Todd spent two weeks working in a seaside town
Til he and his boss man had a falling out
He packed up his bag, paid up his motel,
& he was outta there like a shot
before the sun went down
He hadn't seen his wife in quite a long time
So he couldn't wait to be homeward bound
By: J.N.R Dutton
It's a new song
Maybe it'll be amended before I get to produce it
It's been fun.
I'll not say what exactly it's about
_________
you will never wake the dead
be prepared for it this time
bleed into it raw
making nickels on the dime
have you never asked for more?
??
no longer a stranger
paid-up dues, made your bed
winning is second nature
no matter what my old man said
if I could forgive, make amends
he would rest in peace without end
but I will never wake the dead
bleed into it, this time
??
th' sharper tool in the morning
afternoons, I'm delivered
hold my breath, I'm descending
there, I said it, I know that you heard
??
be daring, my darling
I'm right here, by your side
with answers for the asking
I don't know but I'll give it a try
if you could forgive, make amends
I could rest my head and pretend
but I will never wake the dead
bleed into it, this time
If your best work is done at night,
Which is now no longer your right
With neighbors to to your right of you,
With neighbors to the left of you,
Neighbors on top of you
Who don't want to hear a sound out of you,
Before breakfast,
And if they do,
Your insurance had better be paid up,
In case the wrong people, you wake up.
If your best work is done at night,
While the moon is still bright,
And you passion for your work is at its lowest under sunlight,
It may be time for you to pack up,
Before you get too many backs up,
And head for places,
Where the neighbors to the right of you,
The neighbors to the left of you,
Are far enough away, not to hear the sound of you,
Or where the roar of the traffic,
Is horrific,
For the full twenty four hours,
And it is safe for you to work your normal hours.
magical fey conjured up a new mushroom house in a tiny cloud
frequented by caterpillars and ants, but bees are not allowed
some of the honeybees and wasps are forming an angry mean crowd.
hear buzzing? They are storming the street, and boy are they loud.
Loud and proud joined by hornets, humans are cowed.
bitsy tiny faerie wearing her hair in a knotted braided bun.
heard what was happening and flew over to have a bit of fun.
her glistening wings were Vitamin D'd up by the sun.
bee brewery is open, and the vats are ready for honey,
come on in, and bring your combs, and we’ll pay you money.
bumblebees paid up quickly, they had plenty of loot.
stingy wasps and hornets flew off, each in a lively pursuit.
knee-playing fiddler grasshoppers and ants ran out the back door.
Once again, the faerie got rich, her name was Mrs. Livermore.
I wrote a poem years ago.
The content alludes me and its theme.
I recall It was written in Innsbruck Austria.
I was writing it while I ordered a dry martini;
they brought me the whole damn bottle
together with a huge bill!
I was young and trying hard to be sophisticated,
my German may have confused the wait-staff.
I paid up
then took the bottle back to the hotel.
Now I was left with no money left to eat
and I really loved the Vienna schnitzel.
The poem was not about all this at all,
I just remember I was very hungry
and the martini did not help.
Pay Now Or Later
Miracle Man
5-14-2022
Sin,
is like a credit card balance that isn’t settled monthly,
and the choice is ours. For sin, we can seek forgiveness,
becoming paid up, or watch it multiply,
and pay an exorbitant penalty forever,
in eternity.
You asked me for a poem today.
I raised the roof of my skull
like the hood of a jalopy,
I replaced the sparkplugs and
Revved my six cylinders, smoking
Choking an unbreathable cloud,
My tarnished shroud.
You asked me for a poem today,
And here I am full of meager
Moments where I once savored
Modest madness. Where I neglected
Love and paid up with hungry longing,
All my regrets for reckless crimes.
You ask me for a poem today.
Just one day, a poem!
But all poems are made somewhere in the stars,
Carrying ships of perfumes and refracted prisms,
They know no start or end,
They violate all clocks and calendars.
I won’t know when the words stop flowing.
You might catch it if they do.
When comments are in
Such short supply
You can not even buy one
Even if you we're not strapped
for cash and had a pocket full of
fivers
And plenty room left to spare
on your paid up credit card
And then totally out of the blue
4 green comment bubble's appear
out of nowhere
Better than anything in your
wildest dreams you could imagine
That light up and you take to heart
Like you have just won the lottery
And make you feel like they are
as close to 1 or know you as well
as a member of your own family
Leaving behind what can only be
described as the smell of
Sweet success joy eternal
happiness
Gratitude blessings and wishing
nothing more
Than to let them know
And pay the comment or massive
compliment back in spades
So my kind sincere regards
To you David Goliath Sir
For making not my day , week ,
month or year
But all of the above and so
much more
Word's alone fail me to do
justice to explain
Mine a trial was cool
My heart was forced into a pool
Only due to an inviting pull
A pull not into a pool a center of the fool
But as accrues fruits of a heart so full…
Everything everywhere led so dull
And the angel came as a bouncing ball
All to be celestial to me – a pal
All this not even condemned by Paul
So pretty – what a welcome, a call
At first blush all was like a tale
My face changed into pale
Something of a, ‘can’t tell’,
But my heart could tell,
Pouncing to a trial so well
Every day I recall scenes at the well.
Not all temptations are evil
Mine was God’s will;
She rolled to me like a wheel
For my lesions to heal
She came for all gaps – to seal,
Justified was the trial, for real.
She came not to kill
She paid up my bill
In my back they would drill
I am not a paid-up member here
Hence you don't see me everywhere
There is a contest, be it poems or prose
On this site, I find everyday heroes & sheroes
Three Penny Opera
A penny for your thoughts she said
And paid-up cash, right on the spot
I think I love you was my reply
Do you have another penny or are you
Planning to get my thoughts for free?
She drew me close, pressing her softness
Against a man now empty of rational thought
And I wondered if I should give her change
Another penny appeared in my hand
Just as my lips reached out to kiss hers
I like the way you think, She said
As yet another penny found my palm
I think I’ll leave you to imagine the rest
Of this threepenny opera for yourself
I have more pressing business to attend to…
He was an old fella in overalls
With a greasy rags hanging out of his pockets all
And his finger nails were bordered in black
From the years fixin’ engines on his back
He worked hard every day
Burnin’ daylight was not his way
And I rolled into town behind a truck
My car givin’ in being out of luck
He took one look at the car
And wiped his hands with a rag so far
With a look of thinkin’ hard and long
“Well give me a couple a hours and I’ll have her purring a song”
So we left him to the work to be done
And went to the town cafe for a meal all along
A few hours later he turned up to the cafe
Again wiping his hands for the grease
Saying, “Mate, Gudday”
“Well I’m not too up on these modern engines
But I fixed it up this time havin’ won again”
So we paid up for the service made
With a smile and another legend making the grade.
© Paul Warren Poetry
COST NOTHING TO DO THE CARE TO LOVE IS FREE---
It cost nothing to say ”how are you”;
It cost nothing to say that I care;
It cost nothing to pray for your fellow man
Will you won’t you just care…
Cost nothing
Cost nothing to do it, cost nothing to do it, nothing to do it;
It cost nothing to love unconditionally and
How are you as I say I care?
As I pray for you and yours
Cost me nothing to see you’re well cared for..
Cost me nothing you see
It’s all part of being in God’s holy family;
The cost of the dealt already paid for on the cross;
My choice to repent you see Jesus has already paid, paid for it;
So now my redemption is freed;
My salvation is free;
Christ has paid the price, paid up the cost for me;
It cost nothing to say “how are you”
And it cost nothing to say I love you
And it cost nothing to say I care so for you;
And that I am here
For you see God’s love is and mine is not for sale
The love we have is free
You see God’s love is free
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
Villanelle : Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Pull Pound down tear veil off event horizon holes
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Invent a machine feed it Homeric fire
No enjambement perfect rhyme rhythm metre folds
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Whoever tops the charts which poem's ire
Shines through Apollo's defiant mien Zeus scolds
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Ne'er short the naive champion of the ephemère
Paid up club member the mutual backscratcher roles
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Machine that thinks can it rasa taste inspire
Mete out criteria merit sound sense enfolds
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Art of artifice best profits business liar
Poets at the stakes burn to free the poems' souls
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 15, 2018
My vacation prep consists
Of checking items off my lists.
Toiletries and extra socks?
One more pair of shoes, sans box.
Make-up? Check! A book to read?
More clothing than I really need.
An umbrella? Meds and snacks?
Passport? Chargers? (Can’t relax!)
Bills paid up and cards all sent?
Nothing left to thus lament.
Pencil and my writing pad?
The checking off is ironclad.
As the time to leave draws near,
One by one they disappear.
When I’m headed out the door,
My lists aren't needed anymore.
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.