yet my wyle is thribbly gratisant
I do befloo from time to time
skootching boofully in a dank place
but poetry flampunctuates
and allows me to exshall
o to skwill and skwurl, aye
and that helps imoggably
there, I admitted it
I can’t be more hootle than that
Anybody feel like singing? :)
It’s the most poetic time, of the year
where the writers are writing,
the blog pages fighting
and comments of cheer
It’s the most poetic time, of the year
It’s the soup, soupiest season of all
with those verses a’ flowing
of winter and snowing
and decking the hall
It’s the soup, soupiest season of all
You’ll read stanzas of loving
of snowballs they’re gloving
and packages under the tree
There’ll be lines filled with phrases
of faith and its praises
in every poem you see
It’s the most poetic time, of the year
you’ll find poems for reading
with broken hearts bleeding
it soon will be clear
It’s the most poetic time, of the year
~
Written to the melody of the song: "It's the most wonderful time of the year"
Written by George Wyle and Edward Pola.
Originally performed by Andy Williams
In the midst of midnight croon,
twilight approving stars swoon
at the waning crescent moon.
A wee child climbs the ladder
of hope, courage, and dreams that matter.
A wyle smile gush from within,
their eyes melt reaching to win
the light above not giving in.
4/27/2019
From now on a breath, filled with gilded flowers;
radiant and lovely rose scented bowers.
A vision, crimson wave full of laughter race
approaching manor shore in its beauties grace.
Yesterday not forgotten, but like wilted
brown lace leaves in autumn blown elsewhere jilted.
A wyle smile bursting with sunshine from within,
sunshine that light up the day not giving in.
Like a child's wild excitement sounds on newfound
shadow, reaching, building balance without bound.
Learning to let go, can't change a rainy day
or chill wind, but courage steps to lead the way.
And gaze off; vanish into a tranquil dream;
stroll down the path against a slow moving stream.
From now on a breath, into boundless blue sky;
quench on the heavens as the moon rises high.
5/27/2018
"Why are you looking so shocked, Mr. Wyle?" he asked.
The taxi was moving at 120 miles an hour. Mr. Wyle's
window was open. His mustache was wavy-dancing
in the wind, as he held his chest. His wife was already
assisting their daughter with the wedding gown,
and recitation of wedding vows.
"Why are you speeding this way, young man?"
"You told me you wanted to arrive at the wedding fast.
You told me you wanted some time to talk to your
daughter, before the wedding started."
Just the other day he held his daughter on his arms;
Just the other day he taught her how to walk;
Just the other day he clapped for her as she held
her spoon correctly for the first time.....
His heart couldn't handle his daughter getting married,
and the taxi moving fast as though it was hastening
the marriage.
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.