John Webster of Holborn town
a playwright of renown
Best known for. ' Duchess of Malfi
&a poet he also was to be
Categories:
webster, people, poetry,
Form: Clerihew
Listen to the roar of the noble beast,
The King needs no introduction.
Whether lazing about or hunting a feast,
He puts on quite a production!
His thunderous roar is his lion’s song,
He is Lord of the African Plaines.
Clever, handsome, sleek, and strong,
You know him by reputation and name.
He sports a great mane, his most prominent feature,
And he wears a fine coat of golden brown.
He’s a mammal and a carnivore by nature,
And when he roars, he’s heard from miles around!
If you were a zebra or antelope or elk,
On a hot sunny day out grazing the grass,
You’d have to beware and look out for yourself,
For a day you spend playing might just be your last!
There’s one King of the Cats, who may be known to you,
He’s a little bit milder, but still wild and not tame.
He lives with his mate Elsie in his home at the zoo,
And if your lucky, you’ll hear him roar, “Webster’s My Name!”
Categories:
webster, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form: Rhyme
When I was a little boy,
I brooded day-to-day
Ever since I found out
I had my native tongue
violently taken away
Swore in my heart,
I would make my own language —
words only I knew the meaning of
Take the opaque warrior’s vocal signs,
and put an X for unknown
at the bend of the translation dead end
Smiley slave pretzel thoughts:
ice cold frowns twisted into warm oven grins
Webster catalogued the words which others made up,
mine’s no different ... no, not much
Nish told, vak tales
Denchie pose, talimaduchi farewells
Did you understand
any of those ... did you comprehend
the words I chose?
They are my linguistic jewels —
family owned ... orally ghetto grown
They are Robinson Coolsoul approved:
Webster say what!
Welcome to the zizi Thunderdome
Categories:
webster, childhood, family, language, self,
Form: Bio
Long soul shaking melancholic howl
Breaks up the night
Even the bravest hunter
If smart will cower in fright
As the full or bloodshot moon sets
The yellow eyes pierce through the soul
His visage seems to be from dark side of that very moon that sets
The werewolf goes on the hunt sole
The men try to trap it underneath huge rock
But beast breaks free
The trap works but werewolf strength overcomes it
This creature might have true abyss referenced control of his own destiny
The eyes reflect not only dread on his pursuers’ faces
But what is in beasts own soul
They are sad and melancholic reflecting a broken heart
For creatures that dwell in darkness will always be doomed to be sole
However it is us who are encroaching
On his space
For he is the wonder
Creature from secret and maybe sacred place
Categories:
webster, animal, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
Eye reckon Noah Webster thought he'd concocted thee perfect dictionary!
Aye'm hear two tell ewe it ain't perfect and four a reference eye'd bee vary wary!
Yew see, there is one 'mistake' and one 'error' listed under 'M' and 'E'!
Their ain't know gittin' around them fax and aye think ewe will agree!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Writes Reserved
Categories:
webster, funny, on writing and
Form: Clerihew