My favorite cousin named Marge
is almost as big as a barge.
So one would assume,
not knowing the groom,
the guy would most likely be large.
But he was a small man named Tim
“As thin as a broom” describes him.
While Marge would guffaw,
Tim would watch her with awe
and just smile for he was so prim!
When the preacher addressed him and said,
“You may now kiss the bride,” Tim turned red,
for their lips could not meet.
With high heels on her feet,
Marge stood towering over his head.
She leaned down while Tim stood on his toes,
but for being in such a strange pose,
Marge then came toppling down
crushing Tim neath her gown
while the whole church erupted in “Ohhhhh’s.”
All was well, and thereafter, we ate;
then we planned next to dance until late.
But none could foresee
the small tragedy
that had us all leaving by eight!
Marge had tossed off her heels for a glide
on the dance floor, but when they both tried
to dance, Tim got snagged
by that dang gown and dragged
as his bride was beginning to slide. . .
Now shoeless, poor Marge could not stop.
Toward a table with candles on top,
they slid, and the groom
then set fire to the room
by landing with a belly flop.
Poor Tim by the candles got lit,
and we were all having a fit,
for the fire got spread fast
till the Best Man at last
got us all wet extinguishing it!
Inspired by the title of the movie: My Big Fat Greek Wedding
& : Joann Grisetti's "My Cousin's Wedding" Poetry contest
What art thou, splendid maid, inclined to verse?
Upon the skies, the stars thy words rehearse.
The darkness cometh with a Fall's request
while in thy kitchen, Gail, should do your best;
for spicy tastes the famous bard now begs
but you regaled his pleas with two boiled eggs.
The Eros Iamb feet, sung by the sire,
repeated are by stray cats' alto choire.
while resonant, of music flaws he shuns,
cats meow at him, from two deep tin trash cans.
Your bucket-full of water then, is thrown,
to fall upon his head and new iphone.
Enchanted so, thou callest the fine bard,
to dance with you Fall's jazzy avant-garde.
© G. V., 10-03-2013
I got up at six this morning
Feeling kind of weak
I had a shave and showered
As I walked my bones would creak
I have very bad arthritis
But I can kill the pain
I just have to take Viagra
Then go back to bed again
My girl is exasperated
Found out six months ago
A Viagra in the morning
Will keep me on the go
I cuddled next to her
":Lets dance they're playing our song"
Sleepy eyed she lay there
Snoring all along
Next morning I woke up
A note said she was gone
"Next time you hear your music
You must dance it all alone"
A Causticat expressenced her doverse,
Aficionadog Yamahawker echowled
while beseechickens' song was coyoterse
and chickencouraging allegrettold.
Chickenclopedia somehow pignored
the roosterrestrials' dancing chickentreat
Aficionadog's dance was abroadored
and his cathletics multilevelite.
The roosterrestrials thus, barracudanced
Galas! the maidenchanted Causticat
wide eyed she balladmired the saladvanced
and chickenable braves to broadenact.
Aficionadog's triple Axle loop
combined with Ballu Tundu workbenchasse
Romanaged to lexiconvince the coop,
and libidog of self Igniting Cats.
The Vibradog Mandelbrotating chanced
and buffalone friskated on the ice
cattractive Causticat and him codanced
with Tornadog bold to acrobatice.
© G. V. 09-10-2013 All rights reserved
After the storm, she received her order of pepperoni-mushroom,
(it was a special delivery by her favorite pizza-man),
well baked over coals, on an oven-surface of tiled macadam,
covered with tons of smoked fresh Mozzarella, imported from Bhutan!
The pizza-man, (who outfaced the Storm in a morello-burgundy Chevrolet),
awaited patiently outside her house, lifting weights;
inside, she was chatting with her ballet tutor, while a bouquet
of rare rose blooms he imported for her, from Bering Straits.
The flowers arrived in a silver-gold 'enveloppant',
thence, très elegant, rang her bell, dancing in front of her door,
wearing a pistachio Diesel sweat-shirt and Compagnie Canedienne pants,
performing jumping sommersolts; best part of his acrobatic galore.
She opened her mouth in awe! His daring leg's step-arabesque
was a provocation; thus, she responded with a tread-chasse,
- and then, both slid on ice dancing in a theater burlesque
that their mind created following the notes of a distant jazzy brass.
In harmony performed jump combinations, 'et sur la tiers',
with a rose in her hair, she started eating a tasteful slice of the pizza,
while he lifted her over his head, with a 'reverse',
(- fact is, right after her last 'lutz-jump' fall, she suffered amnesia).
Trying to hold her, he gallantly bumped his head on a fender,
and while listening to numerous chirping yellow birds,
decided that she was ancient Penelope and he, a contender,
who fought with bravery to conquer her heart she kept undeterred.
Dancing, they swayed behind the hill, and gliding on a vast plain,
he noticed that they were Pizza-Transferred through time,
she confessed that her granny was from Aquitaine,
thenceforth in incandescence they ice skated until Springtime.
© 02-13-2013, All Rights Reserved
(ABAB rhyming prose (!! Hmm...))
Inspired by "Mumford and Sons" song
After the Storm..
" There will be a time you'll see ...with no more tears , and Love will not break your Heart , but dismiss your fears . Get Over your hill and see , what you find there , with Grace in your heart and flowers in your hair "
Sponsor: Shanity Rain
Contest Name: new contest by Shanity Rain!! " After the storm "
She was a tappin' to the tunes...
of those Mississippi blues...
step-pin' out, in her white...
We were a watchin' her a prancin',
all through the kitchen, dancin'...
for she was so...hot & sizzlin'...
hummin' to those Mississippi tunes...
Funny curlers too, upon...
her head...for a new... Hair dew,...
she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron,
when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to...
those Mississip-pi blues,
'Pots were a knockin'...
Grandma a sockin' down all she brews,
while that kettle there was whistlin',
in har-mo-ny, with them good ole...
good ole...mississip-pi moves,'
That floor there, was a bouncin'
holdin' hands we were a jumpin',
an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those...
Where Grandma's feet were a stompin',
In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en-
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.
Confessions aren't easy but here I go
I'm about to tell you what you don't know
I secretly dance at home all alone
I like karaoke with a microphone
Singing and dancing I ain't got no skills
Still it's way better than swallowing pills
As I perform I still have one great fear
If I sing to loudly others will hear
Sometimes I practice at home in the shower
Enjoying myself for many an hour
Maybe one day I will be good enough
Then I won't be afraid to strut my stuff
Until that distant day please leave me alone
I will keep up practice to improve my tone
John Travolta moves, singing like the King
Imagine all the joy one day I will bring
Please keep my secret, you made me confess
Others could be worse, perhaps they cross dress
Confessions not easy secrets come out
Now you will learn what Soupers are about.
Sweet Anne's Confessions of a Poetry Souper's contest.
Freshman year, newcomer to public school,
my hormones were roused by Billy D. in typing class.
Sadie Hawkins’ Dance just days away;
a chance for girls to ask boys out.
Too shy to show my interest,
crumpled bits of paper I formed into balls,
tossed them at the back of Billy’s head.
Unsettled, as any boy would be, he glanced back at me.
Wry smile, how could he know how my heart raced?
Leo sat next to Billy, amused by this interaction.
Because of his demeanor, it was Leo I asked to the dance.
Turned out Leo couldn’t dance,
though conversation was no problem.
Leo spent the entire night talking about being an Eagle Scout --
tying knots, marking trails, building campfires --
seemed we had little in common.
No chemistry at all, but Leo said, “Thank you,” at the dance’s end.
For years I spent many days wondering
what if I’d slipped Billy an invitation note,
instead of lobbing paper balls?
Perhaps he would have said, “Yes.”
I might have had my first embrace;
maybe even my first kiss.
Years later at a school reunion
Billy looked more handsome than ever;
served as CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation.
He introduced me to his pretty wife
as the girl who pitched paper balls at his head.
*True story for Carol Brown’s “First Date” contest. (Some folks were lucky to have
more romantic first dates. LOL)