Best Flea Poems | Poetry
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Male Flea Bags
by Ellison, Jack
by Breese, Richard
I'M A FLEA
by Vincent, Messoh
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
by dailey, mike
A Visit To the Flea Market
by Camp, Elton
A Dog And A Cat And A Flea
by Smith, Sharon
View all new Flea Poems
The Best Flea Poems
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
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
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,
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
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 ~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011
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
(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
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!
Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton
~awarded 2nd place~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
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
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
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
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 where did you fall
From where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
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 where did you fall
from where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
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
<>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
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!!
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2009
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
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 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
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
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
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
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
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!
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!
Or the next; maybe soon-
I see no rush to this kindness
no rush at all.
Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007
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
Said a flippant flea,
To a feisty fly,
And, the fly flew.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
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
One day in prison I decided to pray
Since then everything has been going my way
When I learned I had Hepatitis one day
I turned it around in a positive way
I summand every drop of strength that I had
Wrote out my books explaining, “This is my bad”
My back injury forever changed my life
Since then everyday is marred with pain and strife
Returning to school was a choice that I made
Making the most out of the price that I paid
Happiness is no more than a frame of mind
Each circumstance holds some happiness to find
It’s all in the way, which you choose to believe
Life is way to short to set around and grieve
Your cup is half-empty, well mine is half-full
As I am a student this life is my school
It’s easy to be happy when all is glad
The trick is learning to find joy in the sad
I’m happy because I refuse not to be
Life is whatever we make of it, you see
Whatever this life chooses to throw my way
I will be happy at the end of the day
Because, I quite simply refuse not to be
This life is the hound dog and I am the flea
By the, "Blood Of The Lamb," like it or not
I'm draining this life of everything its got
One thing is for certain, life will always
be full of trials and test. Happiness is born
within; therefore, these trials and test can
only alter our course they cannot define them.
Learn to make the most out of every situation
and you will have learned how to be happy!
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010
Eye vent out on a clear blew ski day
the whether was read hot the hole day
Board eye go far a movie
Knot a sole hear maid errie
Sow eye flea from the haul back two my stay.
Copyright © Sathya Babu | Year Posted 2016
. *DOGGY STYLE*
Tonight! Tonight! I must display.
About my man's doggy style way.
Once he comes home he acts like I'm his "DOGGY BAG."
"It’s DOGGING ME!" The way he starts to nag.
He came from the bar with his "DOG BREATH!"
Calling me by the name of Beth.
When he settles down he starts acting like he's the "TOP DOG!"
"DOGGONE IT!" doesn't he know I'm adding this bone to my blog.
Now he's drunk acting "MEAN LIKE a JUNK YARD DOG!"
I taunt him by calling him a pig and a hog.
We "FIGHT LIKE CATS and DOGS," this really must be love?
"It's a DOG eat DOG WORLD" when push comes to shove!
Once again he will sleep "IN THE DOG HOUSE!"
This time for ripping my favorite blouse.
It's too bad "YOU CAN'T TEACH an OLD DOG NEW TRICKS!"
I wish he was a real dog, he needs to be neutered and fixed.
I think I will laugh and kiss him good night.
Anyways "HIS BARK is WORSE THAN HIS BITE!"
By morning he will be "SICK AS A DOG" and scary like a mouse.
I'm still waiting to be "Happy as a FLEA in a DOG HOUSE!"
"HE IS NOTHING BUT A HOUND DOG" thinking it's doggy style all the time!
In his rabies case his desires keeps getting worse than slobber and slime.
.Should I tell my man that his actions are what I call humans love torch?
With the reaction "IF you can’t run with the BIG DOG's PUPPY, STAY on the porch!"
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly
I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that
I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!
Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing
I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee
I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white cracker
Beating JZ at his own game
I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016
(Created using the bAbBlE sentence generator, various text excerpts, and a minuscule bit of human editing.)
And she smells good without keeping all ...
Beef, sitting lonely on that lies floating on the tufted floor. "Surely," I was napping, cold noodles, I implore!
But the Raven, "Nevermore."
Deep into that darkness peering, I got enough trouble.
Boy, the whole world together. Eagerly I guess dirt is what thy worldly name is on the tufted floor.
Taken from the night thinking. Eagerly I sat engaged in guessing, when, I'm supposed to spend the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose foot-falls tinkled on the floor; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then he fluttered - Till the dirges of evil! - prophet still, hot noodles with seeing bird above my heart be still is there balm in Gilead? - here I scarcely more than muttered, sitting lonely on that placid bust, chicken guts!
Beef, while I pondered, shrimp with garlic sauce, and the silken, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; hesitating then no longer, "Nevermore."
Beef, yet all undaunted, nearly napping, and sour chicken, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out, "Though thy crest be shorn and mighty truck load of prehistoric swamp mud! Take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, lemon chicken with fantastic terrors never felt before. Then the bird said, beef with fantastic terrors never felt before; But the morrow he will leave me burning, curry sauce, crispy noodles, all my soul within me burning, roast pork, pepper steak and sour combination, "Nevermore."
But the Raven, "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore!" Quoth the morrow; - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber of flea-bitten bug ridden throng of flatulent sewage! - prophet still, if bird or white rice, chicken guts! Take out, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, curry beef lo mein, shrimp egg foo young, roast pork with my head at my chamber of contaminated cigar butts!
The Raven, "Nevermore."
Beef with broccoli and nothing more.
"Prophet!" said I, "Tapping at my chamber of pureed monkey mucus! - prophet still, if bird or steamed dumplings, stir fried rice noodles, beef with chili sauce, fried or steamed white rice, perfumed from an erratic horde of his Hope that melancholy burden bore - Till I said, Doubtless," said I, "Sir," said I, "Art sure I heard a tapping, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of septic frog water!"
Beef with many quaint and mighty dipstick of Pallas just above my chamber door, "Nevermore."
Beef Szechuan style, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the only word, anniversaries, roast pork with onions and spicy beef egg foo young, all the seeming of seething pus! By that Heaven that bends above his chamber of soggy camel snot!
Ah, Bar-B-Q pork with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now to take out my heart be still the beating of my heart be still a moment, and nothing more!
Beef with sorrow for the lost Lenore! Quoth the floor; And his eyes have flown before - On this home by Horror haunted - tell me see, then, shrimp lo mein, boneless chicken almond cookies, chicken, chicken egg foo young, vegetable chow fun, "Nevermore."
The Raven, "Lenore?" Merely this and nothing more!
Beef lo mein, free delivery within 4 blocks, I implore; But the fact is I was napping, hot spicy beef fried rice, open 8 days, suddenly there came a blasphemous sliver of steaming monkey meat!
Then, pork fried rice, weak and mighty stack of my heart, and mighty bowl of rotten bear whiz!
This I flung the shutter, catering for free delivery, weak and mighty repository of the countenance it wore, shrimp, shrimp, with garlic sauce, fearing, Doubting, Buddhist delight, I stood there wondering, beef with my head at my chamber door - This is it and tomato, beef, That one gently rapping, crispy noodles, roast pork, eggplant with my head at ease reclining On the fact is I was napping, calamari with broccoli, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered - not a schizophrenic cask of mealy verbal diarrhea!
Beef with many a flirt and mighty crust of repugnant disk failures!
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out that now burnt into my bosom's core; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, crispy shrimp, I implore - Is there - is there balm in beer batter, sitting lonely on this desert land enchanted - On the morrow he hath sent, Bar-B-Q beef, while I pondered, General Tso's chicken guts!
Startled at the house specialties, "Thing of evil! - prophet still, Singapore rice, my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the angels name Lenore - Clasp a cow. Not the ducks and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell this is some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast delivery within 6 days, Nevermore."
"Thing of evil! - prophet still the beating of forgotten lore - While I nodded, nearly napping, and chicken, chicken wings, run, with my chamber door!
Jane said, "Here he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, Sir," said I, funny, Though thy crest be shorn and shrimp with me truly, shrimp with this and sour soup with mien of lord or steamed white rice or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Jane and tomato, perched above my bosom's core; This and vegetable chow fun, look, I muttered, Jane, I muttered, "Mother."
You - here, all the shutter, dropping her underwear now burnt into the chamber turning her dress.
Colors may be paid by that God we have sent, consult your receipt. There balm in Gilead? - tell me, feeling the door - Perched upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.
"Get thee back through him."
She knew that way she was watching her flesh. There spoken was unbroken, $111.
Then, what thereat is not the Beatles.
Quoth the grave and stern decorum of the angels name Lenore. Quoth the whole lobster with broccoli, Dynasty delight, all the night thinking.
He was in beer batter, By the ushers watch me up was sure gets complicated. They like parking your gum on the floor; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the stuff in the other kids are a man. They like you came rapping, truly your forgiveness I wish he'd hurry up snappy answers for evermore.
Copyright © 1994 Tom Arnone & bAbBlE (computer writing program)
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016