Minty moonlight
crackles like bug juice
under waxen stars
that sing with wrath.
Summer suns die
as Autumn tickles
ice cream nomads
with ribbons of lice.
There once was a man named Lincoln
Who couldn’t stop himself blinkin’
He couldn’t see
And hit a tree
Which started him a-drinkin’.
Stanza 1
Lost in a loop again,
Where assurances polished,
But actions stay missing.
Stanza 2
Lost in a loop again,
Hearing lips craft carefully
Sentences,
That collapse once the room
ejects.
Stanza 3
Lost in a loop again,
Where apologies come
Pre-packaged,
But accountability never
Conveys.
Stanza 4
Lost in a loop again,
Listening to voices rehearse
Integrity,
Like a script they never intend to perform.
Stanza 5
Lost in a loop again,
Caught between what they
Say
And what they refuse to do.
Stanza 6
Lost in a loop again,
And the echo becomes a
Warning,
That lip service is just
Another silence.
Gossip is junkfood-
Cheap talk dressed up like a
Meal,
Served by people who stay
And seasoning them
Hungry
For somebody else's
Downfall.
It hits quicks
Salty,
Messy,
Leaves the tongue filled
In things you can't swallow
Back
People snack on rumors
Like chips in a defective
Bowl,
Crunching half-truths
And seasoning them-
With their own self-doubt.
They pass around
Somebody's pain
Like hors d'oeuvres
At a party they weren't invited to.
But I spit fire now-
Clean fire,
Classy fire,
The kind that burns off
Nonsense
Without lowering itself
To their level.
I don't eat lies
I don't serve them.
I don't sit at tables
Where truth is elective.
Gossip is junkfood-
All flavor, no value,
All noise, no weight
Truth though...
Truth is a plated dish,
Made slow,
Made with hands
That know precisely
Who they 're feeding.
There once was a man named O’Hare
Who wore strange underwear
It was sparkled and frilly
And just plain silly
And he did it without a care.
There once was a man named Clegg
Who had a wooden leg
It was full of coins
Right up to his loins
So he never had to beg.
THE BABY WHO CRIED WAY TOO LOUD
There was a baby in Kochi town,
In a cradle of wood, lying down,
Who wailed “oh shi!” with endless might
, And won the medal for loudest cry!
His voice rang out both far and near,
Through Gujarat streets, Jaipur clear,
It echoed in Delhi’s bustling bazaar,
Like thunder booming from afar.
He cried and cried, the people prayed,
For silence, peace, a calm cascade.
His mother stuffed her ears with care,
Cotton buds to save her hearing there.
Crowds arrived from far and wide,
To see the baby’s sonic tide.
Windows cracked, bangles broke,
As if the earth itself had spoke!
James the tourist came to see,
His ears bled from the baby’s plea.
Aunt poured oil to soothe the pain,
But still the cries began again.
At last, on day six, came the cat,
Catter the clever, catty cat.
She leapt inside the cradle bed,
And massaged the baby’s neck instead.
The baby paused, began to purr,
It loved the gentle paws on fur.
And after a decade, peace was found,
returned to the village ground.
(mostly Senryu poems)
Why do people attempt to engage?
When I'm so obviously disengaged.
Ok, tourists, when
I'm communing with my phone
please leave me alone.
I'm shopping, waiting
for the metro, I don't like
talking to strangers.
People in Paris,
think people who stop you on
the street are scammers.
I'm not here to help,
like a theme park employee.
Take your own pictures.
Your phone is equiped
With GPS, and very
exact directions.
This is my home, I'm
on my way somewhere, like school,
I have a schedule.
I'm not Mickey Mouse
or a Blues Clues character.
Jésus, go away
Are we unfriendly?
No, we're living - would you stop
a New Yorker? No.
.
.
Songs for this:
Comme ci, comme ça by ZAZ
There once was a certain floozie
Who sang just like a chantoozie
Not in smoky night clubs
But in outback pubs
It happened when she got quite boozy.
On Firtriculon V, the jagged sneels glide
through the deep and wounded river
Of course the river, aptly named The Scagerwat,
Would not be wounded if not for
The jagged sneels messy gliding
On Firtriculon V, the patterwattale plants
Reach up towards and put dirt on
The wobbling bobbling moon
Of course the moon, aptly named The Rastlying,
Would not wobble or bobble if the
patterwattale plants had not placed the
dirt only on the left side
On Firtriculon V, the weaving wheezing wahdels
Sing loudly at 2:83 in the aftermorning
And stop at 2:85 just as loudly
And of course the song, aptly named the ballad of werel,
Would not be sung as 2:83 if
The weaving wheezing wahdels didn’t keep a close
watch on the comings and goings
Of the popples on the ground
On Firtriculon V, people come at go
Ignoring the strange happenings around them
Because nothing is truly strange
on Firtriculon V
Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon
ordered marinara with parmesan.
When he finished up his plate,
he burped and hopped a southbound freight.
Writing history can be a crime,
when you insist that it must rhyme.
844.
Yung “Waay” Nila
Yung “Waay” nila
Na lumalabas sa
Kanilang bunganga
Ay parang iligal na
Gamot o droga
Nananalot ng kapwa
Masakit sa biktima
Masarap sa kanila
Dapat ay matigil na.
-12/09/2022
(Dumarao)
*Against the Waay Sayers
there was a vespa parked on road
billy the buffalo had never rode
it was huge hundred pounds
the vespa struggles under the sound
billy's bellow made it sickly plead
for peace against the massive beast
billy started the vespa fast
and horned loud and rode it past
houses looked at it with awe
uncle hari nicked his ear in awe
the dogs of street glared at it
people in their car stopped to see
it raced and raced till it reached the race
"STRONGEST SPORTS CAR WILL RACE"
billy entered the race with vespa
the poor thing almost collapsed hard
yet raced against fierce cars
till it reached the ending point bars
the buffalo got off and took the prize
the human in car watched in demise
the vespa took a final breath
and fell down on the pavement left
billy jumped into the lake
it had won the race for the vespa's sake
We call it adult humor
Dressed like late night intellect
But the joke is just a cheap dare
We clap like it’s profound
We claim it’s edgy commentary
Wrapped in clever phrasing
But it’s really playground bravado
Posing as sophistication
We say it’s mature wit
Served with craft beer confidence
But it’s just petty mischief
Wearing a grown up voice
We insist it’s highbrow comedy
Sold as cultural insight
But it’s thin skinned teasing
Masquerading as satire
We pretend we’ve evolved past childishness
Framing jokes as worldly wisdom
But the truth is embarrassingly simple
We never stopped laughing at the easy stuff
I freely admit and hereby disclaim
when writ 'twas a pitiful rhyme
and all those moments
will be lost in time
like tears in rain
in Spain
they stay
mainly in the plain
or so they say
and yet are washed away
down the drain
never to be shed
or seen again
Nonsense Categories
Definition | What is Nonsense in Poetry?
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.
Related Poetry Forms
madness, silliness, babble, joke, bunk, folly, stupidity, foolishness, drivel, rubbish, baloney, gibberish, trash, absurdity, bananas, balderdash, scrawl, jest, rot, rashness, irrationality, thoughtlessness, poppycock, palaver, bombast