"punning" poems
My phone clamped to my ear,
Listening to you think.
We were punning.
(We would combine categories like ‘The Royal Mail’ and ‘Sea Life’,
And come up with things like Octo-post and
Cod-espondence.)
That night it was ‘Crockery’ and ‘Celebrities’.
You thought of Plate Moss
And
Camilla Parker Bowl.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Now, the Sun is again setting;
with fading beams a frenzy knight who shone & lit the dark with awful might
That shine is now punning and the Sun is again on verge of setting.
Shall the dark win the light?
Shall thou live in the night?
‘O’ Sun don’t forget thyself truth of fighting the dark to bring the light
Why leave hope?
thou sow those seeds and reap that crop
that Sun again shine – the purely white
who can win over the night;
So the Sun may again set in
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
I love you.
I love the way you feel, sitting close to me in the comfortable darkness.
I love the movie playing in the background- I love the actors, the music, the scenery.
I love making jokes about the characters, punning on the dialogue, pointing out holes in the plot.
I love crying at the sad parts, laughing at the funny parts, and laughing even harder at the parts that aren't even meant to be funny, just because you're there with me.
I love my friends, who sit and laugh at us, make fools of us as we make fools of ourselves.
I love the refreshing taste of the cool soda I'm drinking, the crunch of popcorn as we share a tub between us.
I love this quaint, little scene
in this quaint, little place
in this quaint, little town
in this crazy, big universe.
I love everything about this moment.
I love so much.
But how long will I have to go on
Until I can finally say
I love myself.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
With Poe-try you can surely
get your Words' worth
So many words are waiting
like a Wolfe at your door,
for their Cummings into being.
If you listen, they Pound
upon your brain
They Lamb-aste your viscera,
making you Nash your teeth.
They create a Millay in your head.
So many shapes, so many Hughes
Lusting for Moore they Lear
at you when you least expect.
Look back at them!
Like Frost upon the windowpane
they write themselves,
then, when all is said and Donne
melt away too soon.
Grasp them when you can.
Put them in a *Rowe
Taylor* them to your muse,
use your Whit, man !
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
Page late for purpose
Blame the person caged by age and its curtains
I sense a web of change to delay and weaken
Being stabbed out of range left me derailed and beaten
Heart cried fear out of rage as I lost touch with nature
Here starts a new year, 2008 as I fought and touched her with anger
Regrets of closing that open door, free
Like charging God for the chosen Lord to be
Compassion hooked and tossed only to catch a ‘selfish’
I saw a stranger in the mirror, fashion-hooked and forged to match maverick, Jekyll and Hyde, was it real or a lie??
The curse of a good man switch, like the dream of my Ex being a witch
I deem it worse if all Man were rich
My colleague saw my haircut and said it all punning
How ironic to compare ‘Us’ Samson’s shortcomings
The burden of the eaten is bulging, I ponder Adam’s apple
…And the Garden of Eden is still cunning, will I ever settle??
The World is a ring of punches
Appearance Vs Reality
Who will be King of Conscious??
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
Life along the Liffey
Riverruns and keeps on running
In this misty musical city
I keep playing, praying, punning
Post-modernity arrives
I reJoyce and am not shunning
Though much is taken, much abides
Including silence, exile, and cunning
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Flirting with ideas daily
running through these facades of society mainly
skirting up to the offers to leave everything behind faintly
we're humanity we're society we're everything
we bind our limbs to things so we can cling
to a glimpse of something we could force to sing
but we avoid our dreams and most precious things
because we fear losing everything
to say in this place
making us a basket case
smearing the disappoint across our face
afraid to run in the race
that would lead us to a lace
of humanities untouched pace
its such a disgrace
we never leave this place
with such a familiar face
fearing the race
leads to a lace
of unfulfilled grace
we're humanity we're society we're everything
we bind our limbs to things so we can cling
to a glimpse of something we could force to sing
but we avoid our dreams and most precious things
because we fear losing everything
toy with the idea of running away
boy you and me we could take to a new sway
coy and brave in its paths astray
joy in belongings put away
deploy to a new place each day
boy you and me we can take to a new day
each day with no defined way
every day with paths astray
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
With Poe-try you can surely
get your Words' worth.
So many words are waiting
like a Wolfe at your door,
for their Cummings into being.
If you listen, they Pound
upon your brain
They Lamb-aste your viscera,
making you Nash your teeth.
They create a Millay in your head.
So many shapes, so many Hughes!
Lusting for Moore, they Lear
at you when you least expect.
Look back at them!
Like Frost upon the windowpane
they write themselves,
then, when all is said and Donne,
melt away too soon.
Grasp them when you can.
Put them in a Rowe.
Taylor them to your muse,
use your Whit, man!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC