Best Funfair Poems
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feather prides himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam Mcdaid
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feathers pride himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
I first saw you at the funfair
Joy and laughter were high in the air
It felt like more than a crush.
Caught a sight of you walking at the mall
Nearly caused my heart to fall
It was more than a crush.
Then I saw you sitting by the lakeside
I felt very warm inside
It was more than a crush.
Each time I saw you I would freeze
It was as if there was a breeze
Making me go weak on my knees
For it was more than a crush.
Though I saw you at midday
I thought about you everyday
Went on my knees to pray
To have you by my side along the way.
Then there you were working at a farm
Wanted to grab you into my arm
It was more than a crush.
In a people filled room
My eyes and yours would zoom
Because it was more than a crush.
You looked so so fine
I wanted to ask you out for a dine
It was more than a crush.
Then you were strolling on the shore
And I knew for sure
That what I felt was more than a crush.
It was that feeling of love
That was sent from above.
toffee apples
tasted so sweet
candyfloss evaporating
as we eat
swing boats
chair of planes
& helter-skeltet
again& again
pretending to drive
in dodgem cars
flying carousel
as if from mars
crowding in the
boxing tent
local challengers
quickly spent
longing with
youthful eyes
rolling pennies
for the prize
sans parents
at a local funfair
evenings
without a care
Don’t worry.
The head of British Gas
will take a pay cut.
Your favourite watering hole
will never shut.
There may be acid rain
because the ozone layer is kaput,
But someday
it’ll be OK.
Don’t worry.
Elvis Presley will announce
that he is well and truly dead.
You will be given a wage
to stay in bed.
There may be squatters
in your garden shed,
But someday
it’ll be OK.
Don’t worry.
There’ll be a non-stop funfair
in your local park.
Granny muggers will prowl
the streets in the dark.
There may be need
to build a fall-out Ark,
But someday
it’ll be OK.
Don't Worry
Leicester City will achieve
the Cup and League double.
Politicians will resign
when in trouble.
You may have to live
in a pollution-free bubble,
But someday,
it’ll be OK.
Don’t worry.
Lady Gaga will become
the Antichrist (or Pope).
Cliff Richard will crack
and start smoking dope.
You may have to listen
to another Tim Vine Joke,
But someday
it’ll be OK.
Don’t worry.
Footballers will not dispute
the yellow card.
Salman Rusdie will not need
an armed guard.
The next London airport
may be New Scotland Yard,
But someday
it’ll be OK.
I am sensitive, self-conscious,
Nervous, listless, anxious,
Caught up in the grind of life
Its stress and its strife.
With no goal, no aim, no purpose,
Oh, just living a life I suppose;
Not sure there's a God or a soul
Or in His grand design my role.
Bitter, cynical and regretful,
Not wise enough yet not a fool,
Jack of all trades, master of none
Lost more life's battles than won.
A seeker of truth, lost in lies
A seeker of love, lost in vice
A seeker of faith, lost in funfair
A seeker of hope, lost in despair.
Mindful of Man's frailty, foible and pet peeve,
I grieve for the ancestral sin of Adam and Eve!
~"Who ARE you?" contest by Catie Lindsey
The funfair was in full swing.
And why not, now it was Spring.
To the carousel, Ella and me,
We tried to find a horse that was free.
Places on horses were taken by all
Except for one, it was a windfall.
Ella sat in front, holding the sturdy pole
Whilst I sat holding her waist like a mole.
Music played a radiant refrain,
Echoing dreams, again and again.
The carousel began its round, a slow spin
People shouted or laughed a joyous din.
Soon, the speed was slightly increased
Oh boy, did we enjoy this lovely feast!
Then the brakes were applied and all came to a halt.
I fell on Ella’s neck, it was not my fault.
I felt her warm flesh and gave her a kiss.
We decided to have another go as this was bliss.
In the haze of big bang,took a planet birth, Blue was her religion,green was her culture.
Clean was the soil,fresh was the air,
No sight of trouble,the days seemed clear
Then came up a specie centuries after.
Man was the title,soil was his origin.
The lonely lands stayed no longer bare,
"Bless you oh human",was the earth's sweet prayer.
They shared days and nights,
The earth nurtured man;strengthened him up.
She gave everything,keeping nothing in share,
It was a bond of love,it was a bond of care.
The Tables would turn once in a while.
Earth kept changing its shape with years passing by.
But Man was busy enough to focus elsewhere,
Earth didn't complain but felt a little bizaare.
The Time kept changing its phases,
So did the man's attitude and motives
Lost was the bond between earth and him somewhere,
Left was no emotion and nothing to hear.
Civilized was what man was becoming,
He wasn't just blood and flesh but brains.
Even he would try to get earth ensnare,
Earth was now furious and it was no funfair.
The present era is the man's triumph.
He exploits earth till he gets his soul fed.
Poor Earth has no control over her despair,
and by god,oh man,she wouldn't spare.
Man has tested her patience and calm.
It was a dangerous game to play with earth.
He distroyed her to become a multimillionaire,
'She ll take revenge'is now his biggest fear.
Wake up oh man from the dreams of heaven.
Stop finding other homes when u Dont repair yours.
Save my earth,is what's your dare,
Before she tears apart and turns into a hellish nightmare.
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
He looked like a gypsy.
All brown curls and dark eyes,
small sparkling white teeth.
How could I resist him?
The heartbeats and goosebumps
girly giggling betrayed
Swept up by the funfair,
Bright lights and promises of
Dizzying, dazzling, delights,
eagerly I entered the tunnel.
It turned out dark and cold.
No nurturing light there.
Only a not-so-merry go-round
Undulating, building speed
Sickly, spiteful, stopped
After the dreary, dismal cold days of winter,
Bogged down by mounds of snow,
Chicago, the indomitable city,
Dogged by ears-flapping, bone-chilling winds,
Emerges like a blooming flower
Fostering liveliness, sensuality,
Gaiety and grandiose funfair.
Hot, sizzling and sassy summer aside;
Invigorating spring first arrives and
Jogging along the Lakefront trail or
Kicking a soda can down the Magnificent Mile,
Life finally emerges from its winter cocoon.
Mona Lisa smiles and bright eyes fleeting by,
Night life promises a charm of its own with
Outdoor patios where cooing lovers linger,
Pandering to fans of performing arts and swanky music.
Quotidian lives turn into jostling horseplay,
Ravishing beds of fragrant shrubs adorn the sidewalks.
Spring in Chicago is vivaciously volatile,
Temperature, as it rises, so does people's spirits,
Under the shadows of imposing skyline or
Viewing the serpentine Lake Shore Drive up from
Willis Tower's Skydeck, Chicago appears, oh,
Xtra beautiful – A spring's paradise!
Yellow magnolias, richly painted and sweetly fragrant,
Zestfully vying with vibrant clusters of tulips.
~"A Spring Abecedarian" Contest by Shadow Hamilton
~02/19/2015
This is a land of lands where dreams
are planted in the longing eyes of a child.
Lives are redefined for societal upliftment,
children build castles in the seashore and
watch the passage of tradition and culture
from the custodians to the younger ones.
We speak of those tales under the moonlight,
grace the festivities hopping in around villages.
Boys stay uphills to tell girls tale of prestige,
Girls gather in the stream to sing and dance.
When boys come, they run here and there
madly to cover their innocent nakedness
We watch the elders chew kolanuts
under the setting of the old ruggered sun.
Children remember the farm land like their palm,
the dreadful thunder, they chase with curse.
Hopeful land AFRICA is, a land of expression.
We sweep clean our hearts with love.
Our skin colours are our proud name,
no full flame, next fall, next rise joyfully,
With love and new opinions, we strive on.
She watches signifies come and go,
names immortalized on her wall...
This is the land that harbours our childhood.
Boys chase girls along the village tracks,
not without sending our souls errand to
tell them of our longing thoughts craving.
When we misbehave, we tell the elders the lie.
Cry of fearful rodents we follow downhills to
derive joy from their fears and heartbeat.
We have no problem except those we created,
We have no sin except those we learned of.
Life, a funfair, sure path to imperfection.
Elders meet elders, women meet women,
boys tell boys tales and girls giggle often.
Africa made us who we are to the world,
spotlight of the undescribed world of sin.
Images and prime creature above all specie.
Downhills are green grasses spreading potentially.
Tell men of high condition that manage the globe
that our black colour is not a crime to nature.
Africa is a land of childhood.
©John Chizoba vincent
Cam'god 2017
depression reduces me down to my knees,
cant seem to see the woods for the trees.
Allways on edge with a sence of tension,
paranoid thaughts to vast to mention.
Inside my head my mind runs riot,
allthough i percive a charictor of quiet,
forever picking faults with ones self,
a deteriation of my mental health.
to punish myself i began to self harm,
rape my exsistance and cut my arm.
latching onto any act of kindness,
but vunverbility insuing blindness.
looking for love in all the wrong places,
hiding behind so many false faces.
a losing side of a game of chess,
more frustration as im trying my best.
looking at life as a glass half empty,
while reviwing others lfes resentfully.
Alienating myself from human traffic,
isolating for months its that dramatic.
Everdecresing downward slide,
but this is no funfair ride.
Off we go we’re on the train
We’ve packed all we could pack
We’re both so excited
As the train rolls down the track
We’re both bouncing on the seats
Till mum tells us to SIT!
There’s rain upon the windows
But we don’t mind that a bit
We can’t wait till we get there
We love to smell the sea
Cos then we’re nearly there
It’s where we want to be
Sylvie likes the funfair
I love the donkey ride
We’ll have fish and chips and mushy peas With ketchup on the side
In the sea we’ll paddle
On the sands we’ll play
I’ll knock Sylvie’s castle down
What a brilliant holiday
We’ll go walking on the pier
The slot machines we’ll play
There’s one called “What the Butler Saw”
But mum pulls me away
When the week is over
And we have to go
We’ll get back on the train
And down the tracks we’ll go
We loved our time in Yarmouth
Specially the pier
Me and Sylvie feel so sad
We can’t wait for next year
Life is but an artwork,
Sketch of the creator's handiwork
But life is at all times unfair
Unlike some see it a funfair.
Knowing our actions being the pencil
And our inactions like silent counsel
But we choose to live it our way
Regardless of what happens everyday.
When one frets his hour upon life stage,
Time moves unconcerned at par with age
Without a moment pause for a sigh
But others could go on with hopes so high.
Certainly, the choice of friend
Could give one's life a miserable end.
But our lives a meaning could give
If we know in which action should we live
Then our life's sketch needs nothing of an eraser
And our choices would make everyone go wonder
Knowing our life has been a flawless sketch
But nothing compared to a wretch.