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There once was a squirrel named Minx
Who fancied herself in the pink
With a stolen fur stole
She'd strut and stroll.
"Dah ling! Fashion's no place for a prink*!"
*(Note: A "prink" is an archaic term meaning to dress ostentatiously
When’ e’er I look upon the squirrel’s plight
I think, perhaps, he should be given flight
So he could join the mob in warmer climes
But then a raged furry coat and tail
In Florida could land a squirrel in jail
For stealing ice to cool Corona limes
For fluffy tails may tempt a wily minx
To ask the grayish snow bird what he thinks
About the Penguin acting like a Mime
For squirrels, it seems, have knowledge of such stuff
And have been known to call a Penguins bluff
By telling them such acts should be a crime
Replied the Penguin in a voice quite grim
“I do think that your tail could use a trim”
Said the squirrel “then that minx would be mine”
There once was a lady from Lynx,
Who was a veritable minx,
she wrote about love,
cooed like a dove,
loved mixing ambiguous drinks.
Now the minx was wearing a wig,
Which made her look like a fig,
And she had the gall,
To hold me in thrall,
And jabbed me with a two-pronged twig!
Summer Minx
Saucy summer sun teases
A wink, a grin, then chases cloud ships
Playful coquette dodging thunder
Pesters dawn to get up early
Begs the sunset stay up late
Coy minx flirting with the solstice
7-6-21
Contest: Bite Size Poem No. 11
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
On green sea,
Mermaid free,
Wetness gleam,
Sunlit dream!
Movement grace,
Pretty face,
Sailor's bliss,
Deadly kiss.
Deep diver,
Crest rider,
Blue sky days,
Purple haze,
Mermaid maid,
Silk arrayed.
Sapphire skies,
Noon surprise,
Stargazer,
Moon dancer.
Mermaid minx,
Her false winks,
Led to doom,
In soused room,
For love died,
And denied.
Beauty's voice,
Beauty's poise,
Cloud lover,
Sea daughter,
Mermaid mauve,
In her cove,
Radiant,
Deep sea chant!
Written on September 10, 2020
For: Threes, Please Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Beth Evans
a hussy, a jade, a floozy, a minx
a horrible, an awful so many thinks
open minded I am
I made her my friend
Forever tight we’re now both in the pinks
She is a saucebox, my little minx. I adore her!
They crowded around him, expecting more.
Most bar flies ready to hear a great story
From this plaid-clad cowboy of few words.
She has a voracious appetite, he said.
There were jeers, cheers, and murmurs.
She howls when she’s happy. Loud laughter now.
And she thinks I am the best thing in the corral day and night.
A border collie sauntered in. She sat down on the next bar stool.
Sh! I cautioned her. I am trying to hear.
He’s not the best thing when the black lab comes around, she said.
Apparently I have now met the little saucebox.
The Convivial Mancs Minx
Stirrer of the Soup
Front and center of the Loom
Feminine rat pack crooner
An erstwhile trusty steed
Who participates and loves to read
No man is an Island
But a women's playground
To fell with words and pose
And she is a sullen rose amongst tidal waves
A shadow perversion on the prowl
You catch my fascination as you sit next to me
Salacious thoughts glisten fresh in your eyes
As the sun eclipses my blood goes thin
I’m shaken by the havoc she brings
Bite down with a feverous sting
Soulmates with venomous unchaste gleam
There emotions begin to throb
It is the sound of droning love
Swarmed up in a drifting haze
A converted woman caught in a gaze
Her black lipstick stains my bliss
Stuck together like Velcro
I find joy in her ecstatic screams
The fire’s light is are blazing yearn
Her unconventional kinkiness brings me thrill
You’re a greedy hex
Your fangs are sharpened, I don’t mind the pain
Just give me what I desire
Her arts been sweetened, may I have a taste
Her desirability heightened in infernal stockings
Every day I’ll come back for more
She’s not averse to forty winks
But afterwards she wakes and blinks
And to her privy corner slinks
As enigmatic as the Sphinx
She sits atop her tray and thinks
Up some mischievous new high jinks
The sound of Mum preparing drinks
Dad washing dishes in the sinks
“So tired of waiting” wail the Kinks
This rings a bell with hungry Minx
Who from her empty food bowl shrinks
As ice in Bombay Sapphires clinks
It’s not the time for forty winks
Young mice frolicking in the pinks
Beware the coming of the Minx!
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