Les Murray (The Australian Poet) - Clerihew
The poet Les Murray
Loves hot curry.
Always recites his sonnet
Wearing a bonnet.
poem by Khadim Hussain
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Poet Les Murray - Clerihew
The Australian poet Les Murray
When in Surry.
Always recites his ballad
Whilst eating salad.
poem by Khadim Hussain
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The Bee Sonnet
I was going to write you a sonnet
with much wisdom, both in it and on it.
But while walking near trees
I saw millions of bees
and came home with two bees in my bonnet.
Every bee has and uses his stinger,
and, once stung, it will burn and may linger
well this happened to me,
then another mean bee
put his stinger right into my finger.
So you see, I've known many a bee
who came down from some innocent tree.
But to write you a sonnet
with two bees in my bonnet
was prevented by bee number three.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)
I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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First sonnet
These words, they just wont come out of my head.
They stay deep down inside, where i can't reach.
I feel as if my mind has now gone dead.
These thoughts, i just cant hold, i want to screech!
You want me to write you a just sonnet,
but i cant think of what to say to you.
All i can think of is the word bonnet,
because its the only rhyme i can do.
if you want a better sonnet than this.
Then so help me, cause i don't have a clue.
do you think of my sonnet as amiss?
or are these thoughts down in my head adieu?
Will these ideas in my mind now leave?
So then i ask when will i be relieved?
poem by Brianna Perreira
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My Bonnet Of Blue
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Its gossamer fineness I'll sing to you;
For a delicate fabric in sooth it was,
All trimmed and finified off with gauze.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
How well I remember thy azure hue!
To church I wore it, one pleasant day,
Bedecked in ribbons of fanciful ray;
And all the while I sat on my seat
I thought of naught save my bonnet so neat.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Broke not my heart when I bade thee adieu?
When service was over, my steps I bent
Towards home, a-nodding my head as I went
But, alas for my bonnet! there came a wind
And blew it away, for the strings were not pinned.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
What shifting scenes have been thine to pass through!
I raised my eyes to the calm, blue sky,
There sailed my bonnet serene and high!
O, what a feeling of hopeless woe
Stole over me then, no heart may know!
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
As clear as the sky was thy azure hue!
'Twas vain to mourn for my bonnet, and yet
It taught me a lesson I shall not forget;
'Twas, never to make you an idol of clay,
For when you best love them they'll fly away.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
I loved thee well, but thou wert untrue!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Urceus Exit
Triolet
I INTENDED an Ode,
And it turn'd to a Sonnet
It began a la mode,
I intended an Ode;
But Rose cross'd the road
In her latest new bonnet;
I intended an Ode;
And it turn'd to a Sonnet.
poem by Henry Austin Dobson
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Easter Parade
In your easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it,
Youll be the grandest lady in the easter parade.
Ill be all in clover and when they look you over,
Ill be the proudest fellow in the easter parade.
On the avenue, fifth avenue, the photographers will snap us,
And youll find that youre in the rotogravure.
Oh, I could write a sonnet about your easter bonnet,
And of the girl Im taking to the easter parade.
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Poetic Prudence
A fixed meter, fixed rhyme sequence
Are important in Sonnet writing- Yes;
Thus, structured poetry is rigid- hence,
How far the thoughts get penned down is a guess!
The chosen form must suit the writer’s needs;
The structure too reflects the poet’s tone;
Both rosaries and necklaces have beads!
A sonnet must not be a sculptured stone!
Yes, content is more important than form;
The words must flow in harmony aright;
A Sonnet’s structure ought to do no harm
To what the poet intended to write.
What poets say must get the preference;
The other things shall act like just a fence!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-4-2005
poem by John Celes
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Bee In My Bonnet
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a hole in my shoe
And my toes are getting colder
I got ants in my pants
I got fries in my thighs
I got a bone in my nose
I got frit in my ass
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a flee in my ear
I wear my heart on my sleeve
I got a ticket for the train
And I'm ready to leave
I got a rockin' pneumonia
and the boogie woogie flu
I got the palpations
All because of you
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I'm burning, with love
I got my fish on the line
I got my hand in the water
I know right from wrong
So I do what I oughta
I laugh in the day
I cry in the night
Woo hoo baby
Gonna be alright
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet And The Baby
How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,--
How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,--
When a-toddling on the floor
Is the muse he must adore,
And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?
Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
But to write one seems to me
Quite superfluous to be,
When you 've got a little sonnet in the house.
Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
That is full of love and life in every line,
Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
Altogether so complete
That I wonder what's the use of writing mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Feelings: Well Worth It
Feeling bad for
chocolate and sweets
and all things
nice, but curry?
not worth pain
for a taste mundane -
you wanted curry
it's not reasonable
to inflict it on me
knowing the sequel; I
can’t eat it, and now
the pills don’t work
I’m stuck in pain,
should you make curry
again, I’ll settle
for a big Chocolate cake
and then when I
die inside,
it will be
Well Worth It!
poem by Margaret Alice
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Mary's Gators
Mary had a little horse
the horse was just a pony,
the horse had hooves and balls of course
but ate no maccaroni.
She led the horse back to her flat
they took the elevator,
at night the horse slept on a mat
next to an alligator.
As you can tell, this lady had
a screw loose in her bonnet,
she wasn't altogether bad
that's why I write no sonnet.
A sonnet would be all too clear
and show hat she was mental,
but she was really such a dear,
we'll call it accidental.
The horse grew slowly, as they do
the gator did much faster,
one day, it did, out of the blue
it happened. A disaster.
The gator ate the horse at lunch
and had a pudding later.
Don't know for sure but have a hunch,
she bought another gator.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Inspiration
Poet provides pleasure of society in various way;
In human beings provides, penetrates rays of gay.
Provides inspiration;
Is an honest creature is God’s creation.
Poet inspires all categories of people in society;
Encourages them earning properly live with delight.
Through poems tries upliftment of society;
People of all religions, castes live with gaiety.
Poet loves minister’s honesty;
Loves employee’s punctuality.
Derives pleasure from the innocence of cultivator;
Loves to remain in the sweet lap of Nature.
Poet is an honest advisor of society;
From good activities of society derives delight.
Loves woman’s devotion;
Loves beauty of creation.
Poet encourages students to a acquire wisdom;
Depicts verses on the truth of creation.
Loves peace, honest administration;
Depicting poems drinks nectar from the brook of creation.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Mr Curry Delight
Yum, yummy
O! My tummy
Mr. Curry Delight
Now I fight
For my right
Mouthwatering tasty dishes
Incredible vegetable species
O! Mr. Chef
Mr. Curry Delight
Yum, Yummy
Hear my tummy
Common hurry!
Or be sorry
Hmmm, what’s cooking?
Aromatic spices stewing
Spinach & vegetable brewing
In bucolic style
Chopped onions & tomatoes
Anything edible goes
With the flow
Spicy chicken tandoori
Worth the calories
Yum, Yummy
O! My tummy
O! Mr Curry Delight
This curry sauce
Deserves an applause!
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My loves sonnet
My loves sonnet
~
My love is an unwritten sonnet
an ode to the greatest beauty
which sparks the soul into a song
and the heart a merry dance
which brings to life many a dream
such joy I now find in me
happy my soul thanks to love
that the world should hear
and share in such sweetness
the rich melody of this sonnet
still remains unwritten
but this love, such love
inspires all creation to thought
how can such beauty
be captured in words alone
to eternity I look and beyond
to read my unwritten love
is to live and watch over it
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Above the Poets Station
You’re a poet, as they say
All you write is poetically full of art
Wince when you read your stuff
As from literacy you stand apart
Such great depiction, fiction
wordplay and poet structures
Diction, contradiction, dead
good words and writing such as
Ballads, salads and other kinds
of verses with great meaning
Acrostic, Agnostic and all other
words that see you preening
Rhyming, timing and all the stuff
that makes you look artistic
Hard to read and nothing
really makes your stuff simplistic
Excreta, meter, rhyming
All about your brother Peter
Verses with great timing
all with just a single rhyme repeater
Arty words but never farty
Dressed up in a dictionary ‘bonnet’
Time for wordsmith party
Can you find a rhyme for this – yes Sonnet!
Who was it that wandered
all around as lonely as a cloud?
Are clouds lonely? Verily it’s pondered
Do they seek your friendship in a crowd?
I.Q, Haiku, do your readers even like you?
Tanka w****er, you’re so on the ball
So pretentious’ does that saying ever strike you
Jack of all trades master of sod all
You’re a poet, as they say
and all you say is poetically full ofshit
Read up or down, I’m pretty sure
you’ll never find much sense in it
Though some was meant!
poem by Stephen Stirk
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The Poet Who Has No Readers
THE POET WHO HAS NO READERS
The poet who has no readers
Needs the writing of the poetry
Loves the writing of the poetry
More than any recognition or praise
He may receive for it-
The poet who has no readers
Writes nonetheless,
For he needs and loves to write
Though he not be read or listened to at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To Mr. Murray (For Oxford And For Waldegrave)
For Oxford and for Waldegrave
You give much more than me you gave;
Which is not fairly to behave,
My Murray.
Because if a live dog, 'tis said,
Be worth a lion fairly sped,
A live lord must be worth two dead,
My Murray.
And if, as the opinion goes,
Verse hath a better sale than prose--
Certes, I should have more than those,
My Murray.
But now this sheet is nearly cramm'd,
So, if you will, I shan't be shamm'd,
And if you won't, you may be damn'd,
My Murray.