Phelps Poems | Examples

Dine on cheese and whine

He's hard at work, she calls him jerk,
and asks him where he's been.
          Of little care, she goes somewhere.
dancing drunk against her male friend.

            She tells the gals, of all his fails,
they believe her, cause they're dim.
            If they only knew, because it's true,
were he gone, she'd bad-mouth them.

            Of rotten decor, no one has more
Ice cold, she believes herself hot.
             No one's the heart, to tell the used tart,
oh my gosh, she simply is not.

              He isn't all charm, he too has done harm
But at least he's set on the fix.
                and putting this mild, I hate getting wild,
she's Hugh's rabbit out searching for trix.

              Time and again, while they're on the mend
she pulls horrible stunts of aggression
               She'll lose him for sure, her diamonds and fur
but hopefully life teaches her a lesson.

             He's tired of fighting, and her words biting.
Divorce documents just one of her capers.
              "woo me or else", he could be Michael Phelps
and set speed records signing -those- papers.

Swimming

Swimming is freedom.
You lose yourself in the moment, 
It’s like a dream you can’t remember;
To understand, you had to have done it. 

You don’t have to be Phelps to swim.
Swim to achieve a victory.
Your team lost, but you earned a PR. 
You just wrote your own history.

The pool creates waves. 
But you can, too.
The water offers a cool embrace
In its frigid and icy blue.

I’ve been told that you can either sink or swim.
Why is “sink” even a choice?
Swimming is my escape from the day.
Swimming is my voice.

Bravely Drift

10/10/2020
Brave heart, when so I'm called - 
More like Gibson, my brain adjoins!
Gasping for breath one inhale,
Bursting with laughter the next.
Thoughts don't make sense
hence, poetry doesn't either 
rhyme big with reason!
Sailing along, sometimes paddling
To drift away some little current 
Is all sometimes will allow
let that suffice and just follow
The time to swim will come; 
time enough left to be Phelps yet
Let this be enough right this sail;
Now, smile as you drift along;
frowning when away-
Yet, still with the current and not still
Off with a safe and dead log;
Not safe and dead somewhere else!

Yelpers Worded Whisper

PHELPS THE TENSION
THAT SHE STEERS TO SPEAK
NOT REALLY KNOWING WHAT TO SAY
IT BARES MENTIONING
AND THRU FURTHER SIGNALING
IF WHATS SPOKEN IS TO
HAVE IT'S WAY.
WHO SEE'S LIKE LOVERS
THE EXPRESSIONS OF THOUGHTS
THAT ARE WORDED
AND SPOKEN IN DISPLAY
MIGHT THAN SHOULD WE MENTION
TO HAVE ONLOOKERS ATTENTION
TO BRING SUDLEY TO WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY.

Asteroid Belts

9/10/16


Polar ice caps continue to melt
Below asteroid belts
And above beds of kelp

Materials being smelt
Hyped up and stocked across the shelf

Better focus on your health
As much as, if not more than you do with wealth

Keep swimming, you don't have to be as good as Phelps
Near and far from kelt
And areas inhabited by elk
As well as crops, few of which may have been spelt

Close and beyond where people dwelt
Many toiled and prayed while they knelt

With all the hands I was dealt
Always tried to handle them myself
Because I didn't like to ask for help
From anyone else

Finally saw her, she was wearing felt
And her intentions were heartfelt/ And a traditional dress considered Welsh

By: Dalton Ogletree

Theres a Fly In My Soup

As I sit and try to imagine,
I look and find another distraction,
find there's a fly in my poetry soup,
quite like a Michael Phelps swimming laps
around like an Olympian champion,
he must think he's pretty cool
using my bowl of soup like a swimming pool,
as I disdainfully sit here and watch him
while drinking my glass of coke,
he swims figure 8's and alternates
between freestyle and the backstroke,
once again I try to think of a poem verse
as the fly swims and winks at me, what nerve!
then he slows down and does the doggie paddle
looking like he's treading the soup waters for awhile,
finally he stops and looks mercifully at me,
and as he goes under I count to three,
the fly in my soup is finally gone,
once again I can concentrate and carry on.

If Chronic Pain Were Olympic Sport

'If chronic pain were Olympic sport'

Morning shocks me with a jolt
Night time flies like Usain Bolt
If dream of sleep were 'lympic pride
My pain within I'd win not hide
If feeling tired, was winning gold 
My chronic illness medal hold
We would be there chasing Mo
If energy won at being low

If 'pushing through' meant top of game 
And trembling hands meant pride and fame 
If migraine vice meant all things nice 
And neck strain drain meant King of pain
If winning crunch was base of spine
Or BP drop that renders blind
We would excel Olympic pride
Where no one you love would dream you 'lied'
They'd even know it's genes so fate
They'd say 'I believe' not 'you exaggerate'

If feeling drained was strong like Phelps
Where tiredness reigns and brain fog helps 
POTS fatigue, compression nylons
Clunky shoulders easy bronze
If Olympian meant broken bowel
We'd feel their pain, lay on beach towel 
For every day we feel that burn 
From joints all round and stomach churn
If chronic pain were Olympic pride
We'd win hands down, in bed would hide

Michael's Final Olympics

The Louvre debuted an exhibit today:
Cascading Marbles of Ripples and Folds.
In waves came patrons in trenches to see
what secrets David, the masterpiece, holds;

Each stroke of genius from Michelangelo,
memories written by one fountain pen.
The stories of glory reflected in mirrors,
standing on mantels as sculptures - not men;

Below, the crests are eagerly waiting
to swim with artists whose tributes remind:
Of time, friends, and even love sacrificed,
with hopes that they may be honored in kind.

Immortal cocoons that blossomed to gold,
butterflies all, confident, hold steady,
their backs are pressed with spotlighted silver,
adrenaline flowing now as they ready:
Greek gods embossed with streamed streaks of bronze,
on cliffs of Olympus, peer at the sea;	

Then, from the silence, a shrill piercing scream –
     Michael Phelps gives chase to one final dream.


8/10/2016
Submitted for Contest:  Olympic Mania

A Walk To Freedom

A Walk to Freedom

Nelson 'Madiba' Mandela,
Needless I say more.
But 'cos I need scribble 'bout a gross words,
I'll erupt the plain white stadium with my trusted 'vuvuzela'.

What's life without heartbreaks?
What are roses without thorns?
What's a party without cakes?
What're doughnuts without holes?

Closing in on freedom,
Its walk is always punctuated with checkpoints of boredom,
The journey has a 'Merlin-like' setting,
No cars, no tarred roads, just fretting and sweating.

But never be afraid to run out of ideas,
For you'd gain perserverance.
Never be afraid to jump into conclusion,
For only then would you tinker on the solution.

Don't be scared of swimming against the tide,
For through this, Michael Phelps is known worldwide,
Don't be scared of losing track of time,
For Usain Bolt jumped the gun in his first race twice.

When do I sit on the fence?
When do I take the stand?
Questions pouring out your mind's lens,
Which only a freedom's walk will make you understand.

Westboro Baptist Church Member At a Funeral

Westboro Baptist Church Member At A Funeral 

By Elton Camp

A sign he held and tee shirt wore
Same as he went to funerals before

Mourners gathered around the grave
To him, some outraged looks gave

While they were dressed all in black
He had “God Hates You” front & back

The poster he lifted these words did tell
In large, red print it read, “Rot In Hell”

He reacted with the greatest of surprise
At the looks he saw in the mourner’s eyes

“How you folks feel, I really don’t care
To funerals, this is what I always wear.”

One pointed out the name on the headstone
That showed the identify of the one gone

When a gander the man did take
He realized his horrible mistake

Fred Phelps was the dead man’s name
Westboro Church Founder was the claim

He took his sign and slipped away
He’d use it again some other day

But more carefully he’d investigate
Just who it is he intends to berate

Forgotten

Around me are whispers in the wind,
Promises for another time and day;
Sunlight slips around my shoulder,
Warmth, feeling its way.

Will I know the time of wind,
Or let it slip right through my hands?
Promises forgotten, misplaced,
Buried beneath the blowing sands.

©2014, Carla Phelps Wert

The Sports

Basketball is fun.
I can play as a point guard, 
A shooting guard and
Dunk the ball like Kobe Bryant.

Boxing is also my interest.
Although it's a dangerous sport,
I like to see two top fighters
Pacquiao versus Mayweather, Jr.

Although I'd like to try a gulf game,
Playing a ball is too expensive
And only Tiger Wood
Can afford.

Swimming is the best sport.
In just two days,
I lost weight.
Now I'm like Michael Phelps.

All these sports
Maintain my fitness levels.
Without proper training & discipline,
I will lose in a game.

Westboro Baptist Church To Picket At Sandy Hook

Westboro Baptist Church to Picket at Sandy Hook

By Elton Camp

“Westboro will picket Sandy Hook Elementary School to sing praise to God for the glory of his work in executing his judgment,” Shirley Phelps-Roper tweeted on Dec. 15.

Westboro Baptist Church is at it again
Praising their god for punishing sin

“God is love” the Bible does say
But they refuse to have it that way

The god they worship is strange to me
The one from the Bible he cannot be

Bible:  Each one for his own sins will die
To execute the innocent God won’t try

Twenty children a lunatic did kill
Did that crime give God a thrill?

A secular nation gays does tolerate
Does that bring on all God’s hate?

A theocracy the US has never been
It need not try to ban religious sin

I agree gay conduct to God is wrong
To the state its banning doesn’t belong

Yet here they come to picket a school
All will indignantly say, “What a fool”

It's Not Me This Time

It's like I can't do anything right 
Like everything I do deserves a fight
Is it because I am wrong 
Like slow dancing to a really fast song
Or is it because I try to make peace 
But all of our money has just been released 
Living check to check is the best way to struggle 
Since I talk to much I may need a muzzle
But will shutting me up really help?
Like smoking weed did to Michael Phelps
I don't think I'm really the issue 
Just a target to aim your missile
When the smoke clears what is left?
Just a kid who is scared to death 
Maybe I don't think I will die
But to say I'm not tire is just a lie
And I don't want to lie about me 
Stop saying I'm the problem and you will see...
It's not me, this time

Thank God For Dead Reverends

Thank God for Dead Reverends

By Elton Camp

It was when Fred Phelps was lying dead
That the word like this was cruelly said

It was written in bold red on a large sign
And held at his funeral in a picket line

Family looked at the reverend with despair
As he lay so still in his coffin over there

As they mourned, there could be no doubt
From a distance they heard the angry shout

“Others Phelps did judge and condemn
So now we are so happy to be rid of him.”

“He is experiencing the fate of a religious liar
And is now screaming in agony in blazing fire.”

“How could they be so cruel?” his family did say
Forgetting they’d done others the very same way

What will now become of Westboro Baptist Church
Without their leader, they have been left in the lurch

 (No, he isn’t really dead.)

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