The Failure
It is about vanity, a need to see one's name in print
The shortest of glory, five seconds, ten?
Switch off at that point of glory, and the fame can last
until someone else demands to use the tablet
A book of poetry, published in a small town in India
61 pages, and the editor and owner of the press
tells us the poems are great, not panegyrical, but ok
Sitting down to read one's thoughts only to discover
misspelling and less elegant sentences, what
The eyes had not seen before glared up with a smirk
Oh, the shame of this must keep it a secret, not tell
Should anyone ask, say the book was not published
this year and turn the talk to something else, like
The high electricity prices
Today’s definition is BOWER,
A shelter of tree boughs and vines
Which sometimes has blossoms that flower,
With man-made or Nature’s designs.
It’s also a common misspelling
For Bauer, my married last name,
Despite all the products now selling
As Bauer, of clothes and skates fame.
Still, I like the “bauer” connection.
It conjures an image quite pleasant,
Much better, of course, on reflection,
Than its translated meaning of “peasant.”
If your shoes are too small
And your tootsies get stuck,
Do not fret, simply call
For the nearest toe truck.
Speak up loud - use your tongue;
Don’t get laced up in knots.
Virtues may be unsung
But the toe truck has lots.
So if help is your goal,
Toe trucks cannot be beat.
They will comfort your sole
As they race to de-feet.
*Inspired by a misspelling in a story
my grandson was writing.
Acrostic Rhyme One Word
Another
Calibrating
Reinventing
Origination
Situation
Temptation
Intoxicating
Collaboration
Renewing
Hesitations
Yelling
Misspelling
Education
Onto
New
Exportation's
Writing
Original
Rhyming
Design
"LOL"
Aunt Boo posted everything on social media.
Misspelling words, never using Wikipedia.
Atrocious punctuation was almost laughable.
Her caustic posts were anything but affable.
She had warnings all the time by those who knew.
She never verified facts - not a great thing to do.
People were consistently threatening to sue.
For she posted libel hourly, without a clue.
Not caring to verify if things were true.
A big embarrassment, my relative, Aunt Boo.
This poem is being edited
From all the wrongs you read
The mistakes I've made along the way
Are not for the eyes to see
There are words that lose all their meaning
Turning misspelling into an art
Or the flow don't go the way it's suppose
Because of misplaced punctuation! marks
And I too often rely on spell check
To move my poems along
Which can turn my enemy into enema
I guess that's not too far off
There's so much more to poetry these days
Than running out of thoughts and ink
And me with only half a brain
It takes twice as much time to think
So while this poem is being edited
Please sit back and relax
If you see any mistakes that I have made
Speak up now cause here's your chance
when I feel a want to run away
from the electronic world of 1's and 0's,
stats of 1000 megabytes and more,
to the meadows with my parchments,
quill, and ink remembering the breeze,
I breathe
crunching some more numbers on to the screen.
music aloud deafening my ears,
drumming my fingers
on the french AZERTY keyboard,
click click click, click
misspelling my own name
Rqvi Kirqn Kqsulq.
swinging on the swivel chair.
In the empty new office rooms,
my heart swaying to my own crooning
to Ol' 55, "... time went so quickly,
.. go lickety-splickty ... my old '55."
when I am only 25,
Forgetting the lyrics and switching
to the next chatchy songs.
You should not be embarrassed
or shy when sometimes something
embarrassing taints your pride;
it can be a karaoke gone wrong,
a misspelling of a verse in church,
wardrobe dysfunction in a public space....
You should remember that everyone poops-
no need to hide as you get into the toilet;
it's part and parcel of life.
The New York skyline glimmered in the sun
Saw September 8th 2001
was printed on the playbill in her hand
Happily she sought her name written there
At long last she had achieved top billing
Singing an aria she twirled around
Her costume spread in a circular swish
Then picking up a broken pencil stub
She marked a misspelling in the address
Cell phone buzzed, reverberating loudly
Spurring Joanna out of her bubble
It was the director of the opera
Heard, "Hi Jo, reviews predict a long run!"
Donning her new bifocal sunglasses
She appraised her mirrored "star" reflection
Imagining a brilliant future.
Contest: Chopped Updated
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Tonight I'm a bathroom stall poetry critic
let's see what we have here
I LOVE TRANNYS
DIVE AND LISA 4EVER
SUCK MY F*CKIN DICK
Golly, do the kids these days
ever love the
liberal use of profanity.
Certainly the reference to
Transvestites
(with a key
and very tact
misspelling)
is indicative
of the poets love
of the unknown,
and his relishing
of diving into
the unknown,
especially when
the unknown
is not what he
thought it was.
Who is Dive?
It's obvious that
Dive is called Dive
because he likes
to hang out in
Dives.
Maybe that third line isn't poetry
after all.
I passed an outdoor coffee cart
Which advertised its wares,
And one thing that was listed
Should have garnered many stares.
Among the donuts, pastries
And the joy each item brings,
There also was hot coffee sold
And there it was – cold drings!
I’m sure that English couldn’t be
The vendor’s native tongue;
Yet someone should have edited
Before that sign was hung.
A simple spell-check would have helped
Before applying inks;
So customers, instead of drings
Would choose to order drinks.
Perhaps nobody noticed
Or they’ve chosen not to tell;
The news might be embarrassing –
It’s probably just as well.
But if I were the vendor
And my cart had a misspelling,
I’d give a cold dring, gratis,
To the one who did the telling!
http://www.primetimerhyme.blogspot.com/ ilene bauer [email protected]
as soon as the banishment in a forest comes to an end
all the rain-drops come to the ball-room with unfolded
umbrellas over their heads
the slumber of the adjourned dialogues
also breaks
all the blossoms of the cucurbitaceous plant
that are supposed to open their petals
have gone to the majlis of the aquatic-plants
riding on a wrong-minibus
then a photograph of the dinner- party
is to be found out and brought for the saliva-gland
there is no voice of the palms of the open-window
of his own
even then
each and every the air-hostess eagers to listen
to the song of boat-rowing from him
here the duck of the mid-noon
is engaged in pleasure
with the flower-vase of class x
their drinking-bowl is flying
along the flame of the rail-line
though it does not bear any grief
to the large lake
that is wetted with perspiration
there is no delta of misspelling as well
it has only the smoking of thousand cusec
all the day and night
I could not tell the two of you apart.
even when i tried to squint you just
grew narrower
and these words are slender stalks in a field
seamless yet sperate, unrhyming yet punctuated.
i remember sitting in the kitchen with poor
posture misspelling the word absence.
you collected a few of the absract moments
to form are binary convoluted past personages.
who spoke in the third person and misdiagnosed
the moments before leaving only shades of
gray pathologies for us to follow.
niether light nor dark.
i tried to gather a little from the two of you
to trace an opinioned outline of you on
some paper, but the opinions fell down.
so i used instead a magnet off of your refrigerator.
you said something like..... what are you doing
or i think im thirsty.
a half empty half full glass sits on the
counter across the room.
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