Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
A is for Acrostic, where the first letter of each line spells a word
B is for Burlesque, a poetic type bordering on absurd
C is for Clerihew, a short and humorous verse
D is for Didactic, meant to improve morals at first
E is for Epithalamium, written for a groom and his bride
F is for Free Verse, where the rules go and hide
G is for Ghazal, with a shared rhyme and refrain
H is for Haiku, getting it just right is a pain
I is for Iambic Pentameter, which is the poetic beat
J is for Jargon, where real and fake words do meet
K is for Kwansaba, another non-rhyming form
L is for Limerick, where many a giggle has been born
M is for Monorhyme, the same rhyme on each line
N is for Narrative, which tells a story every time
O is for Ode, a lengthy, lyrical poem
P is for Pastoral, describing the rural life I call home
Q is for Quatrain, rhyming verses with lines that count four
R is for Romanticism, think of the Romeo and Juliet score
S is for Sonnet, fourteen lines with a conventional scheme
T is for Tanka, first appearing on the Japanese scene
U is for Unique, which every written poem wants to be
V is for Villanelle, repeating lines one and three
W is for Worthwhile, which I think most poems are
X is for X-cellent, those poems written by stars
Y is for Youngsters, who should start writing their own
Z is for Zebra, my own black and white poem
So pick up your pen and try your hand at these styles
Included in poems makes the written word smile
I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.
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.)
While preparing 1001 soups
For the last night of this year
I wrote a poem,
My only good poetry, ready to win the 1st Prize;
But I dropped it in…Soup.
Ah, life would surely be tasteless without a ladle of Soup each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!
There is romantic verse, hot and spicy, to warm the cockles of the heart!
Inspirational and insightful poems from the poets' very souls to impart!
So delightful are the witty and humorous ditties that evoke a grin,
And so are the spiritual writes that warn us against the perils of sin!
We learn so much from the historical ballads written by our creative peers,
And read of the vicissitudes of life that bring the hardest of hearts to tears!
Others write of the brave deeds of soldiers that swell our breasts with pride.
Still, others write of the grandeur of God's Creation so great and wide!
'Tis so pleasing to read glowing tributes to others written from the soul!
We enjoy tales of cowboys, their saddle sores and favorite watering hole!
Poetry Soup offers splendid opportunities for budding poets and is first rate,
But the folks who ladle out the Soup to receptive minds are what make it great!
Ah, life would certainly not be complete without my Soup 'fix' each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in David Williams' "Life Without Soup" Contest - February 2012
Stop writing haikus
They don’t even make sense now
Something something cake
Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.
(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")
To Dine, To Die;
While thunderous eyes
Grasp concepts to recycle.
Constant debt crisis
A political paradox
Grating social devices
Over the sorting of socks.
An endless groan
The debate grants no throne.
Over a roast
Potatoes won't listen
To who talks the most.
"That point is so interesting"
The floor is open for chat
"What is real?" not a thing
"Meow" adds the cat.
Firm and hard in your hand;
swift movement like a fairy and her wand.
Gentle but bold as the tip rubs the surface,
each stroke is a new reason to be amazed.
An honor, a pleasure if you have it.
Many would crave for because it lit
up the sparks in your eyes and heart
to be able to use it for simple, pure art.
It's the birth place of ecstatic ideas.
Although the first step - many might fear
because it hurts, sometimes it bled
but after the opening it's pleasure's fed.
There are many ways to use
this fantastical item - a mind's muse:
either lay it down flat and nothing comes out
or move it upright and see the seedlings sprout.
Black on paper, white on the page.
It's the key to your imagination's cage;
it's everyone's true start to then land they planned;
it's this pencil, this pencil in my hand.
I do not know?
Greetings, good and kind fellow Soup-ers!
'Tis wonderful, I say,
to be a Soup-er, so if I may,
I humbly request you to lay down your pen dipped in fine ink,
and visit my blog which can be found at the following link:
Now if this blatant self-promoting of mine seems rude,
I ask for your generous forgiveness, dear fellow Soup-er,
And wish you a day, that is peaceful, kind, and just plain super!
So cheers from the scribbler for now,
and as I take leave, my fellow Soup-ers,
I, in courtesy, to you all, do bow!
Poor poetry drowns me out
Most of it my own
The day Captain Concorde did come to my school,
Was the day I first came to love poetry,
Before that day all poems were dull and not cool,
Or at least that was how it did seem to me,
I was only a kid of seven or eight,
And my grasp of poetry wasn’t so great,
But as with all children I knew what was fun,
And that includes a poet called Paul Cookson.
We all piled into the assembly hall,
And waited for our guest poet to arrive,
I didn’t know what to expect from this “Paul”,
But never could my mind have dared to contrive,
A man in a cape with a plane on his nose,
Who started to spout the most humorous prose,
And there he stood, boxers over his trousers,
We all could have listened to his work for hours.
He told us of this superhero’s story,
Then upon the class’s demands for some more,
He told us of his old teacher, most hoary,
And mimicked his walk down the school corridor,
He changed my own views of verse and I know it,
And so I’d just like to say to this poet,
You sparked inspiration within me, it’s true,
Captain Concorde, Paul Cookson, I salute you!
For Russell Sivey's Poetry about Poetry contest 8th January 2013
of wall-staring -
this drab haiku
How Santa Claus broke the reindeer back
I am just disappointed he is such a play ball; he refuses to joined the community gym, he have no consideration for a hard working reindeer like me. Please do us all a favor and stop telling everyone that you’re tall and slim Mr. Claus
Santa put this in your pipe and smokes it. I am forming a union; you can contact my Lawyer Mr. Tin Tin
I need some Fringe benefits else I am going to quit; year after year after year I chauffeur you around
This is not a smooth ride on green grass, it’s cold, cold snow “please looked around.
Breaking into people houses late at night, dropping off toys, we are plaster on every walls and poles
Santa this reindeer is off radar; you get off your fat ass or hire Casper the friendly ghost.
On a cedar board swing.
Cold beer right beside,
Looking for the “ugly” in the spring.
My mind wanders to and fro,
Looking for a spooky story.
Up top perched a crow,
Looking down at something gory.
Something starts to focus in me,
As my mind paints a Monet.
Light brush strokes I see,
Flying across my cerebral page.
Then my pen starts a flying,
Gliding in a maddened way.
So I make the crow start crying,
And make him eat the gore away.
Then my pen is between my teeth,
And I reach for my thesaurus.
To change an angry to a seethe,
See? I want you to think my vocab ain’t so porous.
Subject of poor poetry
Just like this one. Damn.
i never saw the doornail die
never caught sight of a fox that sly
i didn't cure a dog so sick
didn't steal a glance of thieves so thick
i can't walk tight a rail that thin
can't see some sight as ugly as sin
i didn't ever take any punch so pleased
or been flashed by lightening that slippery greased
i can't light bituminous coal so black
or pointedly aim as sharp as a tack
didn't touch a witch's tit so cold
- i'd feel it's not as good as gold
i can't squish in any mud so clear
or finger a lobe cute as a bug's ear
folks shout i'm as deaf as a post
in fact i'm even worser, than most
i can't hear a fiddle so fit
in fact i don't give a - damn
a simile is as cool as winter's rain
so i utter them like, again, and again
true, i'm as buzzed as a bee so busy
but i don't think a bee's like a simile, is he?
© Goode Guy 2013-03-06
Groovin’ on Rondelets,
I find this short form amusing and intriguing.
Groovin’ on Rondelets,
the hours whittle away, a person forgets
about necessities, like eating and sleeping.
It’s a silly kind of song that I keep singing,
“Groovin’ on Rondelets.”
I do not know?
Yes, indeed, Mr. John Heck is the winner with his answer-"Tulips"; His reasoning
is as follows...Keyboard humor; a somewhat off color joke I've heard, and
apparently, so has John, which goes: What's better than roses on your piano?
Tulips on your organ. I hope no one is offended, none intended. If so, please
accept my apolology. (And, I would believe, John's, should anyone feel that
necessary...which they should not.) The next clue; Namesakes come in pairs;
Two Lips. Third; "I sound like a part of you"; Lips. Fourth; Sweet to the senses;
Tulips...(I would add, they are visually, as well as aromatically.) Fifth;
Sometimes I stretch out, and make others howl; John's answer here; Tulip
pedals stretch out. (actually, in this clue, I was alluding to when a person yawns
and their lips spread out, and how it makes other people yawn somehow.
(Another Mystery of Nature!) Sixth; Thumbs in Dikes; His comment; Tulips are
flowers that are in abundance in Holland (Netherlands). This is on target, yet I
would add, think of the children's story about the little boy who stuck his thumb in
the leak in the dike, to save the village.
In any event, Mr. John Heck is our Winner!!!! Congratulations!!! Please, everyone
note, henchforth, Mr. Heck shall be referred to as, "His Majesty, King John the
Well, Your Majesty, Good Sir King John the First, you may request a custom
poem based on any one word.
Recap to date; Contest Quiz Part No. One- Make a six line poem incorporating
the following 6 words, or phrases;"Waffle", "Roller Skate", "Latex Paint", "Bench
Press", "Coal Bin", "Police Siren". Opening day worth-10 Points, less 1 each day
after, and humorous poems from above can earn up to 10 Bonus Points max.
"The Ballad Of Tom Bell" (Sung to the tune of Rogers and Hammerstein's "My
"A bench press, a coal bin, a Six Story Waffle???
Structures that Tom made with glue and falafel!
Rollerskates dipped in Latex semi-gloss paints?
A police siren was heard to place him in restaints!
Baked beans and burgers, drank with something that fizzes,
Frantically typing his weekly pop quizzes!
His Mother Goose characters "ARE" tied up with strings,
The fun anecdotes Tom Bell's poetry sings.
Tom has dog bites!
Suffered bee stings!
He is going mad!
(And seeing things!)?
So look at this bloke
and think of yourself,
and I'm sure you won't feel
Okay folks, here we go: Super Quiz Contest; Part One: First one to accumulate
25 points total for all parts, wins....
1) Make a 6 line poem incorporating the following 6 words, or phrases" (I will
provide one bonus word to provide you a bit of choice) . Use verse libre', rhyme,
or burlesque, but I'd suggest burlesque, as that form has more value here.- the
words are "waffle", "roller skate", "Latex semi-gloss paint" "bench press" "coal
bin" and "police siren" ; 10 points max value. Humorous poems for above
(burlesque) can accumulate up to 10 bonus points. Remember, the poem
should make some sort of explainable convoluted sense, at least in the crazy
2)Part two; Answer correctly the following riddle/quiz; "I sound like a part of you,
and I'd never speak of you a'foul...but sometimes I stretch out- and make others
One clue will be posted each day, starting on the second day- up to 5 clues max.;
but each day the values decline by 1 point...Contest entries accepted up till
midnite of Sunday night, Oct 14. Winner, if any, will be announced following day,
if prize has not been won already...
May the best man, or woman, win...Based on past results, I'd say watch out for
Shar-she usually wins these, although this one is tougher than most. So best
luck to all. Winner will be granted a custom poem by me based on any one word
you choose- name, thing, etc. I may ask up to 1 1 word clue,if I need, one brief
question of clarification...
The judge's word is final...(yes, mine!!, being married 2 times, that'll be a new
And everyone is welcome to comment on other entries, so long as appropriate
respect and clean language is abided to.