Humor

  Riddle XXXVII From small beginnings I grow great, just keep up the heat and wait, help me become the thing I am, give me all the heat you can. Let me transform the gathered dew and I’ll transform the world for you. Tend me well from hour to hour...

Musical Comedy or Doggerel for Dilettantes The Sonata Like a Classical sonata, our day opens with a theme, Whether thrown from bed by thunder or lulled softy from a dream. With our breakfast comes a second theme, which contrasts with the first, And includes both toast and cereal and juice...

  Please bring the wine cuz I'm flat broke, I couldn't even buy a can of Coke. But once you smell my heart's sweet rose, you'll only wish you were all nose.   Robert Klein Engler lives in Omaha, Nebraska. He is a writer and artist. His many publications are...

  I like to write, and writing's free; Liberates mind of memory. I take a chance to be creative; For daily stress, a palliative. Not modern work, you understand; A failure when I tried my hand Composing verse of latest fashion; Trending styles that leave me ashen. I like to write,...

Thank you to everyone who participated and made this a great year for rhyming riddles! —Evan Mantyk, Judge First Place ($100): Monty Phillips, France I’ve never been exactly sure How long I’ve been on this old earth; It sometimes seems it’s not much less Than Man himself has held tenure....

  Pentadactyl 5-foot dactylic poem with a truncated fifth foot on the odd-numbered lines. With apologies to Pterodactyls. Dactyls are terrible lizards that fly at the mind pounding their emphasis boldly, Jurassical pelicans dipping through breakers, the roaring of others behind, beating Tithonian wings like the rotors of helicons Such...

The Ballad of the Poor Troubadour I’m past my prime __and I’m out of time— I never made a dime from a rhyme. There ain’t much worse __than an empty purse— I suffered from the curse of the verse. I am no more __but I leave this score— The Ballad...

  Why photograph a fact when you can catch A nightmare, be a Jackson Pollock or A Dalí at his Druid weirdest? Snatch A depth of fanged subconscious and then pour Some paint of guts across your canvas. Real Is boring. Ditch it. Art becomes mirage And mystic queasiness inside...

(All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise) Crossing the Swamp by Jon MacNaughton by Caud Sewer Bile "If freedom of speech is taken away...we may be led, like sheep to...slaughter." —George Washington The boat of freedom of MacNaughton follows Leutze's pic of Washington upon the Delaware, grave, foggy, thick. Don Trump...

In the Poetry Writing Workshop “Milton conceived the Paradise Lost as a whole before he executed it in portions. We have his own authority also for the Muse having ‘dictated’ to him the ‘unpremeditated song’, and let this be answer to those who would allege the fifty-six  various readings of...

—from A Gallery of Ethopaths* The computer is a simple tool— It cannot change an arrant fool Into a brilliant, thoughtful scholar, Although the damned thing costs top-dollar. It cannot help someone to write Whose prose is just a total blight Nor delineate a topic For someone naturally myopic. It...

Sonnet on the Death of Teeth I’m amused by a brush with Death In the depths of my bathroom mirror. His grimaces shrink into grinning, His ruthlessness fades to bad breath. His rot had once fogged me with terror; Now his gnashing is rootless and blithe; His gargling grotesques are...

  If seasons pass too fast you'd better run. If they proceed too slow indulge in fun. Sunups are best enjoyed in days of cold. Sundowns when heat waves linger fierce and bold. Old age returns all that you thought was lost. Except perennial snow and springtime frost. Dost thou...

Sail Fever I knew some terms, the merest germs Of illness called ‘Sail Fever’: Tack starboard, port, keep mainsail taut, Steer boat by tiller lever! One Saturday, beside the bay, A salesman full of running Cast practised spiel of salty zeal, Sheer confidence and cunning. He said, “This boat will...

Garden Waltz a terza rima sonnet in dactylic pentameter with a truncated foot at the end of each line Radishes sway to the rhythm of sunlight and rainfall, Carrots to minerals present in alkaline soil. Onions, however, invite a due process most painful, Opening eyes to the sting of their...

Guess who is not invited to come to a dinner here? Rights are just for some people. Others have to disappear. There is no bias in denials of our services; we shall not break bread with those who do not think just like us. Injustice anywhere's a threat to justice...

Winners announced here. Scroll down and read the comments section to enjoy all of the submissions. What has no subject one can tell, Yet tries to make it ring a bell? What makes you scratch your head and think, “How does this blather even link?” RULES: Write a rhyming riddle...

(All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise) Confucius Institutes "Three things cannot be hidden long: the sun, the moon and truth." —paraphrase of a Buddhist quote by Lu "Reed ABCs" Wei The Chinese Party-Communists use wily socialites, constructing a network of spying, propaganda sites, for outposts called evasively Confucian Institutes, attempting...

Congratulations to the following winners! Thank you to judges Joseph S. Salemi, James Sale, and Damian Robin.   First Place $100 Prize: Ben Foreman, Cascabel, Arizona Cheesemaking Find a way To weigh The whey.   Second Place: James B. Nicola, New York, New York Trip of a Lifetime The place within. Shall...

  Everlasting Chesterton The author, G.K. Chesterton: A playful epigramist, A master of the terse bon mot, And witty dithyrambist. He loathed pomposity and claimed (And I believe quite rightly) That angels fly simply because They take themselves so lightly. A staunch defender of his faith, He was a Roman...

  I Love This Life a rondeau I love this life in spite of all the trying times and every wall I must tear down to find success, although sometimes my happiness is thwarted, slowing to a crawl. When lofty expectations fall back to the earth, when I feel small...

by Con Chapman Nyla Matuk and I have a few things in common; we are both poets (or in my case, claim to be), and we both know what sumptuary laws are, she having written a book of poems using that term as its title.  Me?  I wrote a white paper comparing...

(All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise) The Cat in the Red MAGA Hat by Carb Deliseuwe Eugenior Joseph took girlfriend and mom on Mother's Day to Cheesecake Factory, Miami, for a piece of cake. Though he was simply having a good day, how dare he flaunt and bring a bright...

Song of Us Face to face, polite and careful, Tentative we were, and prayerful, Neither one of us would dare pull More from this than met the eye. . . . Yet Side by side we worked together, Hands of flesh with hands of leather, And we slowly pondered whether...

  In an old timber town lived a man of renown; With a chainsaw he couldn’t be beat, And as quick as you’d say “What’s for dinner today?” Limbs would fall, cut precise and complete; And when challengers came, they departed in shame, With their heads hanging down in defeat....

  Tulip Tree in Bloom, January Every working day I pass a tulip tree on yellow grass and strain to see, when it appears, petals out this time of year. Even our southern winter's strong-- it hunkers down and won't move on: A sky that presses close its gray; chilling...

Lullaby When you sang to your baby boy did other hearts not fill with joy those few who just happened to hear? for even on their darkest day your lullaby would chase away every doubt and pain and fear the angels never sang like this nor heard the pure exquisite...

I used to be politer, but more boring, my friends say. They could take me anywhere. My conversation wasn’t overbearing. My actions seemed as if I didn’t care more than was apt. Now I appear half-crazy, they tell me, and act drunk before I drink. I babble, slur my sentences,...

 (All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise) Am-air-ica by Eber L. Aucsidew Die Welt proclaimed the biggest drop in CO2 was in America, in the first year of Donald Trump—no spin. Though worldwide emissions grew by 1.4 percent, they fell in UK, Mexico, Japan, and the US. The IEA released its...

On looking into the mirror one afternoon An old buzzard once came and he knocked on my heart, And politely he asked to come in for a while. He had said he was looking for carrion to eat, “Oh no problem”, I answered, and gave him a smile. Then I...

  Goose Sense A burden and a bore I must have been; As handy as another leg, I'd slouch The farm in borrowed overalls, and when My chores were done I'd nap on grandpa's couch. I thought of books and girls and being cool, Of anything but crops and barns...

  I knew her when I could be called a youth And life had not uncovered certain truths Apparent to detectives, super-sleuths; Such as ‘Best clues are found within untruth.’ For boasting of a car with plushest trim, Expensive belted tires, alloy rims, Made me no better than deceptive crims...

A tribe of trolls escaped their cage! Now rabid wrath and rancor rage. Hurling hurt from hidden hellholes (most notably, their toilet bowls), they flush their filth across your page … Anonymity sets the stage for this word-“warrior” rampage as today’s internet unrolls a tribe of trolls … Let’s hail...

The Fall Now, if you’re sitting comf’tably, then listen to my ballad; it is a Summer evening tale of pizza and of salad. “I’ll take the plates out, love,” I said, "for your hands tend to shake, but I am steadier and I’d hate the crockery to break." The threshold...

  You caught me staring at you yesterday, or so it seemed, for you—you smiled and blushed and all your girlfriends giggled in the hushed and stilted silence of the lecture. They had to have seen me staring your way too, slackjawed (old love has always been a child), transfixed...

After Joachim du Bellay’s "Les Regrets LXVIII" I hate the Florentines' foul avarice, I hate lewd Sienese profanity, I hate Geneva's glib duplicity, I hate malign Venetian artifice, I hate whate'er Ferrara does amiss, I hate the Lombards' infidelity And Neapolitan diversity, And lazy Rome's loquacious cowardice. I hate how...

The neologist bakes the cake, The iconoclast shreds the recipe Deems the structure all a fake, But powerless against euphony, Leaves empty gestures in his wake. Arthur Lamar Mitchell © 2017   Arthur Lamar Mitchell has a recently completed novel – ‘A Grotto in the Sea;’ Poetry set to music...

The Cymbal Player As bows and fingers quiver strings, as lungs and lips whip up the air, as notes soar on great falcon wings, one player, seated in his chair like a finch hid in a maple tree, as if the creature wouldn’t dare trill out above the symphony (perhaps...

Wordsworth’s Lament I wandered lonely as a cloud—Oh dear! I watched the dance of daffodils—Oh my! When on my couch in vacant mood I lie I feel their wealthy fluttering draw near. I see them toss their heads like twinkling stars; A sparkling, sprightly, jocund company. I gaze, I gaze,...

It’s a vicious process, sonnet writing. It seems as every time I near the goal a syllable or rhyme eludes me, rendering my poetry somewhat droll. I feel empathy for those who struggle and a growing sense of hate for masters, those who can weave such beautiful meaning into these...