Best Leisure Time Poems
Happy as a dream
Blues skies perfect picnic smiles
Leisure stay teasing
When I was a young boy,
The radio would blast in my ears…
I would cheerfully sing along to a new song…
Those memories come back to me like waves approaching me
I sang along with my mother by my side
She’s the driver and I’m on the passenger seat…
In other words, I called “shot-gun!” first
I prize these recollections and they make me beam so wide
Old memories spent with you are still there in my mind
You’ve painted me a picture of what you get out of life
Throwing out all strife…throwing out all strife
We welcome the sun…we welcome the son!
When I was spending happy days with you,
I didn’t know they could fade so soon
I didn’t know time would pass up by like morning to afternoon
Changes were made and I can’t change that
Where have you gone? Are you feeling OK?
Talk to me…I wonder about you every single day
But, all these years we’ve spent it on leisure time has come to hunt me down again like a predator,
finally getting its hands on its first victim
You sing so sweet, nightingale in the nightfall
I’ve memorized your face when you walk in the gloomy hall
Hear me as I call…hear me as I call…
You melt me like ice cream, left in the sun
When you remind me of the segments of my past,
I just want to tell you straight-out that I don’t care to hear about it
I’m sorry to act so harsh, but you’re looking back again
Don’t break my heart…it’s not my time to die
Yesterday…where have you gone?
Yesterday…you’re a long lost son…
Yesterday…you’re in the grave
Tomorrow… will be God’s Kingdom
Tomorrow…the day will be handsome
It’s sad to see you go…
While my family and I are spending good, leisure time
It’s tough to let you know
You’ve made me sad ‘cause you’ve changed big time
Might as well listen to music and shut out all sound
I was just a useless toy all along,
Stomped on on the ground…I’m gravity-bound
But, I won’t even try to sing this depressing song
Besides, it wasn’t arranged for one
But, nevertheless, I prayed to God with all of my heart
My leisure time was well-spent! Thank God my young heart didn't break apart!
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling
unlike Christopher Robin
hi ho... hi ho exiting
their wooded den
(think Snow White and
her seven dwarf men)
off to work they go to earn cents
(unbeknownst conversion into) yen
boot just enough to undergo
gastric bypass surgery
to shrink abdomen,
plus grueling boot camp regimen
guaranteeing bullseye
hit courtesy artillerymen
nsync with honing
sharp eyed acumen
joining (rather leading) civilians
carrying out coup d’etat
putsch ching aside feeble,
inept and lame
president to step up
and augment pen
ultimate last ditch effort
to halt climate change
to stave turning planet Earth
into self destructive oven.
All joking aside horrific,
née apocalyptic crisis doth loom
perhaps even unleashing mushroom,
clouds (thrown in for good measure)
encompassing entire planet
assuredly spelling doom,
where liquidation and fire sale
at all brick and mortar
stores will bloom,
(just ash at the front desk)
charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew
pointing blackened decker
index finger boom
meringue literally every black
Friday, Saturday, Sunday...
until every tomb
morrow until end of time.
(described in ~thirty lines of rhyme)
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
I was playing competitive scrabble with my cousin the other day
when I suspected my anagram practice was getting in my way.
was it helping or hurting? Frankly, it was difficult to decide.
Taco-cat spelled backwards and forwards helped me to rapidly turn the tide.
She took my best spot, which was going to give me 146 points,
I was so mad, I nearly popped all my fingers out of place at their joints.
I realized that what has already been routinely, nightly over-done
may not be the best use of my time, as it has ceased to be so much fun.