always
blotchy
crinkly
drudge
ensemble
faultlessly
godlike
hip
in
knitwear
louis
monterverdi
nympho
of
pimply
railing
smashing
tasteslessness
unquietly
viscous
was
your
zamang
Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 13–19, 2026)
a
bicoloured
cantata
demo
entering
favourably
hieratical
into
jubilant
mating
norwegian
of
perdition
rearing
setter
through
unselfish
vulgarisation
with
you
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 6–12, 2026)
I’ve given up on perfection – it’s
just not me; without saying, also
given up on trying to be perfectly
imperfect – really the same
every now and then tried
but beyond my control
managed to get something
right
not in the definitive sense
(whatever that is) of right
vs wrong...but occasionally,
by sheer luck, following a
method that seemed to work --
right or wrong farthest thing
from my mind
truth be told, most things that
work, really do not work for
the reasons we believe – future
scientific discovery, can make
lame any intellectual ego
So, only certain that this poem
is not perfect, nor perfectly
imperfect – which leads me
to, whether I am beginning
or have begun?~ not to exclude,
doing or done?~ I will then
conclude, perhaps every poem is a
won, when having been written
just for fun!?
Blustering snowballs, Batman,
it's cold enough to blubber
blast the titanic iceberg
from its frozen handshake.
But snowballs that ain’t
formed; fine powdery dust
billowing ‘neath the core, of not hell,
but the moat of the ice queen’s castle.
Frozen icicles, Batman,
drip from nostrils and lips,
welcoming a brew of nog to noggin,
or toddy for the torrential reality
of fastball bugs for tethered sleeves -
the season’s green sleeves.
A yuck of a holiday for some.
A hiccup and cheers to a New Year.
Just for fun we dream, to pass time
Perhaps we’re discontent
Pausing not to feel our soul’s chime
Fickle is heart’s intent
God focus our sole aim
Gently playing life’s game
Such tempests we must tame
Behold thoughts we stream
Just for fun we dream
Through a kaleidoscope
A physical life in crisis
Dying seems imminent
Does your life go pasteurize
Or is it through gossamer organza
A zephyr blowing
With vivacity zip
In springiness with vitality
Straight to the grave
Sometimes the misuse of a word can be funny...
This poem is just to see if I can jog your memory.
It might be rock it might be funk it might be soul
Or it could be punk.
Are you ready so let's go how many songs will you
Know
You might be going downtown or have seen Kathy's
Clown.
Were your boots made for walking and we're your friends
Jive talking.
Did you pass the house of the rising sun was your house
The house of fun.
Have you seen a crocodile rock or did you rock around
The clock.
Is your town called malice and did you live next door
To Alice.
Holiday leaving on a jet plane all your friends you will
See
And that special friend named Valerie.
Read this again but read it slow how many songs
Did you know.
There's an old woman living in a shack
Seems she had a stink coming from a crack
Then COVID came and destroyed
Peoples' sense of smell and left a void
Now all her friends and family are back
About no one/picture depicts no one I know or hope no one recognizes if so, I will remove it.
sparkling sprinkling splashy sizzling serendipity with sass,
practically parachuting, popularity surpassing prime’s overpass
bibbity bobbity boo beyond belief, begetting bionic bass,
making mysterious melody in my mind’s mass
Once, a fellow was swinging on a swing
Which was elfin when comparing
Then the swing splintered
He fell and and fractured his head
And shrilled along with a loud ping
Hey guys, I've never seen any
With tricks so silly but not funny
Like you, giggling buddies.
You put an act of goodies
But I guess that airs are phony.
WISH COLLECTOR
To the collector of wishes
I wish you well
Perhaps you’ve lost mine
within your pail
To the collector of wishes
Please recheck
Perhaps its still there
Within its depths
To the collector of wishes
My hopes are slim
Perhaps some new stars
Are much too dim
To the collector of wishes
I’ll wish anew
Perhaps maybe this time
It won’t go askew
To the collector of wishes
I wish you well
Perhaps this new wish
Will find your pail
© Debra Squyres 10/02/2019
Too much pain and sorrow
My heart has bore the brunt
Of every bloody bastard!
That's took the bloody !!!
It's no wonder I am angry
It's no wonder do I hate!
For in this world of sorrow
There's no better hand than fate.
So when you're looking at me
Don't forget yourself
For money has no boundaries
All it has is wealth!
All it takes is manners
To be nice to one and all
But if you're going to be a bastard!
Enjoy you're ing fall!!
Spider deftly climbs on by,
Quickly moves on toward the fly.
Ugly, arrogant arach,
In he steals for the attack.
Silently devours his prey,
Hungry still, he moves away.
Enter bored and grumpy cat:
Death to spider, whack and splat!
There once was a leader of a gang
Whose doorbell I mistakenly rang
He pulled out a gun
Aimed at me just for fun
~ I'd never known how fast I could run
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