Best Supping Poems
For P.D's "Going Haiku Crazy" Contest
How Many?
going to St. Ives
met folks on that smelly bus
more than I could count
Just Sleep Walking?
Wee Willy Winky
caught outside a boy’s window
in a night garment
Got Wool?
naked in the lane
three bags-full of wool sheared off
baa baa black sheep fleeced
She Didn’t Know What to Do!
Kids’ cries from inside -
outside an old woman’s shoe
child welfare people
Clean Your Plate!
Licking their plates clean
Jack Sprat and wife do their part. . .
kids starve in China
The Treacherous Hill
pail of spilled water
Jill’s body sprawled over Jack’s
one big bloody mess
What a Ding Dong
good deed for the day
boy scout Tommy Stout by well. . .
scratches on his arm
Not Even a Bone
old Mother Hubbard
Social Security cut
dog needs a new home
Yellow Georgie
victims of Porgie
confront him in the playground
his true color shows
The Original Blonde
Bo peep loses sheep
birth of a new tradition. . .
blonde jokes being told
The Schemer
some spilled curds and whey
spider near a fallen chair
supping happily
Making the Best. . .
Humpty takes a spill
the whole army can’t fix him
omelets for lunch
Baby Catches On
the church and steeple
and now you show me people?
those are just fingers!
They Say He Couldn’t Keep Her!
gossip in the town
pumpkin shell big as a house. .
where is Peter’s wife?
Bye, Hushed Baby
the sound of wind’s rush
baby’s cries abruptly hushed
broken branch on ground
*I'm choosing this series of haiku for several reasons.
First, it's the only post I made named "Twisted" so it
is an obvious choice. Second, I do have other poems
I consider a bit twisted, but, I simply cannot
remember the titles of some of these really old poems
to look for them. Finally, this series was inspired by
a long ago contest of PD's in which I got the idea
to take nursery rhymes and twist them, and so
I'm reviving this series which can no longer be
viewed by anybody here unless it's in a contest!
Categories:
supping, funnyold, old,
Form:
Haiku
On a spotty, sprinkled day, at the Plott's house on the block,
A squatty Uncle Scotty had sent a polka dotted, cuckoo clock!
The family said "That's handy!", and found a spot upon a shelf
For the dandy, new Swiss timepiece,...next to toddy mix and tea pots!
While Mommy Plott washed all her pots, Daddy Plott worked in the yard
The children, too, were caught worn out, after swatting flies so hard
By the twilight of the evening, they were worn, like pennies spent
Supping lentils, corn and pintos, ...then, up stairs they gladly went
Daddy Plott turned out the lights, falling, plop, right into bed
But bolted up with such a jolt!!...loud "CUCKOOS!!" hurt his head!!
The brand-new clock, made such a noise, his nerves hung by a thread !
That yoddling bird, that could be heard, might wake the neighborhood!
It popped out every hour, and the sour house would shake
With a hollering "CUCKOO' voice....with an awful racket made!
They covered it with pillows...and took it from the room
But the "CUCKOO-CUCKOO-CUCKOO" could be heard...from even the moon!!
They would just doze off, fall fast asleep, and think that it was done....
But when the hands said Next O'Clock......it would cluck out lots more fun!!
One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock...four....!!
The poor little bird, with his voice getting sore....
Saying 'cuckoo', ....'Cuckoo'......"CUCKOO!!!" again !!!
So Daddy took out the tick...........then he took out the tock
Then he defrocked little birdy.....so that he couldn't talk
Now it sits on a shelf.....in the house at the Plott's
Even the clock's little birdy.....can sleep like a rock!
Categories:
supping, childrenhouse, house,
Form:
Rhyme
VOICES SOFTLY TINKLING IN THE BREEZE
TINY SHADOWS AMONGST THE TREES
GOSSAMER WINGS FLUTTERING LIKE BEES
THE FAERIES ARE IN MY GARDEN
GAILY THEY PLAY IN THE LONG LONG GRASS
RACING ON DRAGONFLIES DONT WANT TO BE LAST
SITTING ON DAISY HEADS YOU HEAR THEM LAUGH
THE FAERIES ARE IN MY GARDEN
DRINKING THE DEW FROM THE PETALS AND LEAVES
SUPPING THE HONEY THEY STOLE FROM THE BEES
WITH BEAUTIFUL FACES AND DIRTY KNEES
THE FAERIES ARE IN MY GARDEN
OH YES DEAR PEOPLE THEY DO EXIST
OUT THERE HIDING IN DAWNS EARLY MIST
ONLY BELIEVERS CAN SEE THEM, SO OFTEN MISSED
THE FAERIES ARE IN MY GARDEN
Categories:
supping, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
Pub in Yorkshire with stout and ale aplenty.
Red faces sweating with alcohol's influence.
Singing fine songs in reverie and ecstasy.
Salivating at arrival of that succulent essence.
Tender juicy slices of beef covered with gravy.
A splendour when touched by crispy bubbling pudding.
Roast potatoes smiling that wicked grin for tongue's activity.
Forks and knives clatter in haste for that delight of tasty supping.
Drowning that deliciousness with ale.
Rhyming lyrics midst throng of patrons' happiness.
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding you made me hale.
I will visit you often and celebrate tummy's warmth in merriness.
Categories:
supping, culture, england, food, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
The Greenwood - Villanelle
Under the ancient greenwood’s leafy shade,
Beneath the hornbeam and the spreading oak
Where moonglow shines into the sylvan glade
From the Elven harps magic chords cascade.
Harebells ring at exactly midnight’s stroke
Under the ancient greenwood’s leafy shade.
Fairy wings flicker as each note is played,
Ancient Songs the gossamer strings evoke.
Where moonglow shines into the sylvan glade,
Pixies in green cloaks from toadstool skins made
Dwell with happy and content forest folk,
Under the ancient greenwood’s leafy shade.
Rows of acorn shell drinking cups displayed,
Tree Sprites supping dew-drop wine laugh and joke
Where moonglow shines into the sylvan glade.
In light breezes, scents of wild herbs pervade,
Fires emitting chestnut scented smoke
Under the ancient greenwood’s leafy shade
Where moonglow shines into the sylvan glade
01/20/2019
Categories:
supping, celebration, dance, fairy, fantasy,
Form:
Villanelle
Cast to the left of me, cast to my right
Cast out in front of me but I can’t get a bite
I’ve changed my tactics many times, tried legering and float
And now the heavy pouring rain has soaked right through my coat
Eyes peeled, alert, despite the odds, I fish my chosen spot
The Brolly that I thought I'd packed is one that I forgot!
The Net I Have brought with me lies unused and at my side
I tell myself, I'll catch one soon and many more beside
Non anglers think we’re barmy and all who fish are mad
“To be obsessed with drowning worms is only for the sad”
But non angling folk have no idea of the Buzz when the line goes tight
And the adrenalin rush when the fish is on and the rod bends to the fight
Worms and Maggots, corn and flake on every size of hook
I’ve used up all the tricks I know, it seems I’m out of luck
The weather’s gone from bad to worse and now the wind’s a gale
I should be in a nice warm pub and supping pints of ale
Not every day is action packed with solid bites and takes
When your angling comes together with very few mistakes
There are days like this when nothing’s right and all you try’s in vain
Just fishing on with not a bite seems pointless and insane
Any size of fish would do, just to avoid a 'Blank'
What’s this! A twitch! About time too, my inert float just sank
I’m getting lots of bites at last ('though the fishless hours were Rotten)
Now it’s a bite with every cast and all before is forgotten
I have learned a bit and caught a few to finish off my day
Carefully I’ve set them free and watched them swim away
I am all packed up but before I go there is one last look to see
That I’ve left it clean and tidy for those who follow me
Categories:
supping, fishing,
Form:
Rhyme
Each Wednesday evening, we eat soup and bread.
A simple meal like one our Savior ate,
Supping with dear and closest, trusted friends,
Taking the food to meet his coming fate.
Every one is regretfully afraid,
Realizing that our precious Savior dies.
Revolted that our black and grievous sin
Is causing Him to ride to His demise.
Traveling fearfully with Him to His doom
Until His death on cross on Black Friday.
All of us mourn and sorrow by the tomb,
Looking to promise we'll see Him again.
Sunday brings the most astounding vision.
He has risen! Our Christ has arisen!
Categories:
supping, seasons,
Form:
Acrostic
Suddenly it's Spring!
Flowers burst in bloom,
Scent of their perfume
draws bees for supping.
It's a wondrous thing!
Birds converging,
Chicks emerging,
New life abounds
amid sweet sounds.
Warm breeze blows
Sunlight glows
Green meadows
revive,
alive,
thrive.
March 6, 2021
Spring Diminished Hexaverse
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
*******************
Categories:
supping, spring,
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse
Viv had planned to be out supping real ale
But his wife had a different idea
Furniture assembly - Viv's face turn pale
but he gritted his teeth, and said ‘yes dear’
Alas, to poor Viv's utter dismay
the instruction booklet could not be found
With stiff upper lip, it won't mar his day
His ******** expertise will astound
So Viv got to it, banging and screwing
to achieve an outstanding ********
Celeste the cat’s contentedly mewing
Watching Viv work to utter perfection
Viv's DIY skills were put to the test
He reached his goal with no help from Celeste!
Poem based on Viv's blog
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/blogs/blog_detail.aspx?BlogID=33348&PoetID=62162
My ONLY sonnet in 2018
3/8/18
Categories:
supping, cat, celebration, home, humorous,
Form:
Sonnet
In magnificent memory of Vee See’s zaniest chimpanzee
Probably discussed by merry monkey’s chipping chickadee
Readily and aptly apparent by three who seldom agree
Incredibly supping with Mamie, Marjorie and Mr. Paul Klee
Please pass the honey and the light brie said brazen bumblebee.
No one capably eats brie with lemon tea said a flickering flea.
Advice is free but listen, skinny skeleton, I dare you to try and oversee.
Chimpanzee and chickadee fell down laughing at this on one knee.
Categories:
supping, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Monorhyme
I only live to love you and be by your side
To burn in the flame of love's fire
Touch and feel your passion's fervor
Supping it to my heart's desire.
I only live to love you and be by your side
To feel your body's each breath and pulse
Peer into those glowing panther eyes
And jump into their depths on an impulse.
I only live to love you and be by your side
To feel like a babe in its mother's arms
To forget life's tumult and tussle
Safely cocooned from all gales and storms.
I only live to love you and be by your side
To bloom and blossom on your way
Like a mist jeweled red, red rose
Never to be cruelly plucked away.
I only live to love you and by your side
Like a crooning, brooding dove
My body snuggled close to you
To be lost in the sonata of love!
April.9. 2023
~ Placed First~
I Only Live to Love You Poetry Contest
Sponsor- JCB Brul
Categories:
supping, happiness, longing, love,
Form:
Rhyme
NB - familiarity with the pronunciation of the British place names in this poem is essential to comprehend some of the lines - and to ensure the tongue twisting effect in parts.
The Seven Siren Sisters of old Cirencester
Are more infamous now than the lechers of Leicester
While walking with linked arms in Lincoln one day
They saw six sailors sinking pints on the public highway
Their giggles could be heard way down in Biggleswade town
Where the cattle drovers were supping in ye olde Rose & Crown
When one time they rummaged in the markets of Kent
Even they were shocked at the brass they had spent
fourteen shillings had gone and a handful of pence.
nowt left in their purses to furnish the rent
so they came to the notion of trading themselves
for to pay the landlord and put food on their shelves
Soon with all their gay laughter and raucous loud shouts
some curtains at their lodgings were twitching about
and when out were seen tottering many men who were known
to be married to others that lived close by that home
there was such a commotion as wives came scurrying forth
one carried a bucket filled with fresh muck from a horse
A pitched fight then started with brooms and an odd frying pan
until the wives were left standing over each cowering man
while the Seven Siren Sisters of Old Cirencester
sneaked out the back door and ran off to Rochester
never again did they return there to work picking hops
but it wasn't the last time they'd spend too much in the shops
©Rhumour
October 10th 2008
Categories:
supping, funny, men, women,
Form:
Rhyme
(A Spoon River Poem)
You loved me well, you loved me long,
even with joy fading from my eyes,
my beauty your heart's silent song,
and sorrow hidden in burnished skies.
Six strapping sons feathered our nest,
pride your meat, and hope your drive
for peace to rest within my breast,
watching our sons grow and thrive.
My pride lay seated in one alone,
a daughter, supping from my dish,
her grace shining like a midnight sun,
her presence fulfilling every wish.
Death came feeding at her door,
in a single day, her light was gone.
I sewed to clothe her one time more
in her five years, I'd always done.
Each day after, I lived to mourn;
you burned to melt my frozen core.
Our boys also, with fibers torn,
became crippled casualties of war.
Why couldn't I see them clear,
with such longing in their eyes;
that in my grief-stricken sphere,
wounded egos shrank and died.
Though she and I, at last, conjoin
reduced to dust and mingled here
she's one of seven from my loins
steeped in years of guilt and tears.
Too late discerned, my own selfhood,
they’ve scattered and can't be found.
So undeserved, my peaceful shroud
atop this hill, beneath this ground.
Categories:
supping, death, grief, loss,
Form:
Quatrain
Irene, dear cat
Ate a fat rat
Supping on this dish
Now eyes my goldfish
February 10, 2020
4pm PST
Categories:
supping, cat, fish, food, humor,
Form:
Clerihew
When you take from life and give so very little!
And think you are a Roman god,supping on wine from goblets gold.
For recreation,poetry has morphed into sheer madness and infamy.
Destruction of others, by sword, pen or mouth, is your goal.
Drunk, to the winds,with false pride, as your motto!
Smashing human hearts in your path?
True friends...of them, you have no further need.
Just rest ye, on your velvet couch.
Fanned by followers, your biggest addiction and sad affliction.
You have slain, cruelly, those who cared.
You threw them heartlessly down, hard marble, bloodied stairs.
5/25/2022
Categories:
supping, character, poetry,
Form:
Free verse