Inky Dinky Parley Voo
Inky Dinky Parley Voo,
Climbed a semetoo and threw a shoe,
The shoe hit a ninicoristic Rak,
And broke its curry with a meteor thwak,
The angriurt Raklebugacoo,
Slumbered Mister Parley Voo,
Whom he took to the Cariticous Siese,
And kept calling Voo ,mincey,
Maybe he was a cricious piest,
Or he was just a crazidicios phyist!
Inky Dinky Parley Voo,
Was very mitecorioustic too,
He climbed a rotcer pile,
And this time threw a hugistic canile,
It hit a poor Nicarous Tree,
Which was down in a one-o-three,
But it’s roots grew a mictoooroo,
And flrew the chabile back at Voo,
That was the end of his streyu too!
Rashi Soni
Inky Dinky Parley Voo
03/26/2020
Whose love do I wait for
what person god has made
who comes to steal my heart away
who will I lie with in the shade
who will give me false joy
and slowly break my heart
who will come to love this girl
then leave her in the dark
Jasmine Mincey
Copyright ©2009 Jasmine Mincey
Whispers of your love
across my chest
soft touches, and a smooth caress
beautiful eyes, windows to the soul
A fairy tale love, soon takes it's toll
warm salty tears, cloud a beautiful smile
warm sunny days
turn to cold stormy nights
A lovers lost
brings a widow's cry
A sad hello
and a soft goodbye
Copyright ©2009 Jasmine Mincey
Hearing all of your problems
the big and the small
in the back of her mind
the listner calls
for the consolment and attention
you recieved just the same
while the listner sits
alone in her rain
counting the hours
the minutes, the seconds
till her name is called
she sits and she listens
bidding her time
jut waiting to see
if anyone notices her sittin
see's that she has her own thoughts
that are spinning
but no one can see her
they all keep on talking
spouting their problems
they all keep on walking
passin the listner alone in her rain
leaving the listner in all of her pain.
watery eyes
this is why the listner cries.
Copyright ©2009 Jasmine Mincey
There is a man sitting opposite
In a red and black striped shirt.
His eyes are a little mincey
And his forehead frowns
Of its own accord.
He smells a bit like Christmas.
He is not a summer man.
He is married.
His wedding day was happy,
Many friends attended.
He was young and now he is old
And the wedding ring grows inwards
As the wrinkles expand.
His hair is thinning.
When he looks in the mirror
He is a little shocked.
But his infant depression
Is distracted by the smell of autumn
Leaves outside.
He is going to a lover,
He has that pretence about him.
But his hands betray some intelligence
Which his small and wonky nose destroys.
The best thing is
That he has no idea
I am writing this.
I don’t like his shoes.
I will stop now.
It seems awfully mean.
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