Strolling through the Clubhouse 3 gallery,
Plenty of pretty pictures for me to see,
But one that especially caught my eye
Was a curiously attired bulldog guy.
I gazed closely into each brown soulful eye.
Is there some story that they might bely?
Was he a jester in a Pikachu hat?
Were his yellow shoes untied as he sat?
Was his costume designer a small boy?
Where’d he get his little Pokeball toy?
Why’d his artist give him a cute pink face?
If not for those two, might he self-efface?
As he sits in a foggy purple mist,
He’s as cool as anything that might exist.
Cheers to the artist and the costume boy
And to the mellow bulldog who gives me joy!
My son choose a job when he was just a minor,
He knew in advance his professional realms
He proved himself as a costume designer,
In all prestige studios of *********** films!
He was a macho, made man ? Mocking all the he-she's about this land..
Pumping iron while rehearsing his next political stand; off with these tights
Spandou ballet and somewhat disgusted about last night's, ever recurring dream
Waking with wacky Waldo his wife's costume designer as tennis partner at Harbour Hills
Tie dyes painted lights and often he cries; bizarre it seems when reading, her poetry ?
Gertrude their baby girl adores his gentle heart although rushing to be near wiping love's tears....
Spitting out the wash turning a gaze unto it's mirror she smiles; this deep dark secret ? Slipping
Into her sister's pink panty's a bit tight just right sweeping away, bashful bangs; preparing to address
The house and why exactly that is where no one knew but, can they get a witness ? His, macho made man.
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.