Eye wood bee grateful,
Ifs yous dont judge me poorly
Four writen this whey
Just doing what u asked me.
I'd be chuffed if you red dis
My dodgy atemp to write
This cat's meow of a verse
Pleese dont bee salty
I went to a restarant tuther day
They had two many knifes
I asked the waither for informations
It cawsed a grate kerfuffle
I was reeley shook
Delulu rizz me mate showd me
His sockdolager left me realing
A bee's knees this verse is.
.
whuuht
it cold
were
out
yuh knowz
reach did
hern
mine belt
yeah
.
each
mine dukes
mine kneez
even
thuh tops uv
mine digits
feets
felt thuh rough
az mine crawl'd front
hern
pleaze
pose me
for
naykid
newd
Why do I sing such a memory?
You're gone now, I've sung you away.
Recalling a song
or humming a tune
seems not to be enough.
No, I have to sing, to holler, to bellow
and then that recollection will depart;
such noise will take its place
and singe so many ears.
And then they will cringe.
(4 Oct 2023)
She loved the feeling of the singe,
As she further pushed in the syringe.
(Note: This is about no one. Just a cool rhyme and dark topic.)
Are you ready for a few laughs
from Horn Haiku of course
Cognitive dissonance and resonance
Santos on drug binge
had been using a syringe
causing us to cringe
Santos still livid
they say that he has COVID
loosing would flip lid
had mind badly soiled
Santos is like eggs hardboiled
a child who was spoiled
When Santos occurred
as usual reassured
trouble up had stirred
Santos much bad news
Peruse then he would abuse
suffered a big bruise
From me another gets a thing
Because he deserves something
And from me Absolute Nothing,
When he is eyeing Everything;
To the lustful her wished fling
At a fighter lesson-teaching swing
Such as boxers collect in a ring
And detached a feared wing…
And when insult in my ears ring
Dong-ended ding ding
And they displeasure bring
I try to Ease restore with Zing
Unwisely, I don’t to God cling
But wisely wouldn’t choose to cringe.
Cringe at Image of Scrimmage
what we did was cringe
when they inserted syringe
trump did see image
Jim Horn
I have lived my entire life suppressing squeamish hurls.
My cringe that never ends startles, falters and recoils.
I would like people's internal body substances properly contained
but cannot even escape vile as piled by family and pets in upsets.
Slithering, slimy reptiles are so very, entirely ugly
their looks even hurt the feelings of their mommy's.
Televised close-ups of intrusive surgeries are so yucky
I must close my eyes to keep funky from my tummy.
Someone screaming terror, alive and sobbing in a coffin,
puts my sanity through a horrendous, endless haunting.
In public I cringe straight to furious seething when
an adult fist threatens an innocent little her or him.
Flinching happens, sometimes accompanied by a scream
and while it's not great, it at least validates my heart rate.
Death is less grave reaper
Than stone-faced gate keeper;
A dark doorman who waits
At eternity’s gates
Opening one to Light;
One to dark, fiery night.
He will surely show you
The exit to pass through!
As Death’s last oversight
He shuts the gate to Light;
Then Death will cringe in fright
Doomed to dark, fiery night.
Cringe After Hearing about Binge
Regarding disaster we were on the fringe.
And about the thought will always cringe;
Then we worried,
While they hurried;
Heard they had been on a drinking binge.
Jim Horn
See Trump I Cringe
When I woke up in middle of the night
Another poem I did decide to write
All about Trump and mess he is in
Locker room talk and won't say it again
Now each time cringe seeing his sight.
Jim Horn
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
These feelings in my mouth
Make it hard to speak.
Sour and acidic
My face becoming a perma cringe!
I would swallow my words
But I fear death would be ,
The end result.
I cannot breathe dread and
Anxiety take hold of me.
I grow pale;
And pray you can read
My thoughts, and see
The things I would not
Say.
I’m not at ease,
And am one breath away
From spitting out a curse!
the Dark encroaches
frightening fears
smothering heart beats
ending now
Deaths beginning
near
Final
-For Dr. Ram Mehta's "Septolet" contest.
Tim Bryant
I cringe when the smoke comes
Of the crippled boy leaning on the ground
Creeping toward the sounds
Of the birds of love, celebrating
A cremation party with bounce.
I cringe when the smoke comes
To the hardy knight’s pout
Under the hyena’s slurping sounds,
To the immolated pigeon on the ground.
I cringe when the smoke comes
When a holy page burns
Bunches of lilacs and roses.
And I cringe and cringe
Whenever the smoke comes!
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