Best Broadcast Poems


Premium Member Broadcast

Broadcast what you know well
Live after as a tale to tell
Figure out ways to owning up
To anyone you helped disrupt
Be taller than six feet down
Not only a loss in your town
© ... Gigno  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member News Broadcast

Welcome to our broadcast,
We're glad that you've tuned in.
We'll tell you all the latest news,
Come on now, let's begin.

Andy allegedly yanked off
Wacky Wendy's wig.
It caused Wendy to screech and scream,
While Andy danced a jig.
Police weren't able to catch him,
But they did locate the wig.
Andy allegedly placed it
On Farmer Fred's pig.

Curvy Carla caused a pile up,
Late one afternoon.
She took a stroll, bikini clad,
And caused some men to swoon.
The men were treated at the scene,
For hyperventilation.
Curvy Carla got a ticket,
For excessive titillation.

That's all the news we have right now.
We'll be back when we've more to tell.
Thank you again for tuning in.
By golly, you've all been swell!


11/27/11
Kim Merryman
Entered in PD's "Make Me Smile" contest

Broadcast #1

If I were stung by a bumble bee, 
Would it make you any less an ant?


Broadcast #11

Be for me, no more 
than you have hidden away 
in self-deception. Today, 
tomorrow, into next week, 
make yourself real for me; 
toss the curried bullcrap out 
with that bouquet of empty words 
you're so clever with. Those tapping feet 
need to settle down in an honest rhythm 
of sound that catches my attention, 
that makes me want to press 
my cheek to yours, in simple friendship. 
All the wrong things are at the top 
of your list.

Broadcast #5

The dress was a vested interest
In looking good; the hair drifted down,
Soft Grecian lines that curled
Over sun-browned skin 
Camouflaging freckles on her back. 

Roving eyes took in the seated diva;
Her throne(worth all the tea in China,
Maybe more) was The Solar Bird,
A bronze, by Miro. 

Her exit was the East Wing’s nearest door.

Broadcast #4

Well, Mary O, I don't know if chicken feed's 
the way to go, to catch the faultless phrase, 
to turn a poet from a dame who's dazed 
by right-side brain overload and malnutrition. 

I'm Irish and a female; 
Isn't that enough?


Premium Member Heaven's Broadcast

how
i
love
listening
to
the
whisper
in
your
voice
of
midnight
stars



AP: 1st place 2021

Broadcast # 14

The winter turns
completely upside down 
When we go mind to mind
In an elevated round
Of cyber synapse.

Perhaps.

Broadcast #6

I love you in the quiet space of recollection; 
love you ardently in dreams that allow 
no measure of restriction; where time drifts 
backwards on a whim, eclipsing the Egyptian Dog Star 
and Sumarian curiosities. It comes to rest 
at the mouth of eternity, with a view 
of a world yet to be. In the excitement 
of discovering you all over again, 
I will time to stand still, 
and bind his eyes.

Broadcast #7

She sees herself obsessed 
with perfection, utterly lost 
without positive direction; 
confounded by the thought 
of indiscretion, she needs 
some space, some time, 
some introspection. 

Confounded, self defense 
Becomes digression, 
not knowing if she's penned 
the right correction; her mentor 
had the nerve to take vacation 
and left her in a mess 
of speculation. 

His Monday morning dose 
Of adoration, has been put 
On hold.

Festive Turkey Broadcast

The turkey couple stomped out of their shed,
For the short season that all turkeys dread,
“We quit, we’re done,”
“We want to have fun,”
"OVENS OFF! DON’T DISTURB! We’re off to bed."

19/11/22

A Brian Stand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
© W J Clarke  Create an image from this poem.

Broadcast #12

I had a lover once, just one,
espied through misted panes
from my corner loft, 
above the grocery store.
His lanky gait would pause 
for the Southbound No.3.
and though I wished, 
with all my heart,
he’d lift his head from down,
the passing years have 
have brought no more
than a greying shade of brown.

Broadcast # 2

Shouldn't Pilsner glasses come in six packs?

Broadcast #13

I watch you struggle
in your sleep, 
battle deep,
in a dream 
against yourself.

I watch, and wait 
to sprinkle fairy lust 
inside your mind;

to spell your days
with searching eyes
beyond the obvious.

Broadcast #9

Sing with me, Henry. 
Time is tapping 
A worrisome foot 
For the rhythm 
Of life is a mess. 
Too many hearts 
are dressed in despair. 
and the lost need a song 
for their souls.

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