Hail, heavy avalanche of milky whiteness.
A soft mountain moving in the dark.
Yumpy, your pale mass defies gravity.
Midnight strikes, and the thunder begins.
The floorboards groan beneath your charge.
Four paws drum a chaotic rhythm.
Sleep flees before your blinding furriness.
You hunt ghosts while the world rests.
Hoodoos and whatsits tremble at your pounce
Beneath the moon, a fat phantom flies.
You reject the quiet, gentle night.
A restless spirit wrapped in creamy fluff.
My closed eyes watch you blur past.
While chase scenes envelop my dreams.
Hello, I need a doodah,
An idgy widgy thing
They come in orange, red or black
Tied up in yellow string
I don’t know if you sell them
I only hope you do
The other shops don’t have them
They haven’t got a clue
One place, they had some whatsits
But they’re not quite the same
I’m terribly forgetful
I just can’t recall their name
If you have something similar
Then that might do instead
The colour does not matter
As long as it’s not red
Ok it’s not a problem
If you haven’t got them in
But do you sell those thingys
They’re sort of long and thin.
© John W Fenn 10-07-2009
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.