I want a bra said the preteen robin.
But why asked her mother. Her name was Dobbin.
Because they are pretty, I see them on TV.
This is how ineffective advertising can be.
They are confining. How could you fly?
Why do you want a bra, why, honey, why?
They are lacy and pretty. I want one in pink.
Said the preteen robin, not caring to think.
So, her mother took her to the shop and got her fitted.
Her bra was made especially, with lace, fully slitted.
The rest of the preteen robins began to moan and preen.
They wanted their own bras, because they were all preteen.
There once was an old carthorse
Whose name was Dobbin of course
He sat on the floor
Refused to work anymore
And had to be moved by force
I rowed my hoarse Dobbin along the rode home
When I road him I found that I was getting saddle saw
I sore a children’s park a little way along the rowed
So I road there on my hoarse and rested
My hoarse soar some tasty grass to eat
I chatted to some children until I was horse
They stroked my hoarse and fed him mints
I road my hoarse and the children rowed him too
I sore how much fun they had when they road Dobbin
So I told them if I soar them in the park when I rowed past
I would stop and they could have fun when they road my hoarse
Homophones used road, rowed, rode, sore*, saw, soar, horse and hoarse (based on UK pronunciation)
Contest: Wordplay Extravaganza Sponsored by John Hamilton
03~17~16
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I HATE your Gymkhana,
I loathe every second it's run.
I dread all those horses and obstacle courses,
and everyone else having fun.
Now Mummy is frantic, the panic gigantic;
my pony won't go in the box.
She's shouting and screaming (and often blaspheming),
when Dobbin sits down on his hocks.
We stop in a field, by others well heeled,
their lorries all parked in neat rows.
My Dobbin looks grotty, all rumpled and spotty;
their ponies are plaited in bows.
I get in Show Jumping my usual dumping,
when Dobbin refuses the last.
I'm beat in the Bending (and cry without ending);
my pony is not very fast.
You're calling my name? Is this all a game?
And now you are pointing at me?
What me in the line, at Prize Giving time?
Oh, my? Have you answered my plea?
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I LOVE your Gymkhana!
It's been such a jolly good thrash.
The Rosette I won has made it such fun;
my Dobbin has got a bran mash!
~
For Francine Roberts' "Children in Rhyme" Contest by Charles Clive.
Come every year along about the middle of November,
I begin to anticipate the happy times that await me in December!
Though the weather can be blustery, piling up drifts of snow,
The excitement of the Season will never lose its glow!
Wondrous vistas abound as if depicted by Grandma Moses,
Where children sled and skate exposing their crimson noses!
Harness bells chime as Dobbin trots with rhythmic stride,
Drawing a sleigh of happy revelers as o'er the snow they glide!
Frosty creatures upon their lawns, children begin to erect.
("Snowpersons" I shall call them to be politically correct!)
Secrets are whispered about only for Santa Claus's ear,
For dolls, trains and puppies to bring the children cheer!
Neighbors outshine each other, their homes festooned with lights,
Adding warmth and color to the cold December nights.
Colorful cards are received depicting Santa's ponderous girth,
And very special ones to announce the Savior's glorious birth!
December fills the hearts of all with great anticipation.
'Tis a festive month with fellowship and gala celebration.
Humankind is filled with love, joy and peace.
Would that this spirit might never, ever cease!
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