set out to write my Russian novel
Cathy and Peter think it's great
in mine, the boyars wouldn't grovel
which led to loss of much estate
it's not that it's not good enough
it had the Tzar and Godunov
the themes I touched, oblige noblesse
and seagulls, of course war and peace
but in the end, though I was crushin'
it's still in English, not in Russian
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2795277-Tolstoy-on-automobiles
caught in the machinery of heaven
staring at my loaf that wouldn't leaven
why God, after being their good warden
can't I gain the Promised Land through Jordan
can't live in the land of milk and honey
David's name, not mine, on their coined money
wasn't forty years of service plenty
wasn't pharaoh's son as good as any
sacrifice I made, but you Lord, know it
there's a Michelangelo to show it
even there, young David beat me at it
it's his song they sing, and me, I've had it
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2795188-The-Machinery
it must be nice in paradise
the weather's always sunny
no worries about snow or ice
(though you might still need money)
and where am I? not in Dubai
and nursing a hangover
there by the grace of God live I
where hell has frozen over
enrolled in a class on the Bible
and noticed the timely arrival
of a certain lass
the lady had... class
I say this, no intent to libel
I wanted -- the moment was tense
to know her -- in biblical sense
we sat in the back
and gave it a whack
as soon as the class did commence
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2795060-make-me-giggle-with-a-naughty-poem-adult
I wear an AirTag on my belt
this grounded, I have never felt
as long as I have paid my bill
I can locate myself at will
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2795097-Win--50-Finding-yourself
I must confess a yearning for my phone
desire that is bordering on lust
and though it gives me news I do not trust
and I no longer use its ringing tone
if I can't find it, I will hiss and moan
location service being quite robust
I find it quickly, as I feel I must
and check it yet again, when on my throne
a sonnet to the phone, I surely jest?
(and written on the phone as well, to boot)
Petrarca must be rolling in his grave
at least it's not blank verse, that's for the best
the phone, it has become the poet's lute
and sonnets celebrate that which you crave
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2793912-Modern-Petrarchan-Sonnet Petrarchan Sonnet
fantasy novels, by the dozen
attempt to best their little cousins
throw in some incest, roll some heads
lose count of all your plotting threads
a richly painted world emerges
the network bosses feed their urges
and there you have it, that's your show
Amazon Prime, or HBO
at the edge of the world, near its end
fire, water, and ice mix to blend
hissing waves turn to snow
magma steadies its flow
vapor makes an attempt to ascend
Iceland, pastures of aquamarine
bathed in steam, your creation pristine
Ragnarok, does it come?
Odin's beating his drum
does it come? it remains to be seen
the road to hell ends at its gate
no worries, you cannot be late
no need to knock, like heaven's door
they know you're coming from before
the smell of sulfur -- that's the baths
they are spread out along the paths
and lastly, please ignore the screams
remember, nothing's as it seems
Author notes: wc 53 https://allpoetry.com/contest/2795133-Hells-gate
insomnia, my eyelids firmly closed
but sleep remains elusive as a mouse
I must give up at last, and barely clothed
I wander through the carcass of my house
a creaky floorboard bends, a soulful moan
the floor, at least, acknowledges my plight
the wind draft on my skin, I'm not alone
cold fingers probing, promising delight
the Cinderella staircase takes me down
the center hall where eminences danced
their faces wearing masks that must not frown
the hostess having left no thing to chance
the eerie glow of streetlamps permeates
where candles spread their warmth so long ago
the library, for gentlemen debates
cigars and whiskey -- if you're in the know
ah, here's the kitchen, smells of ham and toil
and well worn wooden countertops, knives out
the stains of countless cooking wines, and oil
an empty pitcher thirsty for some stout
back up the stairs, the pictures on the wall
well meaning captures of forgotten smiles
the promises we've made after our fall
remain unkept despite our many miles
my bed unmade, I try to sleep again
oh god, please tell me: will this ever end?
please grant me sleep, I'll sleep like I slept then
the ceiling's staring back at me, no friend
I scan the room for something to distract
my jumbled stream of consciousness rebels
the shadows ready for their final act
it'll take the sun to overcome their spells
some shredded wrapping paper, left by us
from packaging the wages of our sin
the fireplace is lit, St. Nicholas
will have to find a safe one to climb in
my feet back on the floor, it's of no use
I might as well get up and do some work
the white flag raised, and though it should refuse
insomnia accepts it, with a smirk
the bathroom's cold, the mirror covered up
and just as well, in no mood to reflect
the faucet's dripping, and the toothbrush cup
is empty but is waiting to collect
Author notes: I wrote this poem during about of insomnia. Literally got up at 3AM and put it all down. I'd like to think that I got across some of the quiet desperation of that moment, and was able to create a genuine mood
these sexy buns!
they hide a promise
whether it's Dick,
Harry or Thomas
do tell me hun
they do the trick?
cause I got more
right up my shtick
they're put together like a blessing
and don't forget the Russian dressing!
Author notes: image from istock photo https://allpoetry.com/contest/2794925-Eroticism--but-as-a-cheeseburger.-adult
the little prince, he sleeps and dreams
the world is different than it seems
a wondrous world, all full of stars
and magic links that world to ours
he dreams of wishes that come true
and fireworks that pierce the blue
of kindness that observes no bounds
a magic flute plays gentle sounds
trusted companion by his side
he'll soon fight evil, it can't hide
rescuing damsels in distress
beautiful damsel, pretty dress
and then one day, he's all grown up
the magic's gone, he knows what's up
your silly tales have lost their charm
and there is hair under his arm
and later he will reminisce
and if he's kind, a hug, a kiss
and one day introduce a girl
and say to you: she is my world
and now you live to see the day
oh, you are ready, come what may
and he is easy to convince
and brings to you, his little prince