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Prose Poetry Humorous Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Humorous

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Because Education Is Important

The last time I had seen this particular cousin of mine, I was still in college and he had a head full of hair. In between, there had been three funerals, two weddings and four births in our Trojan royalty of a family. I had been a university graduate for a year, and the prospect for a job, a decent one at that, had started to grow dimmer by the day. He asked, “Will you tutor my daughter?” “Yes!” I said. And we set out immediately. He, on his bike and I, on my motorcycle following him. We took a right turn at the famous landmark of the statue of demoness Putana, sitting on the grass with her bosom out and legs spread forward. He introduced me to his wife and daughter. Telling them to stand side by side, he told me, “She's only eleven, but look at her! Already equal in length and width to her mother, who is no delicate petal herself. Do you think you can teach her GK?” 

The universe wasn't made with dissent. Plus, the chicken samosas were really delicious. I tried on a grin while the overachieving pre-teen bustled around the room showing me her accolades for painting, singing, studying. As I left he pointed at a tree, “Do you know what tree is that?”

“Bael?” I answered thoughtfully. 

“Apple. That's an apple tree.” 

“Oh! Does it bear fruit?” 

“Not in this climate!” He laughed out loud.





---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 30 / 11 / 2016
Contest: James Tate
Sponsor: Space Cadet

Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ANNOYING GAME

ANNOYING GAME

Annoying Game
Cheers
quite annoying
voices mutter
quiet chatter
huddled in confusion

Boring broadcasters
feigns excitement
children watching 
not so mellow drama

The curse preventing
Felix the cat's first act
more chatter accompanies 
horrible organ music.

Resounding cheers
Greeks speaks
plays called.
"he walks the bases "
on cleats.

Dinner is served
on T.V. trays
Uncle does not move
He sits on the throne 
commandeering black
and white screens
with rabbit ears.

I wait for the final cheers
Of the win, Yes, It’s over
or the Boo's for losers
Baseball, way to ruin
a child's summer.!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wrinkles

Wrinkle, wrinkle on my face…

Couldn't you have found some other place ?

What made you furrow between my eyes ?

And all those creams, they are nothing but lies….

When I look in the mirror, all I can see…

Is a silver haired person staring back at me….

Then there are the lines , which run down the sides of my nose…

Running in circles, round my lips, down my neck and into my clothes….

Speaking of clothes , isn’t that where the wrinkles should be ?

Is nature playing a trick on me ?

Or is this a sign “ old “ is sneaking up on me ?

It seems only yesterday I was a young girl .. and had my whole life ahead of me…

So simple..so free……

Which don’t take me wrong I have enjoyed my life’s ride…

And there isn’t much in my life, I haven’t tried….

But it should would be nice if I could just see…

Myself with one less wrinkle…when I looked back at me…..

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Tree's Blog

George and his stupid acorns.
He has no sense of boundaries--
danged things falling on my head.
And Celia. She thinks she's all that
with her new clothes: red, yellow,
green, orange. How passe!
And then Baldy, the coward,
so afraid of winter he went stark
naked even before fall started.
And here come  those helicopters again,
courtesy of Myrtle the maple. 
They get into absolutely everything.
Sometimes I think I'm the only one with
any sense around here. You won't
see MY leaves going all psychedelic
or turning brown or flying helicopters.
Me? I stay green all year round, and 
I don't go dropping leaves and nuts 
all over the place. Sure, I have cones, 
but they're actually more like accessories.
You can use them in arts and crafts 
and as Christmas ornaments,
Speaking of Christmas, what month is it?
November you say? Late November?

Wait! What are you going to do with that ax?
Hey, let's talk about this...   
				8/24/15

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Car

My Car
If my car had a mind of it's own
(Which I think it does sometimes)
It would honk its horn in horror
As the hoodlum disguised a mechanic
Attempted to open its hood
And visit ruthless abuse upon it
It would activate its alarm
Causing alarm and despondency
Its engine would roar menacingly and it
Would keep its hood firmly 'clenched'
Refusing to let this hoodlum lay
His dirty hands on it
Its lights would flash and its siren 
Would wail
Causing the mechanic to run off
In bewilderment unsure how to fix this 'problem'

Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ToeNail Fungus

Injustices, victimization,
oppression and other yucky events
of diverse varieties,
are like toe nail fungus:
1. both alarming and embarrassing
2. who knows where it came from
3. we would appreciate it if it would return
from wherever to whatever,
as long as it's away from me.

My kids taught me everything I never wanted to know
about the sufferings of injustice,
while my husband taught me everything I never wanted to know
about the inadequacies of my pathetic attempts at mercy.

"What happened to the chicken casserole
that was still cooling?!"

I used to believe this was a reasonable question
that I should rationally answer.

"Well, Ms. Fetal Alcohol Daughter
decided to eat it without using her hands,
because you told her not to touch anything.
That's why her face looks like the remnants of baked chicken,
mashed potatoes,
and I believe the green stuff might be peas
from ear to ear and a spot on her forehead
and all over her chin,
although her hands remain surprisingly pristine."

However, over the sometimes tumultuous years
of further victimization and mutual oppression,
I have learned to hear these questions,
about domestic and other political suffering and loss
loudly exclaiming injustice, 
as rhetorical opportunities.

"As a kindness to you
I choose to pretend that was a rhetorical question.
Because we seldom really want to know
from whence comes toenail fungus,
or any other of the diverse angry adolescent behaviors
causing cosmic dissonance
and climatic behavioral disorders
as they are doing their best with defiant-compliance."

I don't know, it just feels kinder to say it,
and see self-neglect of wise choices,
this way.

Makes me feel a little more
like WildYeast absorbing nutritious toenail fungus.

1. Embarrassed and Terrified by my own failures to actively love healthy choices,
all the time,
with every co-fungus I meet.
in each moment of oppositionally defiant dialectical opportunity for redirection
through basic regenerative/degenerative, co-arising MidWay=TippingPoint=Yang/Yin wu-wei 
reiterative dipolar attendance 
to co-empathic bilateral balance.

2. Not really wanting to spend a lot of time thinking about my own climatic interior and exterior landscape history;
health-and-safety issues of self-and-other neglect.

3. Feeling like we already nondually co-arise in this permaculturally regenerative, health-revolving repurposing normative-natural value, merit, worth, dignity, honor, purpose, ecotherapy, coempathic ToeNail Fungus DeComposition, as we cogravitate back where EcoParasitic Elders were comin' from:
your wealth evolves from where you ecologically invest your feet,
avoid infestation,
keep them movin' across healthy soil
in clean water
breathin' fresh breezes.

Wild Yeast
breathing in ecosystemic nutrients
breathing out toenail fungus.
.


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Elimination of Stress and Strife in My Life

Broke the Rules...
Left some clues...
I'm a fool...
Living in a cesspool...

I hear the economy is bad...
And getting worse each day...
Although it hasn't affected me in any way..
I can even keep kosher if I choose.
So what do I have to lose ?...
I get three meals a day..
And sometimes a snack...
Clean clothes everyday I put on my back..
Exercise is a daily routine..
that I choose to do ..and it keeps me lean..
My quarters are small..but after all..
We have a room with a big color TV...
And a place for family and friends who visit me...
Healthcare ? not a problem you see..
As I don't pay for insurance like thee...
Problem with teeth...rectified
Education, Degree, I can even be Certified..
Because unlike you, who lives outside..
You need to work to survive...
Now I'm a part of the system you see..
And have it much easier than any of thee..
I broke the law and now pay the price...
But I'm still better off than your lousy life...
And when I'm released, I will qualify for...
Medicaid, Medicare and even more...
So you may have done it different than me...
But in "old age ", we're equal you see...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Matter of Creativity


Capital letter …

Right now, please note: it is time to dust, not write.

Dust was eating away this besieged body;
Amassing with all the misery that delights in ambush.
It crept into secret crevices,
Quietly dulling senses, as it blended in;
Softly choking, mimicking flu,
Before weaving a blanket so thick
It embraced and insulated;
Gently burying body under the weight of
An elephantine duvet with speaking tongues.

Write now, right now that house pride has succumbed to ash
As caked and empty cans and bottles decorate.
The dustman hurried by the empty drum
For rubbish barricaded the front door.

The inconvenience: to eat, drink, shop, to pay bills
Without leaving one’s desk these days.
Friends and adversaries seep out of pens,
Alphabetically springing to colourful life.
Who dares miss a thought so precious, so elusive –
Might never occur again.

So grasp it, rack it; right, left lobe battle dire emotions and reason.
Let dust prevent thoughts from leaving from whence it came.
Incarcerate all grey matters. 
Now one can write how it feels to have dust as qwerty companion.
Then fling open the door,
Let light and the world in.
Shout: “I write because I can.”  
Full stop … Exclamation mark!
End.

(PS: begin again.)

Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pocket Full of Stones

Belts, switches, bricks, and near misses
Broken boys starring as established men
Police whistles, leather shoes clamouring
down city  alleyways slick as a polished floor.
White clubs swing, black heads snap
against the dingy lines that hold
brick walls together. The devil gives chase 
up to and into the pearly gates
heaven ain't safe.
Hide and seek high in steeples
I  once read, He has no equal, so
why does the human race run in so 
many horrible sequels?
Guide me O Lord before I fall 
a thousandth time. 
Does salavation have 
a dotted line I could sign? 
Looking for clues in my girl's arousal,
 a simple touch is trending as she
lays trembling. Moan filled
responses better known as M.F.R.s, 
spill of satisfaction, fades,
but is always everlasting;
as quickly as it recedes  
My mental hum throbs again
A sea of thought washes over me
and I'm overboard, overheard saying
What's my name? twice. I don't think my son
will ever be the same after hearing 
mommy's answer.
Amazing how a picture is painted.
Without ever mentioning it, 
you envision it. Coming back to shore,
tallying up the score
Motorcades and dimples, bullets and tinted windows, 
clean sheets dirtied, a president 
is laid to rest after having created another agency 
in an already clogged system titled the C.S.D. 
A place where no one ever gets answers
but finds sleep immediately. 
As I start to drift out of my writer's mind
and saltwater cascades and filters through sand
I'm reminded howa man can live a lifetime 
and die to soon.
"He without sin," He said. I walked away
with a pocket full of stones.
Sin is a pile of rocks, broken men carry.
J.F.K, M.L.K., M.O.U.S.E. 
Reset button pushed.
To be a kid again wondering why
daddy is asking mommy such a ridiculous question
when sins washed away
and a stone thrown
was a pebble against a window 
to see if the girl's sleep
waiting for her light to turn on...

Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Climate Change

I’ve been trying to figure out why five toes on each foot is considered normal, or why two ears and two eyes and one nose is considered normal, or why when I look in the mirror I look older than I did when I was twenty or thirty because aging is considered normal. Then I started to think about all the animals that lived in the jungle and wondered if they thought it was normal to spend a lot more of time hunting for food?  That’s when the study of biology and mathematics and chemistry and astronomy took on a new meaning. I realized that mankind needed the word normal so we would be able to recognize what was abnormal like the amount of carbon dioxide that was polluting the air or the fact that the snow and the rain had become smarter than the Climatologists who thought they could forecast the weather without considering the word change.  

Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Daylight Savings Time

Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between what’s humorous and what’s not. It’s like trying to understand how daylight savings time impacts your sleep when you work in your yard or when you’re a cop walking a daytime beat on the street or when you’re old and retired and don’t have to set the alarm on your clock.  When it gets warm and the grass starts to grow you spring forward an hour and when it starts to get cold and the leaves fall from the trees you fall backwards an hour. 

I think if the ancient gods and goddesses knew about what we 21st century humans do with our clocks they’d laugh really hard at how we try to manipulate the truth about time with our electronic clocks. Then again maybe they’d get angry at our daylight saving time antics and decide to dim the light of the sun, or hide the moon from our eyes, or make all the white clouds disappear from the sky because they might also struggle like me with knowing the difference between what’s humorous and what’s not. 

Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Did Santa Claus Broke The Reindeer Back

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.

Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Caution : NRA Possibility

Walking through the woods early in the day...

Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...

All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....

On this the first hunting day of the year.....

It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...

So footprints will tell me where to go...

I can track by smell....

And I’ve been told pray tell....

That Man is getting smarter every single year..

Which means a lot... to my friends in here...

But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...

I’ve never lived or been to the city....

But trust me.. cause when I’m done..

And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....

I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
  
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
       or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nikhil Chandwani releases his poetry book titled Ink'd With Love

The must awaited poetry book by a national awardee Nikhil Chandwani has finally been released. With high expectations and very high potential buyers due to his massive fan support, Nikhil finally released his poetry book titled Ink'd With Love.

There have been books on teenagers and there have been books on their emotions but somehow, these images are not of only one individual. Hence a new poetry book that is titled Ink'd With Love.  It involves many romantic poems written by a national award winner, Nikhil Chandwani.. At every stage of the teenager’s life he or she faces deception, is cheated and the hurt refuses to go away. It is an interesting portrayal of the neo-adult life- where aspirations are on the high, the zeal to make a difference for oneself is acute- and still the mind is overlapped with childlike innocence ready to take the deadly plunge into the real mayhem of chaotic existence. What seems rosy attracts but the taste of reality is later bittersweet leaving a long lasting impact in the reader’s mind- giving him the chance to identity with the protagonist.

Much of the work comes across as poetic images, disjointed sentences… the stream of consciousness that pervades the young… they do so many things at the same time. They live their own lives and also lives of others around them. It affects them and yet they are unable to perceive the feelings as one whole. Some can take the hurt along with the accolades but some are unable to take the hurt. They suffer broken, disjointed lives and some are even forced to give up the struggle. This is the life of a teenager portrayed by one of the fastest rising author from India, Nikhil Chandwani. 
This is his second book. First one of an international best seller 

Nineteen year old Nikhil Chandwani is a prolific writer. He writes fictional stories for various magazines, newspapers and websites. He is a gifted lyricist, best selling author (I wrote your name in the sky) and a national award winning poet rolled into one. He is, at present, pursuing his engineering degree from VIT Vellore.

Copyright © Nikhil Chandwani | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

April And The Lost Stamina Sussex County I

-Honey go to the Dr
-April I don't know Am I still alive?
-Do it for Us, ours strive
-And the watcher what I should say?
-Tell him the all system was hacked 
 
-The all system was hacked William (Blush)
-we going to do some tests now 

"this guy is one in a million"

Two weeks 
1000 Doc critiques 
indecision
Deliberation: -Not going.
April goes to the office, -so Easy going how is he?
Good so far The CPU is Ok, Keyboard and Screen Alright 
The power A-L-W-A-Y-S in save E mode 
See this <| ...
He will never again hit the road with full load 

Copyright © PEDROS FERNANDES | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Let us Talk

There was no one better
 At handling disputes
 Than him
 Late at night
 All alone
 In the dark
 You could hear him
 Practicing for his next debate
 We all knew
 That the title they gave him
 Was so richly deserved
 Stan Smith
 Masterdebator

Copyright © CJ Krieger | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hymn of the Oklahoma Seasons

Hymn of the Oklahoma Seasons (Chronological)

A Monotonic Recite



Bitter reclusive
Comforter of sorrows
Isolated Fire
& Cocoa
A little family goes a long way

Optimism blossoms 
with a bouquet of flowers
or a box of chocolates
in life & death
wave at the neighbors

Impatient
Short conversations
Peak ladies fashion
Everybody wants to be somewhere else
Road rage

Bipolar in order
Dreary and hopeful
Restful and playful
Which will it be
Truly the best smells

Prost!

Copyright © Brian Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nikhil Chandwani releases his poetry book titled Ink'd With Love

The must awaited poetry book by a national awardee Nikhil Chandwani has finally been released. With high expectations and very high potential buyers due to his massive fan support, Nikhil finally released his poetry book titled Ink'd With Love.

There have been books on teenagers and there have been books on their emotions but somehow, these images are not of only one individual. Hence a new poetry book that is titled Ink'd With Love.  It involves many romantic poems written by a national award winner, Nikhil Chandwani.. At every stage of the teenager’s life he or she faces deception, is cheated and the hurt refuses to go away. It is an interesting portrayal of the neo-adult life- where aspirations are on the high, the zeal to make a difference for oneself is acute- and still the mind is overlapped with childlike innocence ready to take the deadly plunge into the real mayhem of chaotic existence. What seems rosy attracts but the taste of reality is later bittersweet leaving a long lasting impact in the reader’s mind- giving him the chance to identity with the protagonist.

Much of the work comes across as poetic images, disjointed sentences… the stream of consciousness that pervades the young… they do so many things at the same time. They live their own lives and also lives of others around them. It affects them and yet they are unable to perceive the feelings as one whole. Some can take the hurt along with the accolades but some are unable to take the hurt. They suffer broken, disjointed lives and some are even forced to give up the struggle. This is the life of a teenager portrayed by one of the fastest rising author from India, Nikhil Chandwani. 
This is his second book. First one of an international best seller 

Nineteen year old Nikhil Chandwani is a prolific writer. He writes fictional stories for various magazines, newspapers and websites. He is a gifted lyricist, best selling author (I wrote your name in the sky) and a national award winning poet rolled into one. He is, at present, pursuing his engineering degree from VIT Vellore.

Copyright © Nikhil Chandwani | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

mosquito and man

MOSQUITO AND MAN
Oh no! Why do men hate me so much? From incarnation even as I try to make my legs and hands and buttocks as small as anything! So they can’t say am competing with their colossal legs and hands and their protruding buttocks!
They say; we knew it! Right from the first sight, he was bent on evil with the ulterior motive that, whenever he perches on the sweet succulent, fresh, flesh - of ours, it won’t be noticed. Because he believes men are fools after all, big brains are not found in big bodies.
Men are evil.  As I try to befriend, the more they inflict pains on me. Ok! I feel rejected and dejected by men, I considered it and thought it wise to detach myself from men by living in nearby bushes and rejected dumped waste and refuse.
They say; ah! Mosquito, you always make use of that little sense of yours. It is all pretence; you love men so much that you can’t live without them! Ok, if you say you want detachment, why must it be near men’s homes, or their dumped refuse and liquid waste? Why not very far at the desert so men won’t complain again. You love men! It is even clear as you lay your eggs where you feel you hate.
Men are ignorant. Ungrateful idiots! Their brains are stuffed with manure. Ok! If I hate men, why should I use the talent God gave me to make them comfortable? I use the best musical instrument; harp, flute with my wonderful composing way of singing, just to make them happy yet they detest me. Ok! How many men are musicians? How many even use the talent God gave them? Since God made me a musician from incarnation I will continue to use the talent, no matter how men feel.
Mosquito, Jackson of the age. You sing and even dance for men’s comfort! But the question is, if you love men as such, Why must the benevolent be a sort of boring? Why must it be at odd hours in the night made for resting? Even as we say stop! You still continue your singing. We don’t need it please! Your singing is a discomfort for men.
Ok! What of the affection I show to prove my love? I kiss your flesh and blood, just like any other man does by kissing the tongue and saliva of a female partner for love! Do you appreciate it at all? All I get from you are rancor and malice. Our judgment will be in heaven certainly.
The problem with you (mosquito) is that you don’t accept fault, very controversial and a very big threat to man. That is what you are! Accept your nature. You say you show affection, ok! Have heard of a man who kisses and inflicts pain on the partner? Perhaps by eating up the tongue or ejecting poisonous liquid in the partner’s mouth? But when you kiss, you disfigure our flesh and inject malaria into our bodies. Is that what you call love? We don’t want such affection, just know that; once you come around, we are at alert and always ready to strike! Let the worst happen in your so called heaven.

Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE SNOW RAIN

its not starking
its falling
its the lords calling
it can be a pain
the 
SNOW RAIN

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ITS COLD DRESS WELL

 wear socks
the coat that locks
 a hat be a smart bat
slick like a cat
move like a rat
the weather beat
just be neat
listen to holiday bells
ITS COLD
DRESS WELL

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I WOKE UP ONE MORNING

I woke up one morning
and what did I see
a face in the mirror which wasn't me,
my nose was a ski slope 
as long as a piece of rope,
staring back at me were scary bulging eyes 
big and round as pizza pies,
a thick torso with arms heavy and plump
looking strong enough to haul boxes at the dump,
all balanced on two legs built like piano stools,
strong enough to carry a couple of mules,
a tummy as round as Santa's belly,
each time I moved it swished like jelly,
to my surprise the alarm rang loud and clear,
making me jump up in dreaded fear,
quickly I looked at my cracked mirror
glad  to discover my image was clearer,
I no longer was a grotesque figure in a nightmare,
thank goodness my looks are normal and fair.

September 11, 2016

Body words used:  face, nose, eyes, torso, arms, legs




Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Responses to Reflexive Daydream

But my love had wanted me to close my eyes. She awaited that moment for an eternity with
unrivaled patience. For she was in love with the water and waited only for me to close my
eyes so that her escape could happen without my perception. I was the scapegoat for my
love. What a cruel twist of irony: the reason I was unhappy would seemingly be of my
fault. How amazingly spiteful that the one I loved so much allowed me to wallow in
self-pittance while she made off with her true love. Her true love that lurked so calmly
undetected, yet was there the whole time. 

My love floated, dead, alongside my boat. I continued to ride as the boat smoothly and
steadily headed toward shore. In an almost humorous obedience, my love stayed alongside
the boat. Caught in the wake, her non-seeing eyes saw everything but saw nothing. Her
beauty was unharmed and the water made her shimmer and sparkle with the sun's rays. If
this was how it was going to be, I was okay with it. My love was happy. As I rode closer
to shore, my love's body slowly started to float higher up on the water. Her eyes became
less whited. As the boat slid up onto the soft, white sand, her laid half-in, half-out of
the lake. Without hesitation, I bent down and lifted her into my arms. As she awoke from
the sleep of death, she coughed and gasped. I whispered I love you as our embrace grew.

Copyright © Nicholas Westerhausen | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tom's Super Quiz Poet's Contest

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 
tom way.
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 
howl.

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 
experience...).
And everyone is welcome to comment on other entries, so long as appropriate 
respect and clean language is abided to.
Good Luck!!!!
                                                 tom bell

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Train to White City

Slouching on the evening train
Ravelling through old anxieties,
It better than eye contact with robots
Haplessly Shuffling on and off 
The deepest and fondest memories appear
Through the thorny ripples of mind
Speeding down memory lane
First memory, first bike, first bruise
First Day of school, no front teeth
Fast forward to first date, 
Sloppiness of that first awkward kiss
First love pangs of distress
Until at last your realize
You passed your flaming stop.

Copyright © Karen Cleaver-Bascombe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Panning for Rhymes -- an old miner's tale

Well, now– It was sometime in the spring of ‘49 
just ‘round Memorial Day in the Land O’ Freedom... 
or so they call it. Anyways, I was sittin’ up behind 
them hills... Y’know, nexta where God ‘n’ Hell 
musta had some sorta fuss or ‘nother. Sorta desert. 
Sorta not. And I was pannin’ fer rhymes– I kept 
comin’ up dry– when alluvasudden straight outta 
the ground there’s this tinklin’, twinklin’ musical sound. 
So I eyeballed the pan and gave it a twitch. Some verbs 
and an adjective peppered the dish. Good stuff, I s’pose. 
Fer a yarn they’d bin fine, but not fer perfessional-lookers-fer-rhymes. 
So I swished ‘em a little and shook ‘em again to see if that tinklin’ 
mightn’t be kin to the one that I found in the gully that night. 
It’d had to be good, or it wouldn’t fit right. Them poets won’t 
shell-out fer less than a pair cuz one by itself leaves ‘em 
pullin’ their hair. So ya gotta find more than a couple that fit 
or poets ‘ll fake it and some ‘ll just quit and some ‘ll just hope 
no one says that it’s..... Y’ know..... Call ‘emselves "nou-veau" 
and claim it’s legit. ‘Nuffa that, I s’pose.

I looks fer them twinklin’ musical words that rhymes like 
the first time they’s ever been heard. I sure ain’t the first one 
that’s panned in them hills. My pappy before me turned up 
a few thrills and somewhere or ‘nother done found a whole line. 
But me, I ain’t happy unless it’ll rhyme. They’re there, 
I can hear them– they tickle the breeze! I’ll stick it out long 
as there’s poets to please. If y’ expected a yarn, or to hear 
miners cuss– I’s pannin’ fer rhymes and not dirt in the dust!

Hmph, what’s that ya got there?

Copyright © Kevin Taylor | Year Posted 2016