"Stańczyk, The Prussian Homage" by Jan MatejkoHomophonic Poetry Challenge The Society September 16, 2019 Culture, Humor, Poetry, Poetry Challenge, Poetry Contests 88 Comments 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. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 88 Responses Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 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! Reply James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 Susan, You have put Joe and me to shame. Hopefully, others will do the same. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 I’m sure I haven’t… I will do better 😉 Joe Spring September 16, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 I couldn’t’ve said it better m’sel’. Very cute and original. Lauren May 4, 2021 this is incredible!! xoxoxo Reply Joe Tessitore September 16, 2019 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. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 Subtle, atmospheric and clever. Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 16, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 Could it be the lamp post light was red? (It Dawned on me some time after I read it.) Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 17, 2019 Yes, she’s a lady of the evening. Troy Camplin September 16, 2019 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. Reply Troy Camplin September 16, 2019 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. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 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! Reply Joe Tessitore September 16, 2019 Holy Cow!!! Susan, you are crazy good at this!!! Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 TOO much fun! TWO I’ve done! Time TO stop! Mike Bryant September 16, 2019 Simply amazing!! What a gift You have… and how You’ve developed it! Reply James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 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!’” Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 I think you’ve just out-homophoned me, Mr. Tweedie – very well done! Reply James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 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! Mark F. Stone September 16, 2019 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. Reply Mike Bryant September 16, 2019 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. Reply Mark F. Stone September 16, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 Mark and Mike, I can hear the sound of Ogden Gnash-ing his teeth, wishing he had written that one himself. Joe Tessitore September 17, 2019 Can jelly fish? Can Dan D. Lion make a wish? Can a homophone phone home? Reply Mike Bryant September 17, 2019 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? Reply James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 These are words I often get mixed up! Nice to see them used correctly. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 17, 2019 Educative AND romantic. Superlative! Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 17, 2019 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! Reply Mike Bryant September 17, 2019 I’ll bare my sole soul if you can bear it… You write like a dream… Reply David Paul Behrens September 17, 2019 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. Reply Anna J. Arredondo September 17, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 “Spare bare bear could bear.” As sweet and lovely as a ripe, juicy grapefruit! Reply David Watt September 18, 2019 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’. Reply James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 I now know that it is possible to laugh and groan at the same time! Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 18, 2019 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”). Reply James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 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. Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 19, 2019 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. James A. Tweedie September 19, 2019 The middle three would be a good start towards a collection of homophonic aphorisms. Joe Tessitore September 19, 2019 Tungsten – an element that weighs ten tongues. Reply Paul Oratofsky September 19, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 19, 2019 It fits perfectly! Nicely done. Reply Paul Oratofsky September 19, 2019 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. Benjamin L Perez September 19, 2019 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).] Reply C.B. Anderson September 19, 2019 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. Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 19, 2019 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 Reply Joe Tessitore September 20, 2019 Isadora asked, “Is a door a jar?” Reply Joe Tessitore September 21, 2019 Or would it have been better to spell it out? A door was ajar and Isadora asked, “Is a door a jar?” D Robin September 22, 2019 Thank you for your clarity. To you I raise my glass! (That also is quite claret-y). Reply D Robin September 22, 2019 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). Sally Cook November 24, 2019 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. Reply D Robin September 22, 2019 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. Reply D Robin September 22, 2019 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. Reply D Robin September 22, 2019 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 … Reply James A. Tweedie September 22, 2019 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. Anna J. Arredondo September 23, 2019 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! Reply James A. Tweedie September 24, 2019 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. Reply Dan September 24, 2019 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. Reply James A. Tweedie September 24, 2019 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. Reply D Robin September 25, 2019 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. Reply D Robin September 25, 2019 Hello James (a tweedie (bet you haven’t had that homophone thrown at you since high school or lower!)) re “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.” Well said. My response: Being lead through the nose, as everyone knows, Is as though you are led through a hole in the head With a lead that can lead you To what may precede you – A lure to pre-seed you And tie you and tye you and knot you to not-you, Not whole any more, running circles round lead. Reply James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 D, Heh! I never thought of nose piercing as having a hole in the head! Funny. Now we all need to match Dan with another “serious” homophonic attempt. Any takers? By the way, mourning doves are a widespread and common form of dove (with the homophone linked to the title of Dan’s poem). As a “robin” I should think you have flown around in the same circles with them on occasion . . . . Reply Anna J. Arredondo September 25, 2019 James, A “serious” attempt: Pastoral Remedy Since you left, I have been gazing With a dreary, empty stare At the fields where we were wont to spend our days, Where the hungry flock is grazing, Gaily free from earthly care, Basking in the sinking sun’s last slanting rays. In a daze, I rise up, quiet, And on silent sole I steal Down the stair, and swiftly hasten to the field. As I go, I wonder why it Is so hard for me to feel — Now my soul is steel; it seems it will not yield. Surely, though, my heart is bleeding, Aching, longing for release, So I flop down in the evening’s dying glow. Soon the sheep’s soft, rhythmic bleating Lulls my troubled soul to peace, And my tears begin their gentle, healing flow. Reply James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 Very touching and descriptive. As your soul’s weeping I can clearly see the sweeping vista of the pasture and the soon-to-be sleeping bleating sheep! As usual, you have written a fine poem shaped by an interesting and effect metric. I hope you feel good about this poem, because it made me feel good, too! I only hope that others are still following the thread and will have the pleasure of reading it as well. Thanks. D Robin September 25, 2019 Hi James, different country here, don’t have mourning doves. And the American and British robins are very different. Thanks for pointing out that mourning doves are widespread on your continent. We can withdraw that part of my comment on Dan’s poem. Reply James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 Very true. Your British Robins (such as Hood, Leach, and, of course, D) are quite distinct from ours (Williams, for example). Also, I am glad to hear that British doves are happier than ours. 😉 James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 A Semi-Serious Poem Opposites Attract My address is down-west Manhattan You live in Toledo. You wear a dress of faded satin, I wear a tuxedo. Your sense of fashion’s bad-assed wrong, I’m into fashion week. My sense of what’s in style is strong Your eye for “chic” is weak. I travel with my own chauffeur I’m into Tori Amos. My Metro-style is trim faux fur My stylist is famous. You can’t afford a Jag-u-ar You drive a Ford 150 You think “First Rate’s” a drag, you are Convinced George Strait is nifty. Like Michael Jackson I prefer To wear one kidskin glove. And I (‘cause you’re not hip) refer To ours as “ragtag love.” Reply Anna J. Arredondo September 25, 2019 Thank you, James, for your kind feedback. Now, with this semi-serious poem I’d yours, I’d say the whole homophonic gamut has been covered, from punny to serious to in-between. I particularly like your more challenging rhymes (Manhattan with satin and so forth), and you sure have a knack for “manufacturing” homophones (prefer/hip refer, glove/ragtag love, etc). Thoroughly enjoyed your poem. Reply Joe Tessitore September 26, 2019 Two more with potential: Beer/bier (Draw near, my dear. Bring a beer to my bier …), and amuse/a Muse Reply Anna J. Arredondo September 26, 2019 A Royal Getaway Act I She hid a yawn behind a fan With dazzling jewels on it Each time a suitor came in sight, And one by one they earned her spite, Until one hopeful got it right — He won her with his sonnet. But things weren’t quite as they’d appear: His peasanthood, once hidden, Was soon found out. The old king roared, “He’s not a PEER!” So her adored Was ushered out at point of sword. Their union was forbidden. Act II To ward him off, each gate they barred Lest he should slip inside, But nought could make him hesitate: The bard pressed on with measured gait Toward the palace and his fate — To claim his lovely bride. “Who says a princess can’t elope?” Her servants heard her say. To represent her royal head, She crowned a cantaloupe instead And left it in her vacant bed So she could sneak away. Act III A frayed knot on her window bar… Some footmarks on the ground… The king asked, “Have we foiled their plot?” A servant shook his head, distraught, “Oh no, Sire, no; I’m afraid not!” — The pair was never found. Reply James A. Tweedie September 27, 2019 Anna, “jewels on it”/”sonnet” and “a frayed knot”/”afraid not” are my two favorites. You most certainly have the know-how to tell a darn good story, too! So, in conclusion, could it be that our challenge has reached a grand finale with a serious poem written with the poet’s tongue planted firmly in cheek? If so, then perhaps it is time to summarize the hole end ever: One day Joe and Jim started a merry search For something the SCP folks could research For homophone poems we yearned across miles And those who wrote poetry earned a few smiles What once we began with the dew of the morning Now ends with a final adieu and with mourning. Yet each poet boasts, since the whole wide-earth heard That on “Popular Posts” we are now listed third. Reply Madeline Alderman October 1, 2019 After my first taste, I had to come back for seconds But you gave me minutes, and hours, and days, months, weeks, and years My clocks turned to calendars My spoonfuls to plates , my my’s to {h}our’s and back again to days weeks months and years time passed with you by then away Our years turned back to months, weeks , days Our {h}ours turned back into my’s My plates to spoonfuls, I couldn’t take a bite My calendar fell, my clock stopped. Could you please come back for seconds? Reply Mia Panayi October 3, 2019 Homophonic poetry I read the title and saw red, Homophobic poetry? It could only be mean It could not be right What could it mean? So I continued to read As I was curious to see what others did write But was further confused By, “A bare bear that needed underwear” Not to mention “a hairless hare,” Upon my word, what rabbit hole is this, I have well and truly fallen in, I wandered as my befuddled brain wondered, Flummoxed I adjusted my spectacles And I looked again Oh homophonic poetry, not homophobic I nearly made a spectacle of myself Well who knew But for me it is really nothing new Good grief I got the brief wrong Glad I am alone in my living room, Oh well, I had a whale of a time But English is my second language! Reply Mia Panayi October 10, 2019 Perhaps I should have left this in my living room. Sorry I could not resist. This exercise is so much fun. Even if fools(like me) are always destined for a fall… I am glad I have found this site thanks to my poor eyesight I now have such great poems to read and hopefully one day might improve and have something worthy for all of you. Reply James A. Tweedie October 10, 2019 Mia, Welcome to the SCP. I’m glad you didn’t leave everything in your living room! Hope to see more of you in the future. Benjamin D Lukey October 9, 2019 The Cobbler’s Sign DROP OFF YOUR SHOES OR BOOTS TO BE RESOLED!* *If left past thirty days, they’ll be resold. Reply S. O'Shea October 30, 2019 One little teacher… One little teacher went to mark it; One teacher took it back to class Found on her desk a place to park it; Wrote in the margin a red ‘PASS- You must be in the market for a fluted champagne glass!’ Reply Roy E. Peterson December 14, 2019 Pears That Are Appealing A pair of pears peered into space, As someone tried to pare their face. As their face became a peal, The pair of pears gained their appeal. Reply Peter Moltoni January 1, 2020 An Australian perspective: If little Johnny Howard be our greatest cricket fan— the Merv Hughes would-be would be, mind, more armchair critic than seasoned player— I would share with him my wish for 2020: Bring it on—The Tests, One-dayers , BBL and Twenty20! (John Howard, one-time longtime Australian PM, declares himself a true “cricket tragic,” and on one occasion in a practice demonstration of his unique bowling technique famously failed to find the pitch.) Reply William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 O Deer, thou lissom spirit of the wood I see you now a-leaping in a free way! Oh dear. If I was you I never would Have leaped into the middle of the freeway. Reply James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 William, Very cute. I particularly like the phrase, “a-leaping in a free way!” It may or may not be inspired but at the very least it is very clever! Reply William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 Thanks James. I now think I should’ve put ‘thee’ instead of ‘you’ in the second line and ‘if I were you’ not ‘if I was’ in the third, but that’s the price for rushing in, I guess. James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 William, Second thoughts are marvelous things. But consider poor Evan. Half the time I submit a poem to be posted here I immediately send a second email ask him to replace it with a revised version! As I was writing my reply to your poem the phrase “may or may not” suggested an idea. Here is what just came of it—six homophones and one homograph in six four-beat lines. I’m glad you have been sucked into the fun. A politician may or may Not call themselves a “pol.” But in the primaries each May Our mayor will check their latest poll Each hour. A head count helps them see If they’re ahead or lost at sea! Reply James A.Tweedie January 3, 2020 Oops. Typo. Should be “five homophones . . .” Another case of second thoughts! Lol. Reply William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 Yes fair enough about second thoughts. I also had a second thought about my second thought – after ‘but that’s the price for rushing in, I guess’ I should’ve said ‘as with that poor deer.’ may or / May our / Mayor – I’m impressed!! …but isn’t line 2 three beats? what about ‘Not choose to call themselves a ‘pol’ ? Reply James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 Good catch, William. I wrote it on the fly and clearly (inadvertently) shifted the meter in the process. I like your correction-suggestion. “May your” New Year be a spectacular one! PS: After a quick search it appears as if this is your first contribution to the SCP site. I hope it will not be your last! William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 There will be more from me I’m sure. Seems a bit like a spiritual home for me but also a bit like that bit in one of the Madagascar films where the zebra character from a New York zoo suddenly finds himself in Africa in a herd of other zebras exactly like him and it feels a bit weird! Lauren Lucille May 4, 2021 Here’s mine.. I stared at the stair with the one that won the wonder of wandering award. She didn’t like what she saw and that made her sore like a saw had been at her eyes. I’s and me’s and usses stopped looking. There were lots of nos when her nose shrugged like that and god knows what happens when that happens. Time and thyme are a good antidote For what seems to be fraying seams in the after note She’s afraid and a frayed seam doesn’t tear well or fare well or make the tare well. I see an icy face full of wear and tear, from showing her wares and shares. Woe is me and woah to she. ha! 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Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 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! Reply
James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 Susan, You have put Joe and me to shame. Hopefully, others will do the same. Reply
Joe Spring September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Joe Tessitore September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi September 16, 2019 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. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 Could it be the lamp post light was red? (It Dawned on me some time after I read it.) Reply
Troy Camplin September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Troy Camplin September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 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! Reply
Mike Bryant September 16, 2019 Simply amazing!! What a gift You have… and how You’ve developed it! Reply
James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 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!’” Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant September 16, 2019 I think you’ve just out-homophoned me, Mr. Tweedie – very well done! Reply
James A. Tweedie September 16, 2019 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!
Mark F. Stone September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Mike Bryant September 16, 2019 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. Reply
Mark F. Stone September 16, 2019 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. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 Mark and Mike, I can hear the sound of Ogden Gnash-ing his teeth, wishing he had written that one himself.
Joe Tessitore September 17, 2019 Can jelly fish? Can Dan D. Lion make a wish? Can a homophone phone home? Reply
Mike Bryant September 17, 2019 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? Reply
James A. Tweedie September 17, 2019 These are words I often get mixed up! Nice to see them used correctly. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant September 17, 2019 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! Reply
Mike Bryant September 17, 2019 I’ll bare my sole soul if you can bear it… You write like a dream… Reply
David Paul Behrens September 17, 2019 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. Reply
Anna J. Arredondo September 17, 2019 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. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 “Spare bare bear could bear.” As sweet and lovely as a ripe, juicy grapefruit! Reply
David Watt September 18, 2019 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’. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 I now know that it is possible to laugh and groan at the same time! Reply
Joseph S. Salemi September 18, 2019 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”). Reply
James A. Tweedie September 18, 2019 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. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi September 19, 2019 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.
James A. Tweedie September 19, 2019 The middle three would be a good start towards a collection of homophonic aphorisms.
Paul Oratofsky September 19, 2019 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. Reply
Paul Oratofsky September 19, 2019 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.
Benjamin L Perez September 19, 2019 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).] Reply
C.B. Anderson September 19, 2019 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. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi September 19, 2019 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 Reply
Joe Tessitore September 21, 2019 Or would it have been better to spell it out? A door was ajar and Isadora asked, “Is a door a jar?”
D Robin September 22, 2019 Thank you for your clarity. To you I raise my glass! (That also is quite claret-y). Reply
D Robin September 22, 2019 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).
Sally Cook November 24, 2019 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. Reply
D Robin September 22, 2019 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. Reply
D Robin September 22, 2019 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. Reply
D Robin September 22, 2019 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 … Reply
James A. Tweedie September 22, 2019 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.
Anna J. Arredondo September 23, 2019 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! Reply
James A. Tweedie September 24, 2019 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. Reply
Dan September 24, 2019 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. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 24, 2019 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. Reply
D Robin September 25, 2019 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. Reply
D Robin September 25, 2019 Hello James (a tweedie (bet you haven’t had that homophone thrown at you since high school or lower!)) re “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.” Well said. My response: Being lead through the nose, as everyone knows, Is as though you are led through a hole in the head With a lead that can lead you To what may precede you – A lure to pre-seed you And tie you and tye you and knot you to not-you, Not whole any more, running circles round lead. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 D, Heh! I never thought of nose piercing as having a hole in the head! Funny. Now we all need to match Dan with another “serious” homophonic attempt. Any takers? By the way, mourning doves are a widespread and common form of dove (with the homophone linked to the title of Dan’s poem). As a “robin” I should think you have flown around in the same circles with them on occasion . . . . Reply
Anna J. Arredondo September 25, 2019 James, A “serious” attempt: Pastoral Remedy Since you left, I have been gazing With a dreary, empty stare At the fields where we were wont to spend our days, Where the hungry flock is grazing, Gaily free from earthly care, Basking in the sinking sun’s last slanting rays. In a daze, I rise up, quiet, And on silent sole I steal Down the stair, and swiftly hasten to the field. As I go, I wonder why it Is so hard for me to feel — Now my soul is steel; it seems it will not yield. Surely, though, my heart is bleeding, Aching, longing for release, So I flop down in the evening’s dying glow. Soon the sheep’s soft, rhythmic bleating Lulls my troubled soul to peace, And my tears begin their gentle, healing flow. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 Very touching and descriptive. As your soul’s weeping I can clearly see the sweeping vista of the pasture and the soon-to-be sleeping bleating sheep! As usual, you have written a fine poem shaped by an interesting and effect metric. I hope you feel good about this poem, because it made me feel good, too! I only hope that others are still following the thread and will have the pleasure of reading it as well. Thanks.
D Robin September 25, 2019 Hi James, different country here, don’t have mourning doves. And the American and British robins are very different. Thanks for pointing out that mourning doves are widespread on your continent. We can withdraw that part of my comment on Dan’s poem. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 Very true. Your British Robins (such as Hood, Leach, and, of course, D) are quite distinct from ours (Williams, for example). Also, I am glad to hear that British doves are happier than ours. 😉
James A. Tweedie September 25, 2019 A Semi-Serious Poem Opposites Attract My address is down-west Manhattan You live in Toledo. You wear a dress of faded satin, I wear a tuxedo. Your sense of fashion’s bad-assed wrong, I’m into fashion week. My sense of what’s in style is strong Your eye for “chic” is weak. I travel with my own chauffeur I’m into Tori Amos. My Metro-style is trim faux fur My stylist is famous. You can’t afford a Jag-u-ar You drive a Ford 150 You think “First Rate’s” a drag, you are Convinced George Strait is nifty. Like Michael Jackson I prefer To wear one kidskin glove. And I (‘cause you’re not hip) refer To ours as “ragtag love.” Reply
Anna J. Arredondo September 25, 2019 Thank you, James, for your kind feedback. Now, with this semi-serious poem I’d yours, I’d say the whole homophonic gamut has been covered, from punny to serious to in-between. I particularly like your more challenging rhymes (Manhattan with satin and so forth), and you sure have a knack for “manufacturing” homophones (prefer/hip refer, glove/ragtag love, etc). Thoroughly enjoyed your poem. Reply
Joe Tessitore September 26, 2019 Two more with potential: Beer/bier (Draw near, my dear. Bring a beer to my bier …), and amuse/a Muse Reply
Anna J. Arredondo September 26, 2019 A Royal Getaway Act I She hid a yawn behind a fan With dazzling jewels on it Each time a suitor came in sight, And one by one they earned her spite, Until one hopeful got it right — He won her with his sonnet. But things weren’t quite as they’d appear: His peasanthood, once hidden, Was soon found out. The old king roared, “He’s not a PEER!” So her adored Was ushered out at point of sword. Their union was forbidden. Act II To ward him off, each gate they barred Lest he should slip inside, But nought could make him hesitate: The bard pressed on with measured gait Toward the palace and his fate — To claim his lovely bride. “Who says a princess can’t elope?” Her servants heard her say. To represent her royal head, She crowned a cantaloupe instead And left it in her vacant bed So she could sneak away. Act III A frayed knot on her window bar… Some footmarks on the ground… The king asked, “Have we foiled their plot?” A servant shook his head, distraught, “Oh no, Sire, no; I’m afraid not!” — The pair was never found. Reply
James A. Tweedie September 27, 2019 Anna, “jewels on it”/”sonnet” and “a frayed knot”/”afraid not” are my two favorites. You most certainly have the know-how to tell a darn good story, too! So, in conclusion, could it be that our challenge has reached a grand finale with a serious poem written with the poet’s tongue planted firmly in cheek? If so, then perhaps it is time to summarize the hole end ever: One day Joe and Jim started a merry search For something the SCP folks could research For homophone poems we yearned across miles And those who wrote poetry earned a few smiles What once we began with the dew of the morning Now ends with a final adieu and with mourning. Yet each poet boasts, since the whole wide-earth heard That on “Popular Posts” we are now listed third. Reply
Madeline Alderman October 1, 2019 After my first taste, I had to come back for seconds But you gave me minutes, and hours, and days, months, weeks, and years My clocks turned to calendars My spoonfuls to plates , my my’s to {h}our’s and back again to days weeks months and years time passed with you by then away Our years turned back to months, weeks , days Our {h}ours turned back into my’s My plates to spoonfuls, I couldn’t take a bite My calendar fell, my clock stopped. Could you please come back for seconds? Reply
Mia Panayi October 3, 2019 Homophonic poetry I read the title and saw red, Homophobic poetry? It could only be mean It could not be right What could it mean? So I continued to read As I was curious to see what others did write But was further confused By, “A bare bear that needed underwear” Not to mention “a hairless hare,” Upon my word, what rabbit hole is this, I have well and truly fallen in, I wandered as my befuddled brain wondered, Flummoxed I adjusted my spectacles And I looked again Oh homophonic poetry, not homophobic I nearly made a spectacle of myself Well who knew But for me it is really nothing new Good grief I got the brief wrong Glad I am alone in my living room, Oh well, I had a whale of a time But English is my second language! Reply
Mia Panayi October 10, 2019 Perhaps I should have left this in my living room. Sorry I could not resist. This exercise is so much fun. Even if fools(like me) are always destined for a fall… I am glad I have found this site thanks to my poor eyesight I now have such great poems to read and hopefully one day might improve and have something worthy for all of you. Reply
James A. Tweedie October 10, 2019 Mia, Welcome to the SCP. I’m glad you didn’t leave everything in your living room! Hope to see more of you in the future.
Benjamin D Lukey October 9, 2019 The Cobbler’s Sign DROP OFF YOUR SHOES OR BOOTS TO BE RESOLED!* *If left past thirty days, they’ll be resold. Reply
S. O'Shea October 30, 2019 One little teacher… One little teacher went to mark it; One teacher took it back to class Found on her desk a place to park it; Wrote in the margin a red ‘PASS- You must be in the market for a fluted champagne glass!’ Reply
Roy E. Peterson December 14, 2019 Pears That Are Appealing A pair of pears peered into space, As someone tried to pare their face. As their face became a peal, The pair of pears gained their appeal. Reply
Peter Moltoni January 1, 2020 An Australian perspective: If little Johnny Howard be our greatest cricket fan— the Merv Hughes would-be would be, mind, more armchair critic than seasoned player— I would share with him my wish for 2020: Bring it on—The Tests, One-dayers , BBL and Twenty20! (John Howard, one-time longtime Australian PM, declares himself a true “cricket tragic,” and on one occasion in a practice demonstration of his unique bowling technique famously failed to find the pitch.) Reply
William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 O Deer, thou lissom spirit of the wood I see you now a-leaping in a free way! Oh dear. If I was you I never would Have leaped into the middle of the freeway. Reply
James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 William, Very cute. I particularly like the phrase, “a-leaping in a free way!” It may or may not be inspired but at the very least it is very clever! Reply
William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 Thanks James. I now think I should’ve put ‘thee’ instead of ‘you’ in the second line and ‘if I were you’ not ‘if I was’ in the third, but that’s the price for rushing in, I guess.
James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 William, Second thoughts are marvelous things. But consider poor Evan. Half the time I submit a poem to be posted here I immediately send a second email ask him to replace it with a revised version! As I was writing my reply to your poem the phrase “may or may not” suggested an idea. Here is what just came of it—six homophones and one homograph in six four-beat lines. I’m glad you have been sucked into the fun. A politician may or may Not call themselves a “pol.” But in the primaries each May Our mayor will check their latest poll Each hour. A head count helps them see If they’re ahead or lost at sea! Reply
James A.Tweedie January 3, 2020 Oops. Typo. Should be “five homophones . . .” Another case of second thoughts! Lol. Reply
William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 Yes fair enough about second thoughts. I also had a second thought about my second thought – after ‘but that’s the price for rushing in, I guess’ I should’ve said ‘as with that poor deer.’ may or / May our / Mayor – I’m impressed!! …but isn’t line 2 three beats? what about ‘Not choose to call themselves a ‘pol’ ? Reply
James A. Tweedie January 3, 2020 Good catch, William. I wrote it on the fly and clearly (inadvertently) shifted the meter in the process. I like your correction-suggestion. “May your” New Year be a spectacular one! PS: After a quick search it appears as if this is your first contribution to the SCP site. I hope it will not be your last!
William Glyn-Jones January 3, 2020 There will be more from me I’m sure. Seems a bit like a spiritual home for me but also a bit like that bit in one of the Madagascar films where the zebra character from a New York zoo suddenly finds himself in Africa in a herd of other zebras exactly like him and it feels a bit weird!
Lauren Lucille May 4, 2021 Here’s mine.. I stared at the stair with the one that won the wonder of wandering award. She didn’t like what she saw and that made her sore like a saw had been at her eyes. I’s and me’s and usses stopped looking. There were lots of nos when her nose shrugged like that and god knows what happens when that happens. Time and thyme are a good antidote For what seems to be fraying seams in the after note She’s afraid and a frayed seam doesn’t tear well or fare well or make the tare well. I see an icy face full of wear and tear, from showing her wares and shares. Woe is me and woah to she. ha! Reply