A long time ago on a hot summer's day,
a fox was out strolling his own merry way.
He came to an orchard with blossoms so fine
and, looking up, saw grapes on a high, lofty vine.
"Ah, the very thing to quench my thirst" said he,
with an air that was so nonchalant and carefree.
Walking back a few steps, he took a run and a jump
but just missed the bunch, then landed with a thump.
He tried again and again but made no progress
and became frustrated at his lack of success.
He tried one more time but, to his dismay,
realized it was futile and so walked away.
With his nose in the air and an angry glower,
he grumbled "I am sure that those grapes are just sour."
So please remember these words and have no regret:
It is easy to scorn what you can't get.
They stand proud and high
As if they reach right up to the sky
Their peaks covered with all year round snow
Though it melts in the Sun, it is very slow
See the marks where Angels ski
Out of sight of you and me
Those large footprints left behind
By an animal of some kind
Could it be from a Yeti, a mysterious Fable
Who people have tried to find when they have been able
But the Mountains are mysterious places
All shapes and sizes, some resembling faces
And the streams that start from their springs on high
Trundle downward, gathering pace when on the fly
As the water flows and winds it’s merry way down to the valley below
Being a mixture of Rain and melting Snow
But the Mountains will always remain aloof
As they watch the scene, just living proof
The early morning, a great time to catch the picture
Of Mountains, Snow, running Stream, a piece of nature’s own made mixture
My mind was all swollen, as thoughts came pouring in,
to start my day, where would I begin.
Tripping and falling, busting my head,
from the words that seeped, as I got outta bed.
Busted and bruised, but will I be okay,
I must go on, to be bout, my merry way.
Thoughts are now feelings, I’m busting my seams,
as emotions come, to kill my dreams.
My actions follow my heart’s desire,
oh what a flame of burning fire.
It burns everything in sight, with the roar of the wind,
when will all of this madness come to an end.
The torment, the torture, with its spiritual pain,
as thoughts feelings and emotions, continue their reign.
Three little words, I yelled out, who knew they held so much power,
in so much I was healed, in that very hour.
I give up, I yelled as loud as I could,
who would dare, try to stop me, even if they would.
That look in my eyes, with fire you see,
I’m already up, to here with me.
Leave me alone, I’ll figure it out,
cause I’m tired of this, without a doubt.
Now, Silence, you have become my new bestest friend,
so, I will keep you close to me, till the better end.
Ashby v White, if applied right.' With the script i do not
Comply' at the ballot will belie.) Remove misogeny from
On high..Why choose to be opressed? Once this reality
Is addressed.' Other lands should follow suit? Then your
Fate will not be moot.' (The no longer to be trusted)
Shall then really find they're busted.' So be ready from this
Day give them the boot.' Send them on their un-merry way.!
Sublime summer is arriving,
The darling daisies are gossiping
Laying on the sill of the silly window,
The sun is complimenting them excessively,
The blush is lustrous and lurking.
Summer is shimmering on its way,
Spring is packing her suitcase,
Ready to leave,
She doesn't get along with her sister,
Summer's soar sight
Can make Spring blind.
Spring loves her eyes
So she's absolutely ready for goodbyes,
I should not hold her,
I'd write a goodbye letter
Hoping that she'd feel better,
Sisterhood is a vital matter,
Spring and summer can never unite
Even though they are two sisters so polite—
Spring is too floral,
Summer is too bright.
And when they get together
All they do is fight.
And that's not at all right.
So goodbye spring,
Come back next year,
Go your merry way,
Let go of summer's fear.
I'll be waiting from you to hear,
Goodbye now,
Summer is almost near.
i found the perfect little table
in the perfect cozy corner
in the perfect quirky bistro
in the perfect part of town
as i head out on my merry way
they may as well cordon off the area
'cause when i get there ~ god help
anyone who may be sitting in that spot
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
It feels like I’ve been around too long.
Every tune has become the same old song.
Every plight’s just a fight to no end
cuz there’s no way to win.
And I can’t help but notice as I’m growing old -
I believe less and less of what I’m told.
Cuz the world’s nothing more than
an endless round of spin.
Every voyage I take that’s pushed by sails
is another lap around to no avail.
Cuz I keep on ending up in the place
where I began.
And everything I once thought was marvelous
anymore, well I’m just not so damned impressed.
Cuz where I used to wonder now sadly, I understand.
But I guess it all comes with the territory,
as does the feeling - don’t bother me.
Cuz I’m fine spending time on my own
through the years of gold.
I’ll just let the world go its merry way.
I’m at peace inside at the end of the day.
Cuz that’s just how it is, I suppose…
when you get old.
If you get a list.? Means you go to shop.' That one things
Mostly true.'
If your boat has a list, well thats not good.? Give her a trim Is what you do'
And if you were the president.? And a list just came your Merry way' A rich one so to say.?
It could be a (sort of vice?) I mind.? Which would give you
Maybe some mighty say.?
And cash could be quite accessible? when it arrives that very shopping day? or hour.'
Now would you want to loose.? Or give away such a thing
Like a Wonka's zonka..Thats bonkers fiscal power.'
(I hear the tills (say ding a ling )
Santa sailed upon his sleigh
and came upon Buddha one day,
greeting him with a cry.
Saying, I'm bringing toys
to good girls and boys,
as on this toboggan I fly.
Yep, I'm a plump, jolly fairy,
and will make children merry
with things here in my sack.
Oh, the joy they'll find
when they have what they pined,
and no longer lack.
Santa, I crave nothing in your sled.
My gift, you see, is wisdom instead,
as I remain mindful.
I don't seek Christmas merriment
from a drink or intoxicant,
however delightful.
And so, two men of worth
bore gifts for children here on earth.
You must believe it!
I only tell you this because
that's the way it really was.
How then, did they leave it?
God bless you Buddha!
I'll be on my merry way.
Peace be with you Santa,
Have a nice day!
Thanksgiving is over the feast is done
there was enough football for everyone
Company that gather all slipped away
with leftovers divided on their merry way
The pies and treats not one left
but still on the table a big turkey carcass
Get out the old soup pot
put in water make it a lot
In with the turkey bones of our holiday dinner
boil on low and let it simmer
Remove the bones and strain it to
back in the pot your far from through
Now that you got a rich turkey stock
add some left over turkey meat you chopped
Toss in a few chicken bouillon cubes
dry onion soup mix adds flavor too
Add some mixed veggies from a can
noodles or rice whatever at hand
Boil it high and simmer it low
black pepper and parsley a toss and a throw
The smell of soup warms the house with a hug
turkey soup taste the goodness of homemade love.
On the way to my destiny
I came upon an unyielding tree,
saying, “I have not yet any fruit for thee,
go thy merry way.”
I then answered, “Tree, it is my season,
I am here by my destiny’s reason.
Yield to me now, my promised fruit,
while it is yet called TODAY.
The tree feared answering,
“Reach to the highest twig,
There you’ll find one ripened fig,
Take it if suits you now,
For you have just what you say.”
The moral of this story is receive,
Let not even nature make you disbelieve,
The fig tree learned a long time ago,
When Jesus came it’s way.
Big muscles of the organ grinder, his biceps burning.
Cranking springs, the tired, but cheerful, Italian chap.
Many chapters of his life on streets of cold cement.
His beard, silver tone; his worn hat filled with coins.
You’d expect for the old legs to be moving, it rests
as the tunes be calling, beckoning through windows.
Accordion sounds be arousing smiles and curiosity.
Melancholy dirges wet the shoulders of the bitties.
Again the pedals and thighs grind along, travelling
as the kids and townsfolk wave goodbye. On his
merry way, feet tapping, ladies dancing, men puffing
on their pipes and cigars. The music says so long.
And another group gathers in the waning sun, waiting
for their favorite song; and the grinder gladly plays,
telling a story, with his barrel rolling, his pins caressed.
Kaput - he moves into a museum, a blast from the past.
There was a witch who lived in a tree
Truly loving and kindly was she
Although she wasn't glorious of face
Her heart was truly in the right place.
The witch loved to wake to sound of birds
To their songs she would write her own words
Then she'd join in, a choir they became
Her home was known as The Tree of Fame.
Parents brought their children to the witch
This tree had become a concert pitch
The kids would have their own instrument
To join the choir was the chief intent.
Melodious sounds would fly o’er breeze
Folk were inspired to fall on their knees
It was indeed an angelic sound
Which was heard for many miles around.
When the night came the witch was content
For the merry way her day was spent
She’d set off on her broom for a flight
To view moon and stars glittering bright.
At midnight witch would tuck up in bed
But not before prayers had been said.
Both love's and dream's astray
Pleasantly unaware
Death is making it's merry way
Unto my very own front door
Yet both sadly and unfortunately
To my bemusement and surprise
He never thought to break or lighten
the mood
With a knock , knock joke
He just jumped in both feet 1st
And instantaneously proceeded
to usher me away
Not even did he even stop to think
for a 1 single minute or give me a
second after thought horah
Let alone afford me any time at all
To let me wave or utter a 1 final last
goodbye
Otherwise I imagine poor
L.M.H
God rest his soul in peace
May have taken the time to write
us all here on the Soup
1 final piece of poetry of and in his
own imitable word's and way
So as in order to complete and place
the final piece in his particular puzzle
1 very last final remaining poem
Before both his word's and pen were
forevermore to be retired eternally
in summer
a cat appeared
in my backyard
every day
bathed in the sunshine
rolled on its back
then sneaked under the fence
on its merry way...
now a forbidding wind moans
leaves snap off of trees
late afternoons
the hawk is out
the sky, an angry gray
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