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Sonnet Funny Poems | Sonnet Poems About Funny

These Sonnet Funny poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Sonnet Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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elegant giraffes

He wondered if his verse was made for fools
and cretins that splish-splash alongside whales
composing dull sonnets was chased by bulls 
- by elegant giraffes and racing snails.

Amid the chickens in his country cot,
while gulping bourbon the pig-farmer writes
his scribble verse turns to an artless blot
and straight he gulps one more for his insights

Oh, detrimental muse of his confused,
absconding inspiration that evades
his talent which was alcohol-abused,
and like the content of each bottle, fades:

......Inspiring advent of a healthy burp
made pigs and chickens to comment "superb"!

© G. V. 06-27-2013 All rights reserved

Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest Name: The Lazy Contest

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I know a scamp who chortles frabjously
as in the springtime galumphing he goes.
And just to show how wacky he can be,
he makes his tongue point up to touch his nose!

He has no wicked claws or eyes with flame
to match those of the manxome Jabberwock.
But just beware his jaws. Although he’s tame,
he can’t be stopped once he begins to talk!

I vouch that he can jabber endlessly
and have me at the end of my short rope.
My ears just might fall off one day, for he
gyres gibberish just like a gyroscope.

I dub my beamish grandson “Jabberwack”
for how he acts and how he loves to yak!

For Debbie Guzzi's "Go Ask Alice" Contest

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Christmas Wishes for You

For anyone struggling in the holiday season!!

Although there's nothing much that I could add
to all the Christmas wishes ever made,
I'll wish for you that traffic won't be bad
the day you shop and that you may get paid
some kind of Christmas bonus for a change,
and when beneath the mistletoe you stand,
I hope you're not approached by someone strange,
but rather by a stranger who is grand!
And should you be so childish (I mean bold)
to ice skate on a lake or board the snow,
I pray for you that you don't catch a cold
or break a leg as down some hill you go.
My wishes, like my gifts, are kind of cheap;
May faith in them require no giant leap!

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Note to a Lady in Waiting

The white charger's belly is bloated with hay
The helmet helm's rusted quite shut
The tack room door hinges are tearing away
The leather's un oiled  and dry
The lance is still good
It is bracing the fence
but  I traded the sword for a pen
I am presently seeking a page
So if you're still waiting
and anticipating 
A Lochinvar ending of sorts
I shall purchase wild oats for the horse
I recall how to sow them of course
With hardly a shred of remorse

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When I was a young boy,
I built a castle on the beach.
I made it from sand with my shovel-toy,
Then the waves grabbed it in their reach.
They tore my castle down,
And dragged it down into the sea.
So i took my shovel and, with a frown,
Built another castle quickly.
I built it bigger and stronger
Than the ones in the past.
I thought this one would last longer,
But its walls would no longer last.
I built a moat around the last one that day,
But the waves seemed desperate to wash them all away.

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A Brutally Honest Valentine's

My darling enigma, my dove   
You’re the epitome of my love
Your smile shines at me pearly white      
Pale skin shines and glints in the light       
Silken locks, obsidian flow
Eyes just like ice, crystalline glow        
Peals of laughter ring like a bell            
Enchant me; I’m under your spell    
You walk with a musical flow
Tiptoeing with softness through snow

But, alas, you open your mouth
Utter tripe spilling out
If only you’d keep your mouth shut.

(Love from Anonymous) 

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First crossed by a gyspy, now by a dang witch

“Close the book, ring the bell, light the candle.”
The witch’s words resounded in my ears.
My problems now were more than I could handle
and so I hoped she’d vanquish all my fears.

She stared at me across the darkened room
and then commanded me that I must stay
until my wish was granted. Then a broom
she grabbed, and out the door she flew away!

The magic lay in me, the hag had said.
I only had to wish with all my might.
But with my kind of luck, I might be dead
before I’d get what I had wished that night.

I sit here still; she’s left me with a curse!
No health care yet, and now my back is worse!

(sorry to belabor this, but now you see what preoccupies
my mind these days!! Linda's contests always seem
to bring out this topic for me lately. The gypsy referred to
in my title was in my last poem I did for Linda!)

By Andrea Dietrich for Linda-Marie's
"BELL, BOOK AND CANDLE" Poetry Contest

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Shall I Compare Thee to Your Mother's Arse

Shall I compare thee to your mother's arse?
Thou aren’t more lovely, but more flatulent.
Rough winds do shake it; and bring on a farce
And all her clothes hath all too short a rent

Sometime too hot-headed of hell doth burn,
And often is the true nature exposed;
And every foul from fowl; my stomach churns,
By reason, or by nature's raging closed.

But thy infernal diet shall ne’er start
Nor gain possession of which now I grasp;
Nor shall we meet again; let’s stay apart,
When in eternal sounds the voice does rasp,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can cry,
So long lives this, and I bid thee goodbye.

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Eight Sons

(These would include the younger brothers of Wounded Thunder, the character I made up in my previously posted poem). These were sons of Thunder Storm and “Flower,” from Wounded Thunder down to Thunder Bolt. “Bolt” was fast; the touchy one was “Shower.” And Thunder Struck was somewhat of a dolt. The cute one pampered by fair Prairie Flower well-deserved his name of Thunder Squall, and like another brother Thunder Shower, got teased, but even louder did he bawl! Both “Squall” and “Shower” vexed their brother “Cloud,” for Thunder Cloud by moodiness was led and always scowled at them for crying out loud! Great Thunder Head filled everyone with dread, but the wild son who proved the biggest sap came home infected. That was Thunder Clap!

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Happy Birthday Jenny (Kyrielle Sonnet)

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Hope your big day brings you plenty
Keep a bright smile all the way
Your mom sings your praises today

Soon you will be driving to school
Don’t forget to follow the rules
Enjoy your day with a buffet
Your mom sings your praises today

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Don’t forget to save your pennies
Wish on a star on your great day
Your mom sings your praises today

Happy birthday to you Jenny
Your mom sings your praises today

© Joseph, 8/20/2007
© All Rights Reserved

This is for the the daughter of our own poetess, Kathy.

The Kyrielle Sonnet is a French form from the Middle Ages. It has 14 lines (three 
rhyming quatrains and a non-rhyming couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase 
as a refrain in the last line of each stanza.  Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet 
has eight syllables.  There are times when a French poem links back to the 
poem’s beginning; therefore, a common practice is to combine the first line of 
the first quatrain and the refrain in each quatrain as the ending couplet for the 

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I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.

Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit. 
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.

Upside down,
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.

Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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Tasted So Good

I ate some fried catfish and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried catfish taste?
It tasted so good it made a hound dog slap a bull dog.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried chicken and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried chicken taste?
It tasted so good it made a wolf howl and a grizzly bear dance.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried crawfish and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried crawfish taste?
It tasted so good it made an alligator turn a somersault.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried rat and it tasted so bad!
I had to throw it all up in a brown paper bag.

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A Welcome For Timorous Tim

Poor Tim, the timorous, one cold dark day set out to prove that TIMID he was not! He ventured one whole night alone to stay inside the empty house his friends had sought. The house was old. . . unlocked, it beckoned Tim. He neared its door; his trepidation grew. His laughing friends grew silent watching him. He deeply breathed, then vanished from their view. Inside, Tim heard below the house a sound. He could not be a coward! With a sigh, he took the creaking stairway down and found before his eyes, a scraggly toothless guy who greeted, smilingly, the trembling lad: “It ain’t the Ritz, but welcome to my pad!” For the "Smile You're On Candid Camera Contest of vienna bombardieri

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You Again

I look out the window and what do I see
Another five inches staring at me
I'm not getting angry nor am I sad
I am laughing so loudly I think I've gone mad

I am ready to go out for a 5k run
Or I might just lay out in the sun
That old fence out there could use some stain
This weather has caused me to go insane

Please come and slap me
For my mind is absentee
Come knock me to my senses 
Don't want to stain those fences

If this winter doesn't break free
It just might get the best of me

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Gambling Shuggy—The Encounter!

"If I feel physically,
            as if the top of my head been taken off, 
                     I know it's poetry."
                       --Emily Dickenson


No money no honey from this honey
You may look but won’t rub this fine tummy;
That maybe so, but I ain’t no dummy
Shining like gold—don’t you touch this Emmy!

Pay gone, drunk, smoky, come acting thuggy,
Don’t treat me like an Egyptian mummy;
You have nerves to tell me I look yummy
Step back—know that I will not be chummy!

Say what, you will find another bunny?
Git, to your saloon playing gin rummy;
Tonight I’m keeping safe my sweet plumy
Leave—before I pull my New York Jimmy!

Swiftly, before doorknob hit your bunny,
Shuggy—I ain’t got time tonight bummy!

© Joseph, November 28, 2008
© All Rights Reserved

Poetry Soup International Poetry Contest
Semi-finalist Selection, Jan. 2009.
Poetry Soup Weekly Featured Poem 
Sunday, May 24, 2009, to May 31, 2009

Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is 
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which 
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the 
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; 
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for 
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.


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The Cell Phone Abusers

You’re at the intersection in your car,
that damn device held pressed against your ear.
You’re unaware, but we know who you are: 
the one away from whom we all will steer!

My class has barely started.  Suddenly,
inside the room is heard the strangest sound.
You leave - or worse - you talk right over me.
Is there no place a cell phone can’t be found?

I’m at the movies. Bleep, bleep, bleeping bleep.
Another one. . . and music starts to play!
And then you start conversing? Why, you creep,
you’re begging just to “make somebody’s day.”

Just turn it off!  You think we love your voice?
NO, Big Shot, we're just victims with no choice.

For Natalie Fllikkema's Contest:
Cellphones in the sauna...What annoys YOU? Poetry Contest

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Pest Control --- Goodbye

Goodbye, farewell, adieu, please go away,
this house is mine. I will not share with you.
You see my cabinets as a buffet,
pay no rent, and use the floor as your loo.

You fail miserably as a roommate,
and I’ll be more than glad to see you gone.
Sinisterly gleeful about your fate,
I’m anxious for the curtains to be drawn.

No more ceaseless chattering though the night,
nor any more wires cleaved by rodent teeth.
I won’t fret on small eyes reflecting light,
or creatures hiding in my Christmas wreath.

Escape, or, if you prefer, you can die.
I don’t care which, as long as it’s Goodbye!

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Pillow Talk Abuse - Andrea Dietrich

PILLOW TALK ABUSE     (collaboration)

by~ Andrea Dietrich

Again you’re droning on and on and on. 
Yada, yada, yada, yada, yada. 
My time for beauty sleep will soon be gone. 
Why can’t you close your eyes? 
You know you oughta. 
Just press those lips together tight and zip! 
My lids are getting heavy as you talk. 
So now I offer you this little tip. 
Why don’t you go outside and take a walk? 
The clear night air might open up your mind.
Before you kill the bush you’re beating round. 
You’re killing ME; I hate to be unkind, 
But when I start to doze, I hear that sound . . . 
Yakety, yakety, yakety, yakety, yak. . . 
Please shut your trap. 
We’ve long since hit the sack!

by~ Poet Destroyer

Congratulations for thinking your work is done.
You may be tired  but you’re not the only one.
I sure hope you like spending your time all alone
All the young ones are grown and away from home.
So, I have no choice to yap yap yap' when you're around.
But, I do this to annoy, before my other annoying snoring sound.
Ever since I remember the beauty line is to late.
Don't forget my yapping mouth is what brings dinner to your plate?
But think of the funny way you want me to zip my lips tight.
My yakety yak is what gets me going through the night.
Retire your eyes else where, if you can't hear me out!
Wouldn't you rather me beat the bush, than to hear me shout.
Your ungrateful ways are like a sleeping pill.
Talking to you is like talking to a wall~ " oh! What a thrill!"
Maybe if you say a word or two, your mouth would put me to sleep
So my dear, talking to you is better than counting sheep.

A collaboration with * ANDREA DIETRICH

My collaboration contest

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Sweet pleasure

I slowly cut a corner off my prize
No cause to hurry, see I at this time
To savor, such a treat sees no despise
If one knows not this joy, that is a crime

The layers compliment this god-like cream
The smooth caress of chocolate is joy
The combination is much like a dream
My senses it so fully does employ

I do not need a house or any clothes
My mind is full of thoughts only to know
When next taste I the sweetness of my rose
But I would wait a hundred years of snow

If love is like this sweet patisserie,
I think my life consists of it and me.

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There is somethin' about taking a dare,
Leapin’ before looking, walkin’ the rails,
Ignorin’ the dang sign, pokin’ the bear,
Then lyin’ on a bed of rusty nails.

I’ve juggled pistols, sashayed on hot coals,
Told the devil truths, lied to a saint,
Gambled with my life, played craps for my soul,
But I never said I was what I ain’t.

Now, there are warnings one oughta obey,
'Cause friends should keep friends from certain danger,
And sometimes there is a much better way,
Then mouthin’ off to black-hatted strangers.

Partn'r, I’ll try to change, you got my word,
I'll zip my lips, but can I give the bird?

For Francine. LOL. Hugs.

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His future's So Bright

He sports some eye shades plastered to his nose.
In coolest clothes; with cell phone goes to town.
Perpetual is his strategic pose.
His glasses don’t come off when sun comes down.

He scans a crowded room for someone hot
on which to use some cheesy pick-up line
and show the ladies what finesse he’s got.
Too bad he’s never heard of “wine and dine!”

And every measly buck spent on a dame
he sees as a down payment on her "assets".
Shallowness could be his middle name
since his character has so few facets.

He tells his bimbo prey his future’s bright,
but even she just sighs and says, “Yeah, right.”


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Once Upon A Time

Once a week the grandson comes to Granny's 
He loves to get special treats tucked away 
Searching every nook and little crannies
Then while he snacks he loves to play, play, play..

Last week his day at Granny's house involved
Outside play, some time reading tractor books
Then in a few minutes truck play evolved
Through all of them he loves to look and look

Then he left granny's house and headed home
With memories of what happened there
He wanted to talk to Granny on the phone
He asked," With what truck are you playing and where?"

I told him, " I'm not now playing with a truck
but with Neopet; soon I'll get the fire truck stuck."  

Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Contest: Tickle My Funny Bone
Written: March 12, 2014

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His chicken vanished from the face of Earth
unhappy and distressed connected so
with sites of poetry where lost pets' dearth
transformed to versicle expression's flow.

Logorrhea of namby pamby lines
and balderdash of verbose gardyloo
bombarded him with rounds of porcupines
stampeded unctuous like rabid gnoo.

But on the other hand he met some birds
composers of refined and sightly verse,
with glinting souls and clever words,
their intellect's expressions wise and terse.

And when he searched of who to value most
received his chicken's metrical riposte.

© G.V. 09-14-2013 All rights reserved

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Jobs: No Pleasure in the Measure

"Too young!", were the words, that everyone said While working our way to get a degree. First time on our own, and now, newlyweds Plus, looking for jobs, yet happy were we! In a brand new town, now, a brand new wife! Pinching our pennies, and dollars much more Hitting the sidewalk, .a busy new life. Finally, a job found, at Rolf's Clothing Store! Old geezers, would ask me "Would you help me, dear?" Keeping composure, ..(must not crack a grin!) "A suit, ...some undies: What size should I wear??" My tape-measure panics,..(where to begin?!!) Measuring inseams from crotch to the hem! Is not a task, I'll be wanting again !!!!
____________________________________________________ 11/12//14 For Sara's Contest: JOBS

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A Sonnet On a Tough Girl

I never will forget in junior high this girl who was a two-faced friend of mine. I can’t remember now the reason why, but she got mad for something asinine. She said, “I’m gonna beat you up! Be at the park, beside the water tower.” She then told me, “Bet you won’t show up.” That brat was MEAN! All day I fretted needlessly of what could be a real bad episode! So after school with my best friend, I went And waited for that witch; she never showed! With great relief, I then began to vent to my best friend of things that we could do to that “tough girl” - a chicken through and through! *True story & dedicated to my junior high school foe, who later went on to marry (and then divorce) the brother of my BEST friend! To read more about what happened later on with me and her, please view "ABOUT THIS POEM" which can be seen by clicking in the left hand corner above the title of a poem. For Carol Brown's Poetry Contest: ORNERY BEST FRIENDS

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My craziest act

Once during those days when I was yet a teen I chose to be purposefully mean Sitting face to face with an important man I behaved as badly as a confused hen If I did open my mouth It was only to say filth Stony, I bid my soul to tell him I shall not speak, even if it goes against your whim! Enraged, he had me disgraced Angered, he had me not embraced Rather, on that day, I saw thunder Coming from the eyes of this leader! O wishful verse, thou art an ode to my memory Here goes to my account for loving to do the crazy!

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Karate Chicken

The girls in vain tried his sad soul to sweeten;
(why art thou laughing at his blackened eye?)
Malign and radioactive chicken,
you never loved or watered his bonsai!

Thou spaced-out sill maiden of delusion,
and frivolous, counterfeit struthio,
thy cackling leave gave tongue to contusion,
eloped with Foghorn Leghorn unto Rio.

Beloved of his aphotic thought's wit,
deserted cot due to thine abandon,
dawns sullen, chickenless, dolour permit,
- old taken snaps of you with his Canon.

Incomprehensible, soulless chicken
His saddened eye is karate stricken.

© 03-23-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved

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The Pale Pink Rose At Dawn

As I desire outside just at daybreak
Watch the sleepy sun rise in the mist
So I'll go out, get tools_leaves rake
An excuse to watch that sun rise_my risk

Then I see that one Pale Pink Running Rose
The one deserving its picture taken
I'll get the camera_rose will pose
Leaving chore__leaf raking forsaken

Maybe I'll cachinnate_hide from work
I'll beek in sun think of shenanigan
Go to creek_try to see fish through murk
Couchant posture dip fingers _ dawn began

The anacoluthia of these lines
Requires couchant posture very fine

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Bad Teacher - 80's Style

Some ooglay dweeb-o-rama after school went and caught me mashing with my boy toy (a stella stud, I kid you not -mad cool!) Geek said, “He’s half your age!” I said, “No DOY!” Before that tard could gag me out the door, I told him, “Hey, step off and bag your face.” Then he spazzed out and said I was a whore. For real?? I’d barely got to second base! Suck! Geek finally booked it; then my stud put on some jams and everything was SCWHEET! We vegged out on the couch and shared a bud, then later played New Wave, grooved to the beat. My dude is wicked, and the zeek was right: I’m sure not young, but OH, how young the night! ** I have composed a list of definitions for all the 80's slang words and phrases. Just click on "About this Poem" Written by Andrea Dietrich For craig cornish's "Talk That Way" Poetry Contest (My decade of course is the 80's)

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The Poet and His New Discerning Maid

The poet was in love; as was his wont, he took his lovely lady to the dell, a place of solitude, his favorite haunt, where two could go. . . and this is what befell: With images of pleasure in his mind, he led the fresh and beautiful young maid through nature’s Eden. . . Soon they were reclined upon a blanket in a secret glade. the murmur of a stream, the trill of birds accompanied him as he then intoned his well-rehearsed and flowery sweet words when unexpectedly, the maiden groaned. . . “Please cut this short. Your jumbled verse is stale, and tell me in that basket there’s some ale!” Feb. 24, 2014 for the Angel of Odd Contest.

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The Masticator

Some folks like food that’s smooth to touch their lips; which does not come in chunks or crunchy sticks. They take their tea in leisurely small sips or eat ice cream with lots of tiny licks. I rarely ask for smoothies or for yogurt, for puddings or for bland and jiggling jello. I much prefer the entrees to dessert and something hearty over something mellow. To salty, crunchy foods I gravitate: popcorn and potato chips and nachos, and on my plate some food to masticate: pasta, pizza, burgers, fries or tacos. A large hot soup can soothe my appetite if served with lots of crackers I can BITE! For the Teenager Entertainment Poetry Contest

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Rhyme and Wrinkles

Just lately I’ve been spending so much time
on re-arranging words upon my page,
correcting meter, finding perfect rhyme-
I swear it’s this that’s causing me to age.

You see, I never rest until it’s done,
a half completed write won’t let me sleep
throughout the darkest hours, until the sun
casts out his rays that through my windows seep.

I wonder, if I change my form to free,
just let the feelings tumble from my mind,
then maybe I would have more time for me
to sleep, to my complexion be more kind.

Perhaps though it’s the sacrifice for art,
ne’er fair of face, but beautiful at heart.

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Dream Sonnet

Aye t’was a beautiful breeze come a wafting through the trees,
The bonnie belles carpeted under the green ivy all a climb,
When along came me lassie, me favourite squeeze,
And to be sure now I’ll have a time of it makin’ this rhyme.

But I’ll not let that stop me, I’ll jest have me a nip,
As I describe me fair dream and the swing of her hip, 
the coarse hair fairly bristling o’er her upper lip,
And her dirty knickers hangin’ below her slip.

Ah such a fair one me heart did skip; to her me mug I’ll tip!
Couldn’t keep me hands off her as her nose begun to drip,
She had dried dinner on her cheek; oh how she did sneeze!
Whilst in girly fashion wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Kin ya blame me barkeep? Can ya try an perceive?
Why I woke in the night and started to heave?

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Metaphorically Me

His hair is like a black dwarf with white freckles,
with eyes like sharp, jiggered icicles,
a nose like a white man in a lineup of Africans,
and a mouth like shredded onions should you choose to cross him.

His chest is like a cow’s udder ready to feed her young,
with a stomach like a hippo basking in the sun,
and stretch marks like cancer, savagely out of control,
and psoriasis like an angry storm of dusty dry snow.

His arms are like shoe strings dangling in the wind,
and hands like angels cover with sin,
his legs are like drum sticks, fresh but not young,
and his feet are like popsicles, but aren’t very yum.

His body is like a freak you would pay to see,
but he outweighs this freakiness with his personality.


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The Bibelot

(just posting today. I am running like crazy
trying to get Christmas projects done! But I hope
to be here tonight to read poems! OH, and to understand'
this sonnet more fully, you need to know what
"Bibelot" needs. An intereseting word I learned 
when I took the challenge to use that word in a poem!
If you really want to know the word, you'll have to 
look it up or ask me!!) Luv, Andrea

The Bibelot

There never could have been a Christmas better-
that first one spent alone near firelight.
She gave him some cologne; a blue wool sweater
to match the hue his eyes shone with delight.

He tore the tissues red and green, and she
more delicately opened with a thrill
each gift he’d tied with ribbon clumsily.
And then he held one out, and she grew still,
for it was small, which had to mean one thing. . .
it had to be the best he’d saved for last!
She held her breath.  Oh, could it be a ring?

The glitter of its gems was unsurpassed.
Each stone adorned an object most exquisite.
She looked it up and down; then asked, “What is it?”

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I keep on sending tendentious rhymes out
like some demented machine gunner.
Sometimes I aim high, Pulitzer, no doubt!
Lucky to hit a page with a number.
It just doesn't matter I always say.
It's just a form of my daily yoga.
Done without ego each and every day.
In the long run it will surely serve ya.
But still I do unwillingly admit
as I keep my finger on the trigger
that it wouldn't hurt to receive a gift
of thanks from someone's satisfied hunger.
So I just keep gatlinging out my rhymes,
hoping not to do time for all my crimes.

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Beautiful Lies

That was the best; it’s never been so good 
You hid your light well and that is not good
You kept me on the edge up to the end
That’s the first time, on that you can depend.

I was so worked up, starting with this
I was anxious, this I so did miss
You did put it, where it needed to go
Right in the middle not too fast or slow.

What will I do, after this day of bliss?
It took you all day to toast and burn this
It was just right with all the runny cheese
Even the burnt bits, you know how to please.

I thank you so much for cooking my lunch
No honest I’m full I ate a late brunch.

27/12/2012 English Sonnet

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They assigned me me to write a sonnet about the life of a drunken writer
whose dream wouldn't shatter, but his foolishness wasn't in the past tense; 
he spent endless hours reading blogs of people who didn't make sense...
in chat rooms he found geeks, charlatans and a casual liar. 
These are the ones who can text all day as kids do for fun... 
what's the excuse for being late and perform with a brainless head?
Here's proof of his laziness: he didn't write anything to earn him bread.   
" Wake up, your work is piling snore as pigs in a barn! "
the co-worker in the next booth sneered as the boss approached Fred
who stuttered and tried to explain why he couldn't get the work done...
while his breath stunk and couldn't stand him looking awfully mad.
" I need that article by tomorrow, or you'll get a pink slip and are gone! " 
" Sir, the last article was a liked that sex-pot with those boobs! "
" Why can't I write about today's generation who have the speed of raccoons? "

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The Bride

On the wedding
The Bishop co-ordinating
Called in the groom
Only awaiting the bride
Hymns going up in the air
Half hour passed
And yet she is unarrived
"What is delaying you?"
The groom yelled at the Bishop
"Your bride isn't here"
With a dimple from the groom's cheek
Loke side way at his bride
"He has long arrived
I am gay"

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Cat Ownership

You have to love them to sift their latrine,
The uric fragrance burning your nose and eyes
As you render their special place fresh and clean--
One of them watches, impatient, and sighs.
You have to be ready for sleep-rending howls
When one recovers his ragged cloth ball--
At twelve or two--shaking it with feral growls,
Boasting his prey up and down the hall.
You must be attentive--even at four--
If bowls are empty and bellies not full:
Rude rattling and scratching on the bedroom door
Has such a hypnotic, nerve-racking pull.
How apt the pharaohs decreed them divine,
While litter-box slaves were treated like swine.

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Where did I put it - HUNTING

I can't find it anywhere, I've been searching high and low
It must be somewhere here, I really can not go
Until it shows itself to me I have to stay and look
I'll miss my date unless I look in every little nook
Crannies too I'll have to search, I know it must be here
I'm getting stressed though now so I think I need a beer
The car, that's it, it must be outside in the car
No, the bar, the bar, did I leave it in the bar?
Calm down, it must be here as I had it in my hand
When that scrounger came around looking for a grand
Thats it, my brother stole it when he came around
If I went round his place that's where it will be found
Oh stop I've found it, its decided to be shown
Just where I left it my beloved cell phone

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The Present on the Beach

The May Bahama breezes rustled fronds of palm trees very common on the beach. And he, with an affinity for blondes, was drawn to one who seemed within his reach. Encompassed by white sand and azure sea, embraced by warming rays, she, sweet and thin, a present for his eyes now seemed to be, well-wrapped in golden tissue - smooth, young skin. The challenge often facing him was gone - no need to guess, by checking cleavage out, the looks of what he fondly gazed upon. Her luscious mangoes bared left him no doubt. Engaged in sport, he thanked his lucky star he’d packed binoculars to see so far! 7/31/12 For the Funny Poem Contest of craig cornish

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Twin Key

June 24th 2010

Twin Key

Hey, help me out here would you please?
Can you show me where all my whys go?
While you are at it search my I told you so.
More so, that alter ego I want you to seize.

Listen here and listen up, it has twin keys.
I tell you something else, do not tell it no.
It gets bigger and bigger a dynasty I know.
Blow a kiss for me send it my best breeze.

Roll out my red carpet,
Spit-shine your shoes,
Sit it down just park it!
Say I depart my blues!

Look out here there is two just like me,
God blessed you! I have my Twin Key.

®Registered: Ann Rich 2010

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Vinnie, VD, Vichy-

I painstakingly take down reading list.
(I thought that our dear teacher surely gist.)
“Of Bison Men”, antiquity : out o’ print;
and “Batcher in the Fry”, a concrete  stint.

“Odious Night in Gail”, seen fit to ban – 
Perhaps by an old “RAD at Sky March” fan.
And “Cellphone flowers of yellow and green”, 
From “Loose'y in the Sky with Diamonds”, seen.

“You Lie, Sees” on top of list of sorcerers  –
Our Homers being the main baseball scorers.
“Vinnie, VD, Vichy~”: Dude ate too much 
I do not understand the rash and rush…

A cross all incontinence, without much flare,
there grammar mistakes is to much too bare.

1.	Bison: Prehistoric animal, now extinct. Also, Bison Men Street Fighter = movie;
        Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
2.	The Catcher in the Rye is a 1951 novel by J. D. Salinger
3.	Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
4.	Radetsky March by Johann Strauss Sr.
5.	RAD – abbreviation of many interpretations; also, slang for “great”
6.	The actual line from “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is: “Cellophane… “
7.     "Loose'y" is slang for cigarettes sold singularly
8.	Ulysses is derived from Ulixes, the Latin name for Odysseus, a character in ancient Greek literature. Odysseus also known by the Roman name Ulysses was a legendary Greek king of Ithaca and a hero of the blind poet, Homer's epic poem, the Odyssey.
9.	Julius Caesar said this when described how/what he did on his campaign. (veni (I came), vidi (I saw), vici (I conquered). Colloquially used by teenagers as an expression for conquests of the opposite sex. "Vichy" as in vichysoisse, a cold potato soup
10.	In the final couplet I vent my frustration with the incorrect usage and spelling which I often encounter in script; spelling and grammar which change the intended meaning of the text.
11. Written in: A quatorzain (from French quatorze, fourteen) is a poem of fourteen lines. Historically the term has often been used interchangeably with the term 'sonnet'. Various writers have tried to draw distinctions between 'true' sonnets, and quatorzains. Nowadays the term is seldom used, and when it is, it usually is used to distinguish fourteen line poems that do not follow the various rules that describe the sonnet. I followed the Shakespeare sonnet style with the volta at the COUPLET:"In Shakespeare's sonnets, however, the volta usually comes in the couplet, and usually summarizes the theme of the poem or introduces a fresh new look at the theme." ~ Wikipedia 

6 July 2013

Sponsor	Roy Jerden
Contest Name	Malapropisms and Mondegreens

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Mullet Tossing Contest

Each spring in the Gulf Coast Panhandle 
Seafood lovers attend a festival
Honoring the dark meat, oily mullet
That leaps into air shaped like a gullet
But the oddest part of this tradition
Is the mullet tossing competition
Both he-men and ladies take to the beach
To see how far their mullet toss will reach
So if you're beachcombing and see fish fly
Now you have insight to the reason why
A waste of fish? Yes, but fun’s had by all
And winners dance first at the mullet ball

When smoked, the mullet tastes best served with fries
But it’s cool to watch when it’s tossed and flies

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Addiction and Withdraw

Keep your liquor and your meth cigarettes;
stow away your needles and white powder.
My mind craves stimulation without sweats
caused by vices others choose for regrets.

Give me words, inky scrawl across a page,
the fluid cadence of a verbal dance
freeing the psyche from an iron cage
imprisoned by a mundane daily trance.

Prohibit fresh diction to discover
the foul temper that lies within my breast.
Prevent access to verse and uncover
an exhausted maudlin beast is expressed.

I get my fix within a library.
It’s cheap to be hooked onto poetry.

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socks socks socks

Her woolen craft
expressed some inner
one pointing needle
would crochet the
(an obi dance
perhaps would stop
this greed
for topsy flaps and
sock flat feet on

The happy socks were
knitted by that lass
that lovingly
composed some woolen
best poems published
proving braided
while woolly woolies
danced the
shake-sock forms

She made sock legs,
heel flaps, sock
cuffs... sock cuffs?
crocheted yarn on
colored plaited
the best sopranos
run to wear the
constructed like
their arias neat

Her socks were loved
and plaited by
magenta and pink
yarns that

© 06-10-2013

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OO - All in One Stinking Week

It's not impossible that my house stink.
At times there festers garbage in a sack
behind a closet door, and once the sink
got clogged with who-knows-what; sent water back
up filthy and all black; I dished it out
scoop by nasty scoop into a pan.
That damn disposal broke.  There was no doubt
my kitchen reeked, so I turned on a fan
and dropped some baking soda in the drain
(I'd heard it stopped most odors), but the worst
came next: a stench which I could not explain.
I searched my rooms.  Six days my house was cursed
until I found it dead and hidden well -
a mouse I bet inhaled the kitchen's smell!

(true story but a little exaggerated!)

For Susan Burch's
Offensive Odors or Noise Pollution Poetry Contest

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The Bride

On the wedding
The Bishop co-ordinating
Called in the groom
Only awaiting the bride
Hymns going up in the air
Half hour passed
And yet she is unarrived
"What is delaying you?"
The groom yelled at the Bishop
"Your bride isn't here"
With a dimple from the groom's cheek
Loke side way at his bride
"He has long arrived
I am gay"

dated May

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LOST KEYS! The Devil Made Me Do It !!

I was twelve years old, it was one Halloween night
My brother was driving me in his old beat up car
He had been told to take care, and keep me in sight
He sighed, threw up his hands, and gave me "that" glare!

We drove was cold, spooky and dark
Instead of trick or treating, we continued our ride
In front of his best friend's house, he quickly parked
Told me to stay put in the car...then went on inside

I sat a bit afraid...then out of the dark, the devil said Boo to me!!!
Looked into the window!! ..I screamed, grabbed the keys...threw a fit, locked the doors
The devil was my brother.......all dressed up...he had tiptoed through trees!
His friend was laughing hysterically.....they thought they had scored!!

What they didn't know.... when I had taken the keys
I'd tossed them out of the window and into the leaves!!


(A true story!!
ps...After an hour or so, on hands and knees looking for the keys
we found them finally.................and yes!! He finally took me trick-or-treating!
We are still laughing over this story, many years later!
Actually, he is was and is a terrific brother, by the way, 
but still throws up his hands occasionally 
and gives me "that" glare..Lol!!)

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Kiss This

<                              master of disguise menacing havoc
                                I fear not your pronged fork and wooden stick
                                but one illuminates from presents sight
                                tis I carries master key whom ends plight

                               brushstroke if must with your evilness twist
                               for I stand strong from an Hevenly bliss 
                               poke and probe away with your woven schemes
                               tis I'll be the one laughing though it seems 

                               your inferno fire from gates of hell
                               diminished by just one shake from this bell
                               so bring on your barriers and good grief's
                               tonight I'll be the one with good night's sleep 

                               sowing not fear of satin's smitten grasp
                               but turning check telling to kiss thy ass

Entry For
Thvia Shetley's
The Devil Made Me Do It
Sonnets Only Contest
G.L. All

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clog dance

Amore, wrongful was his raging flame
that burned for thee and turned him to a coal
combustible attempts were put to shame
his ashes danced inside a shopping mall.

His chickens cry because their much loved sire
became a fool composing love sonnets
about deep burning detrimental fire
that cauterized his lonely French baguettes.

Love's catastrophic and caustic waves
electroshocked his nervous system, gal,
amaranthine his agitations rave
and jumps he like a bronco 'n the corral.

Inside the ring of fire performs his dance
with vanished logic and unfocused glance.

© G.V. 06-19-2013 All rights reserved

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Seeking New Mobility

As setting sun trails off behind a peak,
I lie in utter lone tranquility
here tethered to my earthly home.  I seek
a sundering. . .  A new mobility.

I focus on the hidden, inner me,
forgetting awkward limbs and hands and toes.
My body must entirely flaccid be,
so placidly I keep a still repose
that soul might elsewhere go past mountain tops.

Then suddenly, I feel my spirit pitch.
It spins; I’m on the brink. . . and then it stops!
I think this failure’s more than just a glitch.
I open up my eyes and see afar,
now twinkling with amusement, night’s first star.

(true story about my one attempt long ago for an OBE.)

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Kamikaze Khristmas

I was shaken, my jingle bells taken, ornaments on a runaway corporate sleigh
It had nitrous oxide, investors selling so high, stuffing stockings with my pay
There were elves with cleavage, garters and high heels, twirling on candy canes
And then there was Santa, 10,000 I fathom, having a Bud and watching the game

Oh what have I done, my mistletoe belt buckle undone, clutching a coupon in pain
From my confusion arose, a few sticky ho ho’s, caroling Christmas has come again
Frozen my chatter, this rooftop never fatter, held hostage by a holiday of cheer
Building superstores for a thrill, reindeer on the grill, our 24 hour savior is here

I threw open the door, red tagged a commercial whore, a price check I was needing
Not to my surprise, this place had supersize fries, and just a hint of insider breeding
Cross-eyed speaking, restroom reeking, why the see-through thong with the GPS
Kamikaze carts diving, my crippled heels crying, damn you people for having sex

Bruised and battered, a world raptured, by a fat man with a bulging sack
Barbies with inflatable boobies, Hentai movies, Christ please hurry back

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Santa Scrooge

(an oldie "light" sonnet)

The Santa that I know is not so nice.
If there's a gift I tell him that I'd like,
he only will complain about the price,
and when December comes, he goes on strike!

For Santa is no sweet and jolly gent.
For instance, when it's time to do the tree,
he hates to have to bring it from the basement;
I trim it then without the grumble-bee.

It hurts my back to put up outside lights,
But I don't bother my "dear" Claus for that.
And so our house stands naked through the nights
of Christmas time ‘cause Santa is a rat!

My Santa Baby's great at subterfuge.
So ho, ho, ho for me.  I married Scrooge!

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Shall I Compare thee to a Rainy Day - Unsonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a rainy day?
Thou art more dreary and more malignant.
Rough winds do shake the thrashing waves of bays,
And Neptune’s lease hath all too long a date. 

Always too damp the eye of heaven hides,
And often is thy grey complexion dimmed;
And every air to air sometime collides,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed. 

But thy eternal downpour will not fade
Nor lose possession of that air thou blow'st;
Now shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in aging lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this takes life from thee. 

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I'm Sorry, Billy Shakespeare

I despise sonnets, and they despise me.
So obnoxious with their fourteen line rhymes.
I’d rather be attacked by a banshee
Than be subjected to my mind’s rhyme-crimes.

Fingers tapping to the ten syllables.
Dead to the iambic pentameter.
Now I’m praying for the running of bulls.
A better poet would make my freezer.

o, I know Shakespeare would be so ashamed
To read the words that lay upon this page.
They do not stand to the man they are named.
A Shakespearean sonnet on rampage.

I know the man himself would not agree,
But thank God for rhyming dictionary.

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The Broken Girl-not me

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see? 
I am broken as can be. 
My heart is torn. 
My tears stain these perfect floors.  
Why are singing with glee? 
Why do you not care about my every plea? 
I am trapped in your arms. 
I am the hopeless moth. 
How did you pick me? 
What is it that you see? 
A girl untouched by life? 
A flower blooming in the desert? 
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.  
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.

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Stop, wait just a second. Is your life far
too busy for normal entertainment?
Do you talk on your cell-phone in your car?
Give up your precious little sleep for lent?

Then this is the right amusement for you!
Sonnets are compact, always nice and short.
Fourteen lines and done, then move on to do
other things of a more important sort.

Poems contain short tidbits of stories,
humor, romance, and horror saturate
each line for a burst, refreshing to please
the reader’s appetite, and so it sates.

So hurry and buy some sonnets today.
It's entertainment’s most efficient way.

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The Secret That Perfume Companies Don't Know

My hands are sore and cracked 
So its the yellow gloves now
At home with hands in water_
Doing daily mundane chores

Fix meals, feed the animals
Pet the dog, brush the cats
Wash the clothes_enough of that
In kitchen hands in water

Those yellow gloves just don't fit
The odor that emits from them
Terrible_then it stays__stays
A pity perfume leaves fast

What I need to do is sell
Perfume companies the secret

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For you

For all those sunny years we’ve spent together 
For all the clouds that drifted in between  
For all the paradise we might have seen  
For ships of hope that wrecked in stormy weather

For all the love we made on scented heather 
For all the words and fights that haven’t been
For all the daily deadening routine 
For heavy times we lifted like a feather 

You’re nice and wise and good and cute and clever 
The very best that happened in my life 
No way I’m going to leave you lonely, never
Your way to fortune is my only drive 
So here’s this poem for you, to last forever
Now let me think of something for my wife

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Money is Honey

When I have some money
I'll take you to the movies, honey,
We'll wine, dine and dance
To have fun, not miss a chance.

When I have some money
I'll take you on a cruise, honey,
We'll swim and sunbathe aboard
And ride a Ferrari on the road.

But until I have some money
We'll eat at McDonald's, honey,
With small soda, fries on the side,
And get home via a bus ride!

There's no contest betwixt thee and Money,
Verily, the latter is sweeter than Honey!

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My Love Affair with Poetry

Nights when I’m alone,
Icy wind flittering through the window,
The absent warmth of love echoing in my empty room,
I have frequent love affairs with poetry.
Its pulsating words gush themselves out on the white blank page,
It caresses my every emotion,
Sending me reeling through a torrent of multiple ecstasy,
I scream with release as every unhinged secret is documented rhythmically, 
After, subdued by unthinkable shame,
I stash it away with the refreshing slide of a closed drawer,
I light up a cigarette and lie within the sheets like a film star,
I am who I choose to be,
Husband rings, why don’t I answer the phone?
I’m having an affair with poetry. 

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A Hayseed in the City

A hayseed from the country, he had come
with money in his pocket just to know
the city life; he heard the steady hum
of people everywhere and traffic’s flow.

The day had been quite hot, as they can be
on dog days of the summers in New York.
His friend had said, “Find neon lights!” so he
walked until night time, feeling like a dork.

Where lights flashed, females dressed so scantily.
The young man was approached by one cute girl
who whispered, “For a good time, come with me.”
His eyes popped out; his mind was in a whirl!

The hot day soon became a hotter night.
Good gosh! he thought. . .  my friend sure told me right!

For Deb's Contest: "Hot Time, Summer in the City"

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A Love Sonnet

.                                                  A Love Sonnet
                                       Composed By: Sara Kendrick

                            Oh! What can I say of my love that's true

                             I just love a game of life with good rules

                     For knowing the rules~~following same~~no sue~

                     Like first write my name so I am known**cool**

                               This poem about love is dedicated

                               To a woman who Rambles poetry

                             Constance La France who meditated

                              Meditated, relaxed__watching trees

                            In her homeland of Canada life's ease

                       With her vintage clothes, a paying job~~well~

                          She is set to enjoy what I have to please

                      That she is so nice to comment on my tall tale

                          Let me summarize and not least disguise
                      Bending rules, dancing around right  is not wise

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The Bride

On the wedding
The Bishop co-ordinating
Called in the groom
Only awaiting the bride
Hymns going up in the air
Half hour passed
And yet she is unarrived
"What is delaying you?"
The groom yelled at the Bishop
"Your bride isn't here"
With a dimple from the groom's cheek
Loke side way at his bride
"He has long arrived
I am gay"

Details | Sonnet | |

Shall I compare thee to an Autumn day

Shall I compare thee to an Autumn day?
Thou art more windy in the afternoon.
Old leaves of gold October throws away
Can never match your bottom's lively tune.
The scents of fruits are sweet at harvest time,
While scent of you can make a strong man cry.
Much beer and curry serve to fuel your crime
For saving scent of harvest I must sigh.
Each year the sweetness fades to winter rain,
When mud and grit are mixed with diesel fumes,
Your pungent stench appears whene'er you strain
Eternally we know your rank perfumes.
    So long as beans are served and you still live,
    You'll have a complex mix of scents to give.

Details | Sonnet | |



Each man in the sport bar sought his own cure, Some drank too much, some yelled at the big screen, Other’s eyed the server, a few were sure that they could score, those loud boasts got obscene. Her tee-shirt proved she was an ample lure, Long, tousled red locks and sharp eyes, so green, A tattoo worthy of applause, pose impure, Soft, jiggling joys to the long married scene. She smiled when she saw his tight wedding ring, “Handsome, I’m game. Do you like a good time?” She passed him her number, “Gimme a call.” He crumpled the note, “Let me tell you something, Gal, I’m no b’ass, and netting men is a crime. Your bait’s sweet, but I’ve learned cheating’s lethal.”
This is a mixed sonnet. It has a Sicilian octave and an Italian sestet.

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Holiday Mishaps

The room looks over and starts to chuckle.
An oddly beautiful stream of cider
Erupting from the nose of my uncle.
Kids waiting for a Christmas night rider,

All hoping to finally see Saint Nick.
Aunty Mary stands up and starts to twirl,
Nigh knocking over a lamp, she stops quick,
And she instead flattens the nearest girl.

Family running to see if she is fine,
We end up running into each other.
Dinner’s done, I head for the starting line,
And I’m elbowed in the face by brother.

It wouldn’t be family, well I assume,
Lack a trip to the emergency room.

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Uh-huh. The devil made me do it.

He makes me do such silly things,
Terror and trouble he surely brings.
Gum in hair, and sticks in wheels,
No care for how everyone feels.

Mud pies thrown through the sky,
Embarassed my sister in front of that guy.
Things i did i will not soon forget,
Uh-huh. the devil made me do it.

Sugar in salt, and salt in sugar,
Made my brother eat that booger.
Sorry is a word unsaid,
Hand in cup equals pee in bed.

I cannot say that i hold any regret,
The devil surely made me do it.

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Friday Sonnet

It's the end of the week
Almost time to go home
Today ends the streak
Of 'productivity syndrome'.

I worked hard all day
Trying to get some things done
And I'm happy to say
That I'm still number one

At stalling and waiting
And doing it later
I simply am stating
I'm a shirker of labor

To all the work I have left...
I say, "T-G-I-F!"

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Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more annoying than a buzzing mosquito. Rough winds do radiate from your way, And your face is red as a ripe tomato. Sometimes too bright your sweaty skin doth shine And often is my fair vision dimmed By the sight of your face, in decline, And your thighs, needing to be slimmed. But thy eternal summer shall not fade When will you pay the money that thou ows’t? Thy personality cuts me like a blade When in eternal lines to time thou wrinkles grow’st, So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, So long lives this: thou shalt remain ugly.

Details | Sonnet | |


The evil Black Widow hatched a wicked plan.

Using a willy worm for weather control,

she could crush the ants empire in her hand.

Just by sending flooding rain and freezing snow.

The Empire of the Ants heard of her plan,

and ordered Soldier B123 to arms.

He took a trained Beetle to be his shield man,

together they marched out past the aphid farms.

Soon they arrived at the Black Widows abode,

and she strummed her web hard, to cause them to flee.

The Soldier grabbed her, and on her back he rode,

while the trained Beetle set the willy worm free.

The Black Widow slipped through a hole in the wall.
Soldier and Beetle stand ready for the call.

Details | Sonnet | |

USA Marriage Justice Today

Oh, my sweet girl, come and shack up, with me.
We shall live on welfare and space out to see.
How many food stamp cards, we can arrange,
We shall visit for meds and beg for change.
Upon the riverbanks, we shall catch a cold.
Then we shall collect our oxy-cotton gold.
I shall gather clothes from good wills chest.
You prepare to go visit relatives in the west.
My sweet girl I shall give you no gold.
However, get you, giving us babies to hold.
A bed of daisies, I shall have waiting for you.
For freshening up our pet hound, old blue.
Our cousin Joe has a house that is so big.
We shall move in, us all, even with our pig.

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In the spring, the crows sit in the tall pines
Capitalizing on the field of newly planted corn.
Farmer dreams of corn on the cob which he will dine
Caw, caw the lookout calls to his mates to forewarn

As crows go down rows, gleaning the kernels
Dreaming their only competition is from the farmer
But up high is a nest of pesky, frisky squirrels
On the ground also those armadillos with armour

As the farmer sees his profits go into the crows,
His temper flairs to beyond recovery.
Farmer sits in garden reading aloud prose
Bored to tears, the crows a great book discovery

"Selected Poems" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
With it drove farmer away in chorus sang, "Yea"..

Sonnet:Sort of

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Prithee fair maiden

Prithee fair maiden for the knight, that com'th
amid the mists the sound of hoofs birds harked
from darkened woods the Red Sox hymn he hum'th
on rocks the chestnut's hipposandals sparked.

And whither tallt he go'th, for virtue's worth
endeavors in the past and feats he wrought
eloped with thee beseeching lust and mirth,
now saileth to New England 'pon his yacht.

Whence comest thou, fair maiden of the mist?
refulgent and caliginous thy sight,
noctilucent and by the winds sole kissed,
responding with negation to his plight.

A box of chocolates doth naught to enchant
behind her veils the Fenway she recant'th.

© 06-29-2013, G. V., All rights reserved

Details | Sonnet | |

Have A Sardine

Have a Sardine? :

Oh how I love to eat sardines?
Just the thought makes my face turn puce!
Gas in my tummy, they induce.
They don't go that well with baked beans.

Sandwiches made with these morsels.
Can only eat two at a time;
taken with a bit of fresh lime.
Some people eat them with mussels.

The thought of these will make some puke!
Keep it away, he will rebuke!
The smell enough to make him sneeze,
the sight of which will make him wheeze!

Put one in the microwave and nuke.
He said: "Oh my God, this is Yuke."

Steven Beesley (c) 2005-10-03

A sonnet that uses the redondilla form as a base. Each line has 8 syllables and the rhyme scheme may be abba cddc eeff ee or abba abba ccdd cc. It is also known as the Redondilla sonnet, the Napoleonic sonnet, or the Sonondilla. 

Details | Sonnet | |

Something About Oatmeal

My fortunes drop from my hands with despair.
Pearls that plop on the sand are the rest of me that's left to bare.
Juggling gorillas and dinosaur tea parties swirl in discordant dance,
While my aimless mind presses spring in Hamburg 'gainst a wintry France.

All lives re-awake each morning with a choice to laugh or cry,
Since there is no door for the key you hold, no pan for the egg to fry.
So with oatmeal in your hands you run from house to house,
"Is this sad or is this funny?" You add you use to be a mouse.

And when even the flag of writing is held against a vacant wind
You meet metal with wood and not as wood and your heart you feel has sinned,
For not to laugh at the madness of sternness is to lose our only magic power.
To fall from branches that were never there is to star in the saddest movie of the hour.

Grieve not if your gift seems little now where once you shot rockets.
Remember: you were once a mouse, and now your have oatmeal in your pockets.

Details | Sonnet | |

Monday Sonnet

If your headache is bad,
It's about to get worser.
The fun that you had
Is just a precursor...

To the fun you won't have
Once it's time to clock in.
There's no balm and no salve
That can quiet the din...

That clangs in your head
Once the work week's begun.
But at least you ain't dead,
And the man hasn't won.

So shake your fist and stick it to 'em.
Mondays, we all have to go through 'em.

Details | Sonnet | |

A not in love poem

Could I prefer thee to a bummer day?
You have less love and belong in a crate.
You drink my darling Bud, to my dismay
Your house’s lease hath all too long a date.

Often time I, so hot, from heaven shine,
And my gold complexion is never dim;
My every hair, so fair, never declines,
By scissors, or the barber’s ugly trim.

But thy infernal winter cannot fade
Nor lose possession, for no fair thou ow'st;
I wish death brags thou wand'rest in his shade,
So to be honest, well, you know you’re gross. 

So long as men can gag and eyes can’t see,
So long lives this, fingers-crossed it kills thee

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My Friends Screen

Head hanging off couch waiting to be fed
Things take on new perspective looking up
'Twas noon bored to tears just lying in bed
Had to have some coke and ice in my big cup

Coke and chips are good to give me the strength
They are always here even though wish were
Not, they will be gone away at some length
Character traits say we can depend on her

Recycled teen can now visit friend
Get to station_for heard in distance train
Recycled teen now has fun is that plain
First of life was hard_life is better at the end

Enjoying golden years_no more inbetween
Mother and daddy can't now my friends screen

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Gone Too Far

That’s not my elephant, officer, though she is pink.
She is right in front of your vehicle sir, I think.
Not too big, but not too small, her name is Ella.
I would say she likes to carry her pink umbrella.
I bet those second graders can see her just fine.
Yes, officer, I bet that they never drank any wine.
So to say, she is not there, will start some fights.
So remember that my faith is in the bill of rights.
She dances so fine around, around over the lot.
Upon tips of her toes, she cannot smoke pot.
However, she can eat spaghetti, with meatballs hot,
She loves to slurp, and swing the noodles in trot.
Don’t you see her now, over on top of that car?
Well, sir, you’re under arrest, you’ve gone too far.

Written for

Sponsor Matt Caliri 
Contest Name That's Not My Elephant 

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Thursday Sonnet

We should eat turkey once a week
And not just once a year.
I'd eat ev'ry part (but not the beak)
And wash it down with beer.

Thursday's the day that I propose
We eat this weekly feast.
Because as far as events go,
Poor Thursday has the least.

Lethargic Fridays would be implied,
(You'd need a day to recover.)
Thanksgiving would fall right in stride
So whaddaya say, turkey lover?

How do we make it official? I don't know what the laws be.
Thursday needed a lift ever since the last episode of Cosby.

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Topping The Star Charts

Voyager 1’s “The Sounds Of Earth”

Eleven billion miles from the sun
a record, golden when it left these parts,
a runaway hit on Voyager One,
at Ophiuchus, sure to top the charts,
will introduce Mozart to other stars,
not to mention Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”.
The knock-offs sold in alien bazaars
will knock their socks off or at least it should
make them extend their eyestalks in surprise.
They’ll soon begin to learn to sing along
to whales recorded and the baby’s cries —
adepts might even master Earth’s birdsong.
Should Beethoven not prove to be their fave,
Then Guan PingHu’s GuQin could be their rave.

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Lord Mortimer

- "Lord Mortimer! The fish you kept in mouth
became a symbol by rejected dames
the knights who scorned thy trout were blokes uncouth
to sword and joust thus they are challenged, games.

The fish that carefully defined your pride
to object turned of mockery and sneer;
Lord Gilbert who implied this apartheid
escorted kind some playful Londoneer!

And in the gardens of Eastcotts they walked;
Lord Gilbert softly had recited verse
'bout cookie-cutter sharks that blue sheep flocked,
her aoristic feelings to coerce.

The dame advanced his brilliancy to heights,
where verses hymned the longest lance joust fights."

© 06-13-2013

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my dog

                                I have a feeling 
                         that my dog is so spoiled
                  that she doesnt like dog food anymore
           apperently she want's filet min yung and lobster 
              well this isint the surf and turf doggie cafe
               get your head outa your furry butt
                             and eat your alpo

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Draw close, Friend, should you desire a tale, Aye, I have come from the Queen’s bedchamber, But pray, my cup is parched, it demands ale and the quenched tongue doth better remember. Truth, I am a waiting-gentlewoman, ‘til this very night my lips knew no touch, By the rood, I swear I knew not her plan, Feigned melancholy, an innocent clutch. Then the King’s wife laid her hand on my cheek, Wild pleas met my ear, so forceful yet faint, Those eyes of Lesbos left me pliant, weak, A mouth consumed me, I yet taste its taint... Fool, I have you, men lust all are the same Now, your purse is empty of all ... but shame.

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There’s a breathless hush in the Crucible,
A racing baize and the black to win,
To miss that red was inexcusable –
His hand was shaking – too much gin ?
The “Hurricane” is blown away,
We will not see his like today,
But Hendry, Higgins, Doherty
Williams, Selby, Ding Junhui
Are hoping for that one-four-seven,
The perfect snooker, shot from heaven.
The prize at stake is filthy lucre;
To fans this is the World of Snooker,
A game that’s played in clubs and halls –
But for some, a load of balls !

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Theory Of Everything

Researchers assume they can trust their GUT –
that is their Grand Unified Theory.
This simple answer is close, they think, but
the resolution’s still a bit bleary.

They’ve linked electromagnetic with weak,
on their way to full unification
but, for final culmination, must seek
the gravity of the situation.

They trust they’ll find the graviton one day,
through their particle acceleration.
Without this carrier to show the way,
they’re lacking complete illumination.

And thus they hesitate to claim they know,
since, still in the dark, they may stub their TOE. 

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Written Love

Warmth of your touch wrapped around my bod,
Pressure smooth and sweet felt upon my waist.
You slip into thought and down I do nod,
When excited, I’m sent into great haste.

In slight slowing gyrations do you guide my tip,
And turn me off and on by simple thumb.
Sometimes, you’ll touch me bitter to your lip,
When your mind falters, for once becoming dumb.

And you whisper lines to me in frantic,
Cover me cool sultry with your fever,
Sweat runs greasy through my breast clip, panic
That I will slip from your grasp, word weaver.

Made out of metal I am what I am,
Just a small blue pen in the palm of  your hand.

Details | Sonnet | |

Happy Birthday Dear Carol Brown (Kyrielle Sonnet)

It’s a great day to shake and bake
Dance, sing, and eat all of your cake
It’s time to wear your dinner gown
Happy Birthday Dear Carol Brown

Upon reaching the Big Six O
Spread and stretch on your patio
Wear your fancy dress into town
Happy Birthday Dear Carol Brown

As you puff out the nice candles
Hold tight onto your chair handles
Smile today and let your hair down
Happy Birthday Dear Carol Brown

It’s a great day to shake and bake
Happy Birthday Dear Carol Brown

© Joseph, 4/9/08
© All Rights Reserved

Comments:  Dedicated to my poet laureate friend Carol Brown.  The Kyrielle 
Sonnet has 14 lines (three rhyming quatrain stanzas and a non-rhyming 
couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase as a refrain in the last line of each 
stanza.  Each line within the sonnet has eight syllables. The French use the first 
and last line of the first quatrain as the ending couplet. This reinforces the refrain 
within the poem. The rhyming scheme for a Kyrielle Sonnet normally is: AabB, 
ccbB, ddbB, AB -or- AbaB, cbcB, dbdB, AB.

Details | Sonnet | |

Aging (SONNET)

Of youth, I dare not say ado, yet wait
upon the willing heart that I be spared
that visit standing at the Pearly Gates,
I bide my time, not hurried to go there.

For on this Earth I tarry not to die,
believing soul and body to unite,
hence, the tongue in silence gives no cry,
with my Lord I stand in glorious light.

Grim Reaper, oh dreaded one, be not proud
for many, not I alone, must now fight
to keep our youth in the maddening crowd,
and know that never we should fear the night.

Alas, 'tis not from aging I dispair
but from telling mirror I must beware.

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In halls of legislature statesmen rule
  By vested concern and consensus rort:
And when last ballots are cast me and you'll
  Be no wiser whose allegiance is bought!
In court a silky lawyer advocates
  In points of law - in changing shades of grey:
The affairs of men rest upon such fates,
  But on the weak take a spoil and a prey!
On red glare streets prostitutes bend their rack
  Risking life and liberty at each leer:
That screwing whore on her uncovered back
  Robs us only of a ride paying fare!
But alas, what she does all hot and wet
The rest do to us every chance they get.


Oops! My wife is a lawyer. Sorry dear, but I wrote
This before I met you. Love you!

Disclaimer: To be clear...the last quatrain and couplet 
was not inspired by personal experience!

November 1992

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Sonnet 18 reversed

Shall I compare thee to my Adelaide?
Thou art less lovely and less temperate.
Rough winds shake you, my bony lady May,
Adelaide’s lease hath all a better date. 

Sometimes too hot your eye of hell shines,
And often your ugly complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair always declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed. 

But her eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair her ow'st;
Nor shall death brag her wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time her grow'st,

So long as you can breathe or you can see, 
So long lives thou, and I will not love thee. 

Details | Sonnet | |

Shall I Compare Thee

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more stormy and less temperate.
Rough winds do shake our fragile bonds of May,
And summer's temper hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot your sweat does shine,
And often is your beauty dimmed;
And every handsome man you do decline,
by chance, they leave chest hair untrimmed.

Part 2 Variation
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art as stormy and as cold
And do leave me longing for May
And winter’s temper too long showed
Sometime too cold yours eyes shine GREY

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A Knight To Save Your Day

Fair Damsel, maiden hush and dry your eye
For here I stand a knight to save your day
Share with your servant why it is you cry
I swear my soul I’ll force the fiend away

Oh please allay your tears a simple while
Your mournful sobbing masks some clarity
Per chance foul swain has swept away this smile
But I will make him beg for charity

The need for any silence now is gone 
My sword now naked villainy must hide
I’m here your escort to a brighter dawn
All this I swear by honor and by pride

My verse aroused a truth that I should know 
You say that I am standing on your toe

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Culinary Connivances

“This bitter, green fruit soaked in brine
is palatable, but I wish
to make the flavor more divine
by stuffing in some oily fish.”

“That thistle up there on the hill,
though spiny-sharp and armor-tough,
might prove to be delectable,
if it were just boiled enough.”

Who first made such discoveries?
Were they intended to be jokes – 
the olives stuffed with anchovies
and boiled hearts of artichokes?

Though I think they are delicious,
their origins seem pernicious.

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Bone Tired

Then carefully she pushed the den back door
And stepped into the messy strewn day room
Dog bones, plates, cracker crumbs slung on the floor
All it would take is a few sweeps of broom

But__she was tired just bone tired of cleaning
Picking up strewn this and that, folding clothes
It seemed to be a life of no meaning
Maybe I'll write some polyphonic prose

"She sells seashells by the summer seashore"
That's not mine but maybe I can write too
Chihuahua can't chew gum chewings a chore
Can you write one or don't you have a clue

Now my tireness is gone no memory
Of that worrying about backstory

maintenant termine'

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Newly Laid Fire

The newly cut green oak sputtered and smoked
Until mother took paper torn crumpled
Added a few pine cones, kerosene, poked
The kinderling_off took the flame_bedazzled

Warmth spread in icy room but not far
Cold, icy wind entered through weatherboard's
Cracks, windows that rattled, spaces in floor.
At night, wind had played many seventh chords

Her strength to face and handle the day well 
In spite of surroundings, circumstances
Deep within was spring that did compel
Her like the energizer bunny bounces

Lighting the morn's fire a lesson in strength
Endurance in circumstances wavelength

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just a little note
written with your sure strokes
but the only words I read
was the ending "with love, Fred"

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Many things in life are left undone
for fear of asking or lacking a veritable fact,
in doing so our wish gathers dust,
and we still remain that child pulling the toy wagon....
but wait, I heard of Jeannie's bottle so tall and sleek,
which grants wishes to all seeking her vision!
Would we sit back and ponder defeat,
not try harder to glimpse into dreams after when we're awaken? 
I may waffle and laugh as a satirical jester,
but my frisky intentions cannot be hindered by a mere obstacle,
and as a pugnacious and fierce warrior... 
this battle I must win and seize Jeannie's bottle!

I will make many wishes and as I see them materialize,
I willl keep rubbing it until I lose the desire to fantasize!

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Natural Beauty

Sparkling rivers on a moonlit night
The starry sky covers them with its light
Softly signing songbirds adding romance
Nature's song so sweet, it creates a trance

The scent of roses suspended in the air
Exotic floral fragrances drawing them so near
The silky feeling of soft breeze on smooth skin
The touch of cool grass warming them within

They kiss.....
She tastes like caffeine
He tastes like cigarettes
They get up, walk away
Thinking disgustedly to themselves

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Minnesota Nice

The great upper mid west
Minnesota put to the test
Ten thousand lakes and streams
Reality for many who like to dream

From Itasca state park
To the Louisiaina's wooden bark
The mighty Mississippi flows
Gently down the outcrop she goes

Crime rates are always's on the rise
But really does it come as such a surprise
Everyone seems to like to hug
Except when its a mosquito bug

So many call us Minnesota Nice
But some still say were Cold as Ice

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I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.

Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit. 
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.

Upside down,
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.

Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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Leaving My Gardens

She offered me extensive use of her private garden
This was a very fine arrangement for me at the time
With vigor, I plowed and sewed my seeds in her lush Eden
Tilling through the afternoon until evening church chime

As months past, and I began to master over her plot
I began to wander in copious other fertile lanes
Soon, after much exploration, I found a fresh new lot
So, I cleaned and packed my plow for my newly acquired gain

While busily cultivating my new found lovely toy
I was notified my prior effort had begun to bloom
It quickly produced a grand specimen of precious joy
Unfortunately, this produced an urge in me to zoom

While quietly heading out of town early one morning
Leaving my gardens gave me a profound sense of mourning 

 © Copyrights G. Jones 2008

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Shall I compare a tragedy to a  comedy?
Tragic  art’s   more lovely and more temperate:
Rough minds do shake with laughing at   Nuts in May,
And  some   comedies   have all too short a sell-by  date:

Sometime   the plot is shy of  meaning  lines,
And oft   is the old   rich-haircut-joke   dimm'd;
And every heir with hair  sometime declines,
A fresh cut, keeping nature's changing hair untrimm'd:

But tragedy’s  eternal superiority shall not fade
Nor lose possession of its humour  edge, the  lowest;
Nor shall failure brag thou wast by comedy in the shade,
When  with eternal lines  of fans,   thou growest:

Whenever   men can’t breathe, and eyes can’t see,
Then long lives this, and this gives life to tragedy.

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There was a sound coming from back of the old house
Or, was it his imagination, in his head?
There it was again, a metallic clicking mouse
He’s the only one home, can’t be his mate instead

Finally, his curiosity got the best
He rose from the dining room table and his book
Taking off his reading glasses, scratching his chest
In his socks, padding down the hall to take a look

He followed the noise to a dank darkened bedroom
As his vision adjusted to the lack of light
Crouched before him, large eyes looking up from the gloom
Arrival the new day, he was nowhere in sight

There’re sayings about curiosity and that
But, once and awhile, they are gotten by the cat

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008  

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But soft! What light breaks through windshield yonder?
It is Mickey D’s.
Shall I stop, I ponder,
or shall not stopping be my destiny?

Those bronzed french fries,
full of transfat.
Their business will die,
if they get rid of that.

Oh! Those golden arches 
signify my next meal.
So what do I care of the starches?
I say, I’m getting a Happy Meal.

So if I’m sitting, eating with joy,
don’t mess with me, or my toy.

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Run From the Sun

“Run run run run
He’s coming-it’s the sun!”
He burns down our houses
And sets fire to our trousers

Run run run smack
I hit a tree and everything’s black
My group went on without me
I’m beginning to see

It wasn’t a tree I hit
It was a deer and now he’s lit
I’m surrounded by plants
But most of them are covered in ants 

I splash water over the deer 
(I had trouble putting out his rear)
I sit down and begin to eat
Surprisingly it was a treat

I realize it is getting late
And set off to tell my tribe what I ate
I managed to find my group
And joined them as they sat for soup

We fell asleep after the last flare
At night we were attacked by a bear
Everything suddenly stilled
As my group watched me get killed

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thirsty cars

Thirsty Cars 


Those steep, tiring hills going home, I had been in town 

bought a new kitchen sink, the second one in forty years, 

nothing lasts, that’s how traders make their ill-gotten 

gains. My car was exhausted trailing smoke, to lighten 

its burden I alighted walked in front as it followed me 

slowly. On a flat stretch it teasingly overtook and drove 

in front of me and down a track into a deep ravine where 

feral donkeys live and run unlicensed garages I wasn’t in 

the mood to play “follow the leader,” so I walked home 

past wayside bars where cars guzzled Brazilian cane fuel 

and flashed their indicators, I ignored this depravity and 

hasted away. Midnight, when my car pulled up outside, 

it had lost the kitchen-sink and was splattered in manure 

of the long eared members of the horse family. 

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The Succubus I Date

You’re the succubus at the edge of my bed
that use to call at night. I was nearly dead.
You would climb on top of my creased corpse 
and claim my soul through the fleshy pours
still letting off the last remaining heat of life.
You laid your naked body on mine in spite
of the fact that you had already taken
all the religion I had left for praying.

And now, in my last blurry waken days,
you still perch yourself like a bird of prey
over my bed post and laugh at the ghosts
of my past. You have some reason to boast.
You crept up while I was half asleep
and covered me with the purple sheet.

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Rhoda's Twin Moons Birthday (Kyrielle Sonnet)

Two moons shine in the morning sky
Join each other as time goes by
Providing light to guide the night
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright

From a place so nice it’s named twice
Like birthday cake with blending spice   
The Big Apple has sparkling lights
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright

Happy birthday to you Rhoda
Drink lemonade and not soda
Celebrate your day as you write
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright

Two moons shine in the morning sky
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright

© Joseph, 8/20/2007
© All Rights Reserved

This is for our New York Poetess, Rhoda.

The Kyrielle Sonnet is a French form from the Middle Ages. It has 14 lines (three 
rhyming quatrains and a non-rhyming couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase 
as a refrain in the last line of each stanza.  Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet 
has eight syllables.  There are times when a French poem links back to the 
poem’s beginning; therefore, a common practice is to combine the first line of 
the first quatrain and the refrain in each quatrain as the ending couplet for the 

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Tea Pot

I believe a tea pot circles the solar system.
And within that tea pot is my genie God.
The God that hears all our petty prayers.
The God the made the birds, bees and frogs.

My genie God spit into clay and made you
from the potter’s clay that made His tea pot.
He formed humankind, all the animals,
the plants, His light makes the sun hot.

I believe everyone should pray to my genie God.
He simply made us just like He made His pot.
He made you because He loves you and created
you. He listens to your every thought. 

And if you fail to believe in my genie God,
you will burn in Hell or live life as a frog.

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Sicilian Sonnet On Reinforced Concrete

I am a piece of reinforced concrete,
I can withstand a lot of punishment.
I am frequently used to make pavement,
Since I can absorb the impact of feet.

My bones are parallel prestrained steel rods,
Placed along my body to add more strength.
Steel becomes stiffer when you stretch its length,
And my flesh mixed of ground rock and dirt clods.

In modern times I have many a niche,
Into any shape I am pourable.
I serve the needs of the poor and the rich,
Being strong, versatile, and durable.
Bridge, foundation, and irrigation ditch;
For any project I am feasible.

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Carte Blanche

There were two cardinals separated by a tree branch with fruit.
One was a female and the other was a male.
Her four fruits were ripe and his one was not so he became a brute.
She was to the left and he was to the right and looking pale.

Her purple fruits put off enough to make her some ale.
His green fruit was at his feet and were mute.
She kept her guard up waiting for him to sail.
But he never would follow suite.

She became the fruit of the highest branch on the highest tree.
He just sat there perched and barren not even producing the first seed.
She came to be,
The cardinal in lead!

But he never moved from his tree branch,
He was at her feet forever she’s his carte blanche!

®Registered: Ann Rich 2004

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Winter in the Garden

Each winter the Ladder Backed Woodpecker
taps at the barked notches of apple trees.
The leaves have fallen and frost plasters the
limbs brittle enough to break by wind or weight.

This is when the Ladder Backed attacks.
Digs its beak deep into the trunk and pries
out her secret. This is when the woodpecker
sees itself exposed, the strange chagrin,

a grownups mind, ashamed of knowledge.
This is the same season our sad aged parents
were thrown out of the garden. This is when
the thought of good and evil broke bones,

limbs fell off, birds ripped through to the core, 
and a jealous God made us stewards of the world.

Details | Sonnet | |

Global Trot

I’m out of my mind but I am just perfect and just fine.
I went around the world and what a blast it was for me.
I’m sent with a message from a golden gate master key.
I shook I rattled and I rolled brand new maps I did align.

I founded you and I demolished you but swam like a fish in line.
I ran to and fro as I was left behind thrown forward but I did see.
It is a global trot I tell you to survive naked or dressed just to be.
And then it came to be true and real that this was mine all mine.

So I sit in the seat with no defeat.
The world goes stupid and so mad,
But I stay clean and of course neat,
It’s just a silly little one time life fad.

Pain and suffering has just about killed me and you,
Together or apart it is a world we will always renew!

®Registered: Ann Rich   2009

Details | Sonnet | |

New Year Tag - Spenserian Sonnet

T’is the season of jolly and such fun
Ending a year and starting out brand new
Others will be looking to the long run
Uplifting many with words from a few
Celebrating the new binding like glue
Moving together with tag poetry
Pot on the stove with Epulaeryu brew
This stew is filled with great artistry
T’is is just like cosmetic dentistry
Brings a smile to celebrating faces
The time is now for a royal entry
Like playing cards with faces of aces
Hello Lynn Marie go put on your clogs
Look out the window you have just been tagged!

Comment:  I was tagged by Katherine Stella.  Hello Lynn, this is especially for 
you.  Happy New Year!  Now you will have to find someone whose poetry you 
enjoy to tag.  NOTE: The Spenserian sonnet rhymes as follows: 
ABABBCBCCDCDEE.  The second four lines are linked by rhymes to the first four 
and the follow four, and a couplet concludes the poem by reemphasizing the 
main idea or proposing an alternative view.  Isn’t this fun!!!

Details | Sonnet | |

The Note

I was corner-stoned by many of you.
The note was dotted with a dash.
But this note was an ultimate smash.
I found a peephole and peeped through.
I found a bird gave him the note and away he flew,
Across the deserts and the valleys he was there in a flash,
Across the rivers and Oceans he made a great big splash.
He made it to the shore, but the note he began to chew.
He passed a timely test,
And his belly was full,
He did not stop to rest,
The note he had to pull.
The bird landed on the Oceans shore,
Singing praises of his rugged chore.

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In Search of Desi's Pot of Gold

When Desi Lou was little an obsession she did speak
Of beautiful bright colored rainbows
As many colors as one could seek

Every time a rainbow appeared; Desi would jump with joy
Pointing at the striking colorful scenery
Her search for a pot of gold I could not destroy

Leprechauns and four leaf clovers also in the midst
Laughing, bouncing hysterically
Over a simple act of nature which exists 

Encouraging my daughter’s yearning 
Of a child’s fairytale dream to come true
Bright, colorful and dreamy, but not near as beautiful as you

© Stacy Lynn Stiles 

Details | Sonnet | |

Happy Birthday Mary Duhart (Kyrielle Sonnet)

Happy Birthday Mary Duhart
Enjoy a great day from the start
Celebrate your day on the go
Upon reaching the Big Five 0

As you blow out all the candles
Raise you hands and shake your bangles
This is your day to make a show
Upon reaching the Big Five 0

Family and friends by your side
Bright smiling faces all in stride
To the heavens praises shall go
Upon reaching the Big Five 0

Happy Birthday Mary Duhart
Upon reaching the Big Five 0

© Joseph, 8/20/2007
© All Rights Reserved

The Kyrielle Sonnet has 14 lines (three rhyming quatrain and a non-rhyming 
couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase as a refrain in the last line of each 
stanza.  Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet has eight syllables.

Details | Sonnet | |

All Fool's Day Sonnet

The wolves are out howling at the full moon
Jokesters are next and will be here real soon
I am holding tight to my silver spoon
See you in Dodge City when it’s high noon

My heart skipping and jumping as it beats
Knowing this day will be a fancy treat
Some folks are waiting to turn up the heat
I like this day because it is so neat

All Fool’s Day is remembered far and wide
With a smile I think I will stay inside
My heart will sing and also try to hide
Whisper All Fool’s Day and stand by my side

The wolves are out howling at the moon
Jokesters are next and will be coming soon!

Details | Sonnet | |

Catch 22

Well, there is a loophole right there.
And by golly gee there’s one here.
Easy to step into those cracks,
Losing balance and be all out of whack.

Step by step and baby ones at that,
Tiptoeing and being mighty slow.
But I bet you have all come to know,
A catch 22 has a knack.

Nothing is glued,
Too many corner stones,
How lewd!
Fragile are my bones.

Peeping through,
Seeing route 44’s for those catch 22’s.

®Registered: Ann Rich   2005

Details | Sonnet | |


She said to me to not even try
As I approached her with desire
The first thing noticed was her eyes
Leaving my heart burning with fire
I had to meet her, had to dare
She was elegant and ever so pretty
She probably noticed I was set in stare
So I then began to act witty
I couldn’t do anything to change her mind
With me, she would have nothing to do
Yet, she was the prettiest that I did find
But had contempt and a frozen heart, too
So, I walked away and muttered these words
To be interested in her is simply absurd

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Her teeth and eyes gleamed smilingly at me

From across the street I could see a guard dog
Silence..I called it to come to me
It bounded towards me in a friendly manner.
Then clockwise + anti-clockwise it began to canter.
I whistled ,it came this dog was not lame.
A heavy chain but no tag ,this was a stray.
What breed,I thought it looked like a dingo
Let's go for a practice walk with lingo
I stopped,she stopped ,I called ,she listened,I mused.
Her friendly manner + springy step with me fused.
She was bright,quick, silent + time well spent.
Maybe she can be my guest and off we went.
For fitness,for play or for fun in the sun.
This bright,young lady will anyone outrun.

Details | Sonnet | |

First in the Shower

My love, she welcomes each day with a smile, wide
Shamelessly stretching, breathing in the morning air
Exposing her beauty, innocently; nothing ever to hide
With beauty of the angels, the only way to compare
Her smile broadens as she sees her lover pass
Leaving doubt to this one, what is on her mind
She has a look of love, my heart now beating fast
Her eyes now wander, seeming wanting to find
She speaks, with a voice of a singer, singing out loud
Calling out to the one, the lover, there, in her favor
I, knowing my place, am about to climb on her cloud
To be her morning selection, that which she savors
But she, just smiles as she rises and runs to the shower
Laughing, because I am now second, I lost to her power.

Details | Sonnet | |

Heat My Enemy

Heat! Heat, my enemy; this too I learn.
Why yea, such burden on my back do lay,
Yea bronze my skin, damn sun, my neck yea burn.
My enemy –Hot August sun -hot day.
Does' come late September days concern
Bring for me your sweet eastern winds, I pray.
And October cool as leaves do fall -return!
Fill this sky not with burning sun, but gray.
Bring to me a sky, which clouds for shade.
My condition air, -Down, my thermostat
Cool breeze blow, me yea kind relief unpaid.
Fear creeps on me; sun to hot to be that-
My cool to keep. Hope, Faith or Charity
My electric bill, this week pay for me.