Best Groupies Poems
Corralled in Plato’s cave,
groupies of untenable shadows,
silenced their intuitions to the smoke and other sighs.
Jamaica’s capital hosted a convention
giving an ever-leaving coward’s play a stage,
now his work is done.
Senior partner and the oldest liar —
the younger roo’s handler —
watches from his own Whitman’s tower;
one man walking past the fire,
brave enough to look at the sun,
his integrity can see behind it.
Hate moved a biased hand against him,
but the truth is like The Cross,
and vanity will always seek a mirror.
Beyond any conviction,
immutable.
Forever keeping themselves,
beautiful.
----------------------------------------
Written: 05.01.20 – 05.03.20
Inspired by the bravery, intellectual honesty and integrity of my friend Mark Koplin.
This is a parody of "I can't Dance." by Genesis.
Metaphor junkies
spewing their dung
actin all holy
like they've written in tounges...
Can anybody
interpret that (Bleep)
explain the poems meaning
with a comment that fits...
Then say, I can't write
or compose
demi-gods are out there
always breaking my (Bleeps...)
They say, I can't write
or compose
so I'm just sittin here typin anything...
Contests
really tickle a muse
seems the hosts
and poet are truly confused...
A muse ain't fickle
just knows what it likes
if you can't relate
then yours may take a hike...
They say, I can't write
or compose
tappin on this keyboard
till my fingers are numb...
They say I can't write
or compose
so I'm just sittin here typin anything...
Metaphor groupies
bow to the ground
ain't got a clue
of what the poem expounds...
But it's got image
and metaphors too
though I've seen better
on the walls of a loo...
They say, I can't write
or compose
everything I pen
is either weak or cliche...
Yeah I can't write
or compose
so I'm just sittin here typin...
Yeah I try to make it right...
Put the verbiage, in its proper place...
~Note~
I also write on another site as RunningWolves . On that site there some really rude poets who think they are Gods gift to humanity. They think everything they write is a masterpiece and are not shy about belittling people who's comments on their work aren't good enough for them. So, I wrote this for them.
So this has nothing to do with anyone on PoetrySoup.
See, I never claimed to be a poet, nor to have anything that even remotely resembles talent. I am just an simple guy playing at poet. anything I do that even seems like a talent is really just God's way of keeping me from making a total fool of myself... I guess you could say its on loan from God... Thank you!
Overweight Terrier:
Porky
Yorkie
Un-cool Terrier:
Dorky
Yorkie
Spaniel dog breeder:
Cocker
Stocker
Parrot who mimics a Spaniel's bark:
Cocker
Mocker
Book on how to care for Cockers:
Spaniel
Manuel
Originally from England, a well-rounded Spaniel stays in shape by playing:
Cocker
Soccer
Then showers and dresses by its:
Cocker
Locker
Dachshund headgear:
Weenie
Beenie
Grouchy Dachshund:
Meany
Weenie
Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
Teenie
Weenies
(But size isn't everything)
Dachshund making critcal life choices:
Eenie
Weenie...
Lassie was a level-headed dog and never engaged in:
Collie
Folly
Reared in a loving environnment, she was a rather:
Jolly
Collie
Bred in the capitol city of NC, making her a:
Raleigh
Collie
To commemorate her frequent (and often rowdy) visits to N.O. a streetcar was renamed the:
Collie
Trolley
Snoopy immigrated to the States but alas, was found not to be a:
Legal
Beagle
Thus he was deported back to England but was promptly knighted by the Queen becoming a:
Regal
Beagle
Now a celebrity, he even had an entourage of nubile young female beagles named:
Snoopy's
Groupies
Eventually, he met his soul mate, married her in Westminster Abbey and it is rumored that they engaged in numerous and somewhat kinky sessions of:
Snoopy
Whoopie
Beware, social media's worldly platform,
Blameless, guilty wannabes shower esteem,
Heady headlines bathing in common manure.
Knowing one’s neighbour.
Selfie, groupies searching for public reason,
Poetry kindled reframed and lovers bonding,
Gossip transferred digital nonsense bemused.
Silence youth golden.
Sapphic stanza contest
Sponsor William Kekaula
I DO BELIEVE IN SOD
From the days of yore
When Jesus strolled along the shore
And spoke words of harmony and peace
He was dressed in flannel or fleece
It mattered not what garment He chose
All his groupies swore that only Jesus knows
And I don’t disagree but while today I stroll the sod
I just can’t believe that Jesus was the son of God
There’s too much doubt and cloudiness in his book
And each chapter and verse is missing a hook
A line that could convince me God was His dad
And not just a hippie or some kind of fad
Now don’t get me wrong I beg of you please
All of you who spend nights praying on bended knees
I believe there was a man named Jesus who walked upon the earth
And sometimes I’ll grant Him a bit of belief for what it’s worth
So if anyone can convince me of what I do not believe
I’ll stand on his alter and for His torture I will grieve
“but why my father hast thou forsaken me”
Upon the cross why did he pose that query and not let His daddy set him free?
© 2011.…..Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
For those avid crossword groupies of which I are one,
I'm offering free of charge vital data to add to your fun.
So you're stuck on 15-down for the name of a barren of mules!
Groups of creatures you can now name if you use this set of rules!
A group of apes is a shrewdness and a gang of asses is a pace.
Tigers are a streak and you'd better streak should they give chase!
Can you believe that skittish plovers are called a congregation?
(I wonder, perhaps Baptist, Lutheran, Catholic or other denomination?)
You might see a cackle of hyenas or a tower of giraffes at zoos,
Or if on a Kenyan safari a bloat of hippos or a fleet herd of gnus.
The name for a prickle of porcupines is an appropriate moniker for sure!
A sleek bunch of ferrets is called a business, and, why, I'm unsure.
Pesky squirrels are called a scurry and a warren is for rabbits.
(There are many warrens of rabbits due to their promiscuous habits!)
Badgers are grouped as a cete and leopards are known as a leap;
Moles are known as a labor and a herd or drove identifies sheep.
Parliaments of owls meet in trees and eagles in convocations.
Jellyfish waft about in smacks and peacocks strut in ostentations!
Screeching cormorants are a gulp which sounds mighty weird.
Steer clear of a crash of rhinos since they are to be feared!
Charming finches are called a charm and larks an exaltation,
Turkeys a rafter, frogs an army and starlings a murmuration.
Locusts are known as a plague and cockroaches an intrusion.
An unkindness of ravens and their raucous caws just causes confusion!
Groups of humans are known as Republicans, Democrats or Nazarenes,
Jerks and morons but this barely includes all human species by any means!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
WOMAN WRITER
If interviewed on the subject of the sonnet
What man has brought me endless cups of tea?
They’ll say I’ve got a Queen Bee in my bonnet
The male groupies will not type my poems for me.
What golden mother lives without inspiration?
What sister can be truly herself, and tackle
The canon in the patriarchal cold, the purgation
Of miles of libraries with the truth a hackle?
The worst thing is that there’s no male muse -
I don’t feel the marginalisation or the neglect
Quite as much as the possibility I might lose
The reader in the absence of his call-collect -
And I must be very careful with my man -
I lose a husband if I kiss a fan.
by Rosemarie Rowley
Winning the Lottery
Yes, I dream of winning the Lottery,
Hitting the jackpot on a Saturday night.
Oh, it’s so wonderful to imagine,
So, I cross my fingers and hold them tight.
Our George bemoans his bad luck,
All these years, not even a Tenner.
He told me that a couple from up Orkney,
Won Five million, Mr and Mrs Jenner.
Now I don’t want a fortune,
Just to be comfortable, would be nice.
I could buy me a shiny new sports job,
Without thinking about it twice.
A holiday to the Island of Barbados,
Under tropical skies, that sounds grand.
Or perhaps a Mediterranean cruise,
Lazing on deck, getting tanned.
I would have to update my wardrobe,
With a suit from Ralph Lauren.
A few shirts with the label of Versace,
Oh, and Designer shoes by Donna Karan.
We may have to move from the terrace,
Buy a cottage in the countryside.
Or better still a bungalow by the sea,
With a Veranda, to sit watching the tide.
I could afford to have Guitar lessons,
Learn to play blues like Jimmy Page.
Imagine that, me becoming a rock star,
With adoring groupies at front of stage.
Now, I won’t see our Emily go short,
and I’ll give a bit to John and Jilly.
I’d better return Danny’s Lawnmower,
and give that borrowed Twenty back to Billy.
I could retire and take it easy,
No more working long shifts over-night,
Slaving for that Miserly McGregor,
He’s loaded but so flaming tight.
In truth, I’d leave without notice,
And tell him just where to stick it.
My wife say’s stop daydreaming Jim
You’ve never even bought a ticket.
Dachshund headgear:
Weenie
Beenie
Frankfurter for a Dachshund:
Weenie
Weenie
Grouchy Dachshund:
Meany
Weenie
Un-cool Terrier:
Dorky
Yorkie
A Terrier who pigs out too often might become a:
Porky
Yorkie
Spaniel dog breeder:
Cocker
Stocker
Parrot who mimics a Spaniel's bark:
Cocker
Mocker
Book on how to care for Cockers:
Spaniel
Manuel
Originally from England, a well-rounded Spaniel stays in shape by playing:
Cocker
Soccer
Then showers and dresses by its:
Cocker
Locker
Lassie was a level-headed dog and never engaged in:
Collie
Folly
Reared in a loving environment, she was a rather:
Jolly
Collie
Bred in the capitol city of NC, making her a:
Raleigh
Collie
To commemorate her frequent visits to New Orleans, a streetcar was renamed the:
Collie
Trolley
Snoopy immigrated to the States but alas, was found not to be a:
Legal
Beagle
Which of course drove:
Snoopy
Loopy
Thus he was deported back to England but was promptly knighted by the Queen becoming a:
Regal
Beagle
Now a celebrity, he is blessed with an entourage of young beagle admirers named:
Snoopy's
Groupies
*Submitted for The Funny Kid’s Poem Contest sponsored by Team Poetry Soup
A bright young fellow named Ernest
Went to med school to be an internist.
But the sight of insides
Gave him really bad vibes,
So he took up accounting in earnest.
A shifty young lawyer named Stan
Came up with a devious plan
To avoid paying taxes
Through complex finances,
But was told that his plan wouldn't stand.
A beginner in fencing named Perry
Was finding that swordplay was scary.
"Not to belabor
But it's defective, my saber!
It thrusts but refuses to parry!"
An anemic young lady named Madeline
Became increasingly maudlin
When she came to discover
That her boyfriend and lover
Would sleep through the day in his coffin.
A lady tourist named Lisa
Fell from the Tower of Pisa.
On the way down
She thought thoughts profound
And remembered to renew her visa.
A deadbeat gambler named Owen
Ran into the guys he was owing
Who, with style and with ease,
Broke both his knees,
After asking him, "Hey, how's it going?"
A big rock-and-roll star was Ben,
But now just a 90's has-been.
The girls and their aunties
Would throw him their panties,
But now no more groupies has Ben.
("What's in a name" contest entry)
Two thorny vines slow down visitors rushing headlong along rain forest tracks.
Their thorns grab and hold stranglers by clothes and hair entangled.
Vines hanging like groupies waiting to clamour and grasp at pop stars and pope.
But why belay your delay to thorns and vines, when your own paws have claws?
Pause to contemplate, linger a little longer and wait just a wee while.
Touch on the brakes to ease down the slopes and round the curves with pleasure.
Add wiggles to your path, pull eyes off the ground, step slower, and hear sounds right out
Hear the end of the chime, the punch line sublime, the echo of all bird-call stanzas.
In slow motion, you'll feel the breeze,
See the stars, smell the daisies, and touch surfaces with caresses
Pausing here are there to quell for a spell,
Enriches and enlightens, and like taking a drink refreshes.
You have time on your side, so wait for a while, and linger a little longer.
Set to the Albatross, by Fleetwood Mac. (Hum along).
On love and astral travelling,
Through the stars we're wandering,
On the Universe we're pondering,
My eternal love, Napoleon,
Intangible man, but full of fun,
Our jewelled cloak of stars,
We've journeyed from afar,
Shape shifting, glittering,
On love and astral travelling,
I'm no Carlos Santana,
I have no scarlet bandana,
I am the oestrogen,
Old Josephine,
Where haven't we been?
I have no testosterone,
You're my "Yes, master," Napoleon.....
On love and astral travelling,
Sentimentally wandering,
Are you Angelus or Incubus?
Reminiscing, reflecting-----
Comical groupies for loving,
On love and astral travelling.......
Putting his whole heart into it
Belting out the chorus so loud
Needing a prompter for the lyrics
No one listening in the crowd.
Signing up to sing again
Waiting for his next go
Playing the air guitar
Putting on a show.
The groupies are in his mind
He cannot carry a note
Everyone has left the bar
He needs lozenges for his throat.
He’ll come back again on Tuesday night
To make love to the microphone
Knowing women he will woo
Yet going home alone.
He practices in the shower
He’s gonna make it big he knows
He’s failed three times in auditions
For the American Idol show.
He knows every bar that has a machine
And which nights they plug it in
A regular the bartenders know
Trying not to laugh at him.
No one has the heart to tell him
That he’s wasting his time
I guess living in your own dream
Isn’t really a crime.
So sing it would-be rock and roll boy
Pretend that you’re a star
There will always be a place for you
In the local Karaoke bar.
Young child full of hope and dreams,
volcanic personality laced with possibility,
charming but devious with schemes,
young Eunuch, powerful yet lacking stability.
Named after the god Janus hence January.
Having two faces, one facing the future,
one facing last year’s gory mortuary.
Favorite flower: a carnation to nurture.
A fickle young fellow indeed,
star of the time and space show,
riding a happy go lucky steed.
All dressed up but ..where to go?
Sporting a favorite garnet gem,
enjoying the groupies and fanfare,
tripping over last year’s hem.
History is the map, but will he care?
Janus was old Roman god (two faces) referred to as "spirit of the opening".
January flower carnation: Gem; Garnet
for:
Personification of January contest sponsored by Nette Onclaud
written by Robert A. Dufresne
12/31/2011
We big, tough, well-thinking male bearberries blew and we snarled and we spouted and we blew.
But those danged dandelions obstinately kept their tops on, no matter how much we did fuss.
Come on fellas, I said to my fellow bearberries. Here is just what we’ll do…
“I’m not taking them!” I screamed at B.B.2, our leader, a passive little cuss.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
I am so sorry Tiger Lilies, he told them. It’s just us bear berries today. He shot an apologetic look to T.L. 1 and T.L. 402.
I am sick and tired of my whole life being video- recorded by those selfie-taking nut-buckets, I told him, indignant, and with an angry face.
They will clean your house, wash your floors, pay your bills, wax your car, and do your laundry, said B.B. 2.
I don’t care if my house implodes on its dirtiness, I retorted. Just keep them in their place.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
Tiger Lily 58 sneaked back into the Bearberry Lodge, where Tiger Lilies are never supposed to be.
We did not see her at first as she used her invisibility tablet to reach us; I felt her heat on the back of my neck, before I saw her.
She began to give me a really nice, warm, massage and sweet backrub which was the best I had had times three.
Wow! What is that? I asked myself, as I began getting tingly and happy all over, and down under.
I guess I was talking about these wonderful tiger lilies, our allies.
My dad had told me a long time ago that the best pairings in the meadow was always a BB and a T.L.
Who are you? I whispered to Tiger Q. Lily 58. I am your soul mate, she responded, can you please meet me at 2?
Where? I wondered, and she immediately conveyed that she would be at northern rise of Bunny P. Hill.
I will be there with my matching rings, I told her. Are you ready? Yes, she agreed. No one else will do.
I am now hitched to a wonderful tiger lily, and all my mean thoughts
toward T.L.'s seem pretty damned silly.
(And I don’t care whether or not the dandelions ever lose their
tops. They are of no use to me now.)
Dated: May 12,2018