Real Not Fiction
A hole is a hole said the Mule
As he stuck his stump up a slapper
This saying was mirrored by another
Who told a story of his friends
And what recently happened
One long term friend has a gal
They’d been together 7 years
And planned to get married
Spending a lifetime together
Already lovers and more
You know how it goes
So to be happy in bliss
But a big problem arose
Another old school pal
Caused a fuss with the gal
Who was a guy before!
So now you’re a gal not a guy
How did that come about?
A trip to Thailand and cash
Lots of cash from her rich family
The school pal seeing the gal
Wasn’t aware of any of this
Just that he was in love
Happy and going to be married
To a gal who was once a guy
He was oblivious to this
Unlike the other ex-pupil
They gave the gal guy it
A week to tell her fiancé
All of the truth of they’d do it
I told the pal who knew them all
Make sure the guy who
Knew them all
Never killed the gal
Who was once a guy
Like the American one
What will happen
Within this week
Happiness or war?
A hole is a hole
Even if no kids
Reality not fiction
The Mule was right
my sunshine duncan
I fill my sunset
My hours
My centuries
Miss the late afternoon!
Vens smiling stars
And bringest moonlights January ...
Contemplate You on this side of late hours
And see you in the mirror of absence.
Beyond the infinity of my soul,
Build the bridge that leads me to you
And grab the hand
That makes me cross oceans of love!
On the edge of my way to thee,
And the pain of cartilage,
Stump up the serenity,
Your horizon we know of
And find cuddles,
Will fill empty
Wings of tenderness
Ingrained in the absence!
this is a piece written by my love ceizar
They used to flock here
Of a Sunday
For worship and prayer
Lost in a world
Of private contemplation
Now they come
For that first Sunday pint
Praying for an end
To splitting headaches
And that endless ennui
The wafer and chalice,
God's own flesh and blood
Have given way
To Bacardi breezers
And two for one burger deals
No need for a collection plate
To pay the poor priest's bills
The greedy owners rub their hands
As cash flows into the tills
A couple of miles away
Young couples arrive
For a peek around
St Michael's showroom flats
The baptismal font
Of property awaits
If they stump up the cash
And take a leap of faith
Mortgage advisers
Wait in the wings
With chequebooks open
Ready to earn their corn
For this is modern Britain
Born of Thatcher's greed
And moneylenders in the temple
No longer brings scorn
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.