Weensy Poems

The Needle

wri
ting is
knitting
your       life
thro          ugh
a nee         dle
and           if
you   sew
emotion
secret
you’ll
get
nu
dg
ed
a
w
e
e
n
s
y

Writing is knitting through the needle if you sew emotion, secret, you'll get nudged a weensy

Diminutive Male

He was lilliputian size
Which works for some women
Never for a man
He is rather diminutive, his blind dates are warned
Teensy-weensy would have been more accurate
His arms are the width of yard sticks
He never found love
Because he never met a faerie

Dorothy is Dot

Dorothy was a major character
throughout this refreshing novel.
The next in the series sees
Dorothy as a chapter.

Is Dorothy there within
the succeeding book? Yes, there she is.
She’s a chapter’s section, and often called Dot.
So beautiful is Dorothy, so delightful is Dot.

Where is Dot? Ah, there in the next.
A teensy-weensy presence:
a paragraph - but she is there.
Dot is definitely there.

In the next book
Dorothy has been dropped:
Not even a Dot.
Dorothy is now a full stop.


(09 Nov 2024)

hello I am Francis

the woman was in her sixties
she dressed out well over three hundred pounds
her walking is slow
her breathing is labored

I feel sorry for her
even though we have not met yet
she said “hello, I am Frances.”
I stared, wordless.

Her voice was a ...
tiny
itty
bitty
teensy
weensy
baby girl voice

How did that happen?

Little Footle

little
footle

   maybe
      baby

      très small
      not tall

     eensy
     weensy

   itty
   bitty

     minute
     too cute

        skinny
        mini

    tiny
    viny

   ‘tis slight
   just right

     low-key
     it’s wee

   twinky
   dinky

bit long
too strong

8/19/2022
Sponsor: Brian Strand

Illustration of Morality

Directing ethics to be suitable if it is accurate.
That should be clever to discover delight in any request.
I urge you to consider sharing; she must be relating.
Further, an ecstatic dream is there in the perceiving.

All that stands, may it arise upright and swither.
Also, when standing, restrain your ethical manner.
I invoke God for the soul who starts to suffer weensy.
Manage to be wary even with his corporeality.

May we be loyal to our egos and them to theirs?
Assume each one is eager to be their authentic selves?
Plus, may we be conveyed the shards to speak?
Insidiously, escape my wilful life as hastily as a streak.

If you don't alter your way, you must reinstill.
Hence, it may deviate from reality and be real.


Written: December 12, 2021

Glimmer of a Flutter of a Glimpse of Hope

If there is the slightest glimmer of a flutter of a tiny bit of a taste of hope
I can keep on trying, keep on living, keep on loving.
If there is an itsy bitsy teensy weensy sliver of a dash of hope
I can change my thinking, give myself a fresh start, begin again.
If there is a glimpse of a blip of a bleep of a dot of hope
We can fix the world, love each other, be creative and live our truth.
All we need is a teensy bitsy glitter of a glimmer of a glimpse.
It is enough.

Never Forget

hehehe
hehehe
hehehe

you forget us 
we never forget you
u neglected your health
never clean after being dirty 
it will be fine you thought
will you be fine?

you followed your gluttony
eating atrociously 
Unknown kinds of animals, you ate
it will be fine, you thought
yes you did
here we are
Years after years 
we claimed thousands of you
with different names
death plague, Ebola, Spanish flu and cholera 
are just some of our names

we might be different
yet we will always 
be there for you 
when you least expected

Such death tolls
from epidemics to pandemics 
caused by such 
teensy weensy microbes
no, nano microbes

you cannot see us,  
does not mean we are not there

Hehehe
be wary, be wary
we are watching you always
hehehe
hehehe

On Her Way Down

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itsy bitsy
teensy weensy
itty bitty spider
] ] ] ]   [ [ [ [
 


AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2021

Posted on November 17, 2019

Church My Favorite Place

There is a tiny itsy bitsy teensy weensy bit of vomit in her hair.
She is a prim lady, prideful, and can be slightly mean about stuff.
This is church, and I do not want to embarrass her, 
For then she might throw one of her fits and embarrass the whole pew.

Do I tell her? Do I dare? I am a mere child. What would people think?
How would I say it?
Excuse me, Miss Peaworthy, but you have puke in your hair?
Did someone regurgitate on you?
I am five.
I don’t even know that word yet.

I stare at her hair throughout service.
Laughing a little bit.
My mother tries to shush me with the look.
It does not work. She puts her hand over my giggling mouth.
Christians being fed to lions is apparently not funny.
The minister stares at me. I wink. He loses his place.

Church. My favorite place.
No telling what is coming around the corner.

The Single Saddest Night

A teensy weensy lady beetle
A bitty, pint sized bug 
Seduced by the tune of an old man’s fiddle
Had went inside and gotten stuck

Her little, feeble, fragile limbs
Supported her spotted frame
Until she found a place to swim
And was sucked down by the drain

A grieving clan of crickets and frogs
Chimed in for a farewell chorus 
A saddened toad for every log
Deer in mourning, lined the forest

The biggest, blue-green butterfly
Placed flowers on the front porch steps
For miles and miles, the wolves did cry
A howl for every breath

The following morning was quite a sight
As everyone had overslept
Due to the single saddest night 
When the whole wide world had wept

Bikini

Teensy
Weensy




~A Brian Strand Footle Finale

~Judy Konos "Footle" contest

What Makes Me Happy

The sun has gone for his holidays
We don’t know when he’ll be back.
He gone to Australia for a rest 
But we can’t wait for him to come back.

We miss him when he is away
He never sends a postcard.
I suppose he might find writing it
A teensy weensy bit hard.

He is baking the Australians 
And the Indians too.
I know that cos I just spoke to one
He was very polite to me too.

He told me it is 35 degrees
And he is getting a bit hot
I told him to send it back to us
Because we definitely are not.

He laughed as he gave me the codes
To fix my remote control
He wished me all I wished myself
I thanked him, and said that was my goal.

Now as we get nearer to the solstice
The sun I have to tell
You will be making your way back soon
And on that I am going to dwell.

It makes me happy to know,
You will have to start your return
I can’t wait for the solstice on the 22nd to pass
For this I am longing and I yearn.

This Poem Stinks So Badly It Doesn'T Deserve a Name - Repost

This poem stinks.

It doesn't rhyme 
It doesn't do anything 
It has a little alliteration

well...

it will have some

because that's the easiest poetic element to incorporate 
and if it didn't have any poetic elements 
it would not be a poem 
but would be prose with 
randomly 
inserted 
carriage returns...

(are carriage returns extinct?)

and that would be dishonest. 

This is not a lying poem. 
That would be oxymoronic. 
It's a stinky poem.

And when I finish writing it 
I'm gonna print it out 
and tear it up 
into little bitty 
teensy weensy pieces 
(if I have enough patience to get that small) 
and flush it down the commode 
so it can join all the other 
excrementally effluential essences

(note the alliteration)

of all the other stuff that stinks 
almost as badly as 
this poem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

was just diggin' through the archives and this one made me giggle and reminded me that I've places to go and people to see and mustn't procrastinate longer because the LAST MINUTE approacheth

This Poem Stinks So Badly It Doesn'T Deserve a Name

This poem stinks.

It doesn't rhyme 
It doesn't do anything 
It has a little alliteration

well...

it will have some

because that's the easiest poetic element to incorporate 
and if it didn't have any poetic elements 
it would not be a poem 
but would be prose with 
randomly 
inserted 
carriage returns...

(are carriage returns extinct?)

and that would be dishonest. 

This is not a lying poem. 
That would be oxymoronic. 
It's a stinky poem.

And when I finish writing it 
I'm gonna print it out 
and tear it up 
into little bitty 
teensy weensy pieces 
(if I have enough patience to get that small) 
and flush it down the commode 
so it can join all the other 
excrementally effluential essences

(note the alliteration)

of all the other stuff that stinks 
almost as badly as 
this poem.

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