Pleased as punch this mother quite proud
Flips up her tail and neighing so loud
Her gait so lively, her head held high
A bright young mama, once a gleam in her eye
Unbridled spirit, feeling so grand
The spitting image of his dear old man
Romping through fields, free of reins
Thundering hoofs, flying mane
A frisky young colt like dad in his day
Who was quite a stud they were heard to say
Then back to the barn when day is done
This spirited young colt was born to run
Resting for a while batteries recharged
Chomping at the bit, a spirit so large
Such unbridled youth, exuberance defined
This pesky young colt, it's his time to shine
This is a question or a request??
To those who run poetrysoup
As 1 of your features
Could you please list add or include??
The member's who have??
Listed Poet's poems who are there favorite??
Because i would really love to know
And thank them for adding me
To their favorite lists
If they we're kind enough to take the time to place my poem's amongst
said favorites
Then surely they are at least deserving
of a kind regards yours sincerely
I am not worthy
But thank you cheers i am pleased as punch and would like nothing more than to buy you lunch with all the trimmings
For you are my favorite desert
Some moments in life we just
cannot recall,
Like rapid moving waters one sees
in a waterfall.
But meeting Andy, I will
cherish and remember.
His eyes, his smile, far more
than warm and tender.
I can't think of another soul,
so glowing, bright and beautiful.
Oh, how I want so to make a
picture,
Of this singer gone much too
soon!
His demeanor, so gloriously
blissful.
I was blessed enough to touch
his hand, and that
smile indeed, so loving.
I had no intention of giving
him a gift.
But I felt in that time-moment,
I was en route to heaven on
a starry chariot!
With no reason or rhyme,
my visor with sparkling,
Multi colored lights~ I
suddenly gave to Andy!
He was as pleased as punch.
Just before getting into his limo
for lunch,
He turned, smiled and spoke:
"Thank you Mate!.
On the Southern California beaches,
this sure will come in handy".
Today is Andy Gibb's birthday,
Bet you anything he's singing
away with a sparkling visor, on God's
holy moon.
By angels, serving him a large,
sumptuous buffet.
With his brothers, very close beside him.
Humming a tune.
In memory of Andy Gibb
With love from~
Panagiota
3/5/2019
Although I write a poem a day,
Most people do not read it.
It's fine with me; my ego
Needs no compliments to feed it.
Yet sometimes an acknowledgement
Can lift my spirits high
And yesterday I got one
From my favorite little guy.
From out of nowhere, Henry asked,
With interest you can't fake,
"Nana, what's your poem about?"
Such joy I can't forsake.
For knowing that a 5 year old,
As dear to me as air,
Is curious about my life -
Well, nothing can compare.
Though children are surprising
And those close to us excel,
I'm still pleased as punch with Henry -
Or perhaps you couldn't tell!
English is a strange language, a strange language is she
English is a strange tongue, a strange tongue is she
If you are tickled pink, did something tickle your fancy?
And if your fancy's been tickled, is it necessarily pink?
English is a strange language, a strange language is she
If you are as proud as punch, are you as pleased as punch?
If you are pleased as punch, are you as proud as punch?
English is a strange tongue, a strange tongue is she
Is a stick-in-the-mud actually stuck in the mud?
Does a jolly good fellow always have a jolly good time?
English is a strange language, a strange language is she
Is a ratfink any different from a dirty rat?
Is a wimp always a wuss? A wuss always a wimp?
~ And where does that leave a snowflake?
English is a strange tongue, a strange tongue is she
A complex amalgam of German, Latin, French and others
~ A mutt of a tongue that has her druthers
Autumn is leaving, amid hues of red and gold
A final splash of colour before winter's bite takes hold.
The land once verdant, lies desolate and bare
As the cutting cold of winter brings a sharpness to the air.
But as winter takes its grip, and temperatures drop low
Expectantly I wait, looking forward to the snow.
It takes me to my childhood days, of snowball fights at school
Of tongues stuck to frozen railings, by unsuspecting fools.
Neighbours all made snowmen, trying to build the best
And being pleased as punch if ours beat the rest.
Our fingers numb and tingling, our toes were frozen stiff
But we were having so much fun, we thought the snow was bliss.
Innocent days of childhood, it seems so long ago.
But fond memories come flooding back, as I wait upon the snow.
when you aspire to greater heights, praise follows naturally
changes your life in many ways sometimes it takes control
be careful don't let your head rule your heart, listen to your soul
people pleased as punch to praise , partner's pleasure perceived
I gave her a punch on her nose
She gave me a punch on my bum
We were pleased as Punch
Amantium irae amoris integratio est
Not everyone’s prolific;
Being so might be a curse.
To some, it’s quite terrific
But to others, the reverse.
For those who mass produce their wares
Perhaps are just obsessed;
And holding back a bit impairs
Their mojo, so they’re stressed.
A poet or a painter
Churning endless words or scenes
May find talent growing fainter,
‘Til incentive intervenes.
But the converse may transpire,
For the adage clearly states
Practice often takes us higher
Than a blue moon generates.
So to those who are prolific
(I’m included in that bunch),
I conclude (not scientific)
We should all be pleased as punch!
Pleased as punch
This mother quite proud
Flips up her tail
Neighing out loud
Her gait so lively
Her head held high
This bright young fella
Once a gleam in her eye
Unbridled spirit
Feeling so grand
The spitting image
Of his dear old man
Romping through fields
Free of reins
Thundering hoofs
Flying mane
A frisky young colt
Like dad in his day
Who was quite a stud
They were heard to say
Then back to the barn
When day is done
This spirited young colt
Was born to run
Resting for a while
Batteries recharged
Chomping at the bit
A spirit so large
Such unbridled youth
Exuberance defined
This pesky young colt
It's his moment to shine
©Jack Ellison 2012
A granite bust statuette of Nefertiti
Bought at Abu Simbel on our Egyptian cruise
Serves us as a solid paperweight
On windy mornings reading the 'Weekly News'.
A cigar on the terrace is my only indulgence
Just one for the whole day not long after lunch
Before we set forth on our post-prandial stroll
Round the urbanisation; we're pleased as punch.
We may encounter an acquaintance or two
For a chin-wag, who'd fill us in on the local news
Some could be true, but mostly hot gossip
Flammable, but no way we'd blow our fuse.
A poem gets written here right on this page
Without the least effort, (how stupendous!);
Who says English is not my first language?
I share this with you, and it's tremendous!
She no longer rules the waves,
no longer is heard the chink of ice
in gin glass beneath darkening Indian skies;
what jewels glisten in the corroding crown,
how happy now this happy breed who bows
collective heads and cries?
History’s pain trawled across the planet face,
when slaughter ruled and oppression demarcated
the only foreign policy;
exploitation and enslavement of the weak,
colonialism and the salvage rights
the tools of peace and democracy.
Empires of muscle, iron and discipline,
forged on the blood, bone and murder of millions,
so proud, so pleased as punch;
a bullish bite spreading wildfire rabies,
mad dogs and Englishmen
permanently out to lunch.
Empires of dreams, of glittering prizes,
home of the brave where freedom’s flame
burned naked and bright;
a cultural plague preaching death, destruction,
fed on subservient carcasses
in sinister shadows of night.
And now in dying feel-good days,
clinging to glorious dreams of the past,
of powder, bayonet, cannon and gun;
achievements in the global butcher’s yard
may be all that remains in bearing witness
to the setting of the sun...
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