Poem | |
You have all heard I am sure of the three musketeers
The group with the swords not the ones with the funny ears
Reminds me of a joke that right here would apply
There are three kinds of people I tell you no lie
Those who are really quite good at math
And those who are not and that's that
They were the three musketeers but they were four
Their math was bad not three, four and no more
I hope you're all still with me, I'm not trying to be a pest
I need you to follow me because at the end there's a test
There is Casarah
Yeah and hurrah
She is a good ma
Then there is Tim
You should know him
He's tall and trim
And finally there is the kind hearted Jan
From England she's the one with no tan
Coy and demure behind her fancy fan
If you kept count that makes three
Who can argue. You'd have to agree.
Now we have arrived at what I am trying to say
I've just joined them and I quite enjoy sword play
Do you see? I am number four.
I'll just walk through their door.
That makes me the best, the fillet mignon
It turns out that I am frikin' D'Artagnan.
Poem | |
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.
That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store
That was your appraised value.
But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.
Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood
“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards
I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter
We scream in misguided nerd joy
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session
Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!
But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!
It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap
My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.
To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”
I chose to be a human this night.
Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall
A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table
Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums
In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form
It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose
At the TOP of my LUNGS,
“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could.
You never responded to my open-hearted palm.
You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man.
But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say!
You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows.
Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday.
So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband,
Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line
Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face
Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall,
With children pointing & laughing hysterically,
“Security” enters the room
As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder,
“Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me.
The Best Man that you will never hold again.”
©Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.
i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.
she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.
i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish
Poem | |
Zuzuni on the badlands
Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before;
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.
An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God,
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode,
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.
I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart:
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes!
My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.
Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.
Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.
© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Poem | |
Out on the faraway of Spring,
the wraiths tap-dance atop the fields,
their laughter rises when they wield,
and beam to innocent their swing.
Our donkey left the barn last night,
pursuing thus, a gracious mare;
a whir became on stardom glare,
enchanting all jennets in sight!
The chickens started to escape,
because of a bewitching coq,
(with sauce of Worcester, cooked in wok),
- his spook got drunk on Concord grape.
Our precious cow (miss World was called) ,
wore ten inch spikes with a short dress,
and jumping up the barn egress'd,
absorbed by night for e'er un-stalled.
Two versing hogs, were cuckoo-spelled,
and oinking Shakespeare's sixth sonnet,
spiraled afar; a gifted duet
on website poetry excelled.
This Pandemonium's trick song,
our grandma sang while her broom climbed,
with a 'ye haw' she left and rhymed,
new magic flying to Hong Kong.
Nigh this Catastrophe's attacks,
the neighbor's daughter dressed like ghost,
to whistling granted her riposte,
- and much was kissed, on dry hay stacks.
© G. V., 11-19-2013, All Rights Reserved
Worcester: is pronounced "Woo'ster"
Poem | |
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Poem | |
You question duskiness "Whereas he be?"
Be careful pal; he hides behind the tree!
Inside the sneaky shades he aptly lurks
because you've drunk too many Cuty Sarks.
You, silly chump! You're shaking on your feet;
Contele Dracula* and tough tidbit
exists inside your foolishness' resource
and punishes your wrongs without remorse.
Excess in drinking could be bad for you;
tis not that you'll become a drunk boo-hoo
but he'll metamorphose to baseball bat
and if you drink again, he'll kick your butt.
I know you're stupefied and very scared
cause Gigi hides in pizza boxes where'd
jump up, if thee besotted be and fool,
and then consume your pizza, super-cool.
Admit it, dude! You're shivering in fear!
But if you prayed he would disappear,
expect him to start dancing everywhere-s,
and jingle, so, his spurs upon your stairs.
Ha ha! Hill Billy, you! Outside your house,
behind the pumpkins, sound the irked meows:
bewildered Gigi cats will jump ahead,
inside your car and on your empty head.
You should, thus, paint your house pistachi'o green
cause if you stall before your PC screen
he'll haunt the lines of your poetic calls
and bats will eat your order of spring rolls.
© 10-02-2014, G. Phookan, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
* Contele Dracula = Count Dracula in Romanian
Poem | |
I stepped in for my first colonoscopy. I was nervous everyone could see
I had a choice to be awake or put out if I was skittish...but no not me
I chose the former so I could watch my own ass on TV
They go right up your canal with a camera like an RV
Imagine my surprise when up my butt they found my phone
The tiny ones they use to make before the smart cell phone
But here's the clincher it was set on vibrate. The doc was suspicious
"My wife insisted" I told him "she bribed me with cake. It was delicious"
Then the doctor red faced handed me something, said "what's this"
I borrowed his bifocals. It was a rolled up playbill. He looked pissed.
"I can explain. It's dated Sep. 8, 2001. That's my wife's 40th birthday
We were drinking. We lost it, got a fancy room right after the play"
He handed me one more thing, a broken pencil if you will
"I'm a mathematician. I was constipated I took a special pill
Then I used math to work it out with a pencil. This one I suppose
It broke. I thought I got it all. I guess I didn't. I mean who knows?"
The good news is the test went well my colon was clear
They found nothing threatening just stuff that was queer
I must admit however ever since that very day I live in absolute fear
That doctor knows my wife's father. I tell you this, in case I disappear
Poem | |
I wrote a poem of despair
My hearts been tossed up into the air
She wrote a limerick that was taboo
She made me laugh when I was so blue
Entering stage left was Tim
Writing of past lovers sins in a hymn
It seems that we laugh or we cry
We live, we love, or we die
The three of us, holding poetic swords up high
Throughout the ages we all do fly
No subject goes unspoken
For the freedom of words we've awoken
No battle to long or too fierce
Our duels are true and unrehearsed.
Through blood, sweat and tears
A bond so strong that sweetens the years
All for one and one for all
Let us carry on and have a ball!
Poem | |
Well I declare
On artful prints her beauty dwelt,
diffused in haze, a pristine bloom,
ethereal her figure svelte
and French perfume.
Well I declare, her love I sought;
unplaced on canvas her response
hence diffident her stare and thought,
Alike a dancing muse she stepped
her graciousness, a veil of night,
caressing wave, the shoreline swept
her smiling bright.
Upon the sands she coasted then,
of Springtime incandescent beam
an everlasting red cayenne
and fervent dream.
A classic arts connoisseur
well I declare, my reddened rose,
I yippee yipped with spree and spur
and kissed her nose. :)
© 2014-09-06, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter - Iambic dimeter)
Sponsor: gautami phookan
Contest Name: The Sweetest Touches of Verse
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves orgasm so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following;
"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown orgasm."
We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated.
Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them."
Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, orgasm.
Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"
Poem | |
I feel privileged.
I have been chosen by the Government
as part of a group testing something called
Edible Clinical Marijuana.
Honestly I half expected it to look like a Burrito
because the name sounds sort of Mexican.
It actually looks more like a brownie.
I’m am about to take a bite so hold on.
So here is the point
I am suppose to consume
one half of a brownie
then fill out this sheet
giving them my feedback.
I am going to have a few more bites.
milk would go great
with these babies.
I’ll be back.
(after a long while)
OK, sew sorry I was gonna while
I was staring inside my fridge\
for a while'
tying to remember
I think I wanted a glass of ink%
aktiually I’m dinking from the bodle@
I am eating my forth brownie
as I was instructured to do;
Did they say four or? ate
cause these. are tasty
a program on my compuwhatyoucallit
keeps underlyning my words
with read squiggles=
but it diidn’t underline squiggle#
wel dats stoopid
squiggle isa perfect lee
good underlying word*
stoopid Bill Gated^
sorry I ment Will Gated~
so watt was I saying ]
fill the sheet)
I don wanna sheet,
tha is gaross[
heeres a pen
ansir; yes- please)
?why m i bein so polite
oh wow Blues Brothers on my TV
what was I spose? to do
oh yeah watch tv
why am i so angry hahahahahah++
i mean hungary
h u n g r y
those look good
i con't tipe with mai mouth
full dats rood/rood
i'll get bak too dis later..
sew as they say
two bee cun tit nude<
hay lookk browniies
Mo Rice Why Vone
Poem | |
Mr. Sandman Send Me To Sleep
He came to me, he came by sea
Escaping, he would set me free
Sending me into dreams
Of starlight and moonbeams
The sandman made a beach for me
For contest: A clean limerick
Poem | |
What a wonderful day
I decided to give Peanut my four year old Yorkie a bath which of course he hates
I lathered him with baby shampoo and rinsed him off
Took him outside and dried him off with a towel
Then brushed him and dried him with the hair dryer
Oh, he looked so clean and beautiful with that long silver and golden hair
Decided to take some empty containers in the back shed
My husband mowed the yard this morning with lots of loose grass out on the yard
Which it was ok for him to roll
But it had rained at least two inches last week, so I have some standing water behind the shed
Guess where Peanut decided to go,
Yes into the standing water that is full of mud
So, guess what in the bath tub he goes again
By eve roper
Poem | |
I set my morning muse alarm for 2am.
But instead, it went off at three.
"Wake up!" he said, "It's me."
I reached for pen and paper. "Stop
fumbling, and turn on the light," he said.
"Or, you'll never be able to read
what I'm putting in your head."
"Why are you being so bossy?" I asked.
"Sorry," he said. "But I'm in a hurry
to get to the next poet's bed."
Poem | |
Sweet and Sour hectic sign
Love me, trust me, the stars align
Balance of truth and dare
Good and Evil, full of care
Blind when it comes to blood line
Poem | |
Dependent was and amorous obsession 5.5
in burning desert, fresh canteen 4
his sidewalk's fantasy and thoughts' digression, 5.5
the strongest coffee's roasted bean 4
(their phantasms met beyond projectors' light). 5
Exquisite stood upfront, unmoving posture,
distressing emptiness of soul,
unreachable resort her sightly stature,
(- expending skies and ozone hole),
prêt à porter vitrine, on Winter's night.
Behind the glass, a still and standing shadow
abates his hopes (gray sky suspends),
( he takes his foolish stance of wooden scarecrow,
- that through odd sprawls the fields attends ),
was she the blessing of the Gods or else?...
His allegorical, but lonely feeling,
instilled inside, without defect,
while speechless phantoms crossed sky's ceiling,
the downpour soaked, warmth to reject,
(ersatz their wedlock's knolling, fast dispels).
Her uppish, elegant of stance, adjacent,
within arm's reach, kind of abstruse,
albeit abstained, of secular indulgence,
(his head acquired a tilt obtuse),
invited him through faultless, charming lies.
A brass trumpet dispersed its jazzy spieling,
he, thoughtless, leaned on some red booth,
adored her raised one hand's refined appealing,
(- that altruistic, smiling tooth!),
and gazing to the stars but vacant eyes!...
© G.V. 11-16-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Quintain following 5.5, 4, 5.5, 4, 5 feet on each stanza.
The rhyme scheme follows this pattern:
ABABC DEDEC, FGFGH, IJIJH ... and so on.)
Poem | |
Will poems to my dull senses rise,
In plainer garb, or apt disguise?
Can turn of phrase else serve an end,
To vanquish foes or win a friend?
What ardor gains a rhyme’s release,
To grant me treasured moment’s peace?
So is it merely hubris’ child,
That lets me dream I’m Oscar Wilde!
2nd Place, Best Poetic Form, Poet Destroyer A
Poem | |
It is about that time of the year…
I have lost count of my age, oh dear.
Sometimes I wonder where the time has gone,
It is has been for so, very long.
I look back and think…
Boy, time has just flown by, in a wink.
It seems like yesterday I was just born,
I don’t feel any different inside, you know.
It’s this body of mine that distracts…
It is a little slower to react.
Oh, I stubbed my toe,
Wouldn’t you know.
I fall asleep at the computer…
Pressed on top of my lap top are my fingers.
I wake up, to my surprise,
There are words of a different kind.
My sacroiliac is tight…
It must be from sitting up all night.
Half way asleep in my recliner, oh my aching back,
Taking my cat naps with my two cats.
Didn’t get much sleep last night, a simple fact…
So, I thought I would stretch out the kinks in my back.
Took some time to pray,
And read my scriptures for the day.
What do we have in store for today, Dear Lord?
Life with it’s ins and outs, there is no doubt.
That when you get older,
We tend to lean a little more on God’s shoulder.
Life has its rhythm with each new heart beat...
We were born yesterday in our birthday suits, cheek to cheek.
We can find humor in our own little lives,
Which ends up at our age as “A Rhyme In Time”
Cinda M Carter
For the older one's out there who are having birthdays' in June and July...
" Have a Very, Very Blessed Birthday"
May 19, 2014
Poem | |
A pple pies, that's what I want to bite.
B egging my mom: "Mommy please, please..", as I
C ome closer to her..
D ancing a little to the left and right;
E very move a way to tempt my mom
F or that sweet delicious pie..
G iving her a kiss to her lips. And
H ugs so tight.. Finally,
I ris, my mom, said yes, yes we go and buy
J umping thrice for I am happy and thrilled, I
K not my arm to my mom's.
L ovingly, not wanting any other mom.
M oving fast as we could to buy not one or two but a plentitude of pies.
N oting, how generous is my mom for I was just asking for one.
O ven-fresh, my mouth waters as I smell the apple pies.
P icking one piece,
Q uickly, I took a luscious large bite.
R ich rumble rush of savory pie
S ated my appetite.
T aunting me to take more! more!
U nder my mom's gaze, Again I eat and eat.
V ery delicious, I said to my mom
W idening my grin and giving thumbs up.
X eric is my throat, I drink and drink.
Y ummy! So yummy, that I eat four pies in a row.
Z ipper of my pants, my oh my, I hardly can close!
*** Xeric means dry.
© O. E. Guillermo
October 10, 2014
Poem | |
I once heard of a fisher Luciano,
who sang bass as he played on his piano.
Once he fished and cast his line
by mistake hooked his behind
since that day, when he plays he sings soprano.
How many syllables.com
11, 11, 7, 7, 11
Sponsor Roy Jerden
Limericks Clean and Clever
Poem | |
I so love this form called Footle
It allows the poet to doodle
With so few words
Whether right or absurd
Now read , short trip, lets tootle
< ;-) >
Poem | |
Jake took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won
Jake’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started his speech
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach
“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Jake’s point was being made
He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain confidence when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle
His strength and courage built fast as he spoke
Jake finished up with a memorable poke:
“You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”
Out of four thousand entrants, Jake took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Oh, how we all cheered when his win was announced
Jake’s humor skills were by far the best pronounced
Today Jake coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem
*I was fortunate to see Jake give his amazing speech at the national collegiate speech and
debate finals in Niagara Falls. Like many others, I had feared he was truly
experiencing “stage fright.” But he used his humor to make us see that people often exceed
beyond the abilities others think they have. If he didn’t see himself as “disabled,” why
should anyone else? And what tremendous success he’s had in his career! His message had
a profound impact on a lot of other college students.
Poem | |
He felt her molding in his mind with sorcery and guise;
the gorgeous and deceptive maid, out of his poems leapt
confusion causing in his thoughts her almond eyes of vice,
theatrical eccentric play, and Shakespearean script.
Enchanting her Medusa comb with serpents was so crowned,
two wolfish fangs protruded when her dismal glance she gleamed
her howling lifted in the air as sharp as ultrasound,
abruptly, thus, out of his eyes, eccentric feelings streamed.
In order to enchant the maid, he started dancing jazz
he wore a Capri pair of pants and fuchsia polo shirt
behind his ear a daisy bore, with splendor and pizzazz,
his smile allowed three golden teeth to shine virile and pert.
Eccentric was his dance for her, outside the discotheque
with eyes that squinted humorous, he jumped par amor'
the serpents twisted happily and hissed to bedeck
the Saturday performance of his sandals on the floor.
Delighted was her evilness, the snakes their eyes then crossed
because his eccentricity prevailed in logic since
his golden teeth the creatures stunned, ensorcelled and embossed,
and in the maiden's frozen heart, he was transformed to Prince.
© 2014-10-06, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved