Matka Kulfi,
Otec Lassi,
Neasi.

#badpoetry #vyprovodimsesama

Maighdeannan-mara

#Poetry #BadPoetry #Swimming #Gàidhlig #PoemADay #SmallPoems

Your first solo

#Poetry #BadPoetry #Climbing #Gàidhlig #PoemADay #SmallPoems

@Lizette603_23

There once was a man named Chauncey
Who hailed from the County Galway
He was quick with his wit,
And he wrote a fair bit,
But his Limmericks were far too raunchy

#limmerick #BadPoetry #poetry

The bare birch branches
A red kite's lazy hover
And lightening sky

#badpoetry #photography #naturephotography #haiku

At the Resolute Desk,
Sits a petty
Shallow narcissist who
Has two buttons: one to summon
A Diet Coke.
The other starts World War III.

#BadPoetry #uspol yes that's #Trump

RE: https://mastodon.nz/@BobLefridge/115656949519495969

On street names as vanity plates for the wealthy

We cruised quietly down "Judith Street" via "Van Velden Drive".
The Uber driver was twitchy, demanding his pay.
Cos the next street was "Willis" which sent chills running through us
as we swung right into "Don Brash Way".

We veered right once more, found a street called "Seymour",
chucked a right into "Luxon Lane".
Back alley, dead end, black gates, heavy men,
it’s "Thiel Close"… but what’s in a name?

#BadPoetry

When I bought two pumpkins
I carved one, plain-faced, and set it low
by the rain-splattered stair
in the blackened night,
a weak candle trembling inside.

The other stayed whole,
a stubborn, misshapen globe
resting on the table a week,
then the porch,
and finally the garden.

Dust had dulled it; rain now rinsed it,
and here it is, wet, shimmering orange
against dark, dying greens
and sombre browns below.

The carved faced pumpkin
has long since slumped, collapsed,
a patch of orange folding
into the deep black earth,
a small, troubling proof
of what will come.

The skin will split. The stem will soften.
Rot will come, slow and sure.
It will fold and slump, then slowly disappear.

Still, for now, it holds! Round and firm,
a brief bright defiance waiting,
as I wait. Holding, as I hold,
as rain keeps falling.

#poetry #badpoetry

When I get up the dark still clings,
my skull a muffled bell, the acheing years.

The dog waits for food, tail ticking time.
I count the days I might still rise.

Yet, rise I do! Groaning, ringing, mortal,
because the kettle needs filling,
and the world won’t wait.

#poetry #badpoetry #aiart