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Metaphor Humorous Poems | Metaphor Poems About Humorous

These Metaphor Humorous poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Metaphor Humorous poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

The King of Sanctimonious

The King of Sanctimonious
Perched high upon his throne-ious
Clothed in purple pious-ness
Admired his own self-righteous-ness

The Queen of Sanctimonious
Tired of the King's baloney-ous
When he counts his hoards of money
To him, sweeter than his honey

In a court that wasn't courteous
The Queen cried, "you're oblivious!"
But he wasn't aware, nor did he care
He'd become a Royal hypocrite

Day after day, he counted each coin
The ritual put a flutter in his groin
Reveling in his Royal room
Soon became his tomb of gloom

The Royal epitaph was no baloney-ous
When the king was found
 'Tis said he drowned
In a fermented bottle of loneliness


Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

The Elephant in the Room

3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison

High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies

Lemon yellow coated walls,
Flat,
Like their smiles

Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
Pacifiers included

The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.

Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave

Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left

An equilibrium facing assault charges against self

They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends

Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations

…

But, it was then.

These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV

Proudly imported from China

“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
(SMASH!)

And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear

It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night

As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song

The real newsflash

Metaphors played hooky today

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

KILL A BEAT 2

I bring hit after hit like a boxer
You haters' inconsistent
Everybody's on the same vibe
Mine's kinda' different
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop

Minor in poetry, fine-arts major

Doctor goon on deck, call this a fear-factor

I'm going in, but I ain't got no curfew

I son a lot of you, it's like I birth you

Got a lot of verses, but this ain't a Bible

Fallout when you hear this, I ain't liable

Ain't talking 'bout tearing, but the beats R.I.P

Didn't sell a lot of tracks, but I got D.O.E

Put you up on game, my hustle's M.O.E

Music over everything, ain't moving 'D'

I got cash like the bank, I sell CD's

Smells funny, tickled my nose, I might sneeze

You would think I'm water, the way I flow

I'm just like some dynamite, bound to blow

Act like you're in a recliner, lay back

If I ain't on fire, then why they say that?

Feature, feature, can I get a feature

So far ahead I sit on competition--bleacher

My Raps' like a bunch of apartment buildings, complex

Got chicks on my jock', ain't talking 'bout sex

I'm so different, it's magnificent

Haters want me to fall, but that's not how the script went

Thing's fishy, I ain't gettin' caught in that net

Just killed the beat, without breaking a sweat

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry | |

Thinking Outside the Box

... but first we must establish one thing:

What kinda box are we talking about here?

If it's the pizza variety then no thoughts necessary!
Just dig in and put off consequences 'til later.
Though afterwards you might be hugging your gut,
saying, "I think I ate way too much!"

But hold onto that thought!
(before you lose your lunch)

Were you thinking outside the box?
I truly don't believe you were,
otherwise you wouldn't have gone for seconds
even as your face was turning blue.

(what did you eat the cardboard too?)

If it's a chess set you had in mind
I'd be mighty impressed it you DIDN'T
think outside the box.

... are you really that intelligent
to plan out the whole game before
you even take off the lid?

Now that's just crazy talk!

Course maybe that's not it either.
Perhaps you were thinking about
that Japanese number game.

(Sudoku... is that what you mean?)

Though to be honest 81 boxes
makes me feel a bit green.

The possibilities are truly endless it seems;
cubicles, board games, pizza shops,
warehouses, super markets,

(Heck, you're living in one, by God!)

So next time you bring up such a topic
you would do well to not be so vague.
It seems were all victims of this obscurity
... with origins more unknown than the plague.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

PLAY-BOY 1

You know why I run game? It's 'cause I'm a player
I'm the night in shining armor, she's a dragon, I'm gon' slay her
That means when I beat it up, I'm gonna kill it
Tell her keep our business to herself, don't spill it
Can't follow directions, then it's on to the next
Hope you get the message, not talking 'bout a text

I sleep with more chicks than a night-gown

Without 'em I'm like a sentence with no noun

For those who don't know that means incomplete

It's a race to get 'em first, I gotta' compete

They wanna be on the team, tryin' to make the cut

True player, show no feelings, keep 'em in a shell, walnut

Females fill my atmosphere, they mean the world to me

I got damsels galore, it's always plural with me

Got gangs of chicks, which one should I bang

They're steady in my face, sort of like some bangs

Hate when they try to lock me down, I'm not in jail

She starts talking 'bout marriage, then I'm gonna bail

Sometimes I need my space, like a vacant lot

I hate being congested, like a nose filled with snot

Hey, stop bugging me, you startin' to act like a knat

Before you go, give me head, I need it like a hat

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Frog Prince - Part 1

A funny frog called Mr Snog,
once lived beside a slimy bog,
he was a most peculiar fellow,
his hat was red, his boots were yellow,
his waistcoat was an olive green,
the strangest sight you’ve ever seen,
no matter where you’ve lived or been.      

This self-same frog, called Mr Snog
had woes of every catalogue.
To move forward he hopped backward,
making life extremely awkward.
His funny face with fretful frown
made him such a comic clown,
for his whole world was upside down.

Now once the frog, named Mr Snog,				
who lived beside the slimy bog,
had been a very different fellow,			
his boots then red, his hat was yellow.
A handsome prince of some renown,
upon his head a golden crown,
and nothing then was upside down.

For then his name, was not the same,
around his realm they would proclaim;
‘He is the bold, the great Prince Gons,		
whose fame is sung in many songs.’
In everything he did excel,
gallant, witty, brave as well,
until misfortune him befell.

Alas to say, in early May,
a witch had happened by his way.
She really was a hideous hag,
and nasty things were in her bag.
An eye of newt, a puppy’s tail,
six slimy slugs and half a snail,
some grizzly bits to make you quail.

Prince Gons had rode from his abode,			
to find this witch had blocked his road,		
‘Out of my way you wretched bag,
out of my way you ugly hag.
I am the bold, the great Prince Gons,		
whose fame is sung in many songs,
to whom this land around belongs.’		

With such disdain he did proclaim,
the exalted nature of his name!
He stared, he glared, he leered and peered,
upon that witch that looked so weird,
‘Out of my way, or you’ll pay dear.’
Yet not one word did cause her fear,
for being deaf, she could not hear.

But from his look she umbrage took,
and so that witch resolved to cook,
within her pot a fiendish brew,
to teach that prince a thing or two.
And setting out to cast a spell,
by calling demons out of hell,
she brewed a stew - with ghastly smell.

This stew she threw – it didn’t miss! –
all over Gons. Then with a kiss,
upon his face - oh what a joke -
she vanished in a puff of smoke!
Gons then had a nasty feeling,				
round and round the sky was wheeling,
sending all his senses reeling.

When he awoke, this self-same bloke,
could only make a feeble croak.
And to his horror he now found,
that everything had turned around,
shrunk to a frog, whose name was Snog,
who sat bemused within a bog,				
with woes of every catalogue.

Within this bog, there was a log,
and on this log, sat Mr Snog,
gazing mournfully at the sky,
eyeing all that passed him by.
From time to time he’d try to speak,
with feeble croak, so sad, so weak,
his life just then was really bleak.

When meaning ‘Yes’ - as you might guess -
was not the word he did express. 		
Instead of ‘Yes’, he would croak ‘No!’
All were confused and all said so,			
but if, perhaps, you knew him better,			
you could substitute each letter,
and then it really wouldn’t matter.

Moving backward, never forward,
made his life extremely awkward.
Now who could help him, who could tell
him, how to break that witch's spell?
He flopped around within the mire,
never growing one inch higher,
until a meeting did transpire.

One sunny day in early May,
a princess chanced to pass that way,
her hair was gold, her figure neat,
she walked upon such dainty feet.
that now squelched in the murky mire,
nearly ruining her attire,
her situation was quite dire.

Just for a laugh, she'd left the path,
to cut her journey quite in half,
she was sure it would be quicker,
she was sure that she was slicker,
than her nasty little brother,
who’d said, ‘Race you home to mother.’
-	How they hated one another!

While she was stuck within the muck,
bemoaning all her rotten luck,
She then perceived this curious fellow,		
whose hat was red and boots were yellow,
it was our hero Mr Snog,
every inch a funny frog,
sitting gormless on a log.

‘Help, help,’ she cried . ‘I'm terrified
I’m really lost, I need a guide,
to take me from this murky mire,
that's totally ruined my attire.
Please help me now. I'm sure you know,
how from this place, the way to go.’
But Snog, when meaning ‘Yes’, croaked ‘No!’.

She was confused, she was bemused,
that this odd creature had refused,
to help her in her hour of need.
'What can I say, how shall I plead?'
She pondered so, then filled with woe,			
wept, ‘Won’t you show the way to go?’
But Snog, whilst thinking ‘Yes’, croaked ‘No!’

‘I implore you, I'll adore you,
something, anything I’ll do for you.			
just name your price, I know the king,
he’ll give you almost everything.			
Oh please don't leave me in distress,
oh please don't leave me in this mess.’
Alas, our hero just croaked, ‘Yes!’

First she shivered, then she quivered,
then finally, she grew quite livid.
She screamed at this outrageous fellow,
whose hat was red and boots were yellow,
‘You are the most obnoxious frog,
to leave me helpless in this bog,
to wander aimless in the fog.’

Then on a whim, she grabbed a limb,
with all her strength she hurtled him,
high into the silvery sky,
wondering if this frog might fly.
But as she flipped him, her foot tripped,		
upon her back our princess tipped,
into the slimy mire she slipped.

Our hero, Snog, was quite agog,
for being airborne, for a frog,
was a most extraordinary feeling,
sending all his senses reeling.
The sky and earth became a blur;
falling now he did not miss her,
landing on her open kisser!

Now, as she fell, she’d given a yell,
which helped to break that witch's spell.
For when she kissed the hapless Snog,		
it changed him back from being a frog,
and to a prince he now returned,
who sat there looking unconcerned.
whilst in the slimy mire she squirmed.

Copyright © David Furlong | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

STASHING CASH 2

Where I'm from we don't do debts, fronts, or take tabs
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
Put that money on the head, you don't need a mask
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
How is a broke fool gon' try and smash
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash

Money on my mind like bread on a sandwich

I run the city, they're the lights, I'm the switch

I stand for what's mine, never see me slip and fall

I'm runnin' the race, you're a baby with a slow crawl

My cash stay on point, like a sharpened pencil

Try 'n' copy my style, you gon' need mo' than a stencil

I don't be's in the trap, buy my workers put-in overtime

Feds can't catch me, never see me committin' crime

That's why from time to time I shoot 'em a raise

And tell 'em to stash cash for those rainy days

If money talk, then there's nothing to say

If B.S walk, none of ya' fools can stay

My money talkin' for me, betta' yet, it's in a conversation

Ya' look like money; make money, nice observation

They say the love of money's the root of all evil

So how much money will it take to really love people

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

MONEY BANK 1

Let the stream of cash in, flood-gate
Like the Casino, I'll keep chips in your plate
Big-ballin', throw it in the pot, high stakes
Don't sleep, keep watch for fakes and snakes
So much dead pres' to burn, it's a crime
Surprised I ain't in the Feds, doing hard time

Forget 'bout Simon, do what the money says

I dish-out money, like candy from a Pez

Dispenser, destined to do this since I was born

I make it rain, you can't weather this storm

All these accounts, my name should be Fill-More-Banks

I keep the cash secure, it wouldn't be safer in tanks

Fast money, accountant, lost track of how much I earn

The money's wind to my sail, it controls where I turn

I'm eating right now, stack the money like pancakes

You know I love beef, put everything up for stakes

Eating up these problems, got me puttin' on some pounds

BS walk, money talk, you tell me how that sounds?

Hold-up, freeze, don't nothing move but the money

You can't afford to pay attention--it's free, dummy!

Class is in, cash the topic, you failed, watch and learn

Set the city on fire, cremated, get it a urn

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lay | |

I AM INTELLIGENCE

I AM INTELLIGENCE!
In world of mannequins, I step to the cause. I see this woman fussing at her child about wanting to go to the park. How formed is this. Hello Lady and such a beautiful boy he is. He wants to play in the park. However, you do not have time for that. Let me see if I can solve your problem. I am Intelligence. Intelligence is a superhero that forms very delightful scenes. I am humorous as well. With superhuman powers, I provide a child with a dream. I give this one the dream of playing in the park. The child stops crying and obeys his mother. In another episode, I am sent, telepathically, an abusive scene. I transform arriving there instantly. Through superhuman powers, I find a nurse and instruct him via mind to be compassionate. Intelligence watched for several days. The facility conformed their healthcare tactics to better ways. A little girl has broken her leg. Her mother neglects and flagellates her more when she does not feel well. Intelligence has watched for a short while. The scene was sent via the mother verbally abusing her child. Then she would stop for quite some time. However, the child broke her leg while riding her bike. The mother sees the chance to abuse outright. Intelligence deploys to her mind and the mother begins to praise the child. Intelligence is a moralistic superhero. No age or race barriers does this superhero has. In the time of hostilities, I am there. I was given my superhuman abilities to achieve peace unconditionally. ----------------------------------------------------------------------| PENNED ON AUGUST 30, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Three Inch Cliches

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the 
NO
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after 
The virgin vernacular 
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry | |

I am a Genius

I am who I was born to be

Another voice of sanity
Maybe crazy, but do you know?

Art nouveau, in words I paint

Greatness of the pen, this is me
Eternal thoughts into ink I write
Nothing escapes this brilliant mind
I compose for those who see, and those whom are blind
Universal wisdom's, happiness in verse
Salvation or wine, the poison is free






Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Conspiracy: Who Killed The Easter Bunny

A crowded table, all suspended in shock 
The sound of the shot dimming to a ‘knock’
Only silence, except for the marching clock
The weapon still smoking; an anonymous glock
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

Loud cries arise from the elongated table,
Jack Frost is shocked, the Tooth Fairy unable
To speak whilst Santa is checking the stable
For clues on the erstwhile maidservant Mable
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

They searched for hours, called in C.S.I,
Panic set in, would the children all cry?
Sandman confirmed the bunny had died
Batman suspected somebody had lied
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

Guests were quizzed, interrogations began
The mystery unfolded when Santa Claus ran,
Grabbing the pies, he tried escaping in a van
But was stopped in his tracks by superman
SANTA KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet | |

Words and Barks

WORDS AND BARKS

People were given a gift called speech
Most of the time they have nothing to teach

Dogs on the other hand can roll their eyes
They say more with wags and cries

Often people's unending words don't  matter
It might be better if people would bark and dogs chatter

Copyright © Elizabeth Smith | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

STASHING CASH 1

Where I'm from we don't do debts, fronts, or take tabs
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
Put that money on the head, you don't need a mask
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
How is a broke fool gon' try and smash
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash

My Green could fill-up a Bay, need a few Packers

Haters look, fold and crumble like Ritz-crackers

Money comes and goes, but you know mine stays

Like a well-trained dog, sometimes it even lays

Money brings power, respect, gotta' have the jewels

Call me a handy-man, I stay with my tools

I know it sounds messed-up, but it's money-over-everything

My weight's been up, you just started like a flower in spring

My money keeps flippin', like some Burgers on a grill

Money on me heavy, like a work-out, makes me sweat fo'real

Active, got a million hustles, I'm motivated and dedicated

Call me and money happily married, we can't be separated

Not talking movies, but I bet you ain't seen this in a while

My money's long, go 'head, call it the green mile

Long as I'm stashing cash, I'll always come out on top

Like a junkie smokin' dope, me making money won't stop

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Cookies-Food For Thought

Cookies -
Why can’t I have the chocolate one
I want more
She took my cookie
Hers is bigger than mine
I want to trade
That’s not fair

Cookies +
Thank you for the cookie
I love you
Thanks for all you do for me
I am satisfied
This is good
I am loved
Written By  Deborah Finneran :)  2013

Copyright © Deborah Finneran | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

PLAYER 1

I spit game proper, like a pro-batter, I got the right stroke
I work deals, like it's Black-Friday, I'm far from broke
I can't help but make the girl proud and gay
Want some of my time, like takes, you too gotta' pay

She don't act up, but she's so bad, discipline

Put her in time-out, punishment, a great beatin'

When I'm hittin' her good, she calls me daddy

I'm her trophy, showcase me, friends wish they had me

Too easy, always give it up, her man call it robbery

Termite, loves wood, told me have my log handy

Do what I order, like a puppet, no-strings-attached

Not a crook, but like a purse, your chick got snatched

Not intimate, gold-digger, money makes her cum

It's me, her, and a bag of money, three-sum

You got flushed-down-the-drain, but I'm the crap, feces

You're gone, don't make 'em like me, endangered species

Got fire-wood, leave the 'coochie' smoking like a Newport

Done with you, on to the next, long stick, but life's short

Get attached, space myself, I come around less

Bad sex, back-stabbing, bull, I ain't with the B.S

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

PISTOL READY 1

Hood fellow, pull her hair like I do the trigger
Plenty of cash, don't care if she's a gold-digger
She broke-up with her ex and got me, lost and found
Get in bed, take out my pistol, let off a round
Shoot her up, shoot her up, bang, bang
Blowing on my mic', the best song she ever sang

The chick's riding me, she started to pant

She dropped down low, started giving brain, transplant

She's eating that wood, like she's a termite

Got something to quench her thirst, but it's not sprite

I think I might go down-town, to get some dessert

She's like a water gun when she climax, squirt

Always takes showers, but she's oh so dirty

Started at three, it's going on four-thirty

Make sure I meet her needs, you're a minute man

She say I got flavor, but you're kinda' bland

I'm speeding, you get home at six, it's rush-hour

Gotta' clean up for you, hit it in the shower

She's so wet, it's like swimming in the ocean

Hop out the shower, dry off, wipe her down with lotion

Starts to get upset, said she wanted me to stay

Ain't in Florida, but she might go M.I.A

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

BAR NONE 1

No holds barred, utter defeat is what I see in those cards
No holds barred, utter defeat is what I see in those cards

It's a dirty world, but my heat's considered hand sanitizer

Made my dreams become reality, I'm not a big 'fanisizer'

My trap got cheese, but I'm trying to keep away rats

Life's a gamble, take a chance, like playing craps

Time to take you to school, and money's the topic

Smokin' on Jamaica helps me focus, I keep something tropic

Cash rules everything 'round me and it's in my pocket

That means I'm in control, if this was a plane, I'm in the cockpit

I'm a hustler, got more bricks than a construction site

I stay fresh, I'm flyer than a first-class flight

By any means necessary, hard times call for drastic measures

Get in my way, and get buried like pirate's treasures

Never see me fold, it's like I got the winning hand in Poker

I'm more dangerous than cancer in the lungs of a smoker

Talk crazy, catch a hook, how's that for a punchline

Show me the competition, I call that lunch-time

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

TAKE-OVER 2

Streets made me, that's why I bleed cement
Your hour has come, your time is spent
My strap spoils fools, expiration date
Class was in, you din't participate

Raised your hand, it's good to ask questions

Pay attention, don't cost much, even in recessions

Beginning of the end, this is a take-over

If you're sluggish, better move over

Came from the bottom, now I'm elavatin'

Fully focused, like I'm testin'

Keep my eyes on the prize, ignore distractions

Reflexes like a cat, no late reactions

Ain't playin' in movies, but I'm quick to act

I'm an over-achiever, I never lacked

Like an all-in pot, I gave it everything

Married to the game, I got it a ring

Devoted to money, never catch me cheatin'

To me, getting paid is better than skeetin'

Hustling is like Viagra for making cash

At times it gets hard, and it makes it last

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Imagism | |

The Red Symphony

A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.

They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief 
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf 
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.

From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare: 
Carnati - sausages  kept in special aromatic smoke 
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears 
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost; 
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail, 
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
                                                                              
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled 
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled 
 And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.

This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
 
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it  the pickles cucumbers jar.)

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

BAR NONE 2

No holds barred, utter defeat is what I see in those cards
No holds barred, utter defeat is what I see in those cards

Read these cowards faces like pages of a book

Haters wanna steal my fame, they're something like a crook

They must think I'm a tree, lumber-jackin', trying to see me fall

Can't stop my hustle, pockets on full, theirs looking small

I stay on my feet, similar to a pair of shoes

I'm the Road-runner, they're Wiles-E-Coyote--doing nothing but lose

See me, I'm ballin', even if I was injured I wouldn't quit

When I Rap, I'm a cobra, straight-venom I spit

I see no competition, in this game I'm a predator

Fools get out of place, get erased, call me an editor

I'm the talk of the town, females gossipin', haters hatin'

Hottest in the streets, this ain't an election, no debatin'

I took a couple losses, came across and fought a couple bosses

It's a dirty game, like a mouth you never brushes or flosses

Stay on point, I'm sharper than barb-wire

I'm the king 'round here, so you can call me Sire

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Clerihew | |

Not, yet

I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: The Infinite Magic of Lyricism

Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.


(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Triplet-3

Teri Yaaden Mirch Ki Tarah Teekhi Hain
Jab Bhi Aati Aankhen Nam Kar Jaati Hain

Roz Main Tumko Cheeni Kha Ke Sochta Hun.

Copyright © Md. Parwez Alam | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

PISTOL READY 2

Hood fellow, pull her hair like I do the trigger
Plenty of cash, don't care if she's a gold-digger
She broke-up with her ex and got me, lost and found
Get in bed, take out my pistol, let off a round
Shoot her up, shoot her up, bang, bang
Blowing on my mic', the best song she ever sang

Got flavor, cold with all this ice, like a 'Slurpee'

Got something for your chick to drink, she slurps me

Definitely ain't praying, but she gets on her knees

Her head game is fire, nine-hundred-degrees

It's like she's educating me, gives me good brain

While she's down there, I pull her hair, like a horse's mane

She's a vampire, sucking on the neck of my second head

Not the one on my shoulders, but the one used in bed

She told me to eat her out, went down and bit it

She can't stand violence, but loves the way I hit it

Beat the 'Coochie' up, bedroom turned into a boxing arena

Call it domestic violence, no court, no subpoena

Riding me, I'm thinking 'bout gettin' her a saddle

We rocking the boat right now, ain't got a paddle

Making a movie, this the best part, 'bout to climax

She loves when I come over, got everything her man lacks

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Letter From God

Why are we so stupid, Lord?
Why do we yell and shout,
rant and rave, pillage and kill?
Why do we cheat and lie,
ignore and disdain, 
leave and abandon?

We could all be so close,
so loving, so kind...
we share the same things:
the fresh air, the blue sky,
the rich moonlit nights.
We all have the same fears--
loneliness and sickness,
poverty and death.

And we all hold fast
to the same dreams: 
friends, family, a lover,
perhaps happy children
whirling like small dervishes
in their own little worlds.
A bit of praise, a kind word,
Work that goes well. 

I wrote this as a poem
but it is really a prayer.
I spoke it aloud so many 
times, even unto the thick 
part of the blackest night
until I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke the next morn,
the mail had come early.
I opened an envelope
that had no stamp.
Handwritten in unreal beauty,
it began quite formally:
Dear Mr. and my name,
I have broken my own rule
to write you, but you are
so very persistent!

If life were easy,
you would not feel alive.
If love were easy,
you would not value it.
And if I were easy,
you would never seek me.

Faithfully yours,
God

 

Copyright © len carber | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Frog Prince - Part 2

She was agog, that from the bog,
a prince emerged from being a frog.
Who now proceeded to proclaim
the exalted nature of his name,
‘I am the bold, the great Prince Gons,		
whose fame is sung in many songs,
to whom this land around belongs.’		

Heart a-flutter, she did mutter,
in a voice that had slight stutter,			
‘Please kind sir, will you will assist me,			
ever grateful to you I‘ll be.’
As they sat within the mire,
she awakened his desire,
setting both their hearts afire.

‘I implore you, I’ll adore you.
Something, anything I’ll do for you.			
Just name your price, I know the king,
he’ll give you almost everything,			
if you will take me back to him.’
Then Gons, in bliss, could not resist,
from giving her another kiss.

But sad to say, the curse still lay,
in changing things about that day,
now, to his horror, Prince Gons found,			
that everything just turned around.
he stood transfixed with mouth agape 			
and watched his loved as she changed shape, 		
from being a princess to an ape!				

How to escape from being an ape,					
restore her to her heavenly shape,
was all the prince could think about,
and wondering what he might try out,
he felt he must again persist,
in giving her a further kiss,
upon her facial orifice.

But sad to say it was still May,
and when things turned about that day.	
they could not then turn back again,
so kissing her was quite in vain.
But being by her beauty blessed,
its swift return became Gons quest,
to search, to seek with ne’er a rest.		

Whilst holding hands in foreign lands, 				
Prince Gons oft called those angel bands,
to tell him how he might restore,
his princess back to him once more,
and all this time she did abide,
beside his side and could not hide,			
her longing looks to be his bride.

Far, far and wide they both did roam,
no place on earth they could call home.
for no one knew how to dispel, 
the curse of that black witch’s spell,
until at last the good Prince Gons, 
came to acknowledge all his wrongs,
to be more loving he now longs.

Hope seemed quite lost when Prince Gons found
a hidden cave far underground
a wise one told him straight and true,
‘Timing will break this spell for you.
Choose the right month, choose the right time
and everything will work out fine.
A bright full moon will make her thine.’

To end neatly, to end sweetly,
finishing now this tale completely,
Prince Gons at length he did regain,
his princess back to him again,
first kissing her when it was noon,
then in the light of the full bright moon,
not in the month of May, but June. 

Copyright © David Furlong | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

PLAYER 2

I spit game proper, like a pro-batter, I got the right stroke
I work deals, like it's Black-Friday, I'm far from broke
I can't help but make the girl proud and gay
Want some of my time, like takes, you too gotta' pay

Like a hole, she do nothing but dig me

I'm like Kurmit the frog, she's miss Piggy

She can't leave me alone, like a mother to an infant

Like soft soil, I step in her life, leave an imprint

I handle her with care, like a fragile antique plate

When she express her feelings, I pretend I can relate

Never catch me cheatin', I'm a true player

I run her, if she's a city, I'm the mayor

Your chick left with me, not coming back--runaway

You ain't do her right, I took her in like a stray

Chicks throwin' me that pussy-cat, do I look like a vet?

They call me Super-soaker, the way I get 'em wet

My damsels come in pairs, like a set of earings

I don't put up with their problems,

I ain't a Judge handling hearings

Want your chick back, take her, can't get a receipt

Funny, how I got you off rhythm, moving to my beat

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet | |

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ATMOSPHERE

I am a party animal, my heritage is mixed
quite content to lounge about when conditions remain fixed. 

Suppose that’s the nobility which Krypton must provide,
maintaining stiff upper lip when I’m all buzzed inside.

Then too, I’m mostly nitrogen, which is very stable, 
tamping volatility of oxygen: it’s able

to combine with hydrogen (that’s also in my make up).
Uncontrolled? Oh that would lead to an explosive break up.

Carbon Dioxide? Its percentage varies night and day:
vegetative respiration, or so the boffins say.

I wonder why I don’t glow multicoloured in a storm:
my neon, argon, radon being Vegas lighting norm.

If I had more Helium the humans would sound squeaky.
I imagine the attraction of that chap Enrique

Would suffer greatly from affliction. He’d become mundane,
and prove downright offensive if I gave him more methane.

I’ve also Nitrogen Oxide, not Nitrous NO2, 
and a soupçon of ozone which had once protected you

from harmful rays from Out There much more than now is measured.
It seems that humans cannot see what really should be treasured.

I’m moved by friction of the Earth and pressure off the bat
while Coriolis effect pushes me this way and that:

north and south of the equator, the opposite I spin.
Any other speculations, my friends, are simply wind.

Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014