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 |    A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
 A log of our magnificent journey. |
| I'll take you to my secret place, where sunlight spreads chantilly lace across the verdant forest space. We gather there, away from city's frantic pace-- our pied-a-terre. Convening squirrel, rabbit, fawn, we meet to greet the coming dawn and welcome grace of tardy swan with hearty "Ciao!" There is no need for Amazon. It's here right now. Notes ▼ Let the creativity flow from your soul!  Dave "The Poet's Place "  |
| Someone please help me! Anyone? I am in a desperate predicament and have nowhere to turn. Every time the human beast Bubba goes to the Mexican food restaurant, he starts ripping members of my Toilet-paper family away--brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles--and feeding them to the voracious creature Toilet, after wiping them in that gooey, stinky brown stuff. The nasty fluid produced by diarrhea seems to have no end, and my turn is coming soon. Please hurry! Ple.... 76.5 words |
| Good morning, Spring! It's a zippity-doo-dah day when robins sing and daisies bloom in vast array. The rising sun brings forth a sense of wonderment, like cinnamon on slice of morning sentiment. We dance around the dogwood tree and sing about rebirth with glee to celebrate your return to our latitude and consecrate each fascinating interlude by sowing more and nurturing in fertile soil to build rapport with Nature's plot through garden toil. |
| When Putin slaps his thigh, his army soon descends, promoting evil trends. When missiles start to fly, our heroes say goodbye to family and friends. Too late to save the whole of population's folk beneath destruction's cloak, all stand aghast at toll, but try to take control amid the fire and smoke. We witness misery now etched in history. Notes on the HexSonnetta form of poetry ▼ |
| I fervently wish that my gibberish might make someone smile and even beguile. To remove all doubt about my literary clout, just ask my pap and call it a wrap. |
We plant spring seed where open space is found while snow is still on ground. With folks to feed, we get an early start with creaky wooden cart. The food we need-- like carrots, spinach, beets-- will soon be healthy treats. The farmer's creed will guide the way we work. This trust we will not shirk. In muddy mead, muck boots and winter coat provide the antidote. If you take heed, the spunk that labor brews defeats the winter blues. This simple deed will cultivate a sense of value to dispense. |
| Deep in the bowels of the ship, beneath the engine room deck plates, the bilge monster accumulates grease and oil from their drip, drip, drip, creating serious fire threat, which makes Machinist Mates upset. Lowly crewman must make a trip down below, crawling on his belly to wipe up that smelly jelly and strip bilge monster of his evil grip. Crewman going below: https://www.alamy.com/180409-n-hd110-0022-pacific-ocean-april-9-2018-engineman-f... . |
| The passion pulses in my breast, as I proclaim desire for you, embarking on my fervent quest. I promise to always be true in whatever we may pursue, whether it be building careers or exploring some new frontiers. My mission is to make you happy as we wend our way through the years. I hope that is not too sappy. Notes on the Dizain form of poetry ▼ |
| Is you is, or is you ain't gonna be my loving mate, or do I have to dispatch my trusty hit man Cupid in his soiled diaper to spark romantic antics with his medicated dart? 7 lines |
| All this clutter in my brain, swarming in on humongous scale, is about to drive me insane. Inundated by hordes of hated junk mail, touting products from used cars to insurance, my mind feels dazed and abused, making me wail. The TV plies subliminal transference of messages to convert fiscal restraint into rabid cravings without deterrence. Folks push their way through my phone lines to acquaint me with credit deals and vacation resort, devouring my energy until I feel faint. Computer spam now invites me to cavort with Oprah for free, at least that's what they say, while concealing their vile intent to extort. Besieged by drumming ploys, I can only pray for relief and escape to some cabaret. 17 lines |
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