In 1984 Peter Finan and Neil Smith played Scrabble at college
They played it for one hundred and fifty-three hours
Setting a new record.
The word Oxyphenbutazone would be worth 1751 points
As far as we know, it has never been played.
For good reason.
It would take the entire length of a board.
And we only get seven letters at a time.
I hear that he was very talented
At the Elite schools he attended
With flying colors his exams he passed
His parents expectations he surpassed
And a new record in his school he kept
His future looked very bright
Which was only right
Afterall, is it not right for the bright?
That their future be bright?
And that is the expectation, right?
However, it was not to be so
And with a heavy sigh they all wonder
How life could change so much so,
And in a horrified fascination they ponder
How it could have happened so.
For the bright was no longer
As the light grew dimmer and fainter
The parents held hope no longer
As with heavy hearts
Their dreams from them escaped
For their son was no more
Torn from their grasp mercilessly
A young bud recklessly destroyed
Its life carelessly tossed away
As dust in the wind.
we would like to win
God helped us out of a jam
set a new record
prayed to God each day
show us a way we can win
never be shut out
God was at game day
while we would clap and applaud
in support of team
Must see an optometrist next week
Not saying I'm blind as a bat, but bats see better
The tiny type on TV... forget it
Don't know why they bother
Might as well be greek as far as I'm concerned
Oh for the days of my youth
When type didn't have to be billboard size
Such happy days they were
When stop signs were even difficult to read
How about that!!!
Almost hit half a dozen old people in one day
Started to record them... tried to set a new record daily
There must be something to alleviate the problem
OH GLASSES... RIGHT!
Forgot about them! Even Ray Charles wore them
And the success he enjoyed
Can you imagine bats wearing glasses
Optometrist would be flooding the workplace
So nuff said... going out to buy a better pair!
Set a new record for writing limericks
Wrote this clever one in less than a minute
Took quite a risk
Of dislocating a disc
And to top it all off, I was eating spinach<>
Cougar’s growl shakes me awake in the worst of ways
Her realism prances forth in my mind; I am disoriented.
The last line of a poem waffles through my brain,
And my eyes are not fully open yet. Poetry already?
I grab a piece of paper and take it with me to the bathroom.
Sitting, I jot down six phrases, and a poem begins to write herself.
She flings herself onto the page in dots, lines, and dashes.
I find myself writing seven poems before breakfast.
Without any energy at all and little conscious effort, it is a poetry day.
Who decides? Which muse is about in my head today?
Is she going to distract me from my morning drive?
I turn my I-phone’s tape recorder on, as I get into my car.
There are no more ideas for a day and a half. Then a full writing day.
Thirty six poems in twelve hours, my new record!
I am gob smacked, consternated, confused.
Where do these days come from? Who is in charge? Apparently not me.
Set a new record for writing limericks
Wrote this clever one in less than a minute
Took quite a risk
Of dislocating a disc
And to top it all off, I was eating spinach
Set a new record for writing limericks
Wrote this clever one in less than a minute
Took quite a risk
Of dislocating a disc
And to top it all off, I was eating spinach
Eureka, Shazam, the moment just came,
The moment came out of the blue,
Where all that I’ve written from deep down inside,
Can finally come into view,
I can speak out each poem like a poetry slam,
Poems you’d speak to the moon,
And digitize each on the new record app,
Then distort it to make it in tune,
And to give it some funk I’d add an organ,
And drums to accompany my voice,
Yep, a poem with some instruments to support what is said,
A jazz sort of melodious noise,
Oh wait, hang on, this isn’t something new,
Poems with some symphonic jam,
It’s what I hear on the radio each day,
It’s a song that is sung by a band.
Help the rebel cause
We pause
Paying our respects to those brave enough
To stand for those who won't, for whatever reasons
For standing against the oppressors of the oppressed
The instigators of our distress
Yet, indeed
Our lives could be so much worse than it seems
Though, truthfully
It could be so much better than we ever dreamed
Imagine thoughts a mind would never boldly speak
As they prey on those who are willfully portrayed as weak
Or dare I even speak
Of the scraps we've yearned to keep
As we work ourselves to the bone
While boasting about profits reaching new record peaks
But you know what?
No more time to pause
As we stand, witness to the budding flower of hope
Blooming to its profound perfection
Contemplating all the ways we've continued to cope
Though whats needed most
Is a massive moral correction
by Paris Thulare
If i could turn back time
I would take my mind for a drive
Bring back the fading memories
Start back when i was wearing nappies
Back when i didn't have enemies
I would use that chance to wipe away my mistakes
To wipe my mistakes
And redo my choices
I would search for my perfect match
And start life from the scratch
If that day could come
I would be the the first to rewrite the chapter of my life
And bring the loved ones back to life
I would grab all the wrongs by arm
And take them to the army
I would borrow a ride
To google my path
Track the turns
And get rid of the thorns
How can i forget erasing all the hours of grinding
All those months of heart breaks and suffering
I would eradicate them all
And make a new record
The Trance
I sit on my stationary bike for half an hour a day,
it is incredibly boring if I have nothing to occupy my mind.
Today there was a stream of thought I waded out but
found it full old junk – junk can also be new- so I built
a wall of numbers to keep the rivulet away.
I fell into a trance, or think I did; an hour had past
when I looked at the watch, an hour had gone a new record.
The pressure of the flowing thought broke the wall
and sceptical I was not sure if I had had my exercise or
been asleep on the bike?
My little bit of natural life.
Its biodiversity rife.
Frogs, bugs, butterflies, hedgehogs, mice.
Annuals, perennials, lice.
Fruit, cherries, blackberries, no strife!
All in peak condition, no blite.
Every day new finds excite!
New for the county too, quite nice.
My little bit!
Records have to be recorded… type.
New finds my contribution… life
Each new record another slice,
For what it takes I’ll pay the price.
Enjoyed by me and my dear wife.
My little bit!
My little bit of natural life.
Its biodiversity rife.
Frogs, bugs, butterflies, hedgehogs, mice.
Annuals, perennials, lice.
Fruit, cherries, blackberries, no strife!
All in peak condition, no blite.
Every day new finds excite!
New for the county too, quite nice.
My little bit!
Records have to be recorded… type.
New finds my contribution… life
Each new record another slice,
For what it takes I’ll pay the price.
Enjoyed by me and my dear wife.
My little bit!
Irma Pulled a Fast One
By Franklin Price
9/11/2017 – 6:07AM
Irma pulled a fast one
Just before I closed my eyes
Took a right turn to the East
To sooner see the sun arise
Was supposed to go to Tampa
Get a cigar there to chew
Now she's wrecking Jacksonville
Her new direction's nothing new
Was not supposed to go there
Was to head for Alabam
Once again surprised predictors
Jacksonville now gets the slam
Passed Daytona Beach's race track
A responders' prepping pad
On the way out of the state
Had to see just what they had
Her blurry eye was very close
Winds blew and rains came down
She made their jobs more daunting
As she headed out of town
In Jacksonville a record surge.
In the Saint John's river way
Irma was not done with us
That's her record for today
Has affected all of Florida
Six million without power
Trees knocking down transmission lines
A new record every hour
She's still exceeding records
Wind speed. over time was set
It was a new world record
One of many she would get
She is still not through with us
On this day the towers fell
She, as nature's terrorist
Still makes our lives a living hell
Sub Categories
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.