One may land in hot water
skating where the ice is thin
or end up in a jam
going out on a limb
and hoping to reach a goal
by swimming upstream
could prove no more than a wish
perhaps purely a pipe dream
investing the least
wanting the lion's share
the end result
might induce a scare
woolgathering head in the clouds
unaware of what's around
sounds like fun but more's accomplished
with both feet on solid ground
Ladies don’t compete for someone who can’t compete with you for free
Swearin’ he “rare,” but he basic as a password “123”
He has females goin’ toe to toe like he the last man left alive
When he can’t even spell “commitment” and wouldn’t Google it to try
Most of these dudes online ain’t lookin’ for no soul
They just huntin’ for attention like it’s a buy-one-get-one goal
You can’t go Mortal Kombat over dudes who can’t even fight temptation
Argue like he VIP when he really free admission, no reservation
He don’t want love, he want whoever type back the fastest
Whoever laugh at his jokes, whoever ignore his bad habits
He ain’t searchin’ for a soulmate, so here’s a lil news flash
He just emotionally leased, short term, no credit, just cash
He got energy for new girls, new DMs, new lil’ ego boosts
but ask him for consistency? Boy vanish like he joined the troops
So if he ain’t matchin’ ya energy, then hit him with the cold cut fade
Serve him silence like revenge, ice cold, and handmade
Once, a little Spanish girl
was given a "regalo" -
a dainty little potted plant,
a purple-petaled mallow.
She set it in a sunny spot,
beneath a southern window,
re-housed it in an iron pot
and named it, "Don Galindo".
She gave it water every day,
and gave its loam a hoeing.
She talked to it and petted it,
and marveled at its growing.
Her plant rose tall and strong and fine,
rewarding all her labors:
"¡Te quiero!" sighed the little girl:
"¡Que raro!" cried the neighbors.
Joy never lasts, grief always comes,
said someone (maybe Byron?)
Galindo's roaming, ravenous roots
were hemmed-in by the iron.
The fine plant sickened and declined,
all hopes of salvage scuppered:
its lower parts, by steel confined,
could not sustain the upper.
And so, the moral of our tale -
resisting is not giving.
Do not preclude, prevent, prevail -
rigidity's all very well,
but soon turns heaven into hell!
Give in to me -
set us both free -
don't cramp or crowd -
things disallowed
can hardly go on living.
I am not one to keep a sinking ship afloat,
nor am i one to captain a drowning crew.
Sacrificing self for an inevitable end is a thirst never quite quenched.
Surrounded by water, what is the point when it is filled with salt; sorrow and a disposition for the petty?
Do not be the vain captain of a sinking ship.
Narcissism and a need for control will strain relationships,
give birth to dubious loyalty,
the curse of blood is not the royalty you think it is.
blood and debt is not enough to keep the ship afloat.
Patch the holes present.
Build boards that last; not ones diminished and impaired by fear,
but ones repaired with words held dear,
then maybe the ship may reach its destination… once adversary is clear.
Great is the battle, small the victory
when all that is won is lost to mankind -
in this war of worlds its great casualty
is the fallen consciousness in our mind.
From spear tip and arrowhead to smart bomb
or Ptolemy to Hubble looking glass,
Luxor hieroglyphs to CD Rom -
from the Bronze to Silicon Age we pass.
Primeval footprint, genetic blueprint,
sandstone castles under canyons of steel -
gone are the Caesars and Pharaohs extinct
and there’s a cautionary tale so real.
Civilisations that with hubris act
fall a ruin, a remnant, an artifact.
Written: August 2004
When Old Mother Hubbard
Examined her cupboard
And found not a scrap there to munch on,
Not one morsel that clung
To an ort or a crumb,
She felt foolish and dumb
And stood sucking her thumb
While her dog, Butch, got nothing for luncheon.
"She forgot to go shopping again," grumbled he.
She just scratched his ears sighing,
"Sorry, pal. C'est la vie."
When pangs of hunger are felt,
Humans tighten their belt,
But poor Butch started howling
As his stomach was growling,
For a mastiff has needs to be regularly fed.
So…since there was no baloney…
And…since she was nice and bony…
Mother Hubbard wound up on the menu instead.
This tale has a moral,
As some nursery rhymes do,
And this one's a little bit gruesome, it's true:
A pet owner's job's
To protect not neglect him,
So feed yours each mealtime,
For if too long overdue,
Your "Butch" might be inclined
To make a meal out of you.
Ditsy blonde mother of Red Riding Hood
Sent her little girl alone to the wood…
Once upon a present time
That would be a heinous crime,
Mom and grandma for neglect would be sued.
February 25, 2022
Syllables count: 10 and 7
Technically, not a sea at all,
Lake Superior churns up its share of sea storms.
There is not a lot to do in Marquette, Michigan:
Except for high school drivers to "buzz the gut",
Or cruise past a courthouse where "Anatomy" was filmed.
You could smoke dope or drink underage
Under a disused, fourteen story ore pocket dock.
Rusted off shards of flat black paint
Fall on the gently sloshing waves.
There is a breakwater of dumped cement blocks
That has a chain-linked fence and sign that says,
DANGER! NO TRESPASSING!
But of course, the young ones do.
And better yet if a sea storm comes.
Maritime law forbids including those who drown
As sailors lost at sea.
A cautionary tale I have for you.
Trust no one that you see on Halloween,
especially whom you’ve opened your door to.
Trickery diabolical I’ve seen.
One Halloween while feasting with a friend
on Reece’s pieces (popular for treats),
the door bell rang. Who knew it was the end
of my poor friend? She thought they wanted sweets.
Three vampires with one alien just said,
“Can you come off your porch?" She was apprised
of someone who was hurt and nearly dead.
She left with them, then vanished. Paralyzed
was I. It was abduction. After dawn
I only found some blood where she had gone!
Oct. 27, 2020 for Emile Pinet's Halloween Challenge Contest
Words used: alien, blood, cautionary, vampires, trickery, abduction, paralyzed , Halloween, feasting, diabolical
Little red riding boots hang from tiny laces
on a hook on a wall,
a warning for my granddaughter.
I would tell her,
there are wolves everywhere.
I would tell her
that there are empty boots everywhere.
I told her that the Fairy Tales are all true.
Yesterday while walking
we found several pairs of empty footwear
some merely discarded,
but other’s obviously the remains
of a new grizzly tale now unfolding.
The little girl looked at me and grinned.
To my astonishment I see now
that her teeth are strong and very sharp,
and her eyes glint with a wolfish
anticipation.
A girl called Lucy loved to trumpet lies
And idle gossip laced her lips with ease.
Tall tales tripped off her tongue to tantalise
Those twitching ears which reddened by degrees.
This filled her honest Mother with despair
‘You wash your mouth with soap’ she often cried.
Young Lucy shrugged it off and did not care -
To those who would do likewise, woe betide!
One day, when she’d amassed an eager crowd
Who circled round to hear the latest slur,
She stood there in the limelight, feeling proud,
When suddenly a fly buzzed near her ear.
How everybody gaped to see it dive
Right into Lucy’s mouth poised open wide,
Then heard her splutter, gasp and vainly strive
To cough it up - she choked and promptly died!
The moral of this tale is do not lie;
When tempted move your upper lip down south.
Then Lucy’s fate will surely pass you by,
Nor fly, nor lie invades a fastened mouth.
18.08.19
Maybe Walt Disney and his writers new a thing or two
As some of their Uncle Scrooge stories could be about to come true,
And put us in a stew.
In one story Uncle scrooge found out the hard way,
There comes a time, if you don't put some jobs and money our way,
You will be the only one with enough to pay,
For the goods you throw our way?
Does that sound like,
Our current situation with few jobs in sight,
And Robots to the left, and right?
Does that not sound like?
Today's situation where most can't afford a bike,
With the bank's still putting out a hidden interest hike.
Does that still sound like?
A comic fantasy,
Or could it really become a reality?
If I was bold enough to make my own comic prediction,
I would write about a slump in production,
With robots no longer in motion,
Which is not such a silly notion.
As without oil their joints would cease to function.
A Cautionary tale
trail and error
Wasted years of
Needless drama
ups and downs
Failed attempts at
Reversing damage done
Once, a little Spanish girl
was given a "regalo" -
a dainty little potted plant,
a purple-petalled mallow.
She set it in a sunny spot,
beneath a southern window,
re-housed it in an iron pot
and named it, "Don Galindo".
She gave it water every day,
and gave its loam a hoeing.
She talked to it and petted it,
and marvelled at its growing.
Her plant rose tall and strong and fine,
rewarding all her labors:
"¡Te quiero!" sighed the little girl:
"¡Que raro!" cried the neighbors.
Joy never lasts, grief always comes,
said someone (maybe Byron?)
Galindo's roaming, ravenous roots
were hemmed-in by the iron.
The fine plant sickened and declined,
all hopes of salvage scuppered:
its lower parts, by steel confined,
could not sustain the upper.
And so, the moral of our tale -
resisting is not giving.
Do not preclude, prevent, prevail -
rigidity's all very well,
but soon turns heaven into hell!
Give in to me -
set us both free -
don't cramp or crowd -
things disallowed
can hardly go on living.
Trust
true, unwavering
confident certain absolute
belief shattered, changing views
Strength
Sub Categories
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.