Glory of tandoori story or Brit palette whet reformer korma
Vindaloo or sag aloo woo you or coo crazy about jalfrezi
Gets hazy as things mesh came fresh from Bangladesh
Can’t naysay Indian takeaways most days top performer
Made for Brit eccentric never ever looked a bit authentic
Teach explore each region with its own locavore legion
Preach mountain ranges to cities and fountains changes
Neighbourhoods vocally hooked homegrown locally cooked
See wee chatty seller with natty chapati smothered in gee
Poms popadoms covered with mango glow aplomb or roti
Lentil dahl elemental or experimental flurry of curry in a hurry
Ask a fella stellar biryani actually Indian or factually Pakistani
p.s Oh and no argy bargy about the Raj but do so love a bhaji
Sung to This Old Man
This old frugal
He bought one
Silver dollar
Just for fun
With a thick stacked, natty pack
Filled with silver eagles
He’ll beat inflation
And live regal
This old frugal
He bought two
U.S. Gold Eagles
That won’t devalue
With a thick stacked, natty pack
Filled with silver and gold
He’ll beat inflation
Before he’s too old
This old frugal
Has traded cash
For precious metals
A true value stash
With a thick stacked, natty pack
Filled with eighteen karat
His kids will smile
When they inherit
This old man
Is sad to see
The printing of too
Much paper money
Get a thick stacked, natty pack
To do yourself a favor
And beat inflation
As a metals saver
May 14, 2023
Mother Goose Grows Up Contest
Slip all batty zing ump ash
Flip ball catty bing bump bash
Clip doll fatty ding dump dash
Sip caul hatty bring chump crash
I stare at the speaker, wishing I knew what to do or say
Hip haul natty ping grump hash
Quip mall ratty ping grump rash
Strip paul slatty string stump slash
I hear the words but they make no sense
For I do not know the language or understand
My parents threw me into full immersion school
Where I do not speak the language in any form...
I do not understand, and I doubt I ever will.
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
When love and laughter ruled the day,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
And every boy was a neighborhood sleuth
With nary a moment to be whiled away,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
When hell was to be paid for a rash untruth
A principle to be upheld, come what may,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
A typical boy was seldom known for his couth
Always jaunty, but for an insult would repay,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
Maintaining his pride so important, forsooth,
While holding his peer antagonists at bay
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Well-groomed and natty, ah, so very smooth
Careful never to be thought of as fem or gay
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Written May 5, 2022
On rows of chairs
heads bark orders at invisible underlings,
sharp suited mid-level execs
power into conference calls.
The more gleaming the sky-palace
the skuzzier I feel,
the duller the yellow
of my crumpled paperback.
Air-miles accrued,
I bumped myself up to business class.
I should have worn a tie.
I imagine earlier times,
wind-swept form
standing beside a bare runway
trench coat flapping, fedora pulled low,
as I prepare to leave an aerodrome.
In a darkened faraway hanger,
beneath a solitary wind-sock,
a black wall-phone waits
for my natty,
even stylish arrival.
It is crazy
To be lazy
And lousy
To be mousy:
Of one naughty
Who chose to be haughty
And Snobbish
Who often mouths rubbish.
You can’t be chatty
And not hearty
Nor Natty
When you’re the fatty:
From almost every nit
Not a word of wit,
Everything mirroring a haze
For his longest gaze…
All these: What live observed
And should n’t want them reserved.
Caren Krutsinger brought back memories to me,
Re her poem,
Do not give Missy Mob Salami.
I do not know a man who wears a Russian hat.
I do know a man that wears a cat\
On his head,
The cat is dead
He lay on Mr John Wamsley's head,
Facing front,
With dangling legs,
Over Mr Wamsley's ears.
It looked natty, it appears.
This man, at his peril,
Hated animals that were feral,
He protested loud and clear,
He did not want these creatures near.
The wildlife park was Mr Wamsley's own.
Those darn cats would not leve him alone.
Until he got out a gun,
And shot those cats, one by one.
Some people thought this unfair.
They did not seem to care,
That the cats were causing strife,
For the survivng suffering, wildlife
To cut this saga short,
There is not much more to report.
After things got heated,
With things mulled over and repeated.
Licensed people can proceed,
Only when there is a need,
To shoot the cats that are a pest
And let Mother Nature do the rest.
You can find a photo of John Wamsley wearing a cat
on his head, on the internet.
A big thank you to Caren for giving me the idea for the poem.
P..patriotic, pro-life, productive
A..astute, aware, ardent
N..natty, naughty,(steamy poems) but nice
G...Greek-O-Phile, gifted and gallant
I...interesting, imaginative, and involved
E...effective,eccentric,
eclectic
Happy Birthday, on March 13th! Celebrate!
Best wishes,
Madelyn
There's a poet on the Soup, and his surname's McHattie
First name's David and his poems are natty
Well, 'natty' does an injustice to his masterful works of art
He blends message and expression into one seamless part
Please give him a try; you won't be disappointed
In fact you might feel, as I do, that McHattie be anointed
As the 'King of Poets' --- Prince, Duke or Earl at worst
Read his April 29 entry, "The Pig and the Horse" first
There are so many wonderful ways,
To describe you on any given day.
So, each letter is given a few words,
Expressing exactly who you are;
From the bottom of my heart.
Marvelous Miracle
Amazingly Artistic
Dazzling Dancer
Immensely Involved
Superb Sister
Observant One
Noticeably Natty
Radiant Ray
Outgoing Optimist
Gracious Girl
Enthusiastic Entertainer
Reliable Role-Model
Social Star
peppy porcelain puppy poops on the floor
wacky winged walrus whizzes on the door
enigmatic eonian elephant espies some bamboo
clever castrated cormorant shrieks yahoo
brassiere-busting bonobo barfs on the table
maniacal mystic monkey freaks on cable
sly sonambulent sloth bear slumbers in his cave
natty naughty nutty newt nests in a wave
dizzy ditzy doormouse dances with a broomstick
tawdry turgid tiger toys with his joystick
rugged recondite raccoon races up rut-marred roads
finicky febrile frog farts on frightened toads
this sonnet celebrates sassiness midst sundry incantations
~ surrenders to insanity and scoffs at punctuation
French
Beret'd
Director's
Natty perch
Leather-back tripod
Cushioned seat--
Classic hue--
Armrests...
Settled in
The Envelope Please
~ Best supporting cast ever!
Crackling cold, satchel in tow.
Back for the role of baby for home.
For mama and daddy,
I’m proper lil Natty.
Back for the holds, cuddled for soul.
2/17/18 'As I was Walking in the Snow' Contest
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
WINTER
Winter enters on snowy splendor.
In calm and cold frosty wonder.
Next name came: Natty Jack frost clown,
Targeting temperature down.
Elating elegant whiteness.
Raunchy in wild bare barrenness.
Natty disasters sitting in boneyard wing
Hidden rolling shadows re-occurring
Tumbles the rain that rapture bring
All sodden on Golgotha fog·ging
Utterly murky shadows about
Dank teeth beyond the tomb square
The blindness of the swollen moon thereabout
Lightning strike, bitter air scare
The sky cracks as if slashed by a knife
Somewhere in yonder thunder blast wave
Sneak trees creak into the air life
Sinister and frosty on the grave
Spread quaking fears under midnight stroke
Dull spirits near shadowy flagstones
Grasping dark devils amongst the cloud choke
A poet's life, a written dream captured around ghostly tombstones
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