Paris isn’t some wondrous far country.
We have noisy trash pickup and there are no Dairy Queens.
Ok, It may be far away but that’s your fault - let’s not dwell on it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re wondrous enough - we have we have running water - some of it hot, and the other bare necessities of earthly happiness, like wi-fi and pizza.
Paris is like a melon - here’s where you get involved and picture a melon.
If you pictured bananas, those aren’t melons - they’re tropical fruits - try again.
Oranges? GEE-zus, those are Citrus fruits - you are really slowing things down.
Forget it - let’s do some poetry…
When he kisses,
he leaves his impress
and makes me writhe and twist.
We revel and carouse tirelessly,
appetites roar and seethe like lions,
until we lie prone like the dead.
I should have saved that for Halloween.
.
.
Songs for this:
Back to friends by Sobr
DAISIES by Justin Bieber
KISS by Demi Lovato
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not regal white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.
Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.
It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.
A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.
Small guys or bigger, all have a mobile,
E’en tattered beggars… all have a mobile.
Social-media eager has a mobile,
Be they big bloggers… all have a mobile.
Even a gravedigger has a mobile,
Or well-known figures… all have a mobile.
One not sweet like sugar has a mobile,
Or sweet-voiced singers… all have a mobile.
Every Tom, Dick, Meagre has a mobile,
Big figure leaguers… all have a mobile.
___________________________
Ghazal (Tongue-in-cheek) |11.10.2024| humour
Poet’s note: Every Tom, Dick, Meagre has a mobile, as this Ghazal claims, but many true leaguers do not bother about smart phones. The world truly runs by the people that keep low profile. The billionaire investor Warren Buffet used no smart mobile for long years till Apple’s Tim Cook gave one insisting on its use. He does not waste time on social media. Pop Singer Ed Shiran also does not use smart mobile, and says, I used to see world through mobile’s screen, but now I see it with my own eyes. We can add actor Tom Cruise and singer Justine Bieber in this list, and quite a few more.
I love my school things:
Crayons, ruler, and pad paper,
Glue, sharpener, and eraser;
Pens and pencils in a tin box
That need not close with any locks.
Some pocket money makes me smile--
To buy a gum to share with Kyle.
Notebooks with pictures on the cover
Of my idols--like Justin Bieber!
Oh, wait, there’s one thing I forgot--
The lunchbox which Mom newly bought.
And where to place all of this stuff?
In my school bag, there’s space enough!
March 26, 2023
Among 1st Place
Children Sing to Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Pickle, Pickle, what a tickle!
Your sour face makes me fickle.
Please remind me about the game;
Your salty face made me forget my name.
Carrot pickle arrived early,
She was wearing a light bikini,
She was hanging like Houdini
On wagging tail of a pony.
Onion pickle arrived in a car,
His pungent face had a fresh scar,
To garlic pickle he had a war
'cause his mother is a vampire.
Drumstick pickle arrived late,
He was too hungry, he didn't eat;
He didn't know how to hold his plate,
He had no hands, just all legs.
The other pickles arrived later,
To the party they were so eager,
They were barking like Justin Bieber
'cause Pacquiao defeated Mayweather.
Soon the venue was like a scramble,
The odors mixed like a juggle;
The waiters could not endure the stink,
They all went home without a blink.
The pickles danced, the pickles sang,
The music rolled, the music rang,
They didn't care about the fuzz,
While the outside world made a buzz.
September 5, 2022
ONE FROM THE DARK SIDE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
Mr. John is a jolly fisherman
Paddling his boat with single hand
His other hand holds a fishing rod
On hook are worms from peapods
Baiting only the bean-like cods.
Mr. John went fishing yesterday
He threw his fishnet on the bay
When pulled it back
He thought he was having a rock
But then, he caught a big shark!
Mr. John went back to the lake
For his safety’s sake
Whistling while fishing
Lake was so cool and calming
His fishing rod got a crocodile -- hanging!
Mr. John went back to the river
Singing, dancing in his boat like Justine Bieber
Unaware of the log of beavers
Boat capsized. He plunged into the water.
Mr. John moved to his own fishpond
His fishing day was so much fun
After putting some fish traps
Big and small fishes jumped into his lap
Giving him a loud and hearty laugh.
Mr. John is a jolly fisherman
Paddling his boat with single hand
His other hand holds a fishing rod
On hook are worms from peapods
Baiting only the bean-like cods.
Aug 23,2022 9.24pm
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest Enter
Sponsor: Julia Ward
*VIDEO of Justin Bieber's Talk of his Affliction on YouTube
Justin Bieber's Ramsay Hunt Syndrome
Just in
Justin
Bieber
Tweeter
Likewise
Apprise
TikTok
He talked
About
Timeout
Renege
His gigs
Because
He was
Concerned
He learned
Shingles
Hostiles
Illness
Stillness
Partial
Facial
Benumb
Therefrom
Hoping
Coping
Explore
Restore
Maintain
Unstrain
Renew
Sinew
Routine
Hygiene
Lengthen
Strengthen
Steadfast
Stand fast
Brainstorm
Inform
The signs
Headlines
Contribs
JBiebs
~~0~~
Justin Bieber announced that he is taking a break from performing after being diagnosed with Ramsay Hunt syndrome (RHS), a rare shingles-related condition that has paralyzed one side of his face.
2022 June 14
SONG FOR THE BOY
Where is my toddler grandson?
Time, the thief, took him away.
Oh...please do send him back!
********
Innocent as God's Spring earth's
flowers.
With whom I was blessed to spend
so many bright hours!
We giggled and laughed in irridescent
rainbowed showers.
He danced openly like Justin Bieber,
in our Wal Mart for hours.
Then, we'd shop for delightful toys.
Like Hot Wheel cars and more!
You stole my heart, little boy!
I miss you so much, I won't be coy!
My salty tears won't bring back time.
Nana loves you and pens of you in rhyme!
5/28/2021
Where’s my Halloween candy brother?
You ate it right?
Don’t give me that look,
It was you for sure!
Now I’ve warned you before,
Only last week!
You eat my candy and it will happen!
You know what ‘it’ means!
Tied up and locked in the shed
With a sock in your mouth
Forced against your will,
To listen to Justin Bieber!!
And don't think Mom and Dad can save you!!
If I were your brother Poetry contest
Sponsor - Bobby May
Date of entry - 29/10/19
By Parizo Van Thulare
You played me
You made me
I tested it
So nicer it felt
Again and again i came like mice
Round and round i roled like hurricane
Seeking for that something more
Which kept coming
That which kept me calmy
Deeper and deeper i drowned
From my cerebulum down to meddulla
From innocent to sinfull i fell
The words i sang we like those of bieber
The moves i made were those of Jenifer
My mind told me to stop
But when i tried
My body began gagging
I felt needles running
From my toes telling me not be a such fool
I guess falling for moods made me one
At first i thought it was thirst
Not know you were a tenant in me
I only wanted to reach cloud nine
Unaware i commited crime
That which can only be erased by life
That one which no pill can heal
I am addicted
I am feel defeated
A pattern from our history - albeit anecdotal
Pick any evil SOB - he's probably teetotal
Hitler didn't touch the booze, and neither Torquemada
Bin Laden with a drink to choose took yak's milk - nothing harder
Pol Pot too forsook the brew, Bieber was too young
Stalin may have had a few but not your Mao Tse Tung
Donald Trump, of president's the Idiot du Jour
He may love your blandishments but not a heavy pour
Risking some hyperbole but very plainly stated
You can shove sobriety it's clearly over rated
If we're all to get engaged in evil's true demise
Don't waste your time getting enraged - here's wisdom from the wise
To rid their inhumanities, step back awhile and think
The course to alter history's to buy that man a drink
Two limericks
There is a truth I must tell and it is a whopper
I don't come from much, but married a Hopper
I'm not playing games
When I make it rain
Though unintentional, I have became a name dropper
I have seven missed calls from Justin Bieber
My stacks of fan mail just keep getting steeper
I hate to be vain
But can't entertain
Every filthy rich and famous creeper
Here are some simple steps to make sure you can’t
Possibly mess up your very own lavender plant.
Step one:
The Lavender needs good music
many hours a day
This doesn’t include my favourite Bieber
much to my dismay
Step two:
Stuff the plant with lots of good food
like sour candies
Or it will become grumpy and bitter
like my grannies
Step three:
Love the Lavender with all your heart
Not too little and not too much
This cares for the plant’s mental health
So it won’t wither away and such.
Make sure to follow these instructions
So you can plant away without obstructions
(Lesley Ann Down was an actress in
the Golden Age of live TV drama.)
We live in an age of midgets.
There are no seers now, only lookers,
no values left, apart from digits.
Cash is the hook, and we’re all hookers,
no Carmen Joneses, only Bridgets.
Did you have to learn the equation
(“have to”? – what an odd suggestion!)
which represents acceleration?
It’s printed now, beside the question.
No gravity, just gravitation.
Subtitle writers, now, can’t spell,
and language teachers know no grammar.
When banks are hiring tellers, well,
in Alabaster, Alabama,
they sing aloud, “You Never Can Tell”.
Let’s get somewhat more sarcastic.
Our carpenters just never get wood.
Today our craftsmen just squirt mastic,
then, as any moron could,
they clip on bits of precut plastic.
We’ve got police (I like this best!)
who, far from being Texas Rangers,
have never passed exams or tests,
and can’t, by law, face any dangers,
or run rash risks, like make arrests.
No Richard Rodgers, Buddy Holly,
no more Stoller (as in Lieber),
but ‘tis the season to be jolly –
after all, there’s Justin Bieber!
Hence, loathéd melancholy!
As Arkansas could never be Alaska,
so no-one wants Montana to be Maine.
Could North Dakota claim to be Nebraska?
Can Vachel Lindsay double for Hart Crane?
If Sing Sing isn’t Appalachian Spring,
and Justin Bieber can’t be Frankie Laine,
or William Burroughs isn’t Stephen King,
then Terminator Two’s not Citizen Kane.
If Fifty Shades is not The House of Usher,
and Ginsberg couldn’t write the Wayside Inn,
why should you think that China’s part of Russia,
or Kim Il Sung is also Ho Chi Minh?
Why should they be colluding, callous elves?
Why can’t they be as different as ourselves?
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.