The Sappy Soupy Tale of a Poetaster
Who you calling a soupy sap? Soupy.
I like slurping soup when it turns into sloup
‘Cause I been staying up way too long
Sippin’ soup into the wee hours of night,
Sometines, I even make it to the Morning light
My head’s full of mystery and wonder
As I lap up your lyrics and huff up your haikus
I stir up the pot with a few of mine own
I’m such a soupy sap, I am
I just love getting soupy with strangers as friends
Never knowing who I just might find
Perhaps, another like mind, or not
I just like it, love it, when you’re soupy and hot
Filling my head with dreams, wit and pondering plots
Let the note that you once wrote
Catch a glimmer of fame
And add it to the soup
Let it dissolve my brain
And evolve my frame of mind
Through time
And it gives me hope
It just may be the extra added flavor -
We’ve all been waiting for. . .
So, I say it again, who you callin’ soupy? Soupy.
I like it when you’re soupy, my friend
I ‘ll like you soupy to the end
Keep it tame but take no prisoners
Nobody wants sloppy seconds
Certainly, nothing artificial
So always keep it real, from the heart
At the very least, from the Art.
Come, be a part of my world
As I enter yours.
So, go ahead. . .
Get soupy, sloppy soupy
Blazed, glazed and gone sloupy
I tale you, there's really something soupy going on here
Oh my, lots of sloupiness
Oh my goodness, too much soupiness!
As if that was even possible.
This is just how I get when I taste your poems on poetrysoup.
Copyright ©
Benjamin Bartley
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