Poems you make up on the spot

[mal4mac]

Make up on the Spot

The spot grew larger until it filled my world,
Then it wasn't a spot, it was a nightmare unfurled!
Let's make it up! I said.
Phew! It whirled up again, grew smaller, withdrew.
No longer a spot, just a dot on the horizon;
I watched it carefully.

[YesNo]

I meditate upon the spot.
It meditates on me.
And when I'm medicated, well
My meditation cannot tell
If that's the spot or me.

[cacian]

is the spot
going to dot
or is it going to be a lot?
either way it needs to not
too much can become a got.

[YesNo]

This spot could be a polka dot.
Some say that it is not.
It's red and round on shiny gold.
Some still say it is not.
But I insist that they have got
Their metaphors all wrong.
The facts are there,
But they don't care
Today to sing along.

[illiterati]

When I wrote the poem, I felt substantially "tiny brightly colored animal icons are my only friends"

May sensations of tiny brightly colored animal icons bless you and your poetry

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When I wrote the poem, I felt slightly "Anonymous Chupacabra is my SOULMATE!"

[YesNo]

I put the plant into the pot.
The sun came out and it got hot.
I watered it, perhaps a lot.
I placed the pot upon that spot
When Alice said I better not.

[cacian]

I put the plant into the pot.
The sun came out and it got hot.
I watered it, perhaps a lot.
I placed the pot upon that spot
When Alice said I better not.

I like this one YesNo

[cacian]

life is a kite
and when the wind
blows
it rise
and when it rains
it lows
nothing drives
it until
it loads.
energy is that little
bit of flow
realise it and woe.

[YesNo]

realise it and woe.

Thanks, cacian. I liked that last line.

Whoa!

"Whoa!" I said unto my horse.
My horse said, "Rider, woe.
Dismount or I will take you there,
To Heathenwood, my Queen rules where
The gold and silver sparkles. Dare
You ride with me to her wild charms
Embrace her with your human arms...."
I told my horse, "Let's go!"

[Hawkman]

This is a poem made up on the spot.
I think it's probably fly dirt,
but without a microscope,
or an analytical chemist,
perhaps some CSI
desperate for a job,
it's hard to tell.

Too many kinds of spot to be sure
but at least I know it's not a zit.
A zit is a very recognisable type of spot,
for it has form and content,
and, if you squeeze it,
you can usually get something out of it.

A bit like this poem, really;
a putrid harbour for bacteria,
an infection waiting to spread,
a cancer waiting to metastasise,
a barrage of imagery
that takes you somewhere you
probably have no desire to be.
Art.
In part.

By the way, the spot is brown,
about three point five millimetres in diameter
and it adheres to the page of a book
while masquerading as an over-grown full stop.

Maybe, if I leave it long enough,
a bookworm will eat it,
sicken and die.
No more bookworm,
no more spot.

[tailor STATELY]

Fun poem. Enjoyed.

My favorite:

a barrage of imagery
that takes you somewhere you
probably have no desire to be.
Art.
In part.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Hawkman]

Glad you thought so and did

Live long and prosper - H

[jajdude]

I was sleeping hard, as experiences run
And let me say it wasn't much fun.
I fell off the bed, and there you go.
Now you know more than ya need to know.

This is the way a proud man speaks.
He fills his time with valleys and peaks.
We all have those, but he himself thinks
His are worthy of tales and drinks.

They are not, he's a sad fellow.
I'm not happy, but I'm mellow.
I say to him, we're all the same.
Our tales are grand, but mostly tame.

[jajdude]

The philosopher spoke of division
He said they were many but mainly two
and one was us and the other was you.

[jajdude]

And when he spoke of division he rarely hesitated
He went on about the who and the why and the what
and he seldom waited for the membership to cry
and they were crying there in the seats
won't you unlock me from this here seat?
And he had no time for that, he was seated a bit higher.