Lo! Christmas feast starts with...
Layers of pasta sheets
Loaded with creamy sauce
Lots of ground meat, cheese, herbs--
Lavishly stirred in wine
Labor of Mom's warm love ,
Leaving us yummy-fied!
I am a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
They currently sit at my feet waiting to see what we will do next.
Beau our newbie is the only renegade who keeps running from the pack.
He has never had the run of six acres before, and he loves it.
Sophie, our old lady cocker is sedate and stoic…
unless another member gets too close, then she gives a guttural
warning growl.
She is proud to be the matriarch.
Buddy at one hundred and sixteen pounds could take all of us.
But he is a gentle giant, going with the flow, letting the new baby manhandle him.
Beau at five months, attacks his big bro and often
Play biting his leg and his undercarriage.
They run from couch to couch, moving furniture as they go.
I am super proud to be a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
It's back to the wilds, for the unexplored
Panama's island, Pygmy Three-Toed Sloths.
Tree huggers, twenty hours daily, course, lots
of trees. Four of a kind, their fifth, record
as the smallest. Clocked slow, a leaf lasts one
month in its tummies till its slow slop drops.
They're six pounds and twenty inches, a pop.
Furs algae-fied hide them. Swim can be done.
Again, it resurfaces, a world-wide
dilemma, in pictures and portrait drapes
over a posh hotel table of crepes.
Concerned and unconcerned, great the divide.
In twenty-twelve, I.U.C.N., counted ...
less than eighty, now ... they're, unaccounted.
Showtime
I'm over here
I'll buzz and ping
Until you break.
Let's do this thing!
I flash and chime
You'll never rest.
Give me attention
I am the best
I listen in
Careless, you share
You think me dormant
But I'm still there
Those secret words
I log away
Then try to captivate
Your cash some day
I'm all illusion
Subtle distraction
If you're suspicious
It's just a fraction
I never can quite
Leave your side
Your mind is mine.
You're zombie-fied
So plug me in
I'm good to go
If no-one knows..
I'll run the show.
Jinjagoliath
24th May 2023
Paws on the Avenue
Every afternoon ‘bout half past four
Paddy and I go out the door
No straying from our daily ritual.
Paws on Fido Avenue
Happy tails of sloppy kisses unmuzzled
Parade of canines – every kind “bone-i-fied.”
A purebred mutt strut cavalcade
Fashion parade of single coats
Long hairs march in pants
Yaps and barks and woofs
Howling hounds the moon
Canine panoply unleashed
Treats at every yard
Toys at every door
Red hydrants for pee-mail.
Delight rolls over
For belly rubs and tummy scratches
A loving pat upon the head.
No stray warm beds on winter nights
No puppies sleeping in the rain
No litter left abandoned scattered by the winds!
This march of conformation
Moves by happy gaits
Where even cats are welcomed in humane harmony.
Every afternoon ‘bout half past four
Paddy and I go out the door
For this our fantasy walk on Fido Avenue.
9-18-21
Contest: Avenue
Sponsor: Julia Ward
My limerick star is low in the sky
I'm struggling of late and don't know why
Could be the weather
Knocked over with a feather
Need to get back on track, I'm stupid-fied
James Dean junket drive
Up the bend away at Five
Met his end all plaster-fied
The Hollywood pied piper
Hellva lot better Dean
A young-man Diana been
No old man crapping in a diaper
But a trip for the worse
Early turn in a hearse
No fun for fans all screaming
Running at double time
Crossing over the line
Makes an end of your California dreaming
Less any objection with the missus,
versus never experiencing living alone
well...yes during that rough patch,
(sans during early adolescence),
I existed in a bone
huff fied impenetrable cocoon,
and just maybe before
yours truly dies, a clone
can be created from
stem cells of this doggone
melon collie, whimpering
beastie boy finally revelling,
where destiny does enthrone
me rendering unfettered
with round the cluck nymph fone
mani yolk hen pecking, nagging,
and leaching... from blood sucking
vampire spouse foregone
as a "bad" dream worse
than getting Rhode
Island sized gallstone
removed subsequently
saving said as gemstone
whiling away hours, days, weeks...
chiseling away at my gravestone,
no matter yours truly will get cremated
ashes scattered, liberated, and dispersed
finally exempt from grindstone,
where thee spirit
of Math Hew Homophone
Scott Harris appeased
as powdery gray flecks
similar to limestone,
that swirl reintegrating with Earth,
this quirky I poetically intone,
and soundlessly utter from jawbone,
perhaps communicating more
clearly by knucklebone.
overcast the day
humid… like per sauna fied
all bodies sweating
The man, the woman, the ship, and the sea.
Don’t you wish we were having camoille tea?
The bachelor, the maid, the valentines day girl,
Don’t you wish we could swish in countrified swirl?
The paint, the brush, the palette and the knife,
Don’t you wish that you were colorful like fife?
The Forests, mountains,oceans, meadows,and prairies,
Don’t you wish we had some milk in our dairies?
The toddler, the three, the five and or six,
Don’ t you wish that we could shuffle board mix?
The Bear, the Belly, and the BumbleBee.
Don’t you wish, you were commando, like me?
The paper, the pencil, the syllables, and such.
Don’t you wish you always had the magic touch?
When acting angry, behavior challenged, enraged, threatening, buly-fied, and mad.
Don’t you wish our parents and teachers would just realize we’re acting out our sad?
A ruby-throated hummingbird in breeze
Arrived screeching in my front yard today
Feeding on nectar from flowers and trees
Apply'ng flutter, extendable, tongue play
And catching insects on flower posies
Spreading, shutting its tail, as he does so
With rapid, squeaky chirps, gazing at me
Looking at my winged companion in glow
Scratching its head and neck in a branch tree
Moving discreetly along with wind flow
As I'm silently standing there thinking
Bout' little things in life that coexist
My fine feathered friend flys away, singing
With fanatical dive, display, and twist
Taking off into nearby woods, winging
All of a sudden, I notice, wide-eyed
Moment around me, beautiful portray
Nothing in the world is quite beau·ti·fied
As a feathered creature, when on display
My heart is like a sing'ng bird, mystified
You can hear,
My name.
From those who play,
The gossip game.
But it's all wrong;
Whatever they say.
It's all made up,
Don't listen, go away!
They've no right,
Not at all.
To disneyfy my life!
It's not true,
The things they say;
That I do.
They've no right,
To disnryfy my life...
Don't disneyfy my life,
Saying prince charming,
Will surely come tonight.
I'm not sleeping beauty,
A barbie or snow white.
Not Bella or Cinderella.
So don't just,
Disneyfy my life...
I don't eat poison apples.
And you won't see;
Any stepmother's around,
To torture me.
And the mirror,
On the wall.
Doesn't say i'm fairest,
Of them all.
You've got no right,
To disnefy my life...
Imperative in a Pot
Many things in a pot are always imperative
Like all of your life in politics have to live
Push in PC on cruise control you did select
Which will stand for POLITICALLY CORRRECT
Several illustrious illustrations are illuminating
When they are you contemplate celebrating
Political lady who was jumping up out a cake
What she proved to be wearing is pure fake.
So in order to expediate the prestigious pace
There now is only one woman left in the race
And who was it who could have lied and lied?
To remove them they all must be Hillary-fied.
When drinking start off with a Hillary cocktail
She will ensure ice cubes with chicken are in pail
And once cubes melt from them being too hot
Will take watered down chicken and put in pot.
These are the sequences of events in pure politics.
Only difference is this is the watered down version.
Jim Horn
My limerick star is low in the sky
I'm struggling of late and don't know why
Could be the weather
Knock me over with a feather
Need to get back on track, I'm quite stupid-fied
© Jack Ellison 2015
Paula Deen, the Southern Queen,
Known for decadent cuisine,
Just revealed that she’s concealed
Some news from which she hasn’t healed.
This cook-show host was diagnosed
With Diabetes, which engrossed
Some former fans, whose current plans
Include no dishes from her pans.
Her food is fried or butter-fied;
To cut out fat, she never tried.
Some folks observe the food she serves
Has given her what she deserves.
In one regard, it must be hard –
Her cooking lard must now be barred.
With all this heat, she shouldn’t cheat,
For we are truly what we eat!
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.