If you think THIS is bad,You should have seen...Old Jersey
Puberty:the Hungarian girlstill haunts mefirst she was ice skating upside down on the sky holding a pointy paper airplane cup up like a hat to her pigtailsI considered her the prettiestand the cutest boy in corderoythought she was sex-eeeeebut yes (you may have already guessed) the father was very strict & something happened something disgustinglike a rat chewing through the sunmaybe her pants were too tightor maybe the lawless look in her eye cause then her lights went out her flight got cancelled she started to play the wrong notes on the recorder and trip on her rainbow shoestrings in the hallwayswe had to leave her therestumbling through her Tchaikovsky routinelosing the music we were in a rush and none of us not one of us knew what to do
so much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the email@example.com
Oversea, overseaI loved you long and hardSoftly with the walking of my feetTenderly with the creaking of a shipWarmly with the good-natured screaming Of a blinded giantI must harden myself as the wind blowsHarshly over the place we once lay, now coldIt is almost as ifTen yearsMelt with the flaring of youthYour suitors cluster around meAnd I can no longer pull the bowI left as a challenge to myselfLong agoCinnamonGhoulj_gulbranson@Hotmail.com
Gentle yellow blanketSewn leaf by leafThe underlay carpet before a white winter....But its so warm, its unnerving. These falling rainbows which we shuffle through, so lush, too lush.Overfeeding a fat part of earth, while another portion lay starved, full of a humanity ravenous, eagerly watching us. Are they hearding us waiting for the right moment to sink their jaws and draw out our goodness?We must prepare for this to happen.Not in the way of force or violence, but keep our souls in mind.That no matter what they take from us, Our glass buildings, our food, our means of wealth.We have to keep our hearts beating, no matter how broken.Remember the things that cannot be taken.For without that we cannot flourish.Just as the trees so amongst this toxic hell we must keep growing up through those who want to keep us down.
The Problem of Universals:When nothing comes to mind I think; move metaphysical,In the rain,Writhing like Brigitte Bardot onthe cusp of spring.Someone mowed the grassOn an artificial plane,But it’s not proper To remove my shoes.Paint can jazz blared through Plexiglas walls so, I got metaphysical,Shoes and all.Brainwaves manic withPunches of color,Moon, sun, cold, heat, flame.When a problem comes,I get metaphysical.Electric shock stars, the devil comes through.I’m blowing a fuse, a metaphysical muse.Christina3kye Christina3kye@yahoo.com
What an interesting ideaI’m quite amused.This may be the only entryThat’s Dr. Seuss-infused.What a silly claim,You may be thinking.Now I must think extra hardTo keep it from sinking.So judges be wary,Readers take heed.This might not beThe most serious poem you'll read.One question I haveTo which an answer must be found:Is the name of this challengeGrammatically sound?We know it must be;BBC News tells us so.But we are not BritishSo methinks “No, no, no!”It sounds a smidgen fishy,Poet laureate not preceded by an “a.”But thanks to beloved GoogleWe know that this issue is indeed gra/ey.But this is no timeFor frivolous chatter!We are due to discussThe heart of the matter.Much time has been wastedAkin to a withered flower.Yes, friends and foes,It is now time to shower!So good luck to you allBoth poets and non.Please don’t forgetTo turn the humor on!