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MetaVerse Dec 2023
2 little whos
in whoville dream
while dr. seuss
screams, "sam i am!"

a redblue fish
carols a zart
musicalic-
ious schlittenfahrt.

the grinch steals x-
mas.i&you
ask, "who will fix
a boy named sue?"
lucy-goosey Aug 2023
her bouncy run and tickled fun,
her gremlish punch and happy lunch,
her evil smirk makes me berserk,
her boo gosh falls ‘cause it’s a ****,
I don’t know what this rhyme scheme is,
but Emme is my favorite dish,
I’ll eat her every meal and day,
and don’t think in a weird way,
she’s seriously so beautiful,
so pull your pinky,
Hootiful!

LALALALALALALALALALALALALALA
This poem came to me in a dream. A very short angel flew down on silky wings and delivered this into my heart.
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit,

He rode to the tiptop to dump it!

"Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.

"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!

"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!

"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two

"All the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"...



At the top of the mountain he untied his dog

From the sleigh. And the valley was filling with fog

As thick as the Who Hash he'd grinched just before.

He chuckled with glee at what was in store.

Now the Grinch grabbed the sacks from the top of the sleigh,

And with a mighty "HEAVE **!" he shoved them away.

The bags filled with toys well they weaved and they shook

With the weight of the things he so sneakily took.

Until finally momentum made things far less slow.

They fell 3000 feet to the jagged rocks below.

A sickening crunch and several sharp cries

At first startled the Grinch but caused him to realize

When he stole from the Whos down in Whoville his pride

Had gotten the best of him; he'd thrown some children inside.

He giggled maliciously, grabbed his dog Max

And got back in the sleigh, for he couldn't relax.

He had to go back, for his job wasn't done.

All the Whos down in Whoville, every last one

Every man, every woman, every daughter and son

Would be dead in their beds by the dawn of the sun.

The trip down Mount Crumpit was faster than up

As he growled to himself, "where's that ***** with the cup?"

He jumped off the sleigh, machete in hand

And marched straight into Whoville, whose gates could not stand

For the rage made him strong. How he hated the Whos

With their **** cheesy smiles, and their dumb pointy shoes,

Turned up noses and pigtails and hideous songs,

THE SONGS, THE SONGS, HOW HE HATED THE SONGS.

And now he'd make sure that the Whos sang no more...

At Cindy Lou Who's house he kicked down the door

And strode into the bedroom of Cindy Lou Who.

She woke with a start, murmured "Santa? That you?"

The Grinch, with a sneer, grabbed Lou Who by the hair,

****** her out of bed seven feet in the air,

And with two sharp knives pinned her arms to the wall.

Her screams roused her parents just down the hall.

They ran to their child to save her from harm.

The mistake that they made cost them each their right arm.

Writhing on the floor in their own ****** mess,

They looked at the Grinch in a state of distress.

"Why would you do this?" they managed to hurl,

"Please, you can **** us, just not our little girl!"

He listened to their pleas with a wry little smile,

He patiently heard them, then after a while,

He cut out their tongues with another sharp knife,

First of the husband, and then of the wife.

Then he turned to young Cindy with glee,

And hissed in her ear, "you'll do something for me..."

Cindy shook her head violently, but to no avail,

For the Grinch had the tongues on a rusty old nail.

He shoved them down her gullet. She started to choke,

Then she finally died, for the rusty nail broke.

He stepped over the body of mother Lou Who,

And the Grinch slithered over to house #2.

With this house he made quick work of the Whos.

He set them on fire to cure them of the "blues."

The blaze that resulted would spread down the street,

Drawing Whos from their houses like flies to dead meat.

A grenade waited for them in center of town.

A click, then a boom mowed, like, half of them down.

The other half attempted a weak attack.

With a Type-67 the Grinch kept them back.

The little Who children could do nothing but stare

In open-mouthed horror as the Grinch, without care,

Shot them down one by one till the snow was stained red,

And he would not stop firing till they were all dead.



And as the sun rose oe'r the grisly scene,

The Grinch drenched in blood of adult, child, and teen,

With a pentagram smack in the center of town,

And the tree in the middle would slowly burn down.

With the scalps of the Whos down in Whoville in hand,

The Grinch called his dog Max, who could barely stand

Because he was violently shaking in shock.

He could not even whimper, let alone walk.

Not a Who was left standing, not a song to be heard,

Save for that of a single Who bird

Which was quickly snuffed out by a single pistol round.

And after that there was not a sound.

The Grinch, his work finished, got back in the sleigh,

Cracked the whip over Max, and slithered away.

The last thing the poor town of Whoville would hear:

"If there's anyone left, well, I'll come back next year!"
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
Didd it,
with a tip of my five hundreth hat:
Dance in the afterwords, wondering if we
were we
the ones who swallowed hole and fell
on
hard times, past
emptied heart and mind of worthship
appraised unworthy of mention
compared to the stars on TV.

Hey, see.
Written on  Grandma's wall.
A sign for those who read,

then the written declaration appeared
on a tapestry from QVC

Home, home at last,
Each heart is singing
Home, home at last.

And above the festive table as on a scroll
dis plays plentiy fructifity of ludis-hermes
Live Love Laugh

And tell the tale of the times
that came and went as all times do

this too, shall pass.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2021
Son-of-Sam-I-am

with a ghost of a chance perchance

to stalk the block

where unsuspectings walk

Die-cast metal guy-am-I

all alone I sense the stone

reaching in to break the bone

Another one done for fun

Aren't I the fortunate son?
Jim Apr 2021
I am writing.
I am writing some words.
I am writing some words that are meant to be heard.

They’re meant to be heard;
to be heard by a few.
A few will hear, including you.

What did you think, now that you’ve heard?
What do you think when you heard all the words?
..when you heard the words written to the few.
The few that did hear (that included you).
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Board
by Michael R. Burch

Accessible rhyme is never good.
The penalty is understood:
soft titters from dark board rooms where
the businessmen paste on their hair
and, Colonel Klinks, defend the Muse
with reprimands of Dr. Seuss.

The best book of the age sold two,
or three, or four (but not to you),
strange copies of the ones before,
misreadings that delight the board.
They sit and clap; their revenues
fall trillions short of Mother Goose.

Keywords/Tags: poetry, accessible, rhyme, traditional, muse, Seuss, Mother Goose, misreadings, discrimination, prejudice, revenues, sales, copies
The Dybbuk Nov 2019
Dr. Seuss used to live in my city,
Where the trees are triumphant truphaloos.
Acid rain falls to make you more witty,
and the world shakes with the weight of your dues.
"Still, laugh along with everyone," you'll say,
And the ground will tremble beneath thy hooves
So with that turn to see the palm trees sway,
and chuckle when the sky above you moves.
Yes, Seuss' friends don't wander in the streets
they're far too busy strolling in the woods.
The smells of all Balboa take their seats,
So now, make the exchange, and drop the goods.
I see the world now through a dead man's eyes,
so now upon the world a new sun dies.
You are you
You are  the unusual; like a noontide dew
You're birth of this fertile soil
Who else should you be but you?
Be yourself,
let everyone in trying to be you, toil
Don't try to become anyone but you
Be the main character, let everyone be a foil
You're greater than you think
Why have you chosen to join the queue?
Don't be to yourself a turmoil
Of your kind, if there're any, they're but few

You're you
That is truer than true
You are an exceptional aesthetic
There's no one alive who is youer than you
You are an extraordinary piece of the greatest artist
You're one of a kind
There's no one like you.

—JIBRIL ABDULMALIK ©2019

[DR. SEUSS]
“Today you are You,
That is truer than true.
There is no one alive who is Youer
than You.”
fujimountain Mar 2019
The lonely rocketship floating through space, roaming the galaxy, day by day finding a new place. the moon, the sun the planets, the stars, what about Venus, Mercury or Mars. Men with their chests out shouting and pleading, telling the masses that earth wasn’t enough. They huffed and puffed until we bought their bluff. So we sent them to the moon to see the stars, big bundles of gas scattered across the sky, truly a wonder, a honor to see and in the distance there it stands, our big ol’ ball of blue and green, where smoke is so thick you can barely see and it fills up your lungs so it’s hard to breathe, big bundles of gas are killing us.
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