My husband and I are retired;
Our car is an old Subaru.
Our lifestyle has never required
A trade-in for cars that are new.
As long as the engine is running,
To get from Point A to Point B,
A late model we will be shunning,
No fobs for my husband or me.
Yet circumstance somehow conspired,
With mileage and tread in the mix,
That our car will, like us, be re-tired,
So together, we’ll have our last licks!
[verse 1]
Bring it down low…
really slow…
now bring it in high
oh yeah… just brush my thigh.
[pre-chorus]
Kiss me like that
You make my head ring
You make my heart sing…
Now you know…
[chorus]
It ain’t no mystery
you light me up
turn my knobs / burn my fobs
I am combustin’
you got me lustin’.
I want you.
[verse 2]
You stare into my eyes / I see your desire
I hear your sighs / I feel your shiver
as my hands echo yours...
Both of us coming undone… / What have you done?
[bridge ]
Heat creates sparks
heart to heart
lips meet mine… / drinking slow, like wine.
[pre-chorus]
Kiss me like that
You make my head ring / You make my heart sing… / Now you know.
[chorus ]
It ain’t no mystery / you light me up / turn my knobs / burn my fobs.
I am combustin’ / you got me lustin’ / I want you.
No mystery… / you’re into me too… / we’ll see this through.
Smilin’ to my toes / let’s see where this night goes… / where this night goes…
It’s the little things,
that remind me of my aunt,
and how in some unusual way,
she may still be alive,
if only in the memory,
a passing morning train,
tea bags splaying suddenly,
from unopened cupboards,
I’d actually forgotten somehow,
her favourite cup and saucer,
with cracks down the side,
pictures strewn in drawers,
redolent of precious moments,
framed photos in hallways,
that move without a reason,
car keys with fobs,
that gather sand dune blobs,
onion dome shaped artefacts,
for a chosen tartan table top,
that cast away diary,
which kept the gleam,
in those expressive eyes of hers
Oh, how I want a job
So no one thinks I'm a slob
Because I don't rob
Too qualified to deck swab
But I'm just a blob
Hitting computer knobs
Taking phone calls, no prob
Makeup on, mascara to daub
Turning key fobs
To interview with snobs
Who don't choose me, sob
Depressed, eat corn cob
My forehead throbs
Where are you God?!
No matter, keep resume's lobbed
Just another in the mob!
I reached level forty-one no probs,
And won the game, but had sobs,
So that that just failing was fobs,
If I determined not to join the slobs.
So the next time I reached it, had bobs,
Because it felt wrong to veer from your hobs,
But I failed the level at the last post, robs,
Since I couldn’t merge victory with my everyday disability, lobs,
So the third game after that first success, probs,
I let myself win again so my brother had gobs.
Beetle fobs on a trashed out war plane equals the dogma of a hidden few. Vessels whisper in a breeze. And no ant could utilise its soul. As all have a duty. All firm a line. Military precision in a cute cut curve. Jeopardy is an anarchy. And upon ancient lands. Monarchs were monarchs when they did rule. Now no more. Cease to confuse. Adorn a painting with a guilded leather wand. Induces a coma of though to exact a mighty wrong. Si tail end of feathered beats should never be ignored. Taken to the bosum of the wide oak torso. In unison it strives to live. Lead. Leads. Lead. Leads. Led. Leaden. Community forms. Arrives justice in panned out pancakes. No to planning. And further more no more £% or €$ and prevailing is the wishes of the smallest tapered shrew. With a snout for a nose and in tune wars. To unblemish the smoked sand. And then the Sanskrit will outsway the doctrines and fly over and over and over and over and over the fantastic plaza of ancient soil. Mishpa deyoo Ceylon crinna elloo fatma imman imman imman Dijon xxxxxxxxx valour vapours z.z.z. At 0% of an applet ha ha ha ha ha ha ha xx xx xx love you lots xxxxxx kisses kissing kiss. Xx
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.