It's An Actual Squirrel,
And It's Living Intensely,
More Than You Think
You Know About Your
Self.
It Knows You're Gonna
Flip Out For Any
Threatened
Obligation,
That's What You Do
To Survive With
YourSelves.
And It'll Kill
Anything In Sight
For A Mere Provocation...
Don't Believe The Stories...
ABSORB THEM!!!!
And Your OffSpring
Too.
Little Infant, Watches
Every Move!
Old Age Brings Maybe
Two Decembers...
If You Believe
The Stories.
Intensity And Intention
"Ready The Flight."
-Gray Squirrel
07-25-2026
___________________________
Profanity in politics is on the rise what with Trump’s foul mouth: ‘open the fu*kin’ Strait’; ‘I’m screaming my as* off’; ‘Shi*hole countries’; ‘Full of sh*t’, and many more. So, it is apt that he gets as much as he gives for his obscenities and hair-brain political hocus-pocus. Washington Post finds: 93% of Trump speeches in his second term contained at least one vulgar word (from 40% in his first term). Yea, he deserves this nomenclature Tuck Frump, an apt spoonerism.
____________________
TUCK FRUMP emblazoned on T-shirts,
I hail US youth and its guts
For this Spoonerism,
Love of free speech, freedom,
Which, in my land for its lack hurts.
Gutsy free speech is fine
Save when crosses the line—
What this loud, foul mouth often blurts.
______________________________
Happenings | 27.05.2026 | American, freedom, speech, spoonerism, Limerick
.
dude
pass thuh
me
whiskey
v
v
v
*Rekhta dictionary:
Phuk; thuh sudden sound uv a flash or spark
*y'all know'd sumthem punch'iz girlz, gots that
tangy 'spark'...oooch, my lips are purse'n yost
think'n 'bout it ")>
With nothing but a jawbone, I
unhinge the night, let silence die—
book of broken psalms, toothless songs
of what was right, of what went wrong
beneath the hush of watchful sky.
No prize, no game, no lullaby—
just marrow's oath and blood gone dry.
I didn’t mean to last this long
with nothing but a jawbone.
Still, blood remembers how to lie,
to shape a myth, to justify,
to kill wordsmiths who don’t belong—
the kind who bite and call it strong.
What legend lives, and who will try
with nothing but a jawbone?
.
i felt hern pretty
hips
lips
twist
i felt hern pretty
melt
shiver
i felt hern pretty
warm
az slid 'part
ourn flesh
did
i felt hern breathe
az
pretty she
sleep'd
_______________
Zaahid sharaab peene de masjid mei baith kar,
Yaa vo jagah bataade jahaañ par khudaa na ho.
Priest, let me sit in a mosque with my pint,
Or show me a place without His footprint.
- Ghalib (1797-1869)
_____________________________
If you think you’re discreet on drink,
O my foolish mind, think
And show me just a single thing
Not intoxicating.
Everything has bagful of life,
Packing punch sharp as knife.
So should ye wish to celebrate
The festival of existence,
Each place fit for party,
As festive is every instance.
__________________
Reflections |26.12.2024|life, God, drink
Peppy steaming cider
Prepare with Brach’s red hots
Potent with cinnamon
Pleasing with warm pretzels
Popular with popcorn
Premier holiday treat
Pass me a big mugful!
And leaving all else, they debate on lunch.
To one, lunch time was waste, hence, break-less munch.
The other felt, lunch-less
Would no new glory bless
To UK, nor hoary
Return to old glory,
Lunch is a place mid-stream--
Island to which all swim,
If cooler breaks are fine,
Need for lunch-break’s genuine,
For, from stomachs come working peoples’ punch.
____________________________
Happenings |20.12.2024|humour, food
Poet’s note: The prime minister and the leader of opposition are usually at logger heads, and British parliament is no exception. A few days back they exchanged their verbal punches on lunch and need to break for it. No doubt, no lunch is free--at home nor work nor anywhere, still…. This ditty is in full favour of lunchbreaks that refuel and decompress.
Cupid went on a tear
that day he hit the punch.
His shots went here and there.
He sure was out to lunch.
That day he hit the punch
and ventured to the zoo
to where his arrows flew.
His shots went here and there
and hit a hare and sloth
thus twitterpating both.
He sure was out to lunch,
and I would like to know
which cubs are fast or slow.
He should never have stepped in the ring
Because he had no talent to bring
Even though he battled
His brain just got rattled
And now he can't remember a thing
Barn house full of goods,
Fool rich man brags for himself,
Dead one day relief.
*smack* *punch* *kick*
Behind closed doors is what you miss
On the outside, it all seems fine
On the inside, it all declines
But hide or else
You might hear yells
*smack* *punch* *kick
no need for brass knuckles for a knockout punch ~ just a pair of brass balls
Death is at my bedroom door
It doesn’t have to knock
doesn’t have to show its face,
I can feel its presence...
Should I open and embrace eternity,
Or for a few more breaths suffer mortality?
~Contest: Bitesize #55
~Sponsor: Line Gauthier.
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.