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Bo Burnham
I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of weed right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.
Druzzayne Rika
Cherries and poppies
raspberries and strawberries
and fallen red leaves,
a burning memory.
Pagan Paul
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.

To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?

A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.

A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.

© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)
5th poem in my series Even Poets Screw Up ...
I only write these when in the silliest of moods!
Got this giant juicer contraption.
I don’t like it as much as my small plastic one.

It juices well,
but it just seems so .....brutal.
The giant juicer is ugly.
Haiku Donna
I said to a chair
Can you please stop
touching my bum
It said no no no
it's so much fun
:)) silly one
“My dream date is after we’ve already been dating for a few months and decide to go out on the town. We meet a cute guy, buy him drinks, and spend the next few hours laughing together and maybe slaying it at a karaoke bar. Afterwards we invite him back to my place and get into some role play. I become Israel, he Palestine, and you The Goddess that helps them finally come together, even though Israel has to bend over a little bit to make it happen.

Confession: this is a dream date. I have to become really committed to physical therapy again in order to get my singing voice back for karaoke and I live with old country people so it’d have to be at your place.”
“Christian and Serious About It”
CA Smith
To you, the ground beneath my feet
Every step I take,
you support me.

You stand with me,
in my times of trouble

I am warmed by your embrace,
as I become entranced in your outfit of lace.

Nothing could be more finely crafted,
than my connection with you.

The ages may wear on you,
yet you remain the only one
my sole longs for.

For you truly are...
My favorite pair of shoes.
Jeff Gaines
"Hello, and good day; yes I'm ready to order.
I'd like a Big Mac ...
Oh, I want it on a tray
and not in a sack."

"I want a large fry, freshly dropped
with very light salt.
I'll also have a Chocolate Milkshake,
though I'd really prefer a Malt."

"OF COURSE, I want it super-sized,
are you trying to joke?
Waddia mean $8.50?
Well, now I've gone broke!"

He steps from the counter
and goes to sit down.
The food smells great ...
yet still, he frowns.

"I'll need a second job
if I wish to keep eating here.
I can't binge on these gut-bombs
and still have my beer."

"I wonder if there's an employee discount ...
as I've got the lingo down pat:
I have a Filet-O-Fish and a Coke on your order ...
Would you like some fries with that?"
If you don't know Temperal Fugue, go here:


If he hasn't hit your page with a comment ... stand by ... He will.
He isn't only a prolific writer (916 Poems at the time of this writing) ... he is also a prolific reviewer/reader of the poetry found here.

When I first encountered him, he had reviewed one of my works with a poem of his own. I arrogantly passed judgement that it was rude to "dump" your own lyric in a review as though it were a comparison to mine ... I didn't get it ... or him.

Then I began to see him doing this in most ALL his reviews and again, I thought it was pompous and rude ... AGAIN, I didn't get it ... or him.
I also began to laugh at how he always spoke in rhymes. I even had a laugh, while picturing a guy that ONLY spoke in rhymes ... ordering Mickey D's.

THAT was the inspiration for this funny ditty.

Then, as I read yet another of his reviews in rhyme form, I began to realize that's just his was of doing it. Just as David Letterman made "politically Incorrect" humor and sarcasm his own, Temporal Fugue had made rhyming reviews his own. This led me to his page and I was really touched, moved and impressed with his concepts and ideas as well as the way he uses rhyming whimsy just like me.

And NOW I get it.


BUT ...

I STILL couldn't stop picturing him going to McDonald's ...
And so this poem came to life. I hope when he (and you) read this, that he realizes that I did it in respect of him ... TOTAL respect. You have to admit, the idea, and the scene, is kinda funny. Can't you just picture the person behind the counter trying to play off the rhyming customer and act like everything is normal?

We here at HP should have a "Temporal Fugue Day" where we ALL go to McDonald's around the world and order in RHYME!

>>PLEASE<< go here! It is UNDERWAY!:



Good times.
She met him south of the border in Durango,
She was hot and boy could she fandango!
She said at a glance
"Señor like to dance?"
“No”, he replied, “But I would love to tango!”
A poem of $ex
But not in this text
I just used this title to see
If you would come
Looking for fun
And read this poem by me
You will not find
Words of that kind
No moaning passionate steam
Two of the night
Not in this write
All of these verses are clean
Lips locking soft
Hearts now aloft
Maybe what you did expect
Candlelight aflame
Screaming a name
Glistening skin, beads of sweat
Sensual sighs
Quivering thighs
Erotic moments to trace
Euphoric throes
Fingers and toes
Sorry you’re in the wrong place
None of that here
Let’s make it clear
Nary a stanza reflects
Words that you see
Written by me
Titled, “A Poem of $ex”
Every day
If I look at the pages
Of the chosen
Who live in the sunny places

I see thong bikinis
And balloon bosoms
Until I wonder
How they survive.
How they can be alive.

Do they eat food?
Do they have any fat they don’t vacuum?

I think they transfer it all to their asses.
I don’t know, but I assume.
Bizarre what they do over there in California.
ignore all possible concepts and possibilities ---
ignore Beethoven, the spider, the damnation of Faust ---
just make it, babe, make it:
a house  a car   a belly full of beans
pay your taxes
and if you can't fuck
make money but don't work too
hard --- make somebody else pay to
make it --- and
don't smoke too much but drink enough to
relax, and
stay off the streets
wipe your ass real good
use a lot of toilet paper
it's bad manners to let people know you shit or
could smell like it
if you weren't
Dr Peter Lim
If Napoleon had read
Lawrence's 'Lady Chatterley's Lover'
he would stay in bed all day long
instead of waging war in Russia.
Couldn't see the rain before it flooded everywhere.
Melissa S
Beware of the thirteenth
landing on a Friday??

Nah....that's just bullhockey

The thirteenth has always been
lucky for me...
My sweet boy was born that day
for the world to see :)
My Wife Mary
Was incredibly hairy
With a thick wooly coat of fur
Head to toe covered in hair
You may think that’s quite scary
But it was just hereditary
Her mother was a grisly bear

My Sister Kim
Was a little bit dim
She asked what IDK stands for
When I said I don't know she stamped on the floor
OMG she said, nobody does, I'm off to the gym for a swim.

My Uncle Cyril
Flew down from the Wirral
Where he was known as a ladies man
With an extremely large wingspan
You know what I mean, he was virile.
Temporal Fugue
Well, it's almost here
the day that I retire
thirty years of servitude
not quite a funeral pyre

A planned escape
after years of malaise
thinking on what I'll do
starting another phase

I'll open up a glass shop
make some artistic pieces
fused, foiled, stained or blown
creativity never ceases

Maybe I'll make glass dildos
something to please the ladies
custom designs and so erotic
quality, as in Mercedes

Yes here it comes
for all the years I've strived
it's only just retirement
and yes, I'll still be alive

Turning out a product
designed to give life some joy
sure it's just a piece of glass
a hand crafted well made
;D~ Hey! it might happen LOL
Anybody interested in pre-order? ROFL

Name your girth
Name your length
the colors you desire
heated in the flames of love
melded in the fire
Middle school......
The home of my social life, but also the place that can end it.
The home of my books, how I love them.
Home of the crap, there is a lot of it.
The home of my freedom, if only I could get past the blocked pages.
Don't you agree
Hip hip hurray!
It’s cleaning day!

I get to poke and prod and pull
While you ignore me like I’m a fool;
Threats of no tv and no iPad
Fall on deaf ears - and just make ME sad.
You’ve figured out it’s all a bluff
That if you wait I’ll put away your stuff.
But what am I supposed to do?
Leave this gigantor mess - and let anger brew?
Honestly - what is wrong with you?
Do you think that we live in a zoo?
What consequence can I perhaps muster
That you shall see as more than bluster?
I simply can’t abide this loathesome mess
And how you can - I sure can’t guess!


After exhausting every parental cliche
And barely surviving cleaning day
I think it’s time; this must be said -
For us to consider hiring a maid!
When neither carrot nor stick motivates but things need to get done, what do you do?
Jeff Gaines
This is my only and first ever poem
that I did scribe upon my phone.

A pal of mine does it, does it with ease.
She makes it look easy, just like a breeze.

But it's harder for me, with my thumbs of ham.
I prefer full-sized keyboards, as that's who I am.

Typing and retyping and then wrestling the spellchecker.
If I tried this while in my car, I would surely need a wrecker!

Squinting, so that I don't have to strain my eyes.
To say that I'm enjoying this, would be nothing less than lies.

Well there you have it, I'm finally done.
I'm gonna pass on this foolishness ... and let her have all the fun.
NEVER again.
I'll write it in Sharpie on my arm first!
I've always >hated< texting.
Pulling a long hair out of your butt crack
it’s the first day of March so beware
with a hint of sweet spring in the air
you might be tempted
thinking winter has ended
only to be caught by Jack Frost, unaware
Going to the gym is so like high school:

I’m still the kid who can’t climb the rope
Secretly wishing for that invisibility cloak.
The obvious bookworm weakling drifter
Amongst the yoga cheerleaders and weight lifters.
Wanting desperately to be strong
But using half the equipment wrong.

This time it’s different.
I’m paying good money for the experience!
Man is it obvious yet how hard a poem a day is?  :).
I should probably do some work tonight -
Get ahead of the game; start the week out right....

But I’d rather watch ‘The Walking Dead’
And drink this glass of wine instead!
Not super clever but true!  I was ready to tap out on the poem a day thing but this came to me..so here it is :)
amanda nicole
I’m going to start
making xerox copies
of my heart;
that way I can’t
run out of love,
and you can’t run out of
I should really start a series called "love + chaos"
Temporal Fugue
I'm really not a dancer
more like a fish far from the sea
flopping gasping, dying
on a spasmodic twerking spree
don't ask me to explain
why the dance floor lacks my style
trust me when I say
Dirty Dancing, I'll defile
so when we hit that date
the one where you check my moves
don't judge me right away, but wait
cuz in bed, I'm really smooth
Yes, I'm boasting LOL ;D~
Dr Peter Lim
London Bridge is falling down
    oh, my fair lady Olivia
    I can't take you to town
    I'll stay with your sister, sweet  Sylvia.
Roberta Frosty
Oh by all means
Please do go on!

When I asked how things are going,
This is how I hoped you respond!

I wanted to know your recipe for chicken tenders.
        No shit? Coconut flour, huh?
                Well I’ll. Be. Damned.

I wanted to know that you’re just trying to get through the doldrums of Day 11 & 12.
        I’m just trying to get through this conversation!
                We have something in common!

What I wanted to talk about? What I wanted to talk about was Weight Watchers.
        I only have 13 more points left this week!
                Have I told you my recipe for air “fried” cauliflower crunch bites?
A new day has dawned, the clocks have changed
Lost an hour sleep, and my body found it strange
Now on daylight savings time
Confused this wee mind of mine
Why not leave it alone, it confuses people's brains?
I read a stack of psychology books
When my mind went off the tracks
Now I’m but a therapist
With a knapsack on my back

I’ve gone my way a wandering
Through the depths of misery
I come from Babylonia
With a Bible Belt
Whipping me

Borne of milk and honey
The hungry heart is doomed
Ate my cake and ice cream
Everything I could consume

Now I’m old and thirsty
Setting at this dirty bar
Looking for a meaning
Of life as yet so far
Traveler Tim
Elliot, please add to the HP rules:

Caution: Don't drink and read!
Maybe this needs a bit in the way of notes. In comments I read "I got wine up my nose." I was already myself laughing at the poem and this comment made me thankful I wasn't drinking anything!
the abstraction of this poem
is nothing more than an illusory
created by the grandiose illusionist
and given to a set of eyeballs
that has been neatly placed
into the eye sockets of the reader

this poem is the conjuring of taking
the devil’s chess pieces,
the winning lotto ticket,
the grand prize at the swindling
carnival game,
the ultimate sweepstakes,
the crisp 100 dollar bill on bucket 6

this poem is the educational system,
teaching you to reach for the stars
and making you believe that one day,
you’re going to be successful and to
avoid chasing the junkies pipe dream

this poem is the persiflage
of senseless romanticism,
the woman’s dalliance,
the strength of a tiger

this poem is raining hellfire
on the streets of Fallujah
while stray dogs eat faces
off of dead men

this poem is the fat and grizzle
leftover for the rich men to fight over
on the purple golf courses of posey

this poem is the liquid bread on every
street corner convenient store

this poem is the miscellaneous
moving boxes and the lists of etceteras

this poem is the young ladies asses
ogling over the sunken eyes of old men

this poem is the pink pollution
and acid rain washed on the
languor hearts and
monochrome minds

this poem is exposing
itself to the dull knife

this poem is the grown ups,
the losers, the saints, the fools,
the whores and sex deprived madmen
running amok in the wild streets
on a sultry night
in the city

this poem is a tabernacle
of contrariwise predicaments

this poem reads you,
you don’t read it,
as it will lavishly feast
off your feelings and
clink glasses with your
skeletons and demons

this poem is the cold
gazing eyes behind the
creepy Halloween mask

this poem is the scrapings
on a cinderblock wall
of an old prison cell

this poem is as pure as
the sad lakes of Minnesota

the verisimilitude of this poem
is indescribable,
a tangible outlook
that seems to be
more factual than
the greatness of drink,
the dullness of toil,
the seclusion of misanthropy,
the benefits of immortality,
the landlady hounding for
last months rent,
the woman in your bed
gone the next morning,
the punctuality of
the hangover bird,
the serial killers imagination,
the resurrection of Lazarus,
the backstabbing of Caesar

this poem is 0x0x0x0
all at once
to the reader,
to the writer,
to the bum on the subway
with the illusion
without the reality
or this poem
this poem
this poem
this po
Lawrence Hall
What Were You Thinking, CBS!?

There is basketball
But no Young Sheldon tonight
Life has no meaning
anthony Brady
A young man from Bude
was most incredibly rude
being greatly endowed
but imprudenly proud
he did something silly
he trod on his willie
when out and about in the nude.

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