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I'M A FLEA by Vincent, Messoh
FLEA MARKET by Grenness , Julie
flea market trip haiku by King, Marty
ODE TO MY FLEA by Gnik, Nehpets
A dog goes to flea market by CHAKRABARTY, RAJAT KANTI
Flea Markets by dailey, mike

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The Best Flea Poems

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A Bridge Over Silent Waters

A Bridge Over Silent Waters

Never judge your fellow man
Before seeking your own reflection
Not the one that shines in a glass mirror
Seek it in the eyes of your fellow man
His eyes shall reflect your compassion or lack there of

When a pond has no ripples
Look for the lies, underneath
When you see the waves upon the water
Know that the winds are singing to you
Truth will always seek you out

Never close your heart to a strangers smile
His smile may bring you serenity or deception
Trust in your inner being to know
It shall open up towards the rainbows or seek refuge 
To protect your soul

When you see a human suffering
Flea not inside your reflection
Instead reflect upon his suffering
Share the waters of your pond with him
This shall promise you both more rainfall


Notes

This was inspired by a poem written by Charmaine, she was kind enough to let me use a few of her lines in the first verse of this poem. Its amazing how when you read something it can open your mind to think of things you otherwise would not have. For some reason, maybe more because of his messages than his style I find myself thinking of Richards’s poetry as well. This for me is the beauty of the site, the inspiration one gets from fellow poets, it’s a great honor to have met so many, and to have shared so many ideas and views and opinions. More important than any poem is the laughter and smiles, this among friends is like giving away gold bars. (Although I do accept the occasional gold bar now and then)


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


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Light On the Devil's Chord -Day 1

And the music began,
And with power so strong, I nearly fell back from the force
Snarling, smiling, demons held me upright,
As the Precarious Prince began,

“Dare you in silence come to me, Daughter of Eve,
To challenge my wisdom with your lust to sing,
A child of God—you provoke His flea,
A monster in the dark—a sight to see!

In meditative silence, I was ever blooming,
The passion for power in my mind consuming,
In silence, my brilliance berated all other
My beauty, shocking, my wings of color

Etched in golden array, 
Silence was my everything,
A bud so tight, so light, so moist,
In heaven bright—its beam rejoiced!

And now, as knowledge, as power do burst,
I sit in silence, though in the worst
A quiet so perturbed your stomach curbs,
I long in luster for demons to disturb

Silence, once a subordinate to my wit,
Had found its way into this grimy pit,
Where now your God has given me,
A work of sloppy treachery…

Had I been He, and He been me,
I would throw His heart into the sea,
And watch the eels suck each artery
And listen to his lullabies for a century,
To feel his spirit sweat in the flames of my power,
I would shred his head on the highest tower,
Give him something to really Bab-bel,
Make him wish Eve had crushed that apple” 

He smiled at me with teeth protruding, 
Head craning,
Keenly waiting for my reply
My throat was insanely dry, and my heart racing
I had expected more, yet expected less…
And now all my wits were a wretched mess

Yet still Death severed those deep bass chords..
I began as a child would, with a doubtful sigh,
I wondered yet again what kind of trouble I was coming by
And inspired by The Reaper’s little push, I began

“In my days in your presence, dear one
Silence shall not roam too close,
I do not sing to disdain you,
Rather to know you, 
I do not grow quiet,
To decompose you…”

I stopped for a moment, 
To see him staring rather attentively,
As if he were expecting a miracle
His almost angelic expression changed as quick as it came…

“Go on…” He demanded. “Sing me what your God would have sang…”

“You speak of silence, in the fogs of doom,
In your pit you dwell, and with a child you make room,
I have ached long in the vision of your cries,
Watching the happy children, and the relieving sighs,
I imagined you just as I see you today,
A beautiful sufferer, with wit, bite, and sway
Crushing courage in your wake,
I implore you—you quake
Moments like these I will never forget,
To win, to lose, to KNOW I wait yet!
What is it with man and his thirst for the truth,
Leading him to fall, to intercede his youth,
And as I do now, wrong or right,
By God and his angels has found delight!
Allowed me with confidence to face you Prince,
A sauntering being of ire and impertinence
I see where your attention bleeds,
I see your mind and I see your needs
Such darkness must now allow some light,
By accepting my challenge—a bravery so bright
Do I mean to admire you, accept you, despise you
Am I hear to judge you, taunt you, transpire you
You and you alone I come for, oh Prince
To show you I care, to break the silence
To share with you the precious gifts of song,
To love, to sing, and in turn…belong…”

The demons chimed with laughter dark
As the Prince sat close beside me
He stood very slow, towering over me,
And took me by the arm

“Charming voice, darling,
You sing quite well,
Shall we sing for as long as you say?
Will you not be missed?”

He pointed above me, and stared at me deeply
There was warning written all over him
A threatening, distant eye,
The other full of desire

“I am missed by you, though I stand before you,
This I say, Prince
I shall stay with you 40 days and 40 nights, 
And then I shall leave you, in the breaking dawn of day…”

His grip tightened upon me,
“I have you, child, woman…light…
For 40 Days and 40 nights… 
Before then, let us make history of song
Yes, my dear... let us both belong…”

The demons gasped,
And Death stood still…steadily strumming a pulse of daring life


----Thank you once again, Justin Bordner, for the title to this work. 
This may be confusing if you have not yet read the other parts to the poem.  If you are interested, they are called Light On the Devil’s Chord – Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 as well as The ChallengeThanks for reading friends! ~Laura


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


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Monkey See

Monkey See~

There once was a monkey named Frank
Who loved to walk the plank
He said too many jokes
Pulled too many hoaxe-s 
Ha! Ha! Ha! Then he got a good spank

*

Who's that monkey in front of me
I dare to hang with you on a tree
Oh! What I do? Will you do?
Together we are like glue
Is that my flea or your flea?

~ Skat ~

Contest~



Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011


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The Iceman Cometh!

Ambling thro' the museum today an object caught my eye,
Inviting me to pause and reminisce about a time gone by.
'Twas an old oaken icebox standing there on display.
That ancient relic served as the family refrigerator in its day.

I recollected that we had one like it when I was a tyke,
Growing up on the Hoosier farm on fabled Farmer's Pike.
It cooled the milk and cream and butter that Mom made,
To spread on fresh-baked bread with a tad of marmalade!

What a refreshing sight on a sweltering summer's day,
To see the iceman's truck slowly meandering our way,
Along Farmer's Pike, crystal-clear ice stacked on the truck,
And anticipating a sliver of ice to chomp on and suck!

Mom put a card in the window to show the amount of ice required.
The iceman took note of this and delivered the ice desired.
He'd carry a hundred-pound block of ice on his burly back,
As nonchalantly as if toting feathers in a gunny sack!

Iceboxes served their purpose and in museums they now repose.
Once in awhile you'll find them at flea-markets and antique shows.
Fancy refrigerators now cool the grub and make the ice.
The iceman's logo I yet recall, "Iceman's Ice Is Twice As Nice!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010


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Zolar the Inet God

(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")

It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...

from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.

Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.

Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.

Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you  a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."

Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.

The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
 in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot

of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone  with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.

Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.

Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.

It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew

covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door,  my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.

No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been

I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow

It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.

A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.

That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.

I never go near the iNet, never search out or  bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.


Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014


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HOLIDAY HORROR

We had just got married - was the month of June This is the saga of our disastrous honeymoon We started off in a hotel in Norwich The bedding was itchy just like doing ‘porridge’ Back home to Birmingham to get ready for our cruise To the Norwegian Fjords - stunning scenery to peruse I had already started to get a horrid cold My sneezing was totally uncontrolled We arrived in Norway and I was feeling ill The fjords were smooth no need for sea sickness pill I started to brighten as we began the cruise Hubby and me together we had nothing to loose Enjoying the scenery and the fresh cold air Watching the waterfalls oh how we did stare We arrived at the first hotel and got ready for the night We were on honeymoon and wanted everything right Climbing the stairs to our hotel room Separate beds – you could sense the doom Well we got over that hurdle… details I won’t discus! But when we saw the tour guide oh how we did cuss Next day we got onto our honeymoon boat Enjoying the experience whilst we were afloat On to another hotel as part of the tour Separate beds yet again – oh what a bore! Every hotel we stayed at we had separate beds Hardly ideal scenario for a pair of newly weds! Finally it was time for us to go our journey back home One more meal at the hotel – oh how time had flown Disaster struck – it could only happen to me I got food poisoning I was as sick as a flea Firing from both ends it was absolute hell My honeymoon disaster – oh I remember it well! A pretty accurate description of our honeymoon in June 1991… but despite everything that went wrong we are still together! 04~24~15 Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton ~awarded 2nd place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


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A DOGS LIFE

I've been shoved out in the back yard, A bit ruff, don't you agree? It's not that I've disgraced myself, No,It's because SHE caught a flea! Don't know what all the fuss is about, I mean they don't bother me. Any way I need the exercise, It's a great way to have a good scratch. Those crafty little blighters They get right under my thatch. I like to chase 'em out To see how many I can catch. I grabs 'em and bites 'em And has my bit of fun. When they see these gnashers,grrr, You should see them try to hop and run. Oh! there's one,oh! there's one, Oh! there's another one. He-llo!what's going on here then? Aaarghh! that stuffs awful,smells really bad. Oy, watch where you're spraying! If you don't mind,I still want'a be a dad! Sometimes these humans just don't care. They drive me barking mad. Howoooo, I'm fed up with all this palaver I can't stand all this strife--. Hang on-time to be 'mummies darling'. Here comes his soppy wife. The things you have to do to make them happy. It really is a dog's life!
Palaver-fuss or bother


Copyright © SYLVIA Coulstock | Year Posted 2010


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Poem of heartbreak

Here I am, laying on my bed
Silently crying while I read
About the things I left unsaid
And all my tears being shed

Did you know, you broke my heart
When you left, when we were apart
But the things that you told me
Right before you said you'd flea

All I have left is the memory
Of your last words, said in glory
"I think we need a break"
And so now I'm left awake

Here I am, laying on my bed
My depression being fed
By my own record player
Only adding sadness, layer after layer

Your last words, are those on repeat
That's what I wish to delete
The image of you running off
Just thinking you were tough

The thought that's destroying my mind
Nor confirmed or denied
"Did I do something wrong"
My friends told me I was strong

I have managed to smile everyday
Even though I see the world in grey
I miss you badly
Pretending to be happy, sadly

I can't see you clearly in photos
My emptiness grows
If you were here,I could've touched you
But then again, was our love ever true

So is it wrong for me to want a kiss
On the lips that I dearly miss
Not just from anyone
Just the one who left and run


Copyright © Bianca Perillo | Year Posted 2014


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Truth, Shines Ever So Brightly

Truth, Shines Ever So Brightly

I was once wrapped it teeth and thick fur
ferocious and ghastly beast was me.
I was a bad dog, a wicked little cur
whipping and snapping at every small flea.

One day, the sun burnt my covering hide
and exposed my hideous skin to see.
Such truth, this heart could not abide
stung me ever so sharply like a bee.

Now comes time to hold less as much more
walk a different path free and alone.
Yes, light filtered through that sad door
where my greatest folly was then shown.

I was once wrapped in thick, shiny scales
Now a deep truth destroys those tall tales.

Robert J. Lindley, 1-09-2016


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016


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MY SNOW WHITE CATIE LINDSEY

Angel of mourning soup
Angel of mourning
Who gives birth to fresh morning dew who 
helped me pursue who showed me the light
when I was lost for clues in times of blues

Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From heaven?
From where did you fall
From where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
that's all
that's all
You are the fairest of
them all and you don't
need to ask the damn
mirror on the wall.

You helped me build the ladder of saul but the others
couldn't help because they couldn't speak our language
at all and so if I ever fall I know you will be there to 
pick me up like a pen like a friend  I wish I can give 
you the sun but I am young enough to be your son 
so I give to you the stars of friendship ,I can feel your 
breeze its it make me want to fall to my knees and never
cease to rain my gratification on your being because what
I have been seeing is a lending hand when many ran I 
guess that's what separates a rock from a grain of sand 
size of heart so were should I start.  


Let me fill your shopping cart with the immensity 
of this poem so when you get to the cash register
 of  heavens doorway you can show em your appreciated
 hearts receipt  you have given more than I can take  
you have dotted my I's and crossed my t's you are the
 rain to my tree the beautiful shells in my sea the form 
of my key the correction and assistance of me the blue jay 
at dawn singing to me the heat to my tea the caps for my
 knee you are the back up stinger of this bee so tell me 
honey what you see because I see the better half of me 
may our friendship never cease catie please you are the
 cat and I am the flea don't you ever scratch me because
 friends tolerate the most annoying  things of each other so
 let the itch be any way I don't think the vet's can separate 
you and me there's just to much chemistry.


Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From heaven?
From where did you fall
from where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
that's all
that's all
You are the fairest
of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.

I will take the poison apple out
 of your hand and take the fall
You are the fairest
 of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.


Copyright © Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Year Posted 2012


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FROM THE NEWSPAPER STAND


<>Along this foggy daybreak stroll,
I tread along the intersection
between Mabini Street and EDSA boulevard, 
crossing number 25 Ortigas Road.

I breathe in the same grain 
of Manila pollen and dust itching
my throat ; an acrid mound of city garbage
gathered by rain’s aftermath,
as if to beckon another tropical deluge;

and the loud chatter of headlines
from the newspaper stand pierces
the lobes with a burning jolt… a bundle 
of political scoops  and trade rumors
grating an otherwise neutral hour.

Few distances away, a flea market stand
vibrates with energy; pedestrians milling
around to check  buko pies, plum bits,
and homemade guava jams… the exotic aromas
mixing with  smoky flavor of dried bamboo leaves
on top of abaca wares; all these catering
to small pleasures of the low-middle working class.

Curving through Francis Square, a deluge
of movement initiates the 7 30 am rush…
buses, cars, and taxi- stands unload
a giant hive  of wayfarers coming from
different points of the map; dragging
their skeletal frames like ticks of a clock.

Amidst a Friday hub, I stop to glance at the
towering statue of  Mother Mary as a
cart-pusher slowly wanders by; his warm
smile bearing a contrast in a region
where the rat race of man is typical.

Surrounded by a collage of fragrant
eucalypti and mango trees, I breath in 
a  sense of delight  likened to my
yard’s garden, this time, with heady scent.
The plump oaks  at the front lobby
of Pharmo Industries are shedding 
foliage, while  a painted  splash
of native robins cruises from laced twigs,
far beyond the clutter of newspaper stands,
market place, and taxi-stands.
 
My gaze casts inward to balance my thoughts,
as I begin my protracted stay at work.



Stand Contest of Debbie Guzzi
and Nathan's One of Your Best
by nette onclaud


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012


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"A Rose From Heaven Grows"

May we always address dis-complacency, the vacancy,
And remove all opposes, to our roses,............................................................(Acts 18:4-6)
Here at Poetry Soup, completing love’s 100% loop, in our soup,

For an authentic rose, from God it grows, always knows,
It’s own heart, from which it grows,

For authenticity’s, dis-complacency
Displaces a rose, from which it grows, then only heaven knows,
A rose, from which it grows,
Then it tis the mind’s dis-complacency, from it’s own heart,
Then does it’s part, hid from it’s own heart,
Redresses the rose, then rose begin an oppose,
To it’s heart, from which it grows,......................................(II Thes.2:3-5) Ego mind persona

A displaced rose, is still a rose,
By it’s own authenticity, it still grows,
As the heart, still does it’s part, from the very start,

For it  tis the mind, lost in it’s wilderness time, must realign,
With beginning of time, love of heart’s kind,
For it  tis,  redressing of mind, with heart’s beginning of time,
That undresses the rose, from it’s dress of the oppose,..........................(II Timothy 2:24-25)
For a rose, is still a rose, from whence it grows,
Not death’s oppose,

Like a tree, grows from inside itself, you see,
From an higher intelligence, to be,
That being,  from it’s own heart, it’s love of start,

Like a dog, is a dog, not a hog,
Tis  it’s central intelligent being, does it’s seeing,
Not it’s bureaucracy of fleas, hidden in it’s leaves,
Nor living in the hairs of your scalp,- Yeeeeeap!
Taking their ease, if you please,

As a nation, we have bureaucratic fleas, living in our leaves,
The fleas are in control, should a flea be so bold,
To tell the truth, tis growing old,

Should a parasite raise our taxes, should the parasites waxes us,
In our town hall meetings, try to ignore our pleadings,
And begin their elite minded proceedings, 
By saying we are criminals, and it they are the emeralds,
Tis our freedom of speech, being bleached,  under siege,
Should not even a dog own his own fleas, guys pleeeeease!

Our government is not a party to our rose,
They are opposed, to our rose, the fleas that grows, 
From the power of our rose,
In our leaves, if you please,
A parasite, out of sight, must take flight,

Tis their complexity, the hex, no flex, too complex,
Will bring our nation to it’s knees, so please,
Use your voice, of choice, 
Our fleas have become to numerous, to humor us,
Not a plus, but like a rust,
Our fleas in charge of us!!

9-20-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com



Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2009


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Lover of Lies


Feed them,
feed them lies
Feed them the lies they love so well

Give them gut rot,
make their distended bellies swell
Excreting lies so disgusting,
they leave an awful, putrid smell

Feed them,
feed them more lies
Let them taste the rotten fruit
that yield the swarm of flies

Let them take the moldy bread,
and put it in the maggot dip
Open wide their sepulchre mouth,
and spread those crooked lips

Shovel the lies down their throat,
let it come out of their nostril
Lover of lies who love to boast
about all the souls they do kill

Feed them,
give them what they want
Feed them lies,
til it come out of their eyes
Haters of truth, will never hear it
Don't give them that, please don't

Lover of lies,
lover of sin
Vomit out the vile lies,
then lick it up again

Hounds of iniquity,
got the lying tick and the lying flea
Love to wallow in the filthy mud,
love to lick their paws covered in blood

Keep feeding them lies,
lies they love to hear and tell
Greedy dogs who never get enough,
send them all straight to hell



Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016


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The Doggone Dog Contest

"GO FETCH"

Call me whatever to suit your moods
Lay me out with cuss words, “give me the goods”

Scandalize my name every place you go
“It’s a dog eat dog world” but I hate that flow

So scatter your venom to the four winds of earth 
Burn the night oil you may hang in dirt

While hours creep I lie comfortable in my bed
Dead to this world, I fall asleep, well fed

Like a kid after a long, hot day in the pool
In “the dog days of summer”, keeping cool

Each day with a clean heart, I go on my way
Often, “happy as a flea in a dog house”, I stay!

My preference sometimes is to “let sleeping dogs lie”
As this is one baggage, I will not carry ‘til I die

No lasting affect do your words have on me
Wishing you and yours only the best, you see

I know who I am, and keep malice at bay
Fervently I believe that “ every dog has its day”



Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010


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All For A Klondike Bar!

All For A Klondike Bar!

 I would sail the mighty blue sea,
Tame a puffy green dragon to flip like a flea,
With the Queen have tea and crumpets dressed as a drag queen,
Run the Boston Marathon without wearing a thing,
Ride a hundred camels through downtown Miami,
Become the pink bottle Genie,
Drive across the US in mobile hot dog wienie.
Wear an itsy bitsy bikini on TV,
all with the hopes of biting into a cold crisp, 
creamy Klondike bar!



Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010


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Battle Rap

Battle Rap ...poet in da house... Now have a listen, for I’ll be a kissing…I’m on a mission And you’ll be a pissing your hemolysin…a smelly emission My words glisten worth the admission…full of ammunition You’re under submission a life in prison…meet the mortician Like a magician I’ll take over your vision…call your optician You’ll be wishing you had a cosmetician…here’s my aesthetician ~~~ Like Mohamed Ali sting you like a bee…crush you like a flea You’ll sing like a banshee on a screaming spree…cause I’m beastly Like Mike Tyson run you like a bison…your blood I’ll syphon Can’t handle my slicing with every word I ripen…I’m the word titan Like Frank Sinatra and his mafia from Italia…will give you insomnia In my euphoria and with your apaxia…you’ll be living with anoxia ~~~ You’re an agitator I’m a decorator…a word builder an innovator I’m a verse creator a rebuilder renovator…a word generator I have ambition you need a beautician…an ugly position In my coalition you need permission…luck with the audition I’m not a hater just much greater…a smooth operator Like a Terminator I’ll see you later…your exterminator ~~~ I’LL BE BACH!!! I'm not really a rapper...just having fun lol May.16.2018 8 Mile Style Poetry Sponsored by: Nick Trim


Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018


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how would it be

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me an insect a flea
how short of life would life be
and all of God's creatures
i'd fear and flee
so small and fragile
not easy to see
crushed by everything but me

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God made me into a bee
i'd rally with my brother bee's
gather pollen from plants and trees
build a fortress for a queen
work like the devil to keep it clean
if any should bother our domain
where it is
i'll give them my stinger
and no longer live
such is the life for us and he
whom god decides
to make a bee

my wonders wonder how would it be 
if God decided an eagle i'd be
noble, honored, swift and sleek
flying in the air for food i seek
secretly fishing with my eye
rarely is seen my deadly dive
I AM the symble for liberty and pride
i'll mate only once and then i'll die

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me into a tree
standing tall above it all
save the mountians standing tall
in it's season making leaves
protecting both birds ans bee's
reaching high into the sky
growing wider than all living creatures
bearing fruit to feed the nations
eating the sun's rays before the hit they ground
my shade a cool shelter for everything around

my wonders wonder how it would be
if God decided a peacock i'll be
i'd strut and wear my tail so proud
my feathers match with any croud
my eye's and beak they match so well
the prettiest of birds
it is known so well
my feathers are emaculate
and my shape is so swell
i take great pleasure
in showing off my tail

my wonders wonder why it came to be
God made me a human being
so different and diverse are each of us
some of us praise , some of us curse
yet we struggle to believe in God above
one they think is evil 
and the other made of love
to us he gave intelect
with a capasicity to feel
complicated emotions that shatter and kill
but with this comes motivation
to create and build
an internal competition
to be better and better still

some men beg some men borrow 
and some men commit fraud
and most of them presumably
forgot about their god

but in this world of wonder
where wonders never cease
there is a visible God
watching man and beast


Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2009


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Old Red-bone Hound

Damn old worthless dog.
Lazily, he lies in the shade of my porch
by my rocking chair.
Useless but for tick food and flea fodder.
Too old to bark at a cat or wild rabbit.
Asleep he lies with one eye open
as if to protect me, if he still could
like when he was an overgrown pup
back then, so quick to pounce 
on a troublesome snake or wild hog
gone them days -long gone.
We all should pay for our keep
I should put him down for his old age

A kindness.
He's just old.
He and I lost some weight since my wife passed on
we miss her biscuits but he still gets the house, 
to sleep by the fire she started that bad habit.
Now when inside he goes, from room to room, 
looking for her, always her
and the kids, he loved the kids.
Grown and gone a long time now they are 
and he knows still he looks for them.
I am sure he misses them more than they miss him.
I will have to tell them. It has to be done!


This kindness
I don't think they will cry. I will not; no, not I
"Hear that old dog? Not one tear from me!"
The kids will have too understand.
Damn old worthless dog.
We all should pay for our keep.
I should put him down for his old age
a reward, I think, to keep him from pain,


Just a kindness,
a thank you for nothing, 
same as a gentle pat on the head.
A sad job this kindness
but not today -no; not today!
I've too much rocking to do; today!
Maybe tomorrow!
Or the next; maybe soon-
Yes,
I see no rush to this kindness
no rush at all.


Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007


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The National Debt

No mind was ever meant to bear
That torment, pain and sorrow.
In that cacophony of hell,
Their lives forged our tomorrow. 

Through the prism of their service
Through their sacrifice and loss, 
The foundations for our future
Were fashioned from their cross.

Far beyond the bounds of nature
Their mortal frames were tested
In bloodied, flea ridden trenches
Their fractured bodies rested.

Those bodies now, in foreign lands
Beneath fields of marble crosses
Bear testament to sacrifice
And countless wartime losses. 

May future generations 
That break upon the shore,
Not forget the pains they suffered
Nor the mental scars of war.

Look upon the scarlet poppy,
See the blood amongst the wheat 
Know the quantum of their sacrifice
Times passage won’t deplete

To those that gave their future
We all owe this National Debt
The terms are very simple
Just that we must not forget.
.


Copyright © Mike Miller | Year Posted 2018


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Temptation

T - esting time will always come
E - very time all day how long
M - ake no excuse cast it down
P -  ut God first, and he'll always be around.

T - ake sometime to check your thoughts,
A -  ct on the onset straight away,
T -   hink on the things that are lovely, and pure
I  -   n the meantime
O  -  ffer sacrifices of praise
N  -  ow that you've overcome.

Temptations will come, and temptations will go,
The devil will attack for a season.
resist him on the onset, and he will flea
Temptations are for a reason.


Copyright © Abraham L | Year Posted 2008


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FLEETING MOMENT

Said a flippant flea,
To a feisty fly,
"Flee, fly!"
And, the fly flew.


Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005


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The Story of Lot

The father said,"Kids, God told Lot,"
"Take your wife and flee from the city!"
"His wife became salt, looking back!"
On their faces, he saw pity

 "They were not suppose to look back,"
The father said, "I guess you see,"
"We should always do what God asks!"
 The boy said,"Yes, but what of the flea?"


Copyright © PAT Adams | Year Posted 2018


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what the heck

we're trapped, and,
inherently speaking
those of us here don't want us to escape  : )
what a     : )

........

life is time
time is life
it is mine
like a wife

there is no contradiction
(that is not how) it seems
we live in an abstract
(multi-dimensional) the means

ah, the mazes
the phases
the faces
of time

when will it end
these crazes of mine
when
will it end
these hazes of line

....

i see,
said the ban-she,
you are of the hinge
...me!?...am of the cringe,
the lock and the key...so please
allow me to flee...not flea...
oh gawd...it's all up to me...
it's enough to make one screee
...mmm...i've got a thought...a short time out,
 try some p_t     : )

......hmmm....a bit better....
now for meaning and force of letter,
..........
...need some supper.








Copyright © sand blown | Year Posted 2018


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Reflections of a Penurious Poet

My IQ has not been bested
Since my mother had me tested
And learned when I was four years old I was a prodigy.
At Yale I nailed the toughest riddles
And split atoms down their middles,
Then at age sixteen I racked up my first PhD.
While at Purdue I posed a query
That improved on Einstein's theory
When it could have stalled and languished in obscurity,
But now, instead, his fame remains in perpetuity,
And I have never asked for credit, due to modesty.

My career, though never stagnant,
Neither was a money magnet,
Now in retirement I've more Social than Security.
And my portfolio's in tatters
'cause concerning money matters
That investment mumbo jumbo's just a mystery.
What does the IRS or Charles Schwab expect of me?
To make a living with my pen is my big fantasy,
But it's more likely I will one day win the lottery,
Or make more money in flea markets selling pottery.

If, as they say, an artist suffers for his artistry,
Then as a writer, I guess I can thrive in penury
And never prostitute my art nor my integrity,
Though I would gladly sell my soul to publish annually.
And if my effort never pays,
I'll be content I've spent my days
Trying to pen the perfect phrase
And basking in the random praise
When a reader smiles and says, "Ah,
Now that is poetry!"


Copyright © Jim Slaughter | Year Posted 2018


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THE SOUL OF A FOOTBALLER

The passion that is stashed 
inside the core of his soul.
When the lightning spark of his foot
walloped and whisked the ball ,
His efforts led its way towards the awaiting goal.
Its swift manoeuvre captured a thousand eyes.
which is cached in the practice of future minds.
That movement is encapsulated in soccer's history
by the cherished ideals of football glory.
Pele's refined finesse and Ronaldo's prowess as a footballer.
Maradona: "THE GOLDEN BOY" with the dancing ball
and Messi : "THE ATOMIC FLEA" 
whose spirit taught him to succeed.
The forever illuminated faces whose endeavor will never die.
How will you know if you never even try.
Tread inside the HEART of a FOOTBALLER.
and thou will understand: When he wins a match
WHY DO TEARS APPEAR.

BECAUSE FOOTBALL IS NOT JUST A BALL...


Copyright © Raarya Kuanr | Year Posted 2015