I wanna go back to Michigan
so I catch me some really good fish again.
The fish from any other U.S. lake
tend to give me such a bellyache,
that I can't wait to have a Michigan fish on my dish again.
Every weekday between three and four a local program we had come to adore
Hosting kids from this school or that
Watching Popeye having a chat
First a debate on the give away treat
something for later or ready to eat
A group of kids seven or eight
today's GiGi popcorn declared not so great
We want Goo Goos in unison spake
joined in one voice to bellyache
Captain Joe looking desperate seizing his chance
Noticed two giggling like ants in their pants
What's so funny please tell it to me
One little kid shrugging I can't say on Tee Bee
With captains ok and in waters uncharted
With her sweet southern drawl airing Hawvy fawted
Kids and old people that's where it's at
Ol' Cap and little missy just chewing the fat
My favorite milkshake, served chilled
I reach across the table and - it all spilled
Mum's not exactly
thrilled
Well, at least the pizza's steaming hot
I bite right into the center, a tad overwrought
Water! Water!... I never knew pizza was
fraught
Ah! Dessert is chocolate cake
I eat way too much - get a bellyache
My poor stomach's dancing
The Shamrock
Shake
__________________________________________
~ Inspired by Jan Allison's 'Mother's Day' entry in
Mohan Chutani's 'Minichu' contest, although my
poem is neither a Minichu nor a contest-entry.
We have to Rethink
what our choices are
so we can choose
life that doesn’t stink
We have to Refuse
our single use mentality
with all our ability
making sure we defuse
We have to Reduce
all of our consumption
to stop our destruction
with absolutely no excuse
We have to Refurbish
everything that we make
or nature will bellyache
grumbling with human rubbish
We have to Repair
before replacing with new
so the garbage spew
is not in despair
We have to Repurpose
for all our productivity
to not feel guilty
in our climate crisis
We have to Recycle
for our last action
with a strong interaction
for all life’s survival
This year, everyone is taking turns in the loo
Since Aunt Judy used Ex-lax in the fruitcake
She didn't know she’d create so much poo
Nor cause us all to have an atrocious bellyache
Christmas Chastushka Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
December 17, 2020
I love autumn - 'tis my most favorite of the seasons.
The harvest moon and colorful leaves are some of many reasons.
Trees that during summer provided shade and leaves of jade,
Now wear robes of red and gold so brilliantly displayed!
I'm awed as the rising sun casts its beams on neighboring trees,
Further exposing exquisite leaves dancing in the gentle breeze.
But I have a bone to pick with Mother Nature, truth be told.
Though my emerald lawn is now carpeted with pretty leaves of gold,
'Tis not especially to my liking since it is them I must rake.
'Tis neighbor's leaves that litter my lawn - and that's my bellyache!
Should it be a poet's duty
To write solely about beauty?
A POET’S DUTY by BETH EVANS
ANSWER ON A BED OF NAILS
let me answer the quixotic brioche —
we all need a delicate pinch;
brachial bruising a warning
all the flowery talk dispels the magnitude
of cancer, the carbuncle of abuse,
the horrific salutations of the nazi regime
we march alone but also as a world
arm in arm, armed with insecticide
words like ants; a bench’s rash
a hose in diffusion’s spray
may try to paint the sky
in shades of love’s foray
turn it off; let flow subside
take a better look —
heart on a bed of nails
war of words; a twisting sword
let truth be the blood
that scores
because a poet can also whitewash
with parrots
mimic...mimic...mimicking
seek your bellyache
examine, test, squander
all its savings
let cavalry of water fall
soaking wet
with poet’s ink
10/9/2020
Beth Evans’ A Poet's Duty Poetry Contest
Sit here!
Recite
with us
story notes,
playing
bellyache
teary sigh laughs;
same told tune
refraining
He found a box of brownie cake
sprinkled with silver sugar flake.
Ah! Hidden weekend treasure,
ate with forbidden pleasure,
stays bed ridden with bellyache.
August 30, 2020
Limerick Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Syllables: 8,8,7,7,8 checked on howmanysyllables.com
Do stop your moaning, for Heaven's Sake!
You're not the first to bellyache!
You can scowl, growl, or howl
Or throw in the towel
But no one can go to your Wake!
Parking lots are empty, the streets are bare:
no one forecast this; nothing can compare.
Acting cavalier, some don't even care
that the elderly die, gasping for air:
they still say staying inside is unfair.
The low-wage everyday workers are scared,
finding themselves jobless and unprepared.
And it's soon apparent no country's spared:
the whole world's at war, though it's undeclared.
Facts about the pandemic got disclosed,
and self-quarantine measures were imposed;
while airports and national borders closed.
Social distancing stressed out the nation:
socialization is our foundation.
And, we've got good reason to bellyache.
Corporate greed failed hospital healthcare:
profits increased, and therefore no one cared,
that this pandemic left the world exposed.
A lack of supplies brought desperation:
now, everyone's paying for that mistake.
Warmed by the silicon chip,
glacial ice melts drip by drip,
And as ocean waters rise:
floods should come as no surprise.
Global warming is no myth:
we need to prepare forthwith.
Humanity is at stake:
it's no time to bellyache.
The world's forests are burning
while famine is returning.
And those uprooted by drought,
realize there's no way out.
Fear settles border disputes
with immigrants without roots.
And when plastics kill the fish,
Hope will morph into a wish.
Mega storms will terrorize
with winds and all that implies.
And when disease and death spread,
millions will be sick or dead.
If you don’t speak pig Latin,
that’s all muddy okay
Ignorant bliss slop chatting,
this be the swine way
Quid pro quo
is a pig tell only
when you Latin show
need to know know
This Seller conversation bee busy e-Bay
That Buyer rhetoric reply is a sting yea
Quid pro quo,
it’s the dirty methane manure vow burn
Do do one vig favor for me,
and I’ll do do one for you in sow return
Pig Latin patsy cough drop puffs,
this is nasty, mucky breath stuff
that be so stool pigeon hard to bellyache learn
Get me this,
and I’ll give you that —
Filthy lucre deals only be of wee buck concern
Quid pro quo
is an udder miry, scandal blow-buy oppo info-blow
There’s no no need for anyone to poppy milk know
But[t] smart-alecky Snoop Dogg snouts
have got their pig Latin dictionaries out
This is an odious ixnay pigpen violation —
Secret piggy bank account rap is being legally recorded
That can’t abide any oink consideration,
‘cause squeal messages aren’t Joe B. Taxpayer afforded
Love heals
Hate kills
Health is a thought
Away…
The mind a labyrinth
of joy and pain
The soul its abode
The spirit
Our body of travel
and tasting
Life can be a banquet
or bellyache
when the eating out
is eating the within….
SONG OF SONGS 7:2 Your navel is a rounded goblet that never lacks a blended wine.Your waist is a mound of wheat encircled by lilies.
THE BELLYDANCE
A performance for one - the dance of love.
Her supple waist; he never knew she could.
His eyes like a mesmerized snake, his dove —
She gyrates left and right - she’s really good.
The darkling wine on lips — a sparkling feast.
Such contrast with taut lily-flesh; no sin.
The draw to pull her close unto his breast.
No danger here — her palms soft-wave him in.
The naivety sweet — her navel’s gold.
His hands encircle hips - he reels her close.
The butterfly goblet — his tongue is bold.
Scent’s aphrodisiacal — and time has froze.
The bellyache of loss should two break up.
O rather drink the everlasting cup!
7/16/2019
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