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Explode into your role,
The sole actor of a show,
A monodrama only you know,
Choose how you want it to go,
Follow the guidelines,
A design made by you,
True to your intentions,
It grows in your dimension,
And add some tension,
Your attention is key,
When acting out a reality,
Only you can see the camera,
The Extras on the set,
Don't even know it yet,
So, you get to decide,
when the tides will turn,
Learn how to engage,
Set the stage for success,
Mess around a little,
A brittle shell will soon crack,
Packed full of potential,
An exponential increase awaits,
Straight after a few words from our Sponsors.
Quiet until that pen was found,
ink spilt words make you brave.
With one line a rebel was crowned,
regardless of the message.
Spoken with spirit they’re spellbound,
style hangs heavy in the air.
Turn of phrase with a posh sound,
ink spilt words make you brave.
She didn’t step up to mess around.
Take out the trash,
it's so rude to bash
someone who deeply cares,
showing you the way out;
you must listen to wisdom...
before you start rocking
that baby in your lap.
Kids who do horrible things
greet rage into their kingdom,
digging their own grave.
Hanging out late past one,
getting drunk on cheap wine
and come home shaking
is bad for a beauty queen.
Earn your crown,
keep your grace, get noticed
for your loveliness,
don't live out harmful fantasies;
there are many dreams to chase.
Daddy is on the way home,
he'll put you in a corner
to count the length of hours
without computer and phone:
deep silence and a tale of horror
to remind you of obedience.
It's the age to have lots of fun,
not to mess around with boys;
you must earn your crown,
every single rule applies:
never following the crowd,
make mom and dad proud.
Earn your crown, aspire to glory;
wasting life is not realizing dreams,
tomorrow can wait, write your story:
nothing rewards more than memories.
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
She's got nerve,
Calling him a boozer
Sittin' next to him
She feels like such a loser
When He's been drinkin'
She'll give that boy a wack
He likes his Jim
But he don't know jack
I heard they got married
Bout a year ago
Figured to elope
I think the story goes
She thought, "What a Man"
As they wrestled in the sack
Yes The boy likes his Jim
But he don't know Jack
Chorus
Now if you're gonna drink
And mess around with girls
Don't pick a Bossy one
or she'll upset your world
And if you plan to keep on drinkin'
And remember watch your back
Cause you Can trust your Jim
But you don't know Jack
Instrumental
The Honeymoon's now over
And she hates it when he drinks
But he is kinda slow
He don't care what she thinks
But when he reaches for a bottle
She's ready to attack
'Cause he likes his Jim
But he don't know Jack
Chorus
Now if you're gonna drink
And mess around with girls
Don't pick a Bossy one
or she'll upset your world
And if you plan to keep on drinkin'
And remember watch your back
Cause you Can trust your Jim
But you don't know Jack
You'd better take care whom you choose as a mark.
For this old dog’s bite is much worse than his bark.
If you’re going to poke him best have a long stick,
‘Cause this here old dog, well, he’s got some new tricks.
It is better for you to let sleeping dogs lie.
There’s still lots of fight left, but go on and try.
If you light the fuse know you'll find a short wick,
And this here old dog, well, he’s got some new tricks.
It's not the dog's size but the size of the fight.
Don’t laugh at the bark or you will feel the bite.
Don't push him too far ‘cause some things you can’t fix,
And this here old dog, well, he’s got some new tricks.
If you see the old dog, best leave him alone.
He’s watching you close so you don’t take his bone.
If you mess around you will find out right quick
That this here old dog, well, he’s got some new tricks.
Depending on the place you live,
The weather’s warm or cold.
Perhaps that’s why you moved there;
It’s the picture you’ve been sold.
But Mother Nature’s in control
And likes to mess around,
So conditions you’d expected
Might not be what you have found.
In the south they’re wearing sweaters
And the west is fighting fires,
Maybe changing someone’s mind of
Where to go when one retires.
Meanwhile, I adjust my wardrobe,
Wearing layers I can shed,
Never really knowing what will be
In days that lie ahead.
Born alone, die alone, time is so, I don't know
Slow than fast, blowing past, grown attached, to life alone
Idle time, The devil's ground, mess around, and find a zone
A mile wide, and getting out, is talked about, and I could go
On and on, in a circle, inner circle, autobahn
Nonchalant, the little Whirlpool, getting pulled to, drama thon
Better ghost, than heaven's host, read and write, been read and wrote
Every toast, is said with hope, so speak your mind, or get a quote
Get in line, or never go, trade and eye, for treasure trove
Wine and dine, with centerfold, a nine to five, forget it bro
Lets not forget, it's all for fun, it's all been said, and all been done
Through the maze, the dues you pay, are dollars flung, to I'll become
All I've done, is all for love, of sport of course, it's not for none
They often turn, to watch and learn, my fondest words, the honest ones
Inside my head, supply of lead, to pencil everything, I have said
Nine or ten, my rhymes again, I guess time will tell, what time it is
How I wished that a road to your heart
Hadn't come to a dead end
You say you love me
Or do you just pretend
There's no feeling in your kiss
No warmth in your smile
You never tell me that I was missed
You turn your back on me in bed
Never listen any more
And you mess around with my head
I never know if I'm coming or going
If the sun shines or it rains
And there's no way of showing
I feel trapped choked and beyond control
A little lost child left out in the snow
You not only took my heart but you also stole my soul
I wish I'd never met you
But I can't find the strength or will to go
Chained and shackled to
Only you have the key
To unlock me
And set me free.
When I am gone my house will lose her color.
kids will back up a huge dumpster and let anyone “have at it”.
Main goal will be to sell the house.
They will not mess around with the contents.
Maybe they will take one painting each.
There are over a thousand paintings, painted by me.
My grandchildren will not have a choice if they are little.
The paintings will probably go into a burn pile.
I picture myself watching from a high seat in an oak tree.
Fascinated that my children wanted nothing of mine.
I cannot help wondering if they will stumble upon my poems.
They have never read a single poem of mine.
Will they eagerly devour my poems upon my demise?
Should I be putting sound to my poems?
Would that be creepy? Or a comfort?
I do not plan to be gone long. I plan to haunt my kin.
Grammar Ain't Your Daddy's Mommy
I've written words both big and small
While sometimes nerves get brittle
I strained at nouns, and even verbs
Assessed each jot and tittle
When writing’s done I self critique
And scope each application
Some days I feel the roof collapse
I want a quick vacation
There are some words I must insist
Be used with awesome care
Don’t mess around and fumble these
The words there, their, and they’re
So even if you get those right
There is a little more
Those three small words that scramble brains
Are you’re and your and yore.
When people travel to the country of Homonymiam, can we call them Homonymians?
My Daddy is a legion in his own right,
It all stems from an ugly fight.
His name is Curtis Town,
Everyone knows he does not mess around.
He and his date danced and drank the night away.
At midnight they left without further delay.
As they exited the dance hall,
This is what those who were there recall.
Darin, the sheriff ambushed Curtis on his way out,
The crowd started to cheer and shout.
The sheriff got the upper hand,
Grabbing Curtis by the hair, but it didn’t go as planned.
Curtis grabbed the sheriff and bit down on his cheek,
As he bared down like a lion, those around began to freak.
If told in its entirety,
He bit the sheriff, but did not bite the deputy.
When I am gone my house will lose her color.
kids will back up a huge dumpster and let anyone “have at it”.
Main goal will be to sell the house.
They will not mess around with the contents.
Maybe they will take one painting each.
There are over a thousand paintings, painted by me.
My grandchildren will not have a choice if they are little.
The paintings will probably go into a burn pile.
I picture myself watching from a high seat in an oak tree.
Fascinated that my children wanted nothing of mine.
I cannot help wondering if they will stumble upon my poems.
They have never read a single poem of mine.
Will they eagerly devour my poems upon my demise?
Should I be putting sound to my poems?
Would that be creepy? Or a comfort?
I do not plan to be gone long. I plan to haunt my kin.
Have you ever heard a crow caw in the dead of night
Never the thought crossed my mind until such was my plight
In the bright of the light I saw vast more than one
Nary my delight when their numbers sent me shook to stun
Pondered to run but when said and done everyone knows
That you don’t mess around with a murder of crows.
I thought mayhaps I’ve had my fill of bad omen
But my foes superior cousin flew down more than ten
Yet again I comprehend they represent a prophecy
Not sure what this vocal unkindness has to do with me
Still I see the knowledge be in my mind where it’s graven
There is no safe haven, in a conspiracy of ravens.
Swiftly I flee afore a new plague rains down
The worst was yet to arrive to this cursed, sleepy town
I frown to find myself betwixt these predators absurd
My own personal horror movie version of the birds
Swooping and warbling, they sculp a shadow in the skies
Really just a nuisance… a gulp of magpies. :S
For the Magpies that have invaded my backyard tree....
You've won this time........
July 7, 2022
Weasel was wiser than a coonhound
She weighed one pound, a foxhound
Traveled the campground and playground
Searched the fairground and all around
A sleuthhound, she would turnaround
Looking earthbound for something profound
On the rebound, her heart would confound
In the foreground was her hunting ground
She would often bum around and mess around
Searching the battleground for common ground
Renowned for her wisdom, though uncrowned
She took a ultrasound so she could stick around
Even going underground in the burial mound
Riding the merry-go-round so she could hang around
Nursery Rhyme 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
April 14, 2022
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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.