Put Paid Poems | Examples


Premium Member Broken

The reminder, the shattering of my drinking
 glass
This put paid to my sleep as a
 gloss
It was only the relationship that was
 broken
Though my heart had me earlier
 fortoken
I have since gathered myself to avert more
 loss

Premium Member Heart Broken

The reminder, waking me from 
my reverie, the shattering of the
 cup of glass
This put paid to my revered sleep
 as a gloss
It was only the relationship that
  was broken
Even though my heart ?? had
  me earlier for token
I have since gathered my self to 
 avert more loss.

Written May 2024

Premium Member Uplifting

"My words may be fact or fiction, only the reader can decide!"
Quote by Poet


Uplifting

Unless you have been very well blessed 
Perfect pert breasts often sag over time
Let me be totally honest with you all
I once had magnificent mammaries ... but
Feeding my son for a year put paid to that
They now hang down like spaniel’s ears!
It's vital ladies purchase a well fitting brassiere
No one wants to see boobs flop like cows udders
Gravity isn’t always kind to us gals!


Premium Member Evergreen

My leaves never droop and my flowers stand high
I bloom through the year as the seasons pass by
I witness the daffodils stand proud and tall
I see warmer weather put paid to them all

The alliums follow, the marigolds too
Then plants that will flower the whole summer through
Impressive by some standards, you might agree 
But none of these plants hold a candle to me

The roses come close as they bloom into fall
And still here I stand as I scrutinise all
I watch as the wind brings down apples and pears
I won’t drop my leaves but I see them drop theirs 

For I was put here by a man with a spade
Because it gets hot and there isn’t much shade
And all year I brighten this spot where I’m placed
I’m plastic - and there’s no accounting for taste

Premium Member B R O K E N

The splintering sound, the shattering
      of my drinking glass
     This put paid to my sleeping beauty as
      gloss
      But it was only my relationship that was 
      poorly broken
      Even though my heart had me earlier 
      fortoken
      But I have since gathered myself to avert
      more loss

Premium Member It Was a Good Morning Until

It was a good morning until I got your letter
You admitted you didn't love me any more
My desire for revenge I would unfetter
When I returned the key to your door

You weren't at home as I’d arrived early
So I put itching powder in your underpants
I’d love to see that when you’re with Shirley
Perhaps it would put paid to your new romance

Before I collected my belongings I left you a gift
I’d sewn a dead mouse into the hem of your curtain
The smell of its rotting body would be hard to shift
Bedroom action would be curtailed that’s for certain!

It Was a Good Morning Until.. Poetry Contest

Sponsored by Tania Kitchin

02/13/21


The Last Cowboy

A nightmare
 after something I'd had, 
a cowboy film,
 the late-night news
 and Cervantes at bedtime.

On a spavined jade
the last of all the cowboys
with lean shanks
astride gaunt flanks
rides down
to Death Valley.

The last of all the cowboys
has soon put paid
to enemy tanks
along Stygian banks
way down
Death Valley.

Ever onward they wade.
to the cowboy's last tune,
some joining the ranks,
some jumping off planks
Close-down, lockdown
at the last  rally
in Death Valley.

I hope all this
 was just a nightmare.
Thinking  otherwise
I do not dare.

Your Days of Chasing Villains Are Over Chief

A Doctor’s surgery in North Adelaide
For an examination for me to make the grade
Perusing my X-rays and medical reports
Sitting with the doctor with his ruling retort

He takes his glasses off and looks at me
So serious this will not be good to see
Your days of chasing villains are over chief
And so his diagnosis has changed my brief

Assaults in the job has put paid
To any operational work or escapades
A neck fusion resulting from a parole
This last years of policing no longer to be.

© Paul Warren Poetry

My Octohat

I was wrestling with an octopus

His arms were everywhere,

I didn't know which one to grab

And boy I needed air.

So I tied them all in knots

That put paid to that,

Then I took him home, dried him out

And wore him as a hat.







Entry for Write a funny Poem for a 7 year old
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw
31/1/18. Placed 2nd.

Our Digger

It was a bright cold sunny morning
The mist lifted without warning
As we walked through the cemetery gate
It had been nearly a hundred years wait

Outside of the Ieper Menin Gate
We had come to honour you, mate
About a kilometre down the Menin road
You marched this way with your pack and rifle load

But counter battery fire had put paid to you
When you died with your mates too
And you lay so long asleep
With now a promise we did finally keep

To visit you from Australia the Great Southern land
Keeping a family promise made long ago without demand
Honouring a fallen Digger lying far from his home
In Belgium's sacred soil 
"Good on you, cobber" you've finished your earthly toils.

Beachcasting

The swing of the rod
100 yds plus cast, good stuff
get's you just beyond the breakers
to where the inshore fish feed.

Turn of the tide
and incoming too
where you started at low tide
usually ends-up, as the tide rises
where you catch the fish
spilled bait in the sand , a magnet.

Hooking a big flatfish
is like winding-in
a carrier bag full of water
ponderous and heavy
but worth the effort.

So much more to it
best fishing at night
them being nocturnal
alone with your thoughts
very relaxing.

Can't now of course
arthritis put paid to that
but the memories are happy one's
of nights on the beaches
of North-East England.


Elizabeth alexander                        20/1/2016
 UNSUPPORTED CODE

Bad News.

One day in May my life became
a city of veils,
closed off and unseen like
a year of fog.
I was in denial.

Could i restore my belief in my
lifes short career?
Learn to take away this howl
of bitter rage at my
healths inadequacies.
To maybe fufil a full life cycle of dependency.
I could only hope and pray.

My bloodline inheritance leaves
me with a furious love
building on a nightmare of weeks.
Fifty to save it
two to organise it"s end
a flickering flame that 
will finally snuff out
and put paid to all my ambitions,
my fatal end.

If only i could move out
of my mind.
Find a hung jury
that still has a return policy
on defective breasts.
Time given out for
good bevaviour,
to go on fostering
my independent spirit.

My thoughts inside implode..
though my standard eyes still gush.
A blessed release.

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