Through faithful practise I surmise -
Holidays - chaos in disguise!
Diets get out of hand,
Fickle waistlines expand,
And stern resolutions arise!
But until then it’s pure delight,
Family feast by turkey site.
Both get stuffed to the brim
On a prim palate’s whim,
Way to whet a wild appetite!
Shelly called grandma to furiously complain
I cannot get them to dance, she said with disdain.
Are they not minding you at all? Grandma asked her.
They aren’t even walking, I am pretty sure.
They have to want to dance and perform grandma said.
Maybe they need a nap. Did you put them to bed?
They’ve been on the bed all day, Shelly reported.
But she was happier now, feeling duly supported.
The Queen released a long and weary sigh
Her cherished grandson, Harry, had jumped ship
He clearly did not understand just why
His fellow Royals are joined at the hip
‘Your destiny, dear boy, is to remain’
said Charles, his father, clearly under stress
‘within the Royal firm - let me explain
If you go now, we’ll all be in a mess’
‘Dear Mummy has had just about enough
With uncle Andrew’s ventures overseas
Now you and Meghan tell us to get stuffed
And bring the institution to it’s knees
But Harry’s mind had drifted far away
The Sussex Brand – or Duchy of L.A?
Can’t you see it is just me and mommy here?
Butt out.
It is bad enough I get stuffed back into this tiny confining fleshy
wrinkly ugly earth body, now I have to put up with the likes of you?
Go play with a video game or watch a TV show or something.
You have had your turn.
I thought I had leveled up enough in the heaven realm that I would
not have to do this again. I know, it was my choice, but to stay there
and read books about experience gives you about half the experience
points you get down here going through another life.
Your incessant whining is grating to my nerves. I am about to start
a full-out baby wailing session, with shrieks and screams, because I
know you’ll leave the house if I do. I am scrunching up my face now.
This is your only warning.
Is that Heinz 57 I am smelling on your breath? Dhram! It’s bad enough
that I do not have teeth, now I have to smell a fresh tasty sirloin on your
breath? I had forgotten how keen a newborn’s sense of smell is.
Dhram! Dhram! Dhram!
All I get is this smelly milk?
Go away Dad!
Written 12-22-2018 Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr.
Contest: Baby Face What You Think’n Picture D
“I'm really fed up with my name” said the Gnat
that silent 'G's really a pain,
a complete waste of ink, just there hanging around,
from my point of view, what do I gain?”
“Hey, give it a rest” said his host for the day,
“ you're in the same boat as I am,
at least your useless letter is stuck at the front
not the back, like mine”, muttered the lamb.
“Oh for Pete's sake stop moaning, you're not badly off
with your silent letters, you two,
it's worse when the one you've got does get pronounced
and makes you sound daft” said Gnu.
“ You're lucky your letters are stuck front or back,
not finished off with just one vowel,
but I'd hate it to be the first one in my name”
“Oh, go and get stuffed” said the Owl.
I need to make some calls but I can't even use this phone of mine.
I live in a hick town and me and my neighbors have a partyline.
People are always squaking on their phones and I've had enough.
When I ask the people to hang up, they tell me to get stuffed.
I need to make some important calls but I'm out of luck.
Women are gossiping all day long and that really sucks.
When I asked them to stop gossiping, their hubbies broke down my door.
They each took turns punching me and I wound up eating the floor.
When they finished beating on me, I was in a lot of pain and I'm still wearing a cast.
This is the twenty-first century for Pete's sake, partylines should be a thing of the past.
If you move to my neighborhood, buy a cellphone or you'll be driven out of your mind.
I'm not kidding when I tell you that it's both annoying and dangerous to have a partyline.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Man
Wild rhubarb is way too good for ya
summer 2016
We cry,
For help, for attention,
For an explanation we know we'll never get
For the loss of a dear one
Or even when we fall
We cry,
Our tears hit like bullets
Our eyes get red and puffy
Our noses get stuffed
But yet, we continue to cry
We cry,
People apologize.... like we WANT to hear it
People dont always give a "crap" what we feel
But then there are those who care too much
Who try too hard to stop those tears we cry
Which in the end just make us cry even harder
We cry
We ask why
We cry
We mourn
We cry
We die
Hello to you.
My fat feathered friend.
The most popular guy.
Till Thanksgiving end.
The talk you talk.
You gobble around.
Strange that it seems.
We gobble you down.
Not overly pretty.
But you sure do taste good.
All of our families.
Join in this day.
And sit and get stuffed.
Like you did today.
And so when we say Turkey.
We`re not talking about Grandpa today.
The day is Thursday.
And this is your fate.
So, give me some Turkey.
On my Thanksgiving plate.
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.