I told my wife I'd be famous
A poet "extraordinaire"
So I asked for any words of wisdom
Or advice she'd like to share
She said, "Who are your favorite Poets?"
"Poe and Frost", I said
She said, "Those are truly famous men
Have you noticed they're also dead?"
I said, "Just wait one minute there woman"
"What are you trying to say?"
She said, "You can't be famous until you die,
It always ends that way"
Well, that part got me to thinking
And that's when I took a deep breath
I said, " Now I know what I have to do
I'll just have to fake my own death"
She said, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard,
You haven't written a poem yet"
"You can't be famous if there's nothing to read"
"How stupid can you get?"
So on my tombstone, a poem is found
I wrote these words instead
Here lies Larry, "Poet Extraordinaire"
Famous, though he's not really dead
The ignorant mind says poetry is boring,
Without even knowing,
A poets words come from the heart,
Hearing their inner voices as their flowing words start.
Poetry portrays personal experiences, conspiricies, hurts and joys
Poetry expresses thoughts, visions, ways of life, even personal strife.
Some poets rhyme just for fun, other poets tell a story as their minds wildly run.
Some pooets question ur mentality and make u ponder and think,
Hitting u hard and what u heard, u just can't disregard.
Poems can help ur mind
Its for u to seek the words and see what u find.
The ignorant mind says poetry is boring.
That way of thinking must be changed and rearranged,
Because we are today with talented poets
As strong and beautiful lyrics flow.
So now we all know
Poetry is bliss, so please don't diss.
For those that say poetry is boring,
Perhaps u have somerthing to tell.
Pick up ur pen, pencil, dictionary,
And pick up ur mind from the floor,
Look deep inside and explore
Wake up ur brain and be alive and strive to relish in the spoken word.
Maybe u too are a poet and u didn't even know it!
On the beach strolled a woman - ambitious!
She spied a man fishing - delicious!
“Ohhhh, your arms are so strong
and your rod is so long
I bet you catch hundreds of fishes!”
The fisherman looked with surprise
at this beautiful girl with blue eyes.
With words loved by men
she kept reeling him in,
for she always could spot a good prize!
Flirting words and a magical look
were her bait, and that’s all that it took!
The cute gal got her wish,
and if all men were fish,
all the best ones would be on her hook!
I’ve told everyone on this site before.
It looks as if I have to mention it once more.
Team Poetry Soup’s contest is just a test.
It’s not a real member competition like all the rest.
I see a few people have placed entries there.
Poems entered in this contest will go nowhere.
Apparently, those persons don’t seem to care.
“We Are Testing” are the words the Soup has to say.
They are big words conspicuously placed on display.
I would not post my poems there today.
Why do they have it there? I really don’t know.
This is one contest I wish to forego.
I have become quite the poet
Wouldn't you know it
I have made a bit of racket
With words that spill out of my jacket
Like an old sugar packet
Rhyming is my thing
but words I can not sing
The words I do say
just seem to pay
If only I were so gay
Rhymes forming in my head
As I go off to bed
Words coming faster then I can write
now is my plight
pen and paper in hand is almost to much to stand
I'm just looking for a fan
with all that I have ran
A man of words he was, and words he was alone
For actions never followed, the words he so condoned
And though spoken with eloquence, grandeur, and ample grace
His words seemed not matter when the matter came to face
He spoke of plans to travel, hitchhike highways and sail the seas
Alas his trips were always delayed, claimed he'd catch the next breeze
He spoke of flying and diving, and how he'd tamed ferocious beasts
But for all his words and phrases, he didn't know west from east
A man of words he was, and words he was alone
His words hold no true value, and as he talks we groan
He claims to have a fortune, but he hasnt spent it yet
For he can't make up his mind, which lavishments to get
He owns houses all over the states, mansions and farms too
But when asked to prove his fortune, he won't show anything to you
His words are just that, spoken sounds, letters and vowels
Spewed forth from somewhere within, his compulsively lying bowels
He was a man of words, but a man of words he is no more
For someone figured out the truth, and dropped him overboard offshore
Couldn’t say it as a kid because it was a sin -
To say that small four letter word - what trouble I got in!
A girl who was my babysitter taught the word to me.
But then at eight, I learned that word’s effect on family. . .
Mischievous and curious were cousin Steve and I;
he too had learned that naughty word. It happened by and by
(after we’d discussed it some and what the bad word meant)
we voiced it ALOUD at a reunion and got sent
to another room where we were scolded mightily.
And for a long while, that foul word was uttered not by me!
Well, you can say that word (these days) -in certain company:
like with bikers and delinquents or my son, an ex-Marine!
But I don’t like to say the word, except when very mad
and in my car in traffic jams: (that’s when I say things bad!)
Then nasty words I’ve read or heard from friends or on TV
become the very words I hear come pouring out of me.
It’s strange how that first naughty word I learned I must not say
is now a word that (if I want to) I can say today!
Nonetheless, I keep that word under lock and key.
I’m glad that we can’t use it here to ruin our poetry!
For the "You Can Say it Now" Contest by Paula Swanson
I’ve put down the paper and pen,
‘Cause I just couldn’t say when;
The poems I’ve been writing,
Are screaming and fighting,
“Re-write us, before we offend!”
But the dishes and floors are unwashed;
My cooking has really been quashed;
My cupboards are bare,
And I just don’t dare,
On the head, I’m gonna get coshed.
So tell me, what do you do,
When the words keep flowing in you;
Do you cease your real life,
And suffer the strife;
To the muse do you always stay true?
Now you see of what I am speaking;
My errands and chores are still keeping.
But if I had the choice,
I’d capture this voice,
For the words are all here, paper seeking.
Entice the essence of the word
A lexicon of value heard
A luxury of words astute
With salutation and salute
Inside this circle, only squares
And children point with double dares
A solo singer comes in pairs
While stepping down to climb the stairs
I'm sending letters without stamp
A street light stands without a lamp;
Deduct the darkness from my bill
My empty tank too full to fill
A centimeter is no inch
Before the punch it's time to flinch
A baker's dozen has thirteen
And what you saw you've never seen
When I get home I've gone away
I work too hard when I'm at play
Tomorrow is my yesterday
My ferrous feet are made of clay
I win the race when I have lost
Find out the price but not the cost
My brand new plane is highway bound
Square holes I own are in the round
I guess I've got a problem here
I ask for wine and got a beer
I know the words but cannot write
I have my eyes but have no sight
I think it's time to go to bed
But when I do I'm getting up
I did not say what I just said
So pour my saucer in my cup
I wish I could write a poem that rhymes
I've tried to do it a million times, or more
The words never seem for me to come
At least not as easy as it does for some, people
I just don't know what I should do
To get my words to rhyme like you, can
Well one of these days maybe I will
I'll finally write something I feel, inside
Why can't I find these words I seek?
Sometimes I hunt for more than a week, or two
I won't give up just wait and see
One day these words will come to me, maybe
Oh Wizard of Words lend me your ear
Help me to rhyme these words right here, sometimes
I think I can, well maybe I might
Think of a rhyme for me to write, today
No one will ever know my name
If my words don't rhyme or sound the same, way
I've finally come to my conclusion
Did you notice this poem's an optical illusion, of sorts?
Read it again and stop at the commas
P.D. vs' Amy Gr33n,,Slam, Bam Thank You Ma'am
So Miss @my Gr33n,
Do you think your s__t is mean
Trying to compete
Do you really want to taste defeat
Your dose of medicine, had no effect at all
Your Slam, Bam Thank You Ma'am
Was a sorry booty call.
Trying to talk the talk
Trying to bark and walk
All them words your are saying
Sounds like you are praying
Who really wants to listen?
Who really should care?
And what the hell is that S__t in your hair?
So you think you can play the part.
Before things fall apart
Please @my Gr33n stop before you fart
Trust me it does not matter If I let you win.
Your words are pointless and the idea is pathetic.
Please stop talking you are giving me a headache.
Just stop rhyming.
Sounds like your crying.
Okay pause.............as the moment goes bye.
Giving you a minute before you break down and cry.
My words are a weapon, You know that right.
Next time shut your mouth, keep those lips tight
Let me just stop and bring this to an end.
@my Gr33n remember ....I am your friend
By:P.D.
((once again for fun...thank you Amy Green for the fun slam.))
p.s. S__T stands for shot if you are wondering,,he he he
Running and skipping pebbles to a song...
Changing the words just to get along..
Sheets of paper are crossed in my head..
Finding ways to write how I feel instead...
Lifting rainbows to see if they are real...
Barefoot on a beach, the sand I want to feel...
My toes are moving to a beat that surfaces from
my inner soul...
The tune don't seem right but the words flow
like whispers that I hold..
A recipe for this theme are missing a few ingredients
to make it right..
Back to the pen I go to dream up a spice or two to
hold this meal in the light...
A dash here and a dash there should do this entree the
trick...
Served here for PoetrySoup, I always have fun and
get a kick..
Well, I was gonna write a poem
But I can't remember how
I know words are involved
You know, like "thee" and "thou"
And I was gonna be famous
You know, like Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, I think that was his name
Or was it David Allan Coe?
Yep, I was gonna be rich and famous
Til a friend of mine said
"You can't be rich and famous,
Til long after you're dead"
I knew right then I didn't wanna die
So a mediocre poet, I'd be
And if anybody ever said I was good
I'd say, "Huh?"... "Who me?"
Now words come easy to one like me
Course, I don't really know how to spell
But that just keeps me down to earth
We wouldn't want my head to swell
So if I write a poem that's really good
Don't say, "Great" say, "It's okay" instead
Cause I don't wanna be rich and famous
And I don't wanna turn up dead
The challenge was to write and write
Then write and write and write , all right !
So I wrote and wrote and wrote , as planned .
It was , oh so quick ; it was in short-hand .
It was multi paged and all I needed .
I can write short-hand , but I just can't read it .
So , it might be poetry , or it could be prose .
Perhaps multi haiku , no one knows .
Sonnet , pure , in perfect rhyme
Or out of sync , and not in time .
Perhaps words of love , or maybe hate .
Or the annoying sound of a banging gate .
Sweet pleasantries , like morning smiles
Or the painful itch of bulging piles ?
It's written down in the secret code
Of leafy lanes and country road
Wild boggy fields , with waving rushes.
Or cranky couples , coping with hot flushes .
I can't explain this sorry tale
I feel the words , but they're not in braille .
Sad to say that , " that is that " .
Now I wish I could trottle Matt
As I sit in tears of tormented zest
Trying to finish words for this damned contest !
( This piece was written in 5 days , 8 hours , 7 minutes and 24 seconds ... make that 25
seconds ... sorry 26 ... CUT & FINISH .. ok 27 seconds .......