I found 'em on the floor one night:
discarded socks no longer white
(the guy had diarrhoea, that's clear -
no paper left to wipe his rear -
and took the socks right off his feet...)
I guess he'd used the final sheet
of paper on the roll. He whined,
I bet! Then left his socks behind!
There once were two lovers from Spain
Caught getting frisky on a train.
Sweaty and coiled,
Their passions embroiled,
While the conductor charged onlookers to remain.
Out in the street a couple in embrace
made a lurid scene in the marketplace.
The shoppers gathered to shout
“your love we don’t ever doubt,
but get a room to shun public disgrace”.
Sometimes we take a turn with others in the dance club.
It’s fun and friendly but when it’s over - you know it.
He stepped on my foot
and I winced in pain
he’d stepped on my foot
and then he did it again
That's the danger in dancing
a slow dance - being too snug
his hands on your back
and you're pinned like a bug
I should wear combat boots
when cutting a rug
with guys I'm not sure of
I’d finally had enough
The last guy ended our dance
by adding a hug - I don’t know,
a bit extra, but I went with the flow
Why am I sweating in strange men’s arms?
Then again, what exactly is the harm?
The social oddity of public touching,
of course, is that if we weren’t dancing,
would I even stand close to them?
p.s.
If you’re looking for a Summer, French-café coded, it-girl drink to put out your fire of thirst, try a ‘Diabolo menthe,” it’s made of lemon soda plus mint syrup and obviously non-alcoholic. Pair it with a vanilla Madeleine, a petite, shell shaped pastry with a lot of charm. YUM
.
.
A song for this:
I'll Call You Mine by girl in red
August by No Vacation
A smitten young couple
named Blum,
Were kissing and causing a
hum.
When folks yelled with glee,
"Go find privacy!"
And shouted, "Go out and
get room!"
Politeness, Manners, Civility
Empathy, Decency, Dignity
have all given way
to oinks, squeals and brays
Vulgarity carries the day
Why are so many Scientists—
Falling—without a Sound—
As if the Mind—once kindled—
Were Treason—when unbound—
They walked among Equations—
Like Gardeners of the Truth—
Yet Something in the Silence—
Has marked their Passage—through—
No Thunder—announces Ruin—
No Banner—bears the Blame—
But Ash collects on Notebooks—
And Dust forgets each Name—
Perhaps—’tis not their Bodies—
But what they dared to See—
A Lantern—held to Darkness—
Invites—Hostility—
Or Knowledge—like a Fever—
Unsettles those at Ease—
And so the Cure—is Quiet—
Administered—by Degrees—
Yet still—amid the Vanishing—
A stubborn Spark remains—
For Thought—cannot be buried—
It blossoms—in their Brain’s —
Break-Up
She let me down,
Basically, kicked me “OUT!” of town...
Turned things around,
Turned my smile N 2 a frown...
I all MOST drowned,
Was a patient in a gown,
Snapped @ the very sound,
Of my cage like a dawg at the lb.
Trapped in a rage,
Nothing on that which I could count,
Still, I am feeling kind of down,
I want to leave this town,
NOW!!!
Hungry for change...
Like a bloodhound,
Feeling deranged all the same,
For crying out loud...
HILLARY AND BILL
TO TESTIFY ON THE HILL
IN PUBLIC THEY WILL
My rock group was getting stale
We no longer drew the fans
So I told my sad tale
To a public relations man
He gave me this advice:
"There's only one way to the light
Avoid the image of 'nice."
Let your inner demon take flight.
So we drove my car off a cliff in Malibu
Jumped out first, watched it dive
Made sure a camera man knew
Struck a pose with a high five.
I attended a posh party at night
Slapped my wife, who played the part
sniffed white powder, picked a fight
They rolled me out in a hospital cart.
I set fire to my guitar on stage
Firemen had been called, just in case
They sprayed me with a hose, I feigned rage
Yelled obscenities, got in their face.
But the fans would not return
Now I was without a car and a guitar
Plus dentist bills, no money to burn
Sold the mansion, no more a star.
I went back to my hometown
Helped an old lady walk where the street was wide
Cameras flashed, reporters took it down
that "Bad boy Jennings" had a good side!
Now the fans fill up my halls
It came as a total surprise
Now I've learned when the limelight calls
To be myself, no need for disguise.
JACK SMITH IN PUBLIC
TESTIMONY MAKES TRUMP SICK
HITS TRUMP LIKE A BRICK
JACK SMITH IN PUBLIC
TESTIMONY MAKES TRUMP SICK
HITS TRUMP LIKE A BRICK
1932 till 1972...Public Health Services put
Black males in a study, that much is true.'
Imperitive was that the course be run up
To death, then autopsy no true medical help to be given under tavel of moon or sun
The incentive for participents.? Free hospital cover, and funerals paid.' In Tuskagee Alabama, was the place it was out-played.' Fast forward to 2020 what real
Difference in advice and care did we observe? After ninety eight years..I"m asking.! What about you.?
The New York Public Library’s
A lovely place to visit.
The main branch Beaux-Arts building
Is a landmark most exquisite.
In addition to its majesty,
Exhibits are displayed,
Which New Yorkers rarely think about
When plans are being made.
I don’t know why, for there are treasures
Waiting to be viewed.
In one case, there was Pooh Bear,
Where most children’s eyes were glued.
Charles Dickens’ writing table
And his calendar and chair,
Plus a baseball signed by Brooklyn Dodgers
All are set up there.
A special exhibition
Was the draw that lured us in,
Celebrating the New Yorker
And its hundred year-old spin.
And one final must-go reason –
There’s a gift shop worth a look.
You can spend the day enjoying all
And never touch a book.
Having no interest in politics,
Like a fly on the wall sitting idle
watching only flaws but taking no risks
to rectify or solve dirty riddle.
Me a observer of hypocrisy
of the wicked political leaders
engaged in insulting democracy.
Being patient, I endure all disorders.
While running unhealthy administration
Public to stay silent in corruption.
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.