There was no doubt I was seeing double
Vinny poured another glass
I actually think it was whiskey
There we sat, at the back of the Angelos Steak and Kill
The joke wasn’t lost on many
The joint was dark and filled with smoke
Each booth offering up its own unique privacy
Never an evening went by
That some devious plot or plan wasn’t being hatched
Tonight was no different
Vinny laid it all out on a napkin
He told me revenge is bitter sweet
Tomorrow night we would feast on the bitter and the sweet
I had no doubts
I was ready to prove my worth
I was ready
Well the next night came faster than a hangover
Eight of us left in two cars
We had a shot of grapa, only that
The Capone said we needed all are wits about us tonight, and then some
Now no one could argue that, and no one would
Laughter and bravado go hand in hand
We arrived on the side street, where one lone doorman
Was smoking his life away
Little did he know, how soon that fag would be his demise
One shot to the head, and blood spurted
The water fountain of death
Began its dance
In went Vinny in the lead and me right on behind
One doesn’t waste time with fancy introductions
We were there to deliver the red blood of revenge
Sweet death served to order, and we followed orders
The dinnerware and glasses shattered, wine became blood
Made men fell, bullets tangoed uniting the living with the dead
A blood bath
There are no other words to explain
The dead danced with our bullets and fell onto the now red carpet
Revenge was served, they said bitter sweet
Me, I fell to my knees
Vinny he looked over with an uncomprehending stare
The waitress serving drinks
Was shot right through the heart, it was my bullet
That murdered my finance
For me this revenge was to be only bitter
Dazed I lay, in a pool of blood, hers
Sirens in the distance
Vinny yelling, get the hell up, get the hell up
There was no heaven or up for me
I was as good as dead
I crawled over to her
Tears clouded my vision
I laid my head upon her breast
Entwined in agony, within the grasp of reaper
I caressed her soft hair, I kissed the sour blood of my sins
My enemies in death, served me my own poison
She put a finger to her lips
She whispered shhhhhhhh
I whispered back, with my now black heart
She smiled softly and died
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
---------------------- "Word Nerds" (like me)...
************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********
now and again
approaches the fog in me
screams its name
apropos adverbs appear
slick little nouns
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
beneath eight parts of speech
within prison walls
filled in the past
like Job's tedious job
homographs from heteronyms
words never mind...
they wind the mind
in the wind...
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Why is it poetry, is a like dirty word and talked of in undertones?
It’s like a naughty postcard, more flesh than there are bones.
Poets tend to deny their art, “I’m not a poet, I’m a rhym-er”
Come on you lot get stuck in don’t be a poetry two-timer.
After a glass of alcohol some may admit-“I like a little verse”
“But no I m not into poetry…” It’s like a speech they did rehearse.
Now poems I’m getting good at, but famous poets I don’t know any
Don’t ask me if I’m a poet, because in wages I don’t earn a penny.
Now rhyme I am not bad at, but at free verse I would stink
As for haiku, senryu, and other forms, I stink I really think…
I listened to some so called poets; decry their art the other day
They denied their art while they listened, to what each other had to say.
Standing there with their poems held high, “I’m not a poet” they all said
Well get down from the microphone and let’s hear a poet instead…
They pass their poems around the table, like some black market currency
Not wanting anyone to see it, but they are at a reading for poetry.
So be loud and proud you poets stand firm for what you believe in
Tell them you are a poet, and just get used to all the teasing
I used to be a shy poet and I write verse with some frivolity
But the definition in my dictionary says “words with a pleasing quality.”
So now I am open to judgement from all of you wonderful poets
You have all commented on my work, but do you really know it?
You all have qualities that scare me, you really seem so clever
So can I finally admit to being a poet, from now on and forever?
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
A DINNER INVESTMENT (for Eve)
My husband Chris Adams loves to wine and dine my needs
In the most expensive places, one can eat.
Arriving in LIMO style
A humble waiter greets
After I viewed the menu I replied,
"Hun I am ready to order."
A T-bone steak -- fully cook the meat.
At our table, walked a gorgeous snake-eyed women
She leaned over my husband's seat
Approaching Chris with a big wet kiss
I stomped on my husband's foot
I gave him the look, of all looks
She slithered with her tongue in Adams ear
"Go to that hotel and relax, I need some cash"
With one stare I yelled, "Chris how dare you cheat!"
"I had enough, I want a divorce MR. ADAMS!"
I reach over to slap him,
He replies, "She is my mistress Bath-Sheba my dear EVE!"
"I do not love her."
"I understand if you want a divorce!" Mr. Adams replied.
"But, remember, no more furs, luxury suite,
Winters in Barbados,
Summers in Tuscany."
"Infinity or Lexus, and first class plane seats."
"Forget about the Yacht Club."
"Party by the swimming pool, that land a hundred feet."
"It is up to you my Kitty Skat Eve to give it all up."
"You decide if these diamonds you want to keep."
Without thinking of taking a leap.
I saw Mr. Adams business partner Cain with a Jezebel in his arms.
I ask my husband Chris in a small peep.
"Do not tell me that Cain commits Adultery too?"
"Cain's blonde looks really cheap as if she works the street."
"Well, our mistress is prettier and looks real sweet."
"Honey, our mistress Bath-Sheba is worth the keep."
"Mr. Adams tonight you can call me Steve and not Eve,
Whatever it takes to satisfy your needs plus my gold lust!"
(The moral of the story is what some Eve's
will do to keep their investment, I mean Adam's.)
A joke and dedication to Chris D. Aechtner
For THE Eve in Eden* (Contest) *
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
And I walk
across numerical figments
speaking hyperbole dialect to their imaginations.
Numb, blocky gaps
whisper invitation to secret club.
Enticing my stature
to become exponent’s side-kick.
So they can welcome me with open arms.
Coating my digits with inoperable tumors
double-knotted in hot pink laced bow
and baby-breath scent.
They even left a Walmart Rollback smiley face sticker
with crack residue on right cheek
and a comic-style bubble caption, “welcome home puppet”.
This is exactly how Mother 1 told me it would be.
Kinda like marriage,
but less detail-oriented.
But, I could never fit in.
For I am neither positive
about their (cult) ural ways.
Timing would always be off.
An arm from the clock that suffered a stroke at Midnight…
They’d never understand,
how they’d alter this unevenly, odd numerical figment.
For they’ll just calculate,
my sum with rusty protractor.
This Zero, into a fraction...
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010
Beautiful Coffee spree
Close your eyes and fell high like a tree
Nothing beats the sugar in my energy
I can't live my life caffeine free
Somebody stop me!!!!!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
For who is this poetry destroyer
A cop, but who else would employ her?
As she spies no end
No poet, she pretends
Vanilla ice in leopard skin fur.
You ask If I want mommies hug
wouldn’t that be nice, lovely and snug
You just want to hold me
Under that great oak tree
And kiss me on your picnic rug
You want the vultures to enjoy
My sweet flesh, is that your ploy?
Wanting to be them
Eyeing up my sweet gem
Tell the truth, you just want a toy boy
Well our future together would be bright
Injets, pens and cartridges in sight
You’d color me in
Goodness what a sin
As I would always do the best write
Hang up your gloves as your are weak
You are also classed as an antique
A low blow I know
Don’t cry, don’t go
You can come back with a new technique.
If I don’t hear from the poetry cop
I will know I have come out on top
Good bye little girl
Give us one more twirl
Now, this should be the final full stop (.)!
P.D, this is the first one ive done. Took me a while. Very good fun though. I kind of limit’s
Copyright © Gareth James | Year Posted 2010
Poem by: Mr. Ronald Watson
Sep. 13, 2012
My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Stinking thinking/ it leads to drinking./
What moisten the soul without an inkling?/
Unto making a wild left turn /while the right signal light were blinking./
Within a mild mix of rice, hops, and barley,
Since/ it is too much laugher at a karaoke party./
How Elvis sounds like,/ a broken Bob Marley?/
Now it’s as if,/ inhibitions are lowed/
Frozen in time/ and slipping far out of control./
As intuitions of minds does loathe,/ as such weariness echoes for tomorrow./
Yet,/ a stinking breath that smells just as death/ and it's where all funky asses dwells./
Though/ all hung over /and unjustified to flinging heavy heads into that porcelain king,/
Even this is a sight for red sore eyed Kings!/
It is an aftermath of ravishing through them royal purple cloth bags./
So/ afraid to admit that shallowness slowly drags!/
When,a sense of clarity which will just admit it.
That stinking thinking is difficult to kick, but
One day at a time, it is the only way to shine, or get fixed.
Thank youMy Poetry on PoetrySoup
Copyright © TMP The mad poet | Year Posted 2012
Your love is real
the love you feel.
Your love is great
the love you make.
Your records are on fire
its your desire.
Take me out tonight
and go wild and crazy,
or be fat and lazy.
So I played some Doors
and saw some whores.
So I said goodbye
and they all must die, fool.
So dig my guts
and eat my brain
and then go insane.
Care I love it
so forget it, Punk!
Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2015
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012
I love the way you walk in your stilettos
The clickety click sound of your heels
The seductive sway of your hips
And the luring gaze that appeals
But when you walk softy
That is what I love the best
As your stilettos cover new territories
Across my bony chest
Oh the view my Soupies the view
Of man’s weakness I do stare
But never trust a woman in stilettos
As your bit lay unattended and bare.
I am the Mad Poet. For Debbie Guzzi. (I never enter contests to win.)
Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2013
This poem stinks.
It doesn't rhyme
It doesn't do anything
It has a little alliteration
it will have some
because that's the easiest poetic element to incorporate
and if it didn't have any poetic elements
it would not be a poem
but would be prose with
(are carriage returns extinct?)
and that would be dishonest.
This is not a lying poem.
That would be oxymoronic.
It's a stinky poem.
And when I finish writing it
I'm gonna print it out
and tear it up
into little bitty
teensy weensy pieces
(if I have enough patience to get that small)
and flush it down the commode
so it can join all the other
excrementally effluential essences
(note the alliteration)
of all the other stuff that stinks
almost as badly as
Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2007
The Devil Dances In Clawed Feet
(A lively little jig too)
I dreamed of darkness in a room round
there were in it boxes dark black.
Opening each nothing in it was found
except a worn and torn empty sack.
After the heavy lids I then closed
strange figure sat in the corner.
And there it smiled big as it posed
hat removed, it was a two horner!
Now give the devil his credit and due
for in his hand a snake appeared.
Why on earth it laughed I had no clue
I was shaken and much a'feared!
As it crawled over to my shaking feet
devil rose to dance a jolly jig.
Music played to a dark, horrific beat
and my wide eyes got saucer big.
In fear, I stomped the snake into mush
devil only laughed hard at me.
With a wicked grin and whispered hush
told me what the cost would be.
Say I was shocked, hell I was floored
his price was a dance with me.
A fine, lively jig because he was bored
only then did clawed feet I see!
Music played another lively little beat
my arm he grabbed and we danced.
While my eyes never left his clawed feet
in his delight, my how he pranced!
Finished he took himself a mighty big bow
into sacks in the boxes he leaped.
Now my mind wondered what and the how
was devil's torment next be reaped!
The boxes vanished leaving sacks of gold
there was gold coins in each sack.
Now I believe every devil story I am told
and pray -
Like hell, my dancing partner comes back!
Note- From my private journal. I was 18 when I
wrote this one. I think I thought it quite funny.
Sept 12th, 1972
Side note-- Money all gone now but those sacks now hold
IOU'S AND A DANCE INVITATION.. lol
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
The lava lamp glows
in a room that's otherwise dark
while the guitar of Hendrix
slices through the air
listened to by a wanna-be beatnik
getting stoned on weed
pretending not to care
and doesn't know there's a sign above him
that reads "Down with the Establishment"
Copyright © Margaret Bonnette | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
Thinking of O, Ms. Jill Martin was in her solitude “Quietly…breathing”
That, she just waved her hand greeting April Lewis “Without Speaking”
I spied humorist Donald Meikle, writing a “Note to a Lady in Waiting”
Let’s party! exclaimed silent Sami Al-Khalili, but not “Only In Winter”
That’s a real cool idea, and I said, how about in “The Field Of Summer”
Dame Marcyle Beer offered her place, called “Welcome To Fort Beer”
A rising star Taryn Melville proudly breezed in: saying “I Am From…”
But, party guy Anthony Slauson showed us his “Fingers of Freedom”
Leaving noble Alyssa Finley’s young mind fixated in “Dreams Come”
A free verse expert JeanMarie Marchese of Homosassa, uttered “Slow”
Let snow lover Linda Smith tell us first her “Footprints In The Snow”
Indeed, we’ve our time to introduce ourselves, before “The Cockcrow”
Sweet Elaine George arrived, when the night still had a “Tender Heart”
With a special gift, for Raquel Nicholson, ‘cos she has “a broken heart”
I learned that Big John Tanaskow did not wish to go “Back At the Start”
The party made poetic Mark Hansen expressed himself, in “Cloud Nine”
Perhaps he had consumed much of shy type Nicola Steel’s “Plumy Wine”
For he was too excited, to meet a bright Seema Ali, on a “Poetry Online”
Before the party was over, Juanita Ganir, sprung from her “Sacred Well”
And, old Londoner Matt Doe spoke, of his mighty “Showdown In Hell”
To a sexy Tamiviolet Manchas, but, she xoxoxo urged him, “Don’t Tell”
Many thanks, to photographer William Jones, for his “Living In Color”
A souvenir that reflects my own plea to “Make Me Whole, Once More”
A plea to everyone, to all friends, to remember that “My Name Is Thor”
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006
Appropriations will be cost effective only when mass production is labeled'for
esthetic use only'.
All committee decisions must be based on my own and no one elses.
The 'sleek new modern' must be based on Baroque precepts that stem from
facistic-anarchical individualistic expression over the state.
The media is to be tightly controlled based on my novel
There is no number 6.
The deliniation of taste will be non linear.
I will be awash with cash I now don't have.
Teenage angst will be programmed into everyone well into their eighties.
There may be a number 2 in a parallel universe.
And the number one result When Artists Finally take over the World is........
Copyright © Peter Chrisler | Year Posted 2006
Fruit for thought!
Copyright © David Dowling | Year Posted 2008
Uncouth, unschooled in art,
that's what you'll say of me,
You know, I've tried so hard,
but I still have to see
da Vinci's Mona Lisa's mythic,
bewitching folks allegedly
even from a mile.
It looks to me she parts
her lips so daintily
to let a drunken hiccup out
or stop a vulgar burp,
or hide those nicotine-blackened
But honestly, nothing in her
remotely resembles a smiling
perhaps she's toothless, some
believe you me, I took up
Copyright © romeo naces | Year Posted 2008
If you don’t know chemistry
Here’s some on reactions
It may not be much
But it’s still a good fraction
I don’t know where to start
So I’ll begin with this
An element plus element yield compound is synthesis
Decomposition is multiple products from a single reactant
Usually formed when energy attacks it
“It” is a compound, just to get it out
It can be replaced, what is that about
It’s about single or double, which are replacements
Any real scientist would concur to this statement
Because of the complexity, my favorite replacement is single
It’s really easy, if you and chemistry can mingle
One more reaction, so lets take a turn
If oxygen is a reactant, you may have a burn
Combustion is the name
And it’s known by the flame
Production of heat embarked its fame
A hundred on this project is the grade that I wish
I don’t know where to stop, so I’ll yield like this
Copyright © Darian Brown | Year Posted 2012
Blank Verse Rhyme
The master said “create blank verse in lines of ten”.
Form five Iambic feet without a rhyme.
“These five Iambic feet you must achieve”.
The verse will have a rhythm you can hear,
when studied closely this will be revealed.
For, lines of blank verse rhyming discontents
the master. “Do it over, take all night”!
The lines of blank verse sing a little song,
each syllable, each rhyme, you’ll hear them ring!
You’ll sing the tune of verses blank and pure.
And now I keep up with this blank verse trick,
I hear its tick ten syllables per line.
It rhymes so soft; I have it mastered now,
so naturally it falls right from my pen.
Oh, where will this blank verse rhyme find an end?
Yet, twenty lines of syllables came out
much faster still than I had thought they should.
I love each rhyme, the timing so precise,
I hope it pleased the eye and ear. I turned
it in, it came back very clearly signed
Copyright © Tiffany Ragsdale | Year Posted 2012
Clip it on and don't think twice
Clip it on cuz it looks nice.
Clip it on so you know where it is at.
Clip it on maybe to a hat.
Clip it on so it does not fall off.
Clip it on so your pet don't runaway.
Clip it on so it stays in place.
Clip it on in outer space.
Clip it on every day.
Clip it on around the world.
JUST CLIP IT ON.
Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2011
I see an apple.
There it is.
Copyright © David Dowling | Year Posted 2008
Author's Note: If you have never seen the advertising contributions of John Cameron Swayze, take a moment to watch a few of his videos. Then, enjoy this limerick (which in combination with the videos) provides some interesting inspiration for the new year.
We suggest a vagina's for sex
And hope the possessor expects
To take a licking
And keep on ticking
Over and over like a Timex
Copyright © Duke Beaufort | Year Posted 2015
My grandma's strawberry jelly i love to eat it and fill my belly. It's so sweet it will make you pucker o ya it is better then smucker's. She stayed up all day and night to make it just right so i could have some when i go to stay with her tomorrow night.
Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2011
im livin in a world, where all eyes on me.
trying to curve my own route.
but route 66 keeps finding its way to me.
ive been plenty sick, in all the events layed before me.
even when i reflect to my lowest points
i dont regret any of the choices
That I’ve deployed in my era
A lot of it by error, but hey
We live in hell conditions and there ain’t no air condition
Or any guidelines when life throws you in the sidelines
But when hindsight twenty twenty hits
You’ll begin to understand life’s a bunch of equations and you in the mix of it
An you’ll have to think twice, before running into a situation and becoming the best of it
it’s what got me here, it’s what got us here
Ran with my thoughts blazing up to her place and
Guess what happened next
She opened up heaven’s gate
And just before late I slipped out
I’m a Grown ass man
Doin his thing, waitin to blow up like an old land mine
In doin what he drools over
But time after time
Something decides to creep up and cover the light
Lost my way
Then I revoked to ever know, I ever thought that way
But in the in between time, that in the mean time
Spent a lot of time
Gettin pissed off just to medicate and lift off
Don’t need Don Perion to sip off
Already had my way with the bottle
Even thought to get back with the trouble and rejoin the hustle
That’s just what happens to a man who really knows his old ways
Whos tired of making ends meet and ponders getting back to the streets.
Memory sets in and he remembers an O.G. saying
No matter how tall your pockets stand when you ball
Eventually times gonna make you fall
And I as I pull myself together
I don’t wanna end up like the twin towers rubble
I mean no offence to nine eleven but at that time I probably could have used a reverend
But all that’s irrelevant now
because i live with a different perspective now
there you go you made it to the end :-) comment if you like, constructive criticism wanted as well.
Copyright © pat roswell | Year Posted 2013
If history was food part 2
Copyright © Michael Ward | Year Posted 2014
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
oh no here it comes
that big barrel that big gun
i will not go yet
Copyright © Malcolm Dyer | Year Posted 2009
Too much fun to wear!
Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010
As the slaving sun sets on a tiring day,
the moon arrives and shines the clouded darkness away,
little brats--i mean kids--run out to the streets,
yelling and screaming as they run amok through the town,
smiles on their faces; only when their delicious
sweets are taken away, do they frown,
doorbell to doorbell they go,
tossing candy around to and fro,
the hour draws near the time of the wicked witch,
Okay children, run along home, out of the darkness,
out of every cemetery, out of every ditch,
no one wants to be the victim of the evil, and wicked witch.
on this All Hallows Eve,
she calls from her grave,
wanting to live forever, and find her immortal mister,
but she fails every time,
because she can't ever get rid of her annoying,
blond-haired, dimwitted sister.
Copyright © Princess Corazon | Year Posted 2010