It’s All About Perspective
How would you feel,
If you went home today
To find a strange creature
Had entered your cave
While you were away?
You would you feel,
If you looked in your bed
To find sleeping there soundly
A wee human head?
Would you be angry?
Would you see red?
How would you feel,
If some golden-haired brat
Had gobbled your supper
And shattered the chair where you always sat?
What would you do?
How would you handle that?
How would you feel,
If the door to your cave
Had been kicked in by a kid
Who just could not behave?
Would you rumble and roar
Or just rant and rave?
No one would blame you,
If you got really mad
With a dimpled-faced terror who destroyed all that you had.
That’s how many would feel, but
Isn’t it sad
That no one had taught her
How not to be bad?
Thank you for calling Your Destruction.
If you’re calling to bring forth your personal hell, press 1.
If you’re calling for emotional devastation, press 2.
If you’re calling to enact physical harm, press 3.
…Thank you. Your Destruction is now offering a summer sale.
If you are interested, please fill out the survey on Your Destruction website.
…Please hold…please hold…please hold…please hold on for as long as you can…
Please hold; the bringer of your doom will be with you in a moment…
Hello. It’s nice to hear from you again.
What can I do for you that will make you regret your life choices?
I see. Sorry to hear that. Would you like to include your friends and family?
I understand. Your Destruction will ensure that your life is utterly ruined once I’m done.
Have a nice day!
You sound like a fingernail
dragged over a blackboard.
Every word cast as blackmail
from a forked tongue in cheek.
Bathed in the vile, bile of diatribe,
masticated to be flung as dung expelled.
Your snarled words reek with
the dissonant cadence of discordance.
As your eyes flicker
from side to side with lies,
you look away, unable
to face me, eye to eye,
unmasked,
unshielded,
nakedly exposed,
in tune tonality,
truthful.
Preaching to the choir
one more like will do
Beating the last dying horse
postings stay as new
I’ll read yours if you’ll read mine
lined up in the queue
I’ll say yes if you agree
— who is kidding who
(The New Room: March, 2024)
Tongue in cheek - Tongue-in-cheek describes an exaggerated facial gesture — pushing a cheek out with one's tongue — meant to convey contempt or irony. (defined by vocabulary.com)
Tongue in Cheek-The Grind
the grind, prefer dark;
shifting teeth do not agree -
the worst habit, under moon.
squeeze a tube of paste.
superglue the parts to each -
only metaphorically.
1/28/2023
today a baby died
a girl was raped
a boy was shot
someone got divorced
someone lost their dog
a car broke down
a flower was trampled
someone broke their arm
it rained
it flooded
there was a fire
there was a tornado
someone was given a diagnosis
someone failed their test
someone lost their job
someone broke up
someone broke down
someone burned something
a letter didn't come
someone declared war
someone didn’t show up
someone showed up
someone left
someone returned
someone got lost
someone was found
someone got lucky
someone’s luck ran out
someone lost a limb
someone lost their life
and
someone hurt your feelings
sorry
'Twas the night before Christmas
On the village square.
Carolers were singing.
Everyone was there.
My daddy was a baritone
But his falsetto filled the air.
Mama shrunk his boxers;
They're not ready-to-wear.
He asked Santa for some new ones;
He didn't dare go bare.
So, on Christmas morning,
Santa left a spare.
Now daddy has a pair
That couldn't give a care.
He's back to singing bass
Thanks to his Duluth underwear.
November 29, 2019
Appreciated morning time friend.
Despised morning time enemy.
Always knowing when to chime in.
Never knowing when to shut up.
Piercing the calm.
Then teasing peace, but only for a short while.
Liking to hear itself speak.
Can't hear myself think.
Alarm clock....
Oh, dreaded alarm clock.
Very often write with my tongue in my cheek
Strange saying that is, but when I'm at my peak
My humour is best
Pound away on my chest
Like Tarzan, eat bananas and things that go, “eek!”
I entered a contest the other day
Waited patiently for it to be judged
Oh drat - I’ve got yet another N/A
The ‘glowing comments’ I received were fudged!
So I thought I’d change my poetry style
To see if a new strategy would work...
ANOTHER N/A's added to my pile
Now I feel a complete and utter jerk!
Guess now I’ve got a bee in my bonnet
So I’ll try harder than ever before
If I write Eve a fabulous sonnet
It will be a winner with her I’m sure!
I’ll pen a great poem for Eve’s delight ….
I just need to think of some words to write!
Checked with how many syllables
08~26~16
Tongue In Cheek
Who is that new upstart
Yelling on my TV
Where is Archie Bunker?
Let things be like they used to be
And that pretty old woman,
Claiming to have the floor.
Why can’t I hear the news, or
Opinions of Eleanor.
Another channel there’s that old man,
With flailing arms and waving white mane,
Where is Grandpa Walton?
Things just aren’t the same.
Remember the “Good old Days?”
With the wars and Woodstock and the rest?
Where are the Beatles when you need them?
“Let it be” their advice was the best.
Who are these new upstarts
Dancing on my TV
Get them off, I beg you.
Bring back what used to be.
Count it is ever wit as good :( - * to wet the mind I would : & a grin how be it a small bit :p stuck it out so all may see :p - waging like the cynic a bit : \ turn it upside down a symbol to your relief :( biting your bit "A witty saying proves witty" :O sardonic your face will not crack : I as good as pale gold the electric express :') it will not kill you to laugh a wit : D
Rock- a- by Baby don’t say a word,
Mummy wants a gin and not you to be heard.
You have been a little pain all day
Its time you went to bed out of the way.
The gin is dry I would like some ice.
And don’t forget the lemon, it makes it taste nice.
So little baby it's time you slept,
Cos mummies really tired, you can bet.
Don’t worry baby you are the love of my life,
But mummy is daddy’s very tired wife.
So we’ll get daddy to sing this song to you
While I get another glass of gin or too.
Night night baby don’t say a word.
Its time to sleep my precious little humming bird
The morning I turned seventy-two
I met some flying grits
Thrown by my grandson, seventeen months
They glued in tiny bits!
He thought nothing of grits in his hair
Or smeared on window sill
He liked the squishing in his palm
I became a cleaning mill
Eagerly sharing from high chair tray
Feeding my nose, not my mouth
Smearing this newly found delight
In places farther south
He wanted more, but I declined
Cheerios do not stick
He had some milk and drank it fast
Without a single grit
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.