 1997

there you go; have a tumor.

I am not a pilgrim;
I just hopped the train of thought
When it stopped
At the junction of diversity.
I am not a vagrant;
I only meandered when I gandered
At the things I had slandered
When I was rooted to the tree of conformity.
And I am not a travelling fool;
I merely take it in stride when I'm taken for a ride
And confined inside
When some wise librarian gives me a booking.
I am just a wandered;
I have never found a twin nor the scarcity of sin
In all the places I have been
And so I'm still looking.

Come one, come all,
Lay out your premises well
Here on the wet pavement of morals.
They come down -
All implicit promises
To sit with you while
Soaking on your laurels.

We're standing here watching                (witness to)
  a continuous spectacle            (irrational inanity)
Epitome of human folly          (ostentation exhibition)
  in a train.                               (on display)
I want to read out and                        (desiring)
  hold onto your waist             (amatory reassurance)
But something is wrong here    (modern social violation)
  for I cannot.                          (laissez faire)
You've focused my attitude                 (crystal now)
  enough to let me revel    (clear objective exultation)
In public's common circumstance     (700 club addiction)
  ignorance.                     (pre-mortem affliction)
For all these unthinking getalong            (sing-song)
  wind-up humans              (pity us our lame excuses)
Children of a clown long dead (society's fantastic hell)
  living in their heads.                (alive and well)

Thoughts of youth that seem delicious
I treat like treasured contraband
Secretly tasting all my wishes
And burying them with an open hand.
Send me not the popular dreams
But give me thoughtful license
To stand aloft amidst life's screams
And bow not to him deemed wisest.

Suave, improv, reality condenses -
Dreamlike without pretenses.
You don't know that I savor
Your doing of yourself a favor -
A compliment, or sorts,
To let yourself stand without supports.
Temporary allowance of privacy to breathe
Is over, I finally realize, and seethe,
And crumble like brittle,
A bumbler not subtle -
Not subtle in the least.

October 2, 1997

Written by John Greenawalt and Brent Steffen

Brent's busy burying his head in the books
Hoping to get ready for the brain-wracking board
John keeps giving wes these looks
Hoping he'll add to his hoard

I wonder whom Brent is trying to impress
Studying up on that butt-smooching technique
John has this very bright dress
On weekends his name is Monique

Not many are as scrawny as poor Steffenite
Who gets his jollies by beating little dogs
John thought he would have a really hot night
So he went with ol' McDonald to the Hogs

Those pigs were tons of squealing wonder
But thinking of Brent they seemed a little sad
Not that I'd ever think or ponder
Your poems seen to be very bad

After much thought and provocation
John came back with something very wrong
From what I was taught of anatomic location
Brent might not be male for long ;)

heh heh :}