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Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews > Poetry Forums > Poetry Education -> Karnak Crossing
Pages: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63
The glühwein we drunk from a mug
made us glow like a Bayberry bug.
No hint of a struggle,
we started to snuggle,
then cantelouped there on the rug.
She shrugged me like I was a dope
on the rug with a bare cantaloupe,
Merlin lyin' right there
on the floor like a bear
who was drunk and tied up with a rope.
Daniel's first one:

If some dope makes her shrug I would like
to take Anne on a long mountain hike
just to get her head straight
or perhaps, procreate
until she cannot ride on her bike.
Merlin's first one:

Your gluhwein from a mug makes you drunk
and you topple into an old trunk
which is not the right size
for your head or your thighs
and your girlfriend goes off in a funk
Merlin's second one:

Can’t elope on a rug there and then
since you never know where it has been
or just who was on top
when you start or you stop
it is best to just cuddle and grin.
And, lastly, Daniels last:

You were tied with a rope ‘cause you’re drunk
and your friend put you on the top bunk.
They had tried on the bottom,
it broke so they got’em
some more friend who could lift you and chunk.
to Larry's first two:

If the bike that she ride's in the trunk
and your girlfriend's gone off in a funk
then the heck with them both;
it is time for some sloth
so drive off to the bar and get drunk.

... and to Larry's response to Merlin's and to mine, at once:

If your friends cannot lift you and chunk
why not cuddle and grin on the bunk
even if you're alone
and the others just groan
and the whole place now smells like a skunk.
Okay, I'm all confused so will just keep going...

It smells like a skunk? The whole place?
Gosh-golly, if that be the case
that fellow, Fainthearted,
I'll betcha he departed*
and left the whole place a disgrace.

* Substitute another rhyme-word if you wish.

came back to edit...

Methinks this might fit with the can'telope.

She offered her honor one day,
he honored her offer, yea, yea!
All day and all night,
a glorious sight –
it was honor and offer – olé!
It was off her and on her - olé
that went throughout the night and the day
as he consummated;
but alas, he's degraded
and tired but she still wants to play.
If you reckon she still wants to play
I'll be back, but it won't be today.
Got a few things to do,
more stuff to accrue,
I'm heading up-up and a-weigh!
If you’re going up-up as you weigh
then too much food’s gone down-down today
filling out on each side
but what can’t be denied
you’ll soon look like a source for pâté.
If pâté is the source of your look
you are pasty and often mistook
for a can of dog food
or something you brewed
and left it out to over-cook.
Leave it out and it willy over-cook
in the sunshine, so best take a look
that it doesn't turn black
like a fallen smoke stack,
lest the crows come and gobbledygook!
If you gobble the gook crows will come
just to see if you have left them some
but alas, you have not
‘cause you ate the whole lot
but you didn’t know where it was from.
If you didn't know where it was from
soon the crows will be eating the scum
from the vomit you leave,
and you'd better believe
that the food you eat's what you become.
I've become what I eat, sure as shiver,
Monsanto was pleased to deliver.
I'm now modified
from aside to decide
and genetically sold up the river.
Up the river genetics are sold
to improve us; at least I am told
that we’re born with some flaws
so by skirting the laws
companies say we’ll never get old.
To pay or not to pay?

We’ll never get old, so they say,
that we simply fritter away
while the fountain of youth
is elusive in truth,
and in truth, I now need a toupee!
If you need a toupee here’s the truth
you’ve grown old and are now long of tooth
so dead hair in a weave
will not ever deceive,
serve her strong martinis with vermouth.
If her martini's strong with vermouth
it may not matter that you're uncouth
'cause she's loose as a rag
and it's likely you'll bag
the young lisper, who says "What'th the uthe?"
I once knew a courtly, young lisper,
most often she'd speak in a whisper.
We'd guzzle martinis
while watching wahines
on warm, sunny strands, turning crisper.
While their runny strands crisped in the warmer
his cheese sandwiches dripped; the transformer
blew out, and the lights
went out, so their night
was described as a pillow-conformer.

As the pillar, conformed by the scribe,
filled with his cuneiform diatribe
depicting pharaoh’s battles,
the truth of which straddles
outright lies but he’s taken a bribe.
Well, he thought he had taken a bride
but the fact was they'd taken his hide
by switching a letter
and not for the better;
no wonder the poor dumpling cried!
No wonder the poor dumpling cried!
They had taken his dough and were snide
with the chickens who gave
up their lives just to save
the dinner dish that he had tried.
For dinner he tried a new dish
and thought it was some type of fish.
For sure not a trout,
of that there's no doubt,
cuz it tasted a little commish!
The commissioner tasted a little
and he suddenly had to go piddle
so he wondered just what
he had tasted there, but
he again had to hey-diddle-diddle!
If you hey-diddle-diddle again
and your efforts to go are in vain
you had better go see
a doc to make you pee
‘cause your bladder’s unable to drain.
If your bladder's unable to drain
then the stuff could hone in on your brain
and the deep yellow water
could turn it to fodder
and you would try thinking in vain.
I've tried but all thinking's in vain
and wouldn't you know, it's a pain.
I now merely sit
and don't give a twit
QUOTE (Merlin @ Sep 20 15, 13:31 ) *
I've tried but all thinking's in vain
and wouldn't you know, it's a pain.
I now merely sit
and don't give a twit
(so I guess what you did was abstain?)

Since I guess you abstained, may as well
post a ditty, because, who can tell
if you'll drop in again
just a little more sane
and you'll run words out like a gazelle?
Strange things happen when I go back to do an edit. Quote marks get corrupted and now the last line has disappeared. It was there when I did the 'complete edit'. I'll do an edit in this box and see what happens next.

Edit follows >>>

A gazelle ran right out of words,
the first, the seconds and thirds.
Well, then it went forth
to see what's up north
and found lots in synonym herds.

[Didn't use quote marks here.]
Eddy 2 >>>
and found lots in cinnamon herds.

I did not know that cinnamons herded.
Do they gather up when they have birded?
Do they do it to catch them?
or do they just hatch them
to mix with their milk that they've curded?
Mixerella is milk from a yak
that's curded through Myrica rack.
Then cinnamon's added,
next genteelly padded,
and sold as a D-lishus snack.

Mary started a facebook poetry page "Poets Creative" (quote marks here). Take a look and jump in if you like, it's more serious poetry.
When a D-lishus snack has been sold
how much time before it starts to mold?
Will the sun make it curdle?
Will you need a girdle
to hold in its gas uncontrolled?

P.S. I put in a request to join the group.
To hold uncontrolled gas in its place
where you'll never smell it, not a trace
keep your pectorals tight
and your gluteus might
keep it there during your next embrace.
If you're keeping it in while you hug
there could be a great mess on the rug
if you once let it loose;
won't take much to induce
an explosion which all would unplug.
To unplug would mean an explosion
that brings on hot steam locomotion.
When you pull out that cord
it won't mean that you scored
but caused one considerable commotion.
If commotion is what you consider
the nub of your unspoken ridder
then I wonder if you
ever cleaned up some poo
and continued to be such a kidder.
I'll continue to kid Brother Larry
for not leaving dear Merlin his quarry
to answer up here;
the point of his spear
could be dulled way down there where it's scary.
It's scary and dull down the way
to the graveyard where rag-witches neigh.
Their skeletons brattle;
their teeth simply chattel,
All Hallows is still 4 weeks away!
Since All Hallows is 4 weeks aweigh
we can go to the graveyard and play
'cause the ghosts aren't out
and no skeletons shout
to get off of their graves; hip-hooray!
To get out of their graves, the hip horrors
use an old I-pad app someone borrows
so they can celebrate.
They don't know it's too late
'cause they're dead for a million tomorrows.
When tomorrows cause you to be dead
will they place a gravestone at your head
that will call you a bard
'graved in granite so hard
that no on can erase what is said?
A million tomorrows they're there
with an I-pad they'd borrowed somewhere.
As Einstein once said
in their head they are dead
and the worst is they don't even care!
OOPS! Looks like we both responded to Larry....

So I'll do a combined response to yours and mine to make it easier for the next respondent:

Though no one can erase what is there
it is sad that they don't even care
'cause they flatten the stones
and then dig up the bones
and scatter them out everywhere.
Ya dun good, JD cyclops.gif

Lets everywhere scatter them out
till they pop here and there and about.
Three minutes apart -
cross-posting's not smart
so we'll start with a fresh turnip sprout.
If we're wantin' our turnips to sprout
prob'ly best they ain't scattered about.
"Lettuce turnup an' pea,"
is what kids said to me;
irrigate 'em together, no doubt.
Irrigate lettuce, turnips and peas
all together, I’m sure it will please
all the denizens out
in the forest, no doubt
you will coax them right out of the trees.

Been busy so I missed a lot of good ones.
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