Some people you meet leave an lasting impression
Some pass through without even a mention
The ones that stand out
Leave us no doubt
Friendships for life are without exception
He sings "behind prison bars" blues
'cause he's walked in another man's shoes!
He feels so bereft
since identity theft
only works until one pays his dues.
(not for the contest; it's too short)
Two poets who couldn't agree
Raise their voices to their loud pleas
One wasn't able to stop
His zip open, out pops!
Haha, it's a pea, not the size of a tree
©JAFraser and OEGuillermo 15.18pm, April 07, 2015
I once knew a poet named Jan
She writes when sitting on the can
Some people here at soup
Think her poems are poop
Not everyone is a Jan fan!
Contest: Sensitive Community
Sponsor Skat (but a PD contest)
Rude people who think only of themselves -
I would like to sit atop mantle shelves
Yes, I know that is wrong
but it's where they belong
when they act like those impish little elves
It was as wrong as it was illegal
and may yet in the courts have a sequel:
seems like the FBI
thinks it's OK to lie
and deceive the American people!
There is a poet, her name is SKAT.
She read all my limy's, now that's phat.
When she was done reading.
It showed she had breeding.
So people, what do you think of that?
There was a young lady called Mae West
Who was famed for the size of her chest
She came down with Flu
Gave a big sneeze 'Atchoo'
And that was the end of her vest
Muammar Muhammad Gaddafi;
'Brother Leader', dog of Tripoli
People of Libya
happily say, "See ya!
Here's for Flight 103 - Lockerbie."
There once was a hunter named Frawley
Who lived in a shack, outside Raleigh.
His dog, funny but true,
Would only hunt honeydew.
The dog was a true melon collie
There's a guy on the Soup called Chris
Captain Hook or Peter Pan is his wish
Boy his Blogs are so good
By this Canadian dude
His information sure is the Biz
There's a gal named PamelaKaye
Her writing style, poetic buffet
A sweet Texas tart
Who has a big heart
And a buttocks the size of Bombay
The day I joined the Soup
Frankly I was so cock-a-hoop
So many kind poets
Who didn't all know it
Most definitely the best writing troop
An Indian chief, named Bold Eagle,
Once lived with his faithful old beagle.
He maintained his station,
In a style that was in tents, but regal
Classify myself as one of the great of thinkers
But sometimes been known to come up with a clinker
Try my damn best
Thought I'd passed the test
But people on the street keep giving me the finger
Heads up people, a new day is dawning
Important to appreciate this feeling of belonging
Tell people you love 'em
All the way to the end
Even if you notice a bunch of them are yawning
When Toby removed to Paree
The people all called him Tobee.
“That’s not me,” he’d plead,
Then finally concede
To be, not to be not, Tobee.
There are people that imagine it never gets warm
Way up in Canada where cold weather's the norm
In July we unzip our fur-lined parkas
While carving away on a newly killed carcass
Then on to our dog sled through an another snowy storm
There once was a crude Irish knave
Who hid deep within Fingal’s cave.
He felt it safe there to flee,
Thinking “naught could get to me”
Until swept away by a wave.
Plentiful Pizza closed its door
Too many people wanted more
With dough in the air
The cook did not care
Open or Closed, she was still poor!
Trump Authority Would Sweep
This is what MSNBC was saying.
While at night we were sound asleep,
Trump gave authority that did sweep;
No wonder people call him a creep.
Most balls people pitch, roll, or fling.
They kick them or strike them with zing.
But for lazy old me
I like tirelessly
to stand, flick my wrist and go “ping!”
For Joseph Soper's the Sports Shorts Poetry Contest
At a time inconvenient it teases,
As it comes whensoever it pleases.
Creeping ever so sly,
It will make you yell, "Why?!"
And the thing that I speak of is sneezes.
Written by Gail DeBole
Updated on April 11, 2017
A coupon clipper named Carla
Has a pile of coupons in her parla'.
She clips more each week,
Treats each like an antique,
And guards them against any burgla'.
Note: Part of the Portrait Poetry Collection
Written by Gail DeBole on February 4, 2013
A man with the name of Feng Shui
Arranged his life in a Qi-loving way.
Full of sweet harmony,
And life planned to a “T”,
Bad Karma didn’t “stand” in his way!
Note: Part of the Portrait Collection