Best Whopping Poems
Penelopina Teena had a birthday today,
in faerie years she's a whopping 9008!
It's such a celebration as you have never seen
was held for this tiny white petite faerie queen.
A firefly has gifted her with the finest moon dust,
for faerie magic it's such powerful fine stuff.
Faerie chef Bengali Blue made fluffy cupcakes
with Venetian icing white, pink and blue all fresh baked.
An amethyst mirror gifted by Lil'miss Teak Breeze
was framed in the finest of gold and Elvin antiqued.
Jiminy Jack presented her with great berries gold,
from his orchard full of candied sweetness, full and bold.
Faerie Wa'di de Pella, a kindly fella
brought her a fine cookbook of treats rich with vanilla.
Dragonflies came with some light homemade Sliverene cream
for which to polish Teena's fine elemental wings.
A spider played Happy Birthday on its' web of silk,
while faerie Frank Fennell poured all, coconut milk.
A band of pipers and trumpeters played in bird nest;
all offerings were presented with such joyous zest.
Birds and bugs of all species danced throughout the whole night
to mesmerizing music, such a superb delight.
As the moon bid adieu to the late partying crowd,
the celebrants vanished in a crystal mushroom cloud.
Cradled by a hammock
with the sun shining in.
Coddled with Summer fun.
Ice cream’s dripping
from a whopping sugar cone.
It’s sweet to do nothing
but tongue the licks
and swing in a basket
in the zephyr wind.
It’s sweet to read a book
as I settle in.
My heart can race,
with adventure and romance,
with eyes darting back and forth,
but the cushions are at peace,
except when I subtly shift
crossing my knees.
Counting sheep on staycation.
Letting midday, flow from the windows,
light up my quiescent countenance.
Occasionally I exercise my thumb
with a thumbs up. I hope someone
is cooking ‘cause it’s sweet
to do absolutely nothing at all.
Put on his red bathers you're joking
Too tight something out front it was poking
found another old pair
to cover up pubic hair
He's now off to the ocean for soaking
Now he's looking quite bronze and quite fancy
Ready to meet his girlfriend who's called Nancy
on the sand they will walk
hold hands while they talk
One day she might be his fiancee
Find a spot that's private and shady
to skinny dip with his beautiful lady
several others have come
they see his lily white bum
His girl's given surname it's O'grady
From ocean water body's cool, appetisingly salty
Sun burnt skin's feeling sore and quite faulty
He wants to bonk on the shore
She says no that's for sure
He says your excuse is unloving and paltry
His ex girlfriends name was Cecelia
Too often he wanted to feel her
with legs very bandy
he was often so randy
In the sun in in the hay made love to this sheila
Now this oversexed man so begotten
So naughty they smacked his big bottom
but he wasn't deterred
still did what he preferred
Loved underwear made out of soft cotton
Now it's summer he's feeling quite warm
Many old tricks he does often perform
out in his work shed
there's a double sized bed
Where they shed all the clothes that are worn
It's now time for a warm summer party
Can attend it's casual not arty farty
still daylight at nine
have a whopping good time
Good conversation and laughter that's hearty
whopping bully
torments soupers fully
picks on others writes
although her writing bites
great big bully
eyes must be woolly
she attempts hurt
with words curt
Diana-Marie Bombardieri
January 29, 2012
Contest - Clerihew 2
“poetry is freedom of expression. Soupers should feel free to share their innermost thoughts without fear of being persecuted. Nobody likes a bully. If you do not have something nice or constructive to say, don’t say it”.
I’m writing to you this now because it has come to my attention that this is a serious issue.
You are so very beautiful,
so intelligent, caring and kind. And you have so much to offer.
Offering your talents is a scary thing. It means opening yourself up to a world that appears to want nothing to do with you.
But the truth is, that that is a big whopping steaming pile of baloney.
We all want the real, just like you do.
That girl you talked to on the street. The guy you shared a drink with at the party, the long-haired one with bare feet. They are tired of it too.
They just want the realness, like you do.
So give it to them, and trust yourself.
You know you deserve the best right?
You deserve a group of friends and a family that loves and cares for you.
They are off and are not of your choosing,
not always, and always, share DNA with you,
and positively are yours to attract.
It is a simple game of metal and magnets.
Trust the game. It is fun once you learn to play, but it does take practice.
We’ve been playing it for millennia, and the rules and clues are all around you.
Patience and Faith are two of their names.
So offer your talents up to them, share that part of you that allows you to sing shamelessly in the shower, go dancing in the rain, and lay naked on empty beaches.
Every moment we find ourselves amidst the showers of life and with sand between our toes.
Why worry about those stuck in the parking lot?
They will always be there. But that doesn’t mean you need to.
So why not, extend a hand, say the thing they wish they could say
when it is from here, from this place,
of truth.
There is so little needed to give from a limitless love, and so much of limitless love to gain.
More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/10/12/limitless-love/
Queens are all over, and there are festivals, parades, banners and stuff.
I wanted to be Corn Queen once, but they chose a girl from Council Bluff.
Our phenomenal state fairs have a bunch of pageants galore.
We watch these winners parade in with titles, banners, and more.
Miss Atom was fine, looked great in her huge science lab.
Everyone was glad she got it, for she had the gift of gab.
Ms. Plastic Surgery had lips that kept falling off,
So her title was given to Miss Whopping Cough.
The men have their own competitions, of course.
Some bring their own cow, their llama or horse.
Mr. Cowboy for the West part of the state,
Was given a chilly reception, being six minutes late.
Stripped of his title, it pleased his first runner up.
Who had also won Mr. Lassie and Mr. Buttercup.
Mr. Elf on the Shelf was irritated ‘because he thought he had it.
Mr. Emergency laughed, for he was named Mr. Bad It.
Mrs. Hostess Snowball wore snowballs strategically placed,
And Mrs. Not—Ever-Ready wore a corny veil ribboned with lace.
Queens and Kings, running around, winning titles fast and furiously.
To put on their resume’s or job applications? I am guessing curiously.
Not being in a pageant, myself, I truly do not understand.
But there are contests for queens and kings all over our land.
Showing off titles, and banners and stuff.
Here is Mrs. Wart Hog cemetery. Her hide is tough!
Whopping big or small sized -
With inside red flesh of
Wonderful sweetness, this
Weighty fruit’s percent of
Water is ninety-two!
Wow! That’s great hydration.
Wish I had some right now.
May 10, 2021
For Kim Merryman's Pleiades W Poetry Contest
Oh, peaceful sentinel of green,
With sweeping boughs and leafy screen!
Most trees provide a tranquil shade,
For picnickers in any glade
But you, O Willow, choose to smite,
And pummel passersby all night!
While common willows gently weep,
You cause the very bones to leap!
With one swift swish, you wreck a car,
And launch a Ford into a star.
You care not for a bird or bee,
An equal-opportunity brute tree.
You guard a dark and secret door,
Where furry friends pace on the floor.
A gentle poke upon your bark
Will freeze you silent in the dark,
A magic trick of wood and limb,
To keep your temper rather trim!
So hail the violent, twisted wood!
Misunderstood, yet understood.
The only tree, we must agree,
That strikes right back at botany!
Solomon Grundy, Solomon Grundy,
sniffer of glue, when offered, on Monday.
The Tuesday was hash, a whopping great spliff;
on Wednesday took coke, a generous sniff.
For Thursday some crack, the dodgiest brand,
and Friday’s dope needle was quite second-hand.
When Saturday came, a massive OD;
on Sunday it ended, this hedonist spree.
In spite of the blurb you find on a packet,
right up to the end, he thought he could hack it!
~
For Debra's 'Nursery Rhyme' Competition.
As a child in days gone by
Mother’s rod was swift but sure
Many a weal as time went by
Scarred my skin an ugly blue.
Nagging was the way of life
My mother used to lay the rule
Not a day did I cry
Child abuse, nor reported it at school.
Father’s hands lay thick and strong
A whopping blow upon my hide
On the day I failed at sums
That slap brought answers quick to mind.
Even when I pouted and sulked
Cups or shoes came flying high
Never ever missed the target
That mother’s aim intended to strike.
No words were kind
When I did wrong
No sparing the rod to spoil the child
Discipline the child was a daily song.
Today the cry is child abuse
For which society has no use
Put the child in a foster home
To grow up to be another deviant one.
Is it wise to spare the rod?
Or better yet to talk with the child?
Still mother’s way did well for me
To talk and live like a Jesus child.
Deep in to the woods by spring
my quest by daybreak for croaking,
frog croaking, nature enthusiast‘s song,
hit upon by the *** end, a puddle,
frogs, a few in high spirits hopping,
something took the winds out of my sails!
whopping snake, old inactive by water,
these frogs take the snake a worm,
took me back to an old proverb:
when the snakes get old,
the frogs get him by the balls!
laughing I too tried some croaking!
great nap my song all around!
Boy we live a hectic life;
For instance, yesterday.
I couldn’t kiss my busy wife
With baby’s backside in the way.
So I left without a kiss,
And sat on the car’s seat,
But luckily I didn’t miss
The slippers on my feet.
After going in the house
To don the right attire.
For my job, though not to douse
The microwave on fire.
My oldest son; a whopping three,
Thought that he could make,
Popcorn for the Christmas tree
With the timer set for steak.
As soon as flames subsided,
The alarms finished beeping.
That’s when at last I sighted
My wife who had been weeping.
She said the dog just ate my toast;
And the two-year-old spilled my tea.
I guess since I was too engrossed
There was nothing left for me.
This time my wife and I locked lips
Except, she wasn’t ready.
Coz in her mouth was a hair clip
As sharp as a machete.
So in the car for one more chance;
Far from the morning’s caper.
But a dryer sheet inside my pants
Would show up a little later.
I think I have a solid hunch
That we’ve lost control.
Coz when I opened up my lunch
It was plopped in the dog’s bowl.
The greatest blessings of her life
Her children ~ their life
She ~ a young mother
Blessed with two
A miracle ~ twin boys
This is true!
Unafraid! Though
Both body and mind were bruised
Eyes big and BLACK
Her love and womb grew
At first KICK
She stumbled ~ her body recovered
At first KICK
She knew ~ God’s blessing she discovered
A miracle the abuse
Did not end
A miracle her dreams
Are in God’s hands…
Lay
**For Gwendolyn Rix "Mom, I'm Pregnant" Contest
"A study conducted by “Children Now” in 1995 saw that a full 89 percent of teens
have been in dating relationships and a whopping 40 percent of all teenagers know
someone their age that was beaten or abused by a boyfriend in a relationship. This is
a serious problem that every parent needs to watch out for to ensure the health and
safety of their children. Another study, conducted by Silverman, Raj, Mucci and
Hathaway in 2001 showed that young women who were in relationships that involved
violence were more likely to abuse substances, develop eating disorders, conduct
risky sexual behaviors, get pregnant, and even commit suicide."
http://teenagepregnancytips.com/statistics-on-teenage-relationships/
Times Square was once a sleazy place;
You wouldn’t go alone there.
When darkness fell, you held on or
You’d lose all that you owned there.
Today, though, it’s like Disney World,
With tourists, loud and surging.
There’s not an inch of space unfilled
Since everyone’s converging:
The families from Idaho,
The hawkers giving passes,
The Elmos and the messengers,
The bused-in high school classes…
The lunch-break workers, homeless dudes,
The theater geeks and shoppers,
The food carts, cabbies and the cops
And all the teenyboppers.
I love New York; don’t get me wrong
But oftentimes I wonder
If gentrifying Broadway
Might have been a whopping blunder.
Prince Harry’s to wed Meghan Markle
Her dress, see it shimmer and sparkle
What I can’t understand…
It cost fifty-six grand
No wonder there’s such a debacle!
Inspired by another news story
N B The haute couture dress was originally on sale for a whopping £56,000 ($77,587.23) but I've read they got it at a reduced cost
01/21/18