I want Dr. Pepper
a bottle won’t do
not a sprite or mountain dew
just Dr. Pepper my love
Dr. Pepper simply comes above
whatever shall I do
without my Dr. Pepper
the most beautiful of all drinks
not having Dr. Pepper stinks
my love for it will not pass
those other drinks can kiss my ass
only the dr of pepper will stay true to my heart
so good I could fill a whole shopping cart
if I had Dr. Pepper my day would be great
if Dr. Pepper was I man I’d turn straight
my love for Dr. Pepper is insurmountable
Dr. Pepper is unforgettable
Dr. Pepper makes the world a better place
and every night before dinner I’ll say my grace
and thank the Lord for Dr. Pepper
God made man perfect
And planted
Two bean-like objects
Inside his abdomen
And warned mankind
Not to eat the forbidden fruits
But mankind failed to listen
And took
too much Salt
And took
Too much Soda
And took
Too much proteins
And took
Too much carbohydrates
And took
Too much fatty foods
And took
Far too much spirits
That landed mankind
With Renal failures
The poem sits coyly at the counter of the Soda Shoppe,
waiting to be discovered, slowly sipping an egg cream.
Making it last all day, the creamy lukewarm liquid
drips down its poetically pointed chin,
a sticky puddle forming at its iambic feet.
The Soda Shoppe’s bell tinkles;
a thirsty reader breathlessly arrives.
Taking a stool next to the poem, she reaches over and lifts the creation to her lips.
Tasting its invigorating words, she sucks down its essence of life, grins and leaves.
Reveling in being discovered,
the poem sits coyly at the counter of the Soda Shoppe.
The Soda Shoppe’s bell tinkles.
In the throes of a moon-in-June love quarrel, a young couple enters.
Sitting on the other side of the poem, they decry the sticky mess on the floor.
Dripping with the dregs of saccharine philosophy, the poem chuckles,
“It’s so sad when uncultured people don’t realize what delights are just within reach.”
The pols say: ‘A soda tax is OK.’
Cynical voters nix them anyway ~
For they rightly suspect
Pols just want to collect ~
Behind it all, a revenue grab preys
____________________________________
Between 2012 and 2019 'sugary drink' taxes
of 1 -2 cents an ounce on Coca Cola and such
were nixed or repealed by the electorate in
NYC, Philadelphia, and Chicago.
Not too fat is Young Fair Rhoda
But she is fighting it with soda:
Rhoda not with the screaming width
Of Next - Door Neighbor Miss Judith
Now it's " Don't ever try Apple,
Let alone twice eat pineapple..."
Something that Seller Margaret
Had begun to nicely regret
And round pace like Cattle Egret
To Rhoda "No more Good Morning!"
Over someone else keep fawning...
"Dark Rhoda wants to be pageant
But no purse for bleaching Reagent"
A can
What is it good for?
Holding the soda?
That's what you want it to do
But what if it has a hole
A hole that sucks it dry
Leaving it hollow.
You could patch the hole
But it will be destroyed
Just like any other before.
Found on a store
Like any other
Sold to anyone
But it comes with a surprise
No soda
An empty can of soda
how could that be
Isn’t it a can of soda?
How could you expect that
It strays from normal.
Why does everyone love soda?
Is it because the can is pretty?
What does the can do?
Does it have a purpose,
Other than holding soda?
Everyone expects the soda there
But what if it’s not
Will the can be thrown out?
It never had soda
But you only know it now
Does it have no value?
Folk look up to Heaven and pray
For good health when they're old and grey
And an hint will drop,
"Don't drink soda pop
It will just rot your flesh away!"
Hummingbird, daintily
darting so merrily, looking for soda pop,
without the
slightest of care!
To the next shop, sugary stop
down there!
That one?
Daringly drop!
Fun!
Hummingbird, daintily
to the next shop! Sugary stop
fun!
—————
Tenth Place Winner
For the “Let’s Minichu on fun” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mohan Chutani
Written on: 03/09/2022
These words I write may not be worth much to you
perhaps a glass of prosecco or cheap chardonnay
bottom shelf bourbon and soda, tonic and Tanqueray
You have no concept of what they cost me
the price that I must pay
words bubble up stirred
ready to explode to shoot
but fizzle in the throat
When I was just a kid,
Liked my sodas liquid;
Was hard to explain
Why they went down drain
God them He did forbid.
Riding the rhythms of rolling wheels
Driving rusty rock desert miles
Purring pistons pumping power
To my mottled muddy jade jeep
A symphony sprung in my head
Dawning with dainty din of drums
Paving a path for piccolos
And rich rumblings of black bassoons.
Strings sent soaring counterpoint smoke
Playing with a glory sublime
In flawless metronomic time
Mozart tears of joy would have shed.
Music was a top choice grand cru
But when I had to stop for gas
And gulp soothing bubbly soda
My sweet symphony flew away.
Fermented fine without any skills
My heady brew I can't renew.
Time and tides flowing through my tan, bare toes.
Twas a time of sweet peace, flowering boughs.
Spices of love, filled scarlet sunset nights.
Limitless dreams waltzed in our heads with might.
Sundays, love for God, from our fingers glowed.
Snow or heat, we were in Church, faith flowed.
Soft, Latin words, songs in Gregorian.
Time travel, in utter peace, to live in.
Under domed ceilings of bright white and gold.
The incense, the songs, which never grow old!
4/11/2021
~1~
Strolling today a gorgeous rainbow
Dazed me, raised eyes only to see
God's gentle prism of raindrops
Touching my own body
Cascades of softness
All around me
I was blessed
By God's
Rain
April 3, 2020
12:30am PST
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