My parrot made me want to smack her
With all that noise the deaf could track her
I was hoping she'd talk
But all she did was squawk
So now she's Polly on a cracker
This little voice keeps telling me to
keep my head down and plow forward.
The further I go, the more debris clogs the road.
It is broken in some places
Gale-force winds are ever-present.
Sheer drop-offs on either side.
The sky spits blue ice most of the time.
The voice also tells me to dress the soul in layers.
But one can only layer up and plow so much.
The heart will overheat
and the soul comes to an abrupt stop...
When the voice becomes too hoarse to comprehend.
Maybe this is when God coddles the reins.
Guiding this swayback toward the light
and toward St. Peter's gate.
even the dogs in the street know ~ howling too much just makes one husky
By
David Kavanagh
Eye rowed my hoarse
won summer’s day
My horse went hoarse
and wood knot nay
I whisted my turds to make him laugh
Butt Muffin choked and started coffin
I said Muffin you’re having a giraffe
A lass I kneed a coffin two carry him off in
Eye road my hoarse won summer’s day
My hoarse went horse and wood knot nay
Pleas can ewe tell me wear two berry a hoarse
Knot inn the knackers yard ore on a race coarse
My hoarse went horse won summer’s day
Butt now he’s dead watt can eye say
I’d whisted my turds to make him laugh
Eye will put hiss obituary inn the telegraph
Eye’ll miss old Muffin my trusty hoarse
Butt Muffin choked and now he’s dead
Aye wish my hoarse had staid the coarse
I’ll bye a donkey and ride hymn instead
Butt my donkey was in fact a mule
Aye didn’t no the difference I’m a fool
Now Muffin the mule’s ran out of fuel
Eye should have listened moor inn school!
Word Play Poems with Play-on-Words raison d'etre -- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Anderson
07/18/21
That poor Heron can't sing a note.
The dawn-chorus laugh and they gloat.
He won't give-up or quit
But the silly old git
Is just hoarse with a frog in his throat.
For Margarita's " Quitters " contest.
By Fatmir Terziu
I was hoarse. My hoarseness was not felt. It was foreign
in front of the mirror,
a smoky glassy word
slimy like the mouth of the green devil.
When even the birds cursed the country borders
with their hoarse sound
they remained blind.
We were hoarse. My homeland was hoarse.
The hoarsness became the prototypical wound
of the Beautiful Albanian Language.
I rowed my hoarse Dobbin along the rode home
When I road him I found that I was getting saddle saw
I sore a children’s park a little way along the rowed
So I road there on my hoarse and rested
My hoarse soar some tasty grass to eat
I chatted to some children until I was horse
They stroked my hoarse and fed him mints
I road my hoarse and the children rowed him too
I sore how much fun they had when they road Dobbin
So I told them if I soar them in the park when I rowed past
I would stop and they could have fun when they road my hoarse
Homophones used road, rowed, rode, sore*, saw, soar, horse and hoarse (based on UK pronunciation)
Contest: Wordplay Extravaganza Sponsored by John Hamilton
03~17~16
Ehem, ribbit ribbit
Ribbit ribbit ribbit-
A frog in my throat.
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