Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jim Apr 15
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.


“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.
Sketcher Jan 2019
Today is the day,
Dangerous circumstances,
Are soon on their way.

From the brains in your head,
To the feet in your shoes,
You are soon to be beat,
And you're soon to be bruised.

You'll have blood on your head, crusted into your hair,
No wounds will ever heal, not the cuts or the tears,
With your head leaking brains and red stained white cleats,
The athletes will beat you while you're out on the street.

They'll touch all of your ups,
And they'll touch all of your downs,
From the back to the front,
From the tip to the crown.

They'll open you there,
Wide open and bare.

Outside things will happen,
They will continue to do,
Things that mess with your head,
Because you are a Jew.

And when things will happen,
Don't worry, don't stew,
Just go along with,
Whatever happens to you.


You'll be up on your way,
To see some pretty sights,
Then a **** will show up,
And knock out your lights.

You'll lag behind, because you don't have the speed,
The whole gang will jump you, they'll do it, indeed,
Wherever you go, you'll fight the best of the best,
They'll use their fist to rip your heart out your chest.

Except when they don't,
Because sometimes they won't.

They will be high or drunk or maybe just blue,
They'll be so sad and depressed, they'll do nothing to you.

They will either hang themselves,
or pray in the church,
They will put down their weapons,
and stop the search.

Upon leaving the church,
You'll surely feel a thump,
And chances are then,
That you've just been ******.

A special kind of ****,
That will leave you stunned,
While it's up in the ****,
You'll scream, "This isn't fun!",

You'll feel the reaming of Muhammad and Mark,
One is a light skin, and the other, rather dark,
They'll tear through your **** like it isn't a sin,
Then they'll turn you around and take you for a spin,
And a slurp, and a choke, until the stuff drips down your chin.

When they finish, will you have the strength to fight,
Or will you barely be able to tell left from right,
You'll be so dizzy that you think you might be blind,
It must have been too much ramming from behind,
After they're done, they'll keep you in prison confined.

You will get so confused,
While they're booming the bass,
Riding you faster, at such a neck-breaking pace,
Riding the throat then spilling all over the face,
Then they leave you in shock, in this dark humid place,
Dark... humid... place...

...just waiting and waiting,
As the seasons come and go,
And cars will come and go,
And people come and go,
Some people ask, "Are you okay?",
and you say, "No.",
You continue to just wait.

Wishing that you were just white,
Instead of a Jew that gives off a fright,
To every non-Jew and hater despite,
Religion or if they're dead or awake,
So you still lay there in anguish and ache,
You'll soon get the nerve to pull up your pants,
And then you'll walk south until you reach France,
Every step is a throbbing pain in your ***.


Somehow you'll escape,
The praying then spraying,
Removing all hope,
Whatever was remaining.

As you leave Germany,
you will say goodbye,
But you were too loud,
And you were stopped by a guy.

The man screams out, "HAULT!", as you begin to run,
And now you realize that the great chase has begun,
As you are running away, you trip and you fall,
Still wanting to flee, away you sluggishly crawl,
You feel the mans hands grab so you beg and you plea,
You loosen the grip, stand, then pinned against a tree.

Rammed into the wood,
Knocked out, this is no good.

I'm afraid you'll be caught,
And chopped up in a stew,
This is bound to happen,
No matter what you do.

Very Dead!
Whether you like it or not,
Dead will be something,
You'll be in the ***.

And when you are dead, there's a very good chance,
That a necrophiliac will find romance,
He'll steal your body with his swiftness and brawn,
You'll make him say, "I do want life to go on!".

On he will go,
With his moaning and growls,
On he will go,
Stretching right towards your bowels,
On he will go,
Like a wolf he will howl,
He will awkwardly peck,
With his mouth like a beak,
Upon the great hole,
In which he took a leak.

On and on he'll strike,
Until all the white tar,
Comes out of his *******,
Dirtying his new car.

He doesn't own a horse,
But a car you can blow,
Because there are thirty *****,
Hanging off the window,
And the wheels are some *****,
That are hardened and cracked,
This is a normal car,
This car isn't abstract,
This car doesn't run on gas so it's quite the heft,
When it's pushed up hills with hands of the deft.

So... will you bleed?
Will you beg and plead?
(This Is Actually Zero Percent Guaranteed)


This is your life, your way,
You're able to seize the day,
You can go to all places,
You can choose to leave or stay,
So please do what you wish,
And your life will be great.
Parody of Oh, the Places You'll Go. I'm not really sure where I was going with this. It's very random...
Donald Maher Dec 2018
Snit and Snat
      Part 1

    Different from me!
From a very young age, I was told what to think
What to do how to do it how to dress how to drink
When old enough to know all about this and about that
I was told by my father to watch out for the SNATs!

He told me such stories he stoked all my fears.
I just could not sleep right not for nearly a year
After all, he had told me that we were all SNITs,
We live a good life here down in the pits

Our people don’t mix with the SNATS up above
We stay down in our pit that fits us like a glove
The SNATS live above and control all the land
Some live by themselves in holes in the sand.

Some live in villages infested by rats
They eat crazy food and they even have cats
Don’t venture they said don’t stray way up there
They will soon gulp you down without even a care.

The noises they make shake our homes way down here
It makes our young children cower in fear.
Being curious I said, “I just have to know.  
How do they live and where do they go?

I must find this out I must venture up there
And find the true story, what why and where.”                                   I climbed out of the pit and on to the sand
Strange sounds I soon heard from way cross the land

It was the sound of a SNAT making way through the gloom
“SNAT! SNAT! SNAT!” he growled as he ran toward my doom.
I climbed to a place, up atop a great tree
The SNAT followed suit and sat next to me.

His skin was all furry his eyes were bright blue
He looked down at my feet and he took off my shoe
He let out a SNAT laugh and ran down the tree
I soon followed quickly and what do I see.

The SNAT was now dancing and singing with glee,
As loud as he could, SNAT! SNAT! SNAT!   1, 2, 3,
I climbed up that tree and watched for a while
The SNAT just kept dancing and showed a great smile

   He was wearing my shoe as he danced through that night
He didn’t even stop when it started to get light
He sang that SNAT song over and over
It stuck in my head even when I got older.

But what happened that day I remember like new
The SNAT stopped his dance and gave me my shoe.
He pulled me aside opened his mouth up so wide
I fast pulled away and tried hard to hide.

Was he trying to eat me, would I soon meet my doom?
I tried very hard to get out of the room
He grabbed hold of my hand pulled me out on the floor
Before I could blink, he was dancing once more

Snat showed me some steps he took it quite slow
In a very short time, I was ready to go
I grabbed the snat's hand and showed him my moves
Before very long we were hitting our grooves

He sang his Snat song, just as loud as can be
But then he just stopped and started looking at me
He grabbed my 2 hands, forced me right out the door
A tear fell from his eye and he dropped to the floor

What mystery is this? What is that Snat doing?
It was easy to tell something new was now brewing
Snat thought and thought, this I cannot admit
Had I just become friends with a Snit?

What is this now? How can this be?
Snits cannot be my friends they are different you see.
As a small child, things were made very clear
Stay away from the snits run away fast in fear

They‘re skin is not hairy their eyes are not blue
They do not know how to dance, not even soft shoe.
Snits live in a pit, Snats live on the land
Snats play in the woods, Snits play in the sand

Snits are quite different I see that is true
But just underneath they are much like Snats too.
I don’t care what they do I don’t care what they say
My new friend is a Snit I declare that today!

The Snat then approached me and made it quite clear
Saying, “I am your friend!” This was good news to hear
We sat and we talked about this and about that
He showed pictures of family and even his cat

We planned great adventures where we should soon go
Go out to the beaches and even see snow
I will tell you these stories when they do unfold
Exploring our world’s see, what treasures they hold

Now my adventure, must end I admit
I must go to my family way down in the pit
Just as I was climbing down in the sand
Snat was singing a new song as he traveled the land
Snat! Snit! Snat! 1 2 3  Snat! Snit! Snat! You and me!
Snat! Snit! Snat! 1 2 3  Snat! Snit! Snat! You and me!
Part of multi part epic
Jack L Martin Aug 2018
I say unto you with a sniveling snarl,

Will you go on and be friends with an owl?

Why, YES! I said boldly with a pompety grin

My new owl friend will be lucky and win!

He will hoot and toot a most beautiful song

He will win a singing contest and sing all day long

We will take all his winnings and spend it on mead

We'll sing, drink and be merry, indeed!

we'll capture a horse and dress it in tweed

then ride to the sunset on our horse named, "Sardine!"

Sardine might get hungry so we'll feed him some hemp

We'll lay down to rest on a bed that's unkempt

We'll wake in the morning to see Sardine's fate

Sardine has died from starvation this date

The sorrow we feel is so hard to beat

So opon his flesh we started to eat

w'ell pair it with taters all mashed in a pan

we'll eat up our dinner as fast as we can

but hold on a second, how silly are we!

We tripped on some mushrooms we found on a tree!

our minds started swirling and twirling; so dizzy!

my owl friend shrieked and then started to tizzy

he gouged out my eyes and laughed at my pain

I fell to the ground and made peace with my name

for I never did say from whence I came

cause stories like this are not easy to tame

I lay here in misery, my friend's not to blame

It's all in my head, this silly word game
Lizzie Jun 2018
I've never been great at poetry;
The process always fails for me.
While mister Poe and Shakespeare last,
My writing ends up in the trash.

Their writing style, lost with age,
Their wisdom hid in ev'ry page,
The glory given where it's due -
These are things I cannot do.

My writing's forced; theirs doth flow.
I say it blunt; they say it slow.
Those areas that bless and move
Are places where I can't improve.

So why, with my lack of skill,
Do I keep on writing still?
With such a hopeless case as this,
You'd think I would already quit!

There was a time when I did -
My desk was shut; my pen was hid.
Then something occurred to me
Which changed it all instantly.

If Dr. Seuss had Shakespeare tried,
And Mr. Poe glorified,
And given up in dismay,
We wouldn't have his books today.

So keep on writing how you do
With that style unique to you.
Put your mind into use
(You just might be another Seuss)!
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
Stacks of letters
saying "no"

rejection can be
such a blow

most every writer
has some

even Dr. Seuss
though he had a chum

that's how the book
expressed it

when they said
who would have
guessed it

he'd pleaded
to so many

said maybe
ten or twenty

supposed to make
for less regrets

bid you continue
in your


then they drop the boom
bring you back your gloom

they go on to say
in these very terms

he bumped into a "chum"
who worked
for a publishing firm
I have a book on how to get children's books published. I thought this passage was so ironic. They were trying to say "even Dr. Seuss" had been rejected X number of times (wasn't all that many). When they went on to tell about his "chum" it seemed they were saying "even Dr. Seuss had to KNOW somebody." LOL
Next page