by Joe Tessitore and James A. Tweedie
We are issuing a challenge to all poets to create poems that incorporate word homophones. Call it what you like, but we are calling it a Homophonic Poetry Challenge. Every poem should contain at least one perfect or near-perfect homophone. Puns, while not required, are encouraged. Although our own attempts have been humorous, serious homophonic poems are also a possibility. In any case, here are some examples to get you started. Note that the requirement for meter is not strict. Note that this is a challenge, not a contest. No winners. No losers. Just fun.
From Joe:
On Seymour’s Weight Gain
There’s more to see of Seymour,
So I see Seymour more.
The First Time I Saw Paris
When I got
an eyeful of Eiffel, I ful-
Filled a life-time dream.
Untitled
How much did that broad
on Broadway weigh?
From James:
Icy Eyes
A frosty Highlands sky
Caught Scots by surprise.
When asked, one man said, “Aye,
“I see icy eyes.”
Oui, Oui!
This little piggy went to Paris, and this little piggy went to Rome
I asked them if lattés in Bern
Affected them on their return.
And this little piggy went, “Oui, oui! We wee-ed all the way home!”
We are confident (and hoping) that you can do better. Place your poems in the comments section below.
Oh Yeah!
I saw a bare bear
and a hare without hair
on the stair – did I stare?
Oh yeah!
I spied with shy eye,
sidled by to go buy
underwear for the daring pair.
“Was it dear, deer?” they said
with cheeks blushing red
at the price tag they read –
Oh yeah!
But, I’m a doe in the know
with a dough-splashing beau
who never says no coz he’s fair.
A toad towed them home
in a cart with a groan
from a hoarse horse who waived the fare.
“Cheap! Cheap!” the birds cheeped.
“Bald! Bald!” bawled the beasts.
“Please! Please!” rose my pleas, “Spare a care
for the bare bear and hare without hair!”
Oh yeah!
Susan, You have put Joe and me to shame. Hopefully, others will do the same.
I’m sure I haven’t… I will do better 😉
A tale of two tivs, by Joe Spring
Barry built a wooden tiv
and Billy bought a tin one,
and each one said he wouldn’t’ve
done what his friend had done.
Then Billy said “Look at my tin tiv!”
Said Barry “It’s pretty good!
If I had money I mightn’t’ve
made this here tiv of wood.”
Said Billy, “Have you thought’f
Trading yours for mine?
For now I think I oughtn’t’ve
gone to the shop and bought a tiv
when p’r’aps your wooden tiv’ll’ve
been really rather fine.”
Then trade they did, a tiv for a tiv
And happy they were to trade:
the one for the tiv the other had bought
And the other the other had made.
I couldn’t’ve said it better m’sel’.
Very cute and original.
this is incredible!! xoxoxo
From the unhumorous side:
One nightstand, that and just a bed.
One bare bulb, burning overhead.
Two lie there, nothing to be said,
in the glare of a one-night stand.
Subtle, atmospheric and clever.
Under the lamp-post stands a cute
Broad, whose angles are acute.
But if you want this honey, love —
You’ll have to cough up money, guv.
Could it be the lamp post light was red? (It
Dawned on me some time after I read it.)
Yes, she’s a lady of the evening.
Confusion
The constant, cruel cacophony can crush
My nerves at times and overwhelm my days —
I long for days when I’d enjoy the hush
Of forest walks that kept me from the glaze
That cataracts my mind when music, voices,
Such overwhelming sounds come from my choices.
The constant tugging, pulling, neediness
Of everyone exhausts me, makes a haze
Through which all light seems blinding bright — I bless
Those moments, ever-rarer, when I gaze
Upon a room of nothingness, where none
Is present, making their demands I run.
The constant pettiness that seems to fill
The days of everyone are like a blaze
Of heat, oppressing me. Do what I will,
Yet going through my days brings on a daze,
Where I cannot collect my thoughts, my self —
I feel a toy forgotten on the shelf.
On History
The restless river runs deep red
While on the bank the people glance
With love, make children, song, and dance.
They come, enjoy the festive spread—
The river tries to make a trance—
While on the bank the people glance
With love, make children, song, and dance.
While killing, stealing, crimes are read
As history—our only stance
Great criminals or weary chance
The restless river runs deep red.
While on the bank the people glance
With love, make children, song, and dance.
BAITED BREATH
I hear a soft pause in the pad of her paws
as I pray for the fate of her prey.
Oh, for a flaw as she skulks across floor;
the slam of a door near the pet I adore,
as I weigh up the scene for a way
to give you a tale where the mouse keeps his tail
when I’ve sent Kitty off of the scent;
that ripe rodent reek causing felines to wreak
mayhem for a week; no time to be weak
in this SHOO-WITH-A-SHOE event!
Holy Cow!!!
Susan, you are crazy good at this!!!
TOO much fun!
TWO I’ve done!
Time TO stop!
Simply amazing!! What a gift You have… and how You’ve developed it!
Okay, Susan. Touché!
“Sheesh,” she shed a tear upon the tier,
Which stood above the pier on which the Peer
(He was a prince) left finger prints (Oh, dear)
Upon the antlered carcass of a deer
That had been gently laid upon a bier.
“Let’s drink a toast,” he said, and raised a beer.
“To everybody here I say, ‘Hear! Hear!’”
I think you’ve just out-homophoned me, Mr. Tweedie – very well done!
I am, compared to ewe,
an amateur at best.
And “homophonic Sue,”
With ease, outshines the wrest.
Let’s see some more, folks—lame or tame!
Joe and James,
Hi. I did not write these two.
A noise annoys.
You scream. I scream.
We all scream for ice cream.
But I did write this one today.
The Flea and the Fly
A fly told a flea what to do:
“If you fly, keep that vent in your view.”
But the poor fly was ailing,
the tip unavailing.
It flew with the flu in the flue.
That’s evocative of Ogden Nash who wrote,
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
Joe and James, Wow! I just realized I copied the poem from my notepad incorrectly. Here is the correct version. Mark
The Flea and the Fly
A fly told a flea what to do:
“If you fly, keep that vent in your view.”
But the poor flea was ailing,
the tip unavailing.
It flew with the flu in the flue.
Mark and Mike, I can hear the sound of Ogden Gnash-ing his teeth, wishing he had written that one himself.
Can jelly fish?
Can Dan D. Lion make a wish?
Can a homophone phone home?
If I had a way to weigh
or overrate your lean cuisine
I wouldn’t say, “You overate!”
You wouldn’t say, “You’re being mean.”
The package picture is a palette
Greens and other lovely hues
But can it satisfy your palate
Is it something you can use?
I guess the food is complementary
Within itself but not to me
You’re beauty, though, is elementary
I am complimentary, see?
These are words I often get mixed up! Nice to see them used correctly.
Educative AND romantic. Superlative!
MOBY HIC (a whale-sized wail)
When I clapped my paws on wine
to pause and quaff, then start to whine
(with ale I pale and start to ail):
the only male I have is mail –
each night I crave the bravest knight
to write to me and put things right
to bear the burden I lay bare
to pay the fare to life’s fun-fair
to take the weight; I hate to wait…
he came at six – we ate at eight!
I’ll bare my sole soul if you can bear it…
You write like a dream…
Hairy Hares
A hare without hair is rare.
Most hares have hair to spare.
Bald guys may find it unfair,
But a hare with hair won’t care.
All’s Well That Ends Well
Deep in the wood there dwelt a bear.
His frame was spare, but his mind was good;
He foraged fruits upon his share,
And scrounged his fare as best he could,
So he had food — but none to spare:
When asked to share, he never would.
Then came a female bear named Mary
(Whose soul was sour, though her face was fair);
She scoffed that he should be named “Harry”
When in fact his hide was rather bare.
He tried to hide, his shame to bury,
Till he could find something to wear.
Mary grew merry at his plight
(Her heart was cold, she did not care);
She raided his berry stash one night,
A deed that no one else would dare.
This ruthless, cruel act of spite
Proved more than the spare bare bear could bear.
Now, despite his varied outward flaws,
He had true friends — a hart and hare
Who joined, with willing hooves and paws,
To chase that scoundrel far from there,
Who’d hurt their Harry without cause.
She fled to wrathful cries — “Beware!” —
And did not pause for time or tide.
Now finished with the sad affair,
Returning home, Harry espied
A she-bear shapely as a pear
Whom he desired for a bride,
Wherein his feelings did not err:
With joyful haste the knot was tied,
And jubilation filled the air.
Now side by side, with love and laughter
They share their happily ever after,
Wrapped in each other’s arms, rapt pair.
“Spare bare bear could bear.” As sweet and lovely as a ripe, juicy grapefruit!
I should have gone some time before
At three o’clock, or latest, four.
Instead, I now must make amends
By quickly searching for a ‘MENS’.
I now know that it is possible to laugh and groan at the same time!
Which witch
Made the whale wail
As the world whirled?
(This is actually an old example used in philology classes to help distinguish between aspirated and unaspirated “w”).
Dr. S, I love your wit. It triggered this:
He sought in vain for inspiration;
For greatness he had aspiration.
Alas, his only aspiration
Came in words like “perspiration.”
At last, attaining perspication,
He expired in perturbation.
It’s nice to have whit of wit.
Wet your blade before you whet it.
Don’t whine about the wine.
Put the whole thing in the hole.
I got a weal from rubbing that wheel.
He did play whist, I wist.
The middle three would be a good start towards a collection of homophonic aphorisms.
Tungsten – an element that weighs ten tongues.
Bandit, is my
prison sound? My
irons, are they
well-wound?
Here are not my
grounds grand?
Bandit, nor my
prison, sound.
Banded is my
prison – sound my
irons are. They
well wound.
Maybe it doesn’t quite fit the protocol, but the first and last stanzas are homophonic.
It fits perfectly! Nicely done.
Thanks, James. I later realized that “wound” is pronounced differently – and is a different word – in the first and third stanzas, but I guess it’s close enough to the exercise.
Read Writinghood
Once upon a time,
one Momaday,
I came upon a crime,
along the Hemingway;
the crime I couldn’t mime
was like a needle in a hay———stack.
In Atwood
(dark and Wilde)
a Woolf stood
(winked and smiled):
god-saint-self-person-false-unlikeli-likeli-hood
were ears, eyes, jaws, paws, claws, styles compiled but never mild———mannered.
Horsing around Djuna Barnes,
skipping along those Gwendolyn Brooks,
combing through treasured golden yarns,
poking around in textual nooks:
fancy-wise-kiss-ass kicked, punched, and drug by the tale of ancient crooks
and left in Paine among Robert Graves while Robert Burns the books———hop———down to the ground.
To part that Ishmael sea of Reed,
to be filthy, stinking, Adrienne Rich,
to be Jonathan Swift, to do that deed,
to Harold Bloom, to find that niche,
to plant that seed—indeed, succeed—
and with that Shakespeare scratch that itch:
but all at once and once and for all and all the while and why not because again and like always I didn’t use the right amount of weed———killer.
And I only and I only and I only and I only and I only———wanted———to Richard———Wright.
[Note: Published in Angry Old Man (2018).]
It’s fairy obvious here that many commenters have misunderstood what a homophone is; it’s not just a silly rhyme.
Cure-All
Whatever ails you,
Good ale won’t fail you.
The Fast Track to Weight Gain
No need to wait
While gaining weight:
Just stuff your pie-hole
And swallow pie whole.
Scholarship
A classic paradigm
Is worth less than a dime
If everybody knows
You have a Roman nose.
Kip Anderson is correct. Homophones are two semantically different words that have exactly the same phonic expression. Silly near-rhymes don’t fit the bill.
Perfect homophones:
feet/feat
sale/sail
tide/tied
whore/hoar
wrack/rack
shoes/shoos
waste/waist
Isadora asked,
“Is a door a jar?”
Or would it have been better to spell it out?
A door was ajar and
Isadora asked,
“Is a door a jar?”
Thank you for your clarity.
To you I raise my glass!
(That also is quite claret-y).
My last post was to Joe Salemi, for his Perfect homophones.
Thank you for your clarity.
To you I raise my glass!
(That also is quite claret-y).
Joe –
I’ve no idea what this is.
I squeezed my feet Into petite
Shoes. And it was quite a feat
But, laces tied, I rode the tide;
Within the hoar, became a whore
For soggy wrack from off a rack
Found sailing on the watery waste –
And filled the space within my waist.
Joe’s post reminded me
There is a place called Dore
That’s near my Sheffield door.
I live inland and sure,
In land there is no shore.
Where are you leading people, ‘Messers’ Tessitore and Tweedie ?? Into a procrastinators’ self-help group ??
This ditty was complicated to do: And still I carried on:
And still the big rhyme at the end is a phoney in the homophone stakes.
My guest is late, where can he be?
Each time, before he leaves,
I pour some tea of quality.
Last time, some leafy leaves
Got stuck outside, atop the pot.
Poor bloke. Before he went,
I rubbed the pot of goodbye tea,
But he, poor gentle gent,
Sneezed! Refused my good buy tea.
And now my guest is so far late
I check his genealogy.
O my poor mate, I’ve guessed your fate:
You’ve died of genie allergy.
And another one of mine was also not a homophone
“Thank you for your clarity.
To you I raise my glass!
(That also is quite claret-y).”
And so I learn, by having a go …
D, “Geneology” and “genie allergy” may not be perfect homophones but they are perfectly hilarious!
As for where are we leading you? All we did was hook a leash into your nose and put the other end of the leash into your hand.
Here is where my leash led me just now:
I loved a lass,
By her disdained.
And so, alas,
My heart is stained.
Farm Fresh
Farmer Brown had a grandson named Pierre,
Who was sent to breathe fresh dairy air.
When the lad turned out naughty,
The plan came to nought. He
Shoved Brown who went down with a splat
On his derriere in bovine scat.
Overcome by the smell,
Brown leapt up with a yell —
He sure made the boy scat after that!
Anna,
“. . . breathe fresh derrière.” lol Unfortunately, that’s the image that’s stuck in my head! I suppose that means your poem was a “bottom” line success! Thanks for adding to the collective wit and for spreading a smile.
Morning Mercies
by Daniel J. Davis II
The mourning dove speaks one soft coo.
The air feels cool as morning dew;
The purest breath I ever drew
Gives me more joy than I am due.
The sun has only kissed the air.
Its light awoke the baby hare.
The grass sways in the breeze so fair,
And flows like flowing angles hair.
The sky – deep blue; the trees – dark green;
The golden sun completes the scene,
And from this feast my eyes did glean
More glory than they’d ever seen.
Dan,
In the introduction to this challenge we wrote: “Although our own attempts have been humorous, serious homophonic poems are also a possibility.” Your poem has proven this point true. Nicely done.
Thanks Dan, your poem changes my view of the homophone that I would mostly have reduced to mere ‘pun’ in the past. I wondered if it only succeeds because it is serious among so many pieces that gurn and twist for amusing attention. Reading it with a fresher mind, it stands up to what I see as its straight forward intend.
Therefore I look at it in a different light and find that there are two issues I have with it. One is that I think there is a typo – that “angles hair” should be “angels’ hair” or even “angel’s hair”. Another is in the first stanza. Tagging the dove as “mourning” seems strained. There’s no indication in the poem why it is described as “mourning”. There is only the link to “coo” as though cooing is always mournful, which I don’t think is true.
But, Dan, you are getting this scrutiny from me because you have achieved a fine rendition of an uplifting feeling. Thank you.