I looked out the window, and I saw a cloud,
as I sat at my desk, and wondered aloud,
"What will I do for this fellow named Bartley?"
My brain is all used up - well, at least partly.
My thinker was once quite good at thinking,
but lately, I notice, it's started to stinking.
I got so nervous, I started to bite
all of my fingernails, both left and right.
I bit them all down to small tiny nubs.
Now how can I write with ten little stubs?
Next, I decided to pull out all my hair,
but on top of my head, I found nothing there.
In order to write, I got an strange inkling,
I needed an electrocardial zinkling,
but zinklings, I found, cost quite a lot,
twenty five cents more than my pockets have got.
I'm sorry my thinker thunked out. I sure am.
It has all the sense of green potatoes and ham.
If only I could have written more smartly.
Well, here is my poem, Benjamin Bartley.
It's the holidays in Tinseltown
Let's have no one wear a frown
Children are worried about to have a nervous breakdown
We've searched the land both up and down
And cannot find if Santa's been around
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Hanging last of candy canes.
The tree is looking better than ever.
Christmas carols and hot coco.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Ain't nobody gonna do-it like me
take some thymne out then
You'll see
Played rusty in all yo ' toils
and banks
Ain't no congratulations
And ain't no thanks
Uncomfertible doing the things
You want
Teasing the public
Toils and points
Representing the dog in me
Barkin thyme for the world
To see
Get me right
Just don't catch me wrong
Ya'll know the words
To this ole song
This ain't what you
Thought it would be
Come on smoothie come
Be with me
Darling I
Getting tired of crying
It's plain to see
I love you
and you love me
Getting tired of lying
You know you can
You're my woman
and I'm your man
Get it the first time
Cause that's all you
Have
Said it ain't working
When you should've
Said yes we can
Tired of lying
Is there someone
Else
Said it's me and
You
But it's like
I am all by myself
Then there's your
Repetition
I don't know what
You want me to be
Tired of trying
Is it
You or me
Gone then with others
I know there's
Someone else
Said we're through
It ain't true
When there's
Someone else
Tired of waiting
What you gonna do
Consult with others
Suppose to be me and you
Take your leave of me
Go on and leave
Ain't tryna game you
Ain't no tricks up my sleeve
EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE, ‘TIS PUMPKIN SPICE!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The leaves haven't even thought about turning,
still stubbornly clinging to summer's green,
but the grocery store screams orange.
You see them, the usual suspects, transformed.
Twinkies, once golden vanilla sponge cakes,
now a suspiciously orange hue,
promising pumpkin spice bliss.
Hostess Cupcakes, frosted swirls of autumnal delight,
their chocolate depths now haunted
by the ghost of gourd.
Oreos, America's favorite cookie,
now betraying their chocolate heart
for a limited-edition fling
with their pumpkin spice centers.
And M&Ms, ah those little,
candy-coated spheres of madness,
each one a tiny, orange lie,
whispering of harvest festivals
and sweater weather.
‘Tis a pumpkin spice apocalypse,
a sugary sweet, nutmeg and cinnamon invasion.
I laugh, a little crazed, a little delighted.
Bring it on, I say,
to the Twinkies, the Hostess cupcakes,
the Oreos, the M&Ms,
let pumpkin spice reign supreme!
Yes, let's be honest,
it's ridiculous, but
I'm totally here for it.
Now, where’s the pumpkin spice Pepto Bismol?!
Tho' not with a dagger in the library
nor candlestick in the conservatory
someone done the dirty deed
and yet of bodies none were found
perhaps the evidence had been concealed
interred deep down underground
so no one's doing time
it was eventually revealed
for the heinous crime
of thuggery and skullduggery
terrible as it may be
where the skeletons are buried
only the gravedigger knows
and after all allegedly it was purportedly
merely a murder of crows
tis what happens when ya’ be kissin’ the Blarney Stone
although I never did~ they don’t wipe between kissers
and my wonderful wife said I didn’t need to~ my gift of gab comes naturally
Inspiring ways
It was a Poet who wrote
People thought the Poet was making a Joke
Proven fact, words became illustrate
A Journey in determination of partake
Poetry is more than just words
They are full of emotions like a smooth moving wave
Straight into the reading and hearing atmosphere
Guided by a Poet’s mind
Words that follow align
Poets keep it real being genuine
Simple and diverse
There is no rehearse
It is verse by verse
Words come like a dramatic script
Tis a Poet says, “Compose after compose with the moment from the start, Poets are committed and don’t depart from a mission of write”.
'Tis not of feline lives we'll speak today,
Nor lords of meth-wrought realms bid hold us sway
Regrets we'll face, yet love shall not decay,
For life's true joys will guide us on our way
Not false deceits that liberty would bring,
But honest toil, our grateful hearts to sing
Though death may loom, our spirits e'er take wing,
As hope and faith their steady light will fling
The path is clear; if we but have the will
To cast aside the lures that would distill
Our moral strength: With courage, we fulfill
The promise that our better selves instill
Though shadows threaten, still our radiance glow,
Dispel the night, let humanities brilliant beams hours flow
For poems are not but words we thrown together
Tormented thoughts confined to metaphor
Nor picket fence alliteration
Dancing on the edge of passing thought
Beware, the creaking gate that bids you enter
Pay heed to silent stones soft whisperings
Tarry not amid their contradictions
Soft shadows shifting with each passing whim
Perchance a finely woven tapestry
A woven history of living’s lies
Unable to contain the truth or sorrow
Broken threaded dreams on full display
For be they scorching flame or fading ember
Tis not just words that make them poetry
‘Tis better to do
Than to wait and decide
Or else opportunities
Might be denied.
To hem and to haw
And remain on the brink
Gives the pool of cool choices
The option to shrink.
So get off your tush
Quick as age will allow.
The future that’s waiting
Depends on the now.
Steaming, a cup in hand
Piping hot liquid, deliciousness
Found on the heavy blend,
Sunlight reflections on the glass,
Window pane glistening,
With its gentle brilliance.
Steaming, one cupful of enjoyment,
Pleasant like the morning,
When the dew drips quietly,
Shimmering on the edges of a rose,
Blushing, shy – like the sunrise
Who beckons from the mountain crests,
Portraying the wonder of a dawn
When light penetrates
Forests and thickets with blessings.
Steaming, a cup in hand
Promising to share the moments,
Just before darkness abandons the night,
Wistful and whimsical as daybreak,
When the joy of morning begins,
And light seeps through the shadows,
Pouring hope into the carefully laid plans.
Steaming, one cupful of love,
Breathless and flowing – singing
Rhythmic as the new dawn,
Enjoyed by those who know this love –
Coffee is like the silence,
Who prepares hearts for the time,
Passing us by… the moments,
Treasures we can’t keep but still,
We won’t weep, because these treasures….
They are the fortunes found in memories –
And those memories… jewels we keep!
Celebrate a Holy Birth
Around the world on Earth
The Joy of family and friends
A Holiday not wanting to end
Holiday Season voices
The season of joy
Smiles and laughter
Remembrance ever after
The smell of sugar and spice
The combination sounding nice
The raise of glasses in cheers
Good tidings in continued preserver
Holiday blowing winds
The spread of goodness
Journey far
True meaning of what Christmas is about
Stars shine
A night being the most
Something to boost
Sing along
Oh Night shinning bright
Guide me to delight
Let my wonders extend
Hope at the center
Let the warmth of the season enter
A holiday season to see
Happy Holidays coming from me.
Poppin jays flies
on Neon lights
Hanker don't whisper !
As the Mighty Oak sways
The lavee squirms forward
running obtuse
The dancers pontificate thought
lancing the proverbial boil
As an afterthought
The pied pipers never pay
The rotten beams surrender
pulsating dead energy
beyond the fold of avarice
Tis the season of Arbeit
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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.