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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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