Best Goop Poems
The mean old housecat has bulgy eyes
when she looks at us in our fish bowl
Oh, how much we've come to despise
that big mouth of hers, the black hole
Poised to pounce with sharpened claws
She's taking jabs with hatred brimming
that ugly feline beast with drooling jaws
for us little fishes, innocently swimming
Our little bowl is cosy, room for only two
bad kitty on the outside, always looking in
If her paw ever grabs us, what are we to do
we’d be much safer in a smelly sardine tin!
If she ever catches us, we’ve got big troubles
perhaps in her dreams she sees us as fat trout
In fear we produced a stream of gassy bubbles
If only our owner would give bad kitty a clout!
All the chaos made us soil ourselves with poop
so we let that mean old cat feast on a tasty treat
When her nasty tongue slurped intestinal goop
the beast screeched in horror! Revenge is sweet!
Our owner came home and cleaned out the bowl
Soon we returned to our safe sweet smelling home
Kitty got banned but can see us through the keyhole
Now we don’t suffer from irritable bowl syndrome!
Let me try to fill you all in on the scoop
There are some poets that write like they poop
Though most are out there
You must be aware
There are some poopers that stink up the soup
To all the poopers that stink up the soup
I'll say this to keep you into the loop
You too... be aware
There are poets- here
That will try to poop you out of our group
And if you do get pooped out of our group
Go somewhere else to spread out your goop
So, you and your sack
Must never come back...
to write your poopy in PoetrySoup
What's a single mom, overworked witch to do?
School potlucks won't suck up fat vats of witch brew
Green goop soup disinfects science projects
Magic wand deflects coupon blonde's rejects
Soccer field congealed, frogs in fish tanks
Your warlock son mocks the jocks with dark pranks
Your daughter barters love potions, your cat's a Clydesdale
Your cauldron is maudlin; no time for witchy cocktails
There's hearses to disperse, fortunes to curse
Restless pests - even witches need a nurse!
You've cobwebs to thread, graves to rake
Sugar greedy goblins to scare straight
No spells to swell your apothecary
Your broomstick's picked other places to be...
10/28/19
For 'Itch, Witch, Glitch or Twitch' contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Placed 7th
Today I write for the women, of the Poetry Soup.
Tuesday’s poem of the day was more like bigotry goop.
More hate was spit out by an imbecile’s rant.
I would love to shut your mouth, you’re just lucky I can’t.
Your words aren’t appreciated nor will they ever be.
You don’t speak like a real man a coward is what I see.
Why would you attack women? That’s just pathetic and weak.
Would your mother approve of the words that you speak?
You’re entitled to your opinion as I am to mine.
But bring your hate to this platform and I’ll speak up every time.
A woman gave you life and wiped your worthless rear.
Mothers do a lion’s share of the work, not you my dear.
You need to reboot and think before you boast.
You show your intelligence by the words that you post.
I’m sorry dear ladies you don’t deserve any more pain.
You have my love and respect, no matter what this fool claims.
Ghost Buster’s Eve
‘Tis the time
to shoot slime.
Adults Only Costume Party
Sex kittens prance.
Sultry nurses dance.
Party Food
Served eyeball soup
and goopity goop
A Bobbing Good Time?
Apple I get;
face sopping wet!
House of Creeps
The chainsaw guy
made me cry
A-Maze-ing Fright
Lost girl walks
where corn stalks
Jack O’Lantern Greeters
Bright as torches,
pumpkins on porches.
Night of Royals
Small and fair,
princesses are everywhere.
Trick or TWEET
One poor nerd
plays Big Bird.
Halloweenie
Wearing dumb costume -
a dashound’s doom
The ‘Trick’ to Trick or Treating
Door to door,
speediest kids score.
Vampire Candy
Dracula’s favorite treat
is bloody sweet.
Raiding the Kids’ Trick or Treat Bag
Of chocolate stuff,
can’t get enough
Over and Out
Big Harvest Moon.
Thanksgiving comes soon.
Nov. 3, 2018 for Mark Toney's Six-Word Couplet Series Encore Poetry Contest
Clyde found a fly floundering in his soup
This discovery threw him for a loop
He summoned the maitre d'
And that pompous ass, said he
"Don't worry! He'll die if he eats that goop!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
for my beautiful Mary Kate
Bubble and double, trouble and toil;
Smell the kettle as it starts to boil.
Rack-ety frack-ety, goopity-goop;
The witch stirs in liver, a toad, and some poop!
Rock-ety pock-ety, zim zam zoom zot;
Eyeballs, spaghetti go into the pot.
Tweed-lee dum-did-dee bake me a cake;
In goes a waffle, a yoyo, a snake.
The brew's almost ready and soon we will see
What the final ingredient is going to be.
Abracadabra and bib-bi-di-boo,
The final ingredient is (he-he-he) YOU!
Preface to this brief bitty
written snap ting snapshot – word ditty
dates back before I reached gritty
age of eight and fifty, aye recall a kitty
rescued by my youngest sister, who took pity
and felt aghast,
at a potential cruel fate no witty.
Upon return home from an Antioch College coup
(so many diverse work experiences required -
some involving offal goop
i.e. case in point being this anecdote,
which may fall outside the loop
of common “hands on
off fish shawl” employment,
thee tasks on par with handling poop
stoically accepted by Shari Todd
(name of said sibling),
who when home from Davis, California
(albeit temporarily, and before she returned
to Yellow Springs, Ohio) divulged
how she did scoop
dread, dreck, dregs, et, cetera –
i.e. by product amidst fish farm
didst set her dead against being linkedin
purr animal cruelty, thus play role of troop
er – which tummy
earned her kudos a resounding whoop!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Before launching into this poem purr say
lemme mention how thine late mother
took an immediate affinity and hence no delay
that this lucky creature became akin to a bebe.
Main Coon, Felis catus, nicknamed Boozie
raccoon features, face mask, brown thick costume
handsome boy, affectionate personality, expressively vocal
Pink wet nose, emerald eyes, pointed ears
cavernous mouth, sharp teeth, rough tongue
striped design, massive fluffy fur, bushy tail
Soft paws, padded cushions, retractable blades
wild animal, predation urge, survival instinct
agile movement, swift motion, unfortunate victim
Door prize, flies feast, whitened bones
loyalty strong, pageant display,
splayed across kitchen table courtly dignity
Quiet house, sonar sounded, Cheshire upward smile
purred softly, rubbed legs, warm vacant lap
Jumping agility, firmly sequestered
Contentment expressed, internal hum, reciprocal therapy
beautiful petsmart, little monkey, comfortably sleeps
peaceful slumber, wakeful stretch, ideal life
Fortunate intervention, cat whisker to demise,
brush avoided becoming piscine meal,
kingly privileged role, heartfelt love.
Hmm, a poem that is new
A poem that is new
Can't I use an old one here?
I've so much still to do!
Ok, I'll play, I'll sit and wait
Until the feeling starts
When words will line up at my gate
To jump into my heart
They'll swirl around and do their best
No regard for what I'm feeling
They dance, they tease and taunt and test
I'm left with my mind reeling
What once was calm and peace, tranquil
Now a crazy, bubbling soup
From where I extract, precise, thoughtful
Words from this cranial goop
They dance in their melodic play
Like children, sweetly grinning
With something that they have to say
Some story they are spinning
Until they stop, and stand in line
And know that they've been heard
I'll write so they can sing their song
Sweet, naughty, little words
When I was a child
I loved marshmallows
so soft, so gooey and yummy
Oh I'd beam out of doors
when the birch stick bore
charred marshmallow goop
for my tummy!
When I was a child
I would go hog wild
for peanut butter and fluff
all that white marshmallow
in which I'd wallow
my mouth all covered
in sticky stuff!
My Mom often spread
the white Fluff on bread
with peanut butter galore
And we'd bypass the meat
for this sticky treat
and scream for her to
buy much, much, more!
But you see Mom knew
that good food it's true
can make children strong unlike
those sweet Fluffer-Nutters
so we had to contend
with the meat in the end
if we wanted that treat
from our Mother!
As I wake up each morning I look to the sky, I look all around me, I wonder how, I wonder why? Why is the sky so blue, why is the grass so green? With colors so vivid, are things truly as they seem? I mean, did all this just happen, or is it all part of a plan? When I look at all the big powerful beasts of the world, I wonder, why is everything under fragile man?
Then I listen to people who tell me how to live, and it do sound good, then they make wonder, if they know so much, why are they still stuck in the hood? Now on T.V. and radio, I hear them say, do whatever you feel because there's nothing to life anyway. You live, you die, do whatever you can to get your piece of the pie. But that don't make sense because whatever you do has consequence.
So do live the way of men, or is there a thing called sin, cause life has let us know, that you will reap what you sow. Is that Divine sense, or is it coincidence? You see I've heard the big bang, an explosion in space, it made galaxies, planets and ultimately all life, even the human race. But here's another theory, we come from apes. No, I got the scoop, primordial soup, all life came from some kind of goop, which sounds like poop.
And here's one that makes me leery, string theory. I look at all there theory at it's best, but ins't a theory, just a guess? Science looks good on the surface but if you look deeper, you'll see everything has a purpose. Everything is connected one to another and you can plainly see, we really need each other. Then we could stop all the suffering, and we all know that nothing comes from nothing.
Whether it's a seed and the plant, the egg and the chicken or a baby from a man and his wife, Life Comes From Life. If you want to learn, whether to build something, or even to cook, everything comes with an instruction book. We also come with a book, which we need to read and take heed. So you are not here to flaunt your wealth, look down on people, are to have all fun. There is a purpose, a Divine reason.
You see, this life is just to get us prepped to take the next step. Each time I look into the sky, I don't know what you see, I see, Infinity. So I read my book, which tell me how things are going to end. It even tell me how things began. I want In. So live your life right for this is a must and at the end you will see a Glorious and Divine Purpose.
Kanoodle the poodle,
eats blue beans and noodles.
With sticky grey peas,
while he swings in a tree.
A brown fish on toast,
a pink bubblegum roast.
On crackers with cheese,
whilst dancing with fleas.
Red floop juice and blue goop,
makes a purple floop soup.
white fish eyes and black flies,
we've made a floop goop suprise.
as the floop goop cools off,
he starts licking his chops.
He feasts by a tree
then falls fast asleep
ZzZzZzzzzzzzzzzz....
Contest: Dr seuss on the loose
Copyright (c) 2012
James Mahauariki
sick of spit and regurgitated goop ~ best to avoid bird’s nest soup
By
David Kavanagh
"...Dominus orationem meam suscepit."
Burning his little jelly bottom raw,
He blisters in his liquid greenish poop.
He has no means to summon us at all
To drain the acid swamp of split pea soup.
Except to scream, a peevish infant yawp,
And so he screams, until we take his goop.
We modestly subserve our son's ejecta.
Clean, dry and warm: his everyday trifecta.
He's not alone. I've had my days of burning.
Blistered and raw, to salve my hurt I prayed
for balm from God, ultimately learning
His summit lay on far too steep a grade.
Footless in His scree, inflamed with yearning,
My wounds combusted into wrath. I brayed
My blasphemies, then heard the Logoi fall.
I had no means to summon Him at all.
Which births a trailing thought about the sainted:
Their whispered prayers, their worshipful reclusion,
Which all the hagiographers have painted.
Don't buy it. Souls corroded with confusion,
Their love of God with hatred wholly tainted,
And Doubt the only friend to their seclusion,
With blasphemies they burnt the fetid air.
Profanation is the purest form of prayer.
Aunty Murtle, she was Mad,
Mamma said so all the time,
But nothing she did was quite as bad,
As when she bought turtle's home to dine.
She placed they on the table top,
And "Turtle soup" she said,
But when they wiggled and tried to hop,
It was clear that they weren't dead.
"Are you sure that's not a frog?" I quizzed,
Pointing at a nearby hopping turtle.
Just then, passed my ear it whizzed,
And landed on Aunt Murtle.
With a startled cried my Aunty leapt.
"A frog! Oh God! Oh no!"
Then peered at me, her new suspect,
"You shouldn't play with frogs you know!"
"But Aunty, you just bought them in,
You wanted them for soup."
"You silly child," did she begin,
"You don't want frog soup goop."
"Besides…" she continued on,
As was the way with Aunty Murtle,
"What you can always rely upon,
Is soup made from a Turtle."
**For the Turtle Soup contest**
**No turtles were harmed in the making of this poem (or frogs, for that matter)**