The heat has gone the sun slowed down
And its rays went out of town,
It just left us in the cold
In our shivers growing mould,
Need replacement for the heat
Back again that feeling sweet,
To feel the heat right on the cheek
So much good for the physique,
A replacement I must find
One that’s sweet a one that’s kind,
Perhaps an image does the trick
And watch your wares with every click,
That would surely warm my heart
As it was right from the start,
Cause when I first laid eyes on you
Felt all the veins burning right through.
a muddled motorist questioning menopausal overtake ,
tongue tunefully straying !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • October 5–11, 2026)
laugh
silliness
a tv spot
insurance commercials
funny
jumping
chiggers
flying
freckles
running
horses
happy
good times
funny
footle
The woman who lived on the lake
Was always believed to be fake
She'd come in the night
At the first loss of light
Eating a huge chocolate cake
A woman from old London Town
Walked the streets in a beautiful crown
Not a stitch on to wear
Though she'd couffured her hair
But where on earth was her gown?
The woman who lives down the road
Enjoys signing songs to a toad
Her voice is delightful
Her songs are insightful
But it's a weird way to simply offload
There was a young woman from Putney
Who enjoyed making raspberry chutney
The problem she found
As she fell to the ground
Was she was eating nothing but brie
( duck’s confession )
time has come for getting tough
for I have now had quite enough
day-after-day this kid comes 'round
to pester me like some old hound
pelting me with day-old bread
and poking posies at my head
calling me these cutesy names
and forcing me to kiddie games
her silly parties, cakes and tea
are not what they're quacked up to be
hugging spells I've barely weathered
if not for her, I'm fully-feathered
and if you please, I've had my fill
her painting lipstick ‘pon my bill
now she's pulled the final straw
a rare offense of barnyard law -
spraying me with bottled water
(wait 'til she sees what it's got her)
now it's MY turn for some fun
I've got that chicky on the run …
perhaps she'll learn, now run amuck
that "NO" means nothing ...
to a duck.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Flavours of grey, brown,
and green.
Heavy , thick cottons
hanging by threat
of lightning,
waiting calmly
before an incredible
downpour and
thunderstorms.
As it sweeps through
cracks and soil,
covering every
pitfall.
Careful car rides
through roads,
not wanting to be part
of mechanical disaster.
Scent of wet mud,
a sign from afar,
and afterward,
leftover effect.
Doesn’t know between
city and empty lands
as wind passes through.
But dust moves free
in the emptiness
of no tree or homes,
rises high and,
like a crazy predator ,
sinks its teeth
into every surface,
covering all.
And allergy and
cleaning floors
are its aftereffect.
Dew-covered,
lush leaves
are better than
humans’ case .
As roots drink like
a thirsty man in desert,
or the chore of bringing
fresh bread from
bakery in mid-afternoon.
No Halloween celebration,
but cleaning companies.
No pumpkins,
but dust and storms.
Yet we love it all—
our motherland,
Sudan .
There once was a lady named High-heel-ette,
Who wore only high heels, you can bet.
She wore them to roam,
She wore them at home -
But her feet never once got wet!
There once was a man full of cheer,
Who wished for just one little beer.
He got rather drunk,
And fell in a trunk -
That's what you get from one beer!
AMERICAN NEED
MORE NASTY WOMEN, INDEED
CAITLIN CUP DOES READ
Minty moonlight
crackles like bug juice
under waxen stars
that sing with wrath.
Summer suns die
as Autumn tickles
ice cream nomads
with ribbons of lice.
junk is a hunk
weighs me down, while I clunk
all over the house
trying to manage the thing
while lost in a dithering funk.
alas, worthless junk
piled up and further up!
where to begin! what a laborious lump!
am I, wasting time
sorting through this
huge, hopeless hump?
I falter, I bump
into a fellow, flighty frump
aimlessly sorting
through her own jangly junk!
together, we commiserate
and conclude that our junk
is just adding up
to a barreling barrage of bunk!
DO NOT MESS WITH JACK
SCHMITT DID AND LOOKS LIKE A HACK
BRITT TAKEN ABACK
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