Short Pompously Poems

Persnickety Phoebe parades pompously
Privately, we make fun where she can’t see
We are kind of mean
Think we are unseen
But Karma comes back indubitably...

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Precariously personable 
Privately peeved
Parading pompously
Pronouncing pretty paragraphs
Possibly pretending pompousness
Poetic permanence 
Powerfully 
Performed...

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Love lusts longingly
Hate hurts heartily
Marriage mars mercilessly
Wife whines woefully
Husband hustles habitually
Sex sells shamelessly
Politician preys persistently
Priest panders pompously
Cash corrupts completely
War wrecks wantonly....

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Does this outfit make me look fat? The crocodile asked the saleslady.
A bull-speaker, gusher and a compliment-er was, this lying gal, Sady.
You look marvelous, she said, I love the polka dots, stripes and plaid.
The crocodile strutted around the three-way mirror, pompously glad....

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I have written my fair share of erotic poetry,
but I would never post it here because of my use of profanity,
and I can safely speculate that readers here would view it as pornography,
but I will tell you this, perhaps somewhat pompously,
that I could give 50 Shades of Grey a run for its money....

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Listen to poem:

a most wretched woman
once befriended me
i quietly held my own
cautiously on my guard
one day pompously
she proclaimed
she was culling
her many 
so called friends
sadly
i never got
to thank her



AP: 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on December 12, 2019 for contest STRAND SPECIAL 2 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

posted on March 3, 2019...

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Love lusts longingly
Hate hurts heartily
Marriage mars mercilessly
Wife whines woefully
Husband hustles habitually
Sex sells shamelessly
Politician preys persistently
Priest panders pompously
Religion ravages rationally
Cash corrupts completely
War wrecks wantonly,
Peace pacifies profusely.



~11/02/22
Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere Choice....

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The system aborts.
(Multiple organs failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.

I wish, I was on a -
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.

The shrill voice of a whistle-
blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips. 

It was here, in absence.
Your  poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing.


Satish Verma...

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