Jack and Jill went up the hill. They turned to drunks and have no will. Jill said to Jack, "Your love reveal, then think of building me a still."
Roses are red.
Roses are red.
Roses are red.
I smell burnt toast.
Roses are red, violets are blue, Old man Jeffrey touches the youth.
Jack and Jill went up the hill, Had some fun. She forgot her pill, And now we have Jonny!
Thomas Bulgin loves McDonald's dollars, A man of simple tastes, he hollers, With every visit, his heart does flutter, For golden arches, a fast food lover.
Those crispy fries, so perfectly fried, And burgers stacked, oh so high, The smell of grease, it fills the air, Thomas Bulgin, he'll always be there.
A dollar menu, his saving grace, A feast for him, a smile on his face, He counts his coins, with eager eyes, To savor each bite, a little prize.
In this world of fast-paced lives, Thomas Bulgin, he surely thrives, For in those golden arches, he finds, A moment of joy, that forever binds.
He cares not for gourmet cuisine, Nor fancy plates, fit for a queen, For in his heart, a simple truth, McDonald's dollars, his fountain of youth.
So let him eat, and let him feast, Thomas Bulgin, the fast food beast, For in those golden arches, he's found, A taste of happiness, unbound.
Joshua White loves blue, A simple truth, tried and true. In his pocket, only six, Yet each penny a valued fix.
With eyes that seek the azure skies, He dreams of places that mesmerize. A palette of blues, a symphony of hues, Whispering secrets only he can choose.
His heart beats to the rhythm of the sea, Where waves crash, wild and free. In sandy shores, he finds solace rare, A momentary escape from life's daily wear.
In cerulean fields, flowers dance, Their vibrant petals, a timeless romance. He wanders through meadows, devoid of strife, Seeking solace in nature's vibrant life.
Joshua White, a soul of gentle grace, Embracing the world at his own pace. Though his pockets hold a mere six, His spirit soars, never to be fixed.
For in the depths of his azure dreams, The richness of life's tapestry gleams. And with every breath, he finds anew, That love is boundless, ever true.
I know this is a really bad poem, but I'll do it anyway 'cause I have nothing else to do.
'Twas so pretty a night, with people all asleep. Everyone's dreaming of that candy apple treat, and a palace. But alas! No, it's all a dream. Even eating ice cream, it's all a dream! Why can't I have this? Why can't I have that? BUT NO! It's just hitting you like a bat. YOU JUST HAVE TO HAVE IT, you say to yourself. All for me, all for me, and et cetera. It goes on and on. But why wish for riches? You're already rich enough. If you have a device, then take my advise, if you were poor you would have spent the money on food, like honey, not something that... OF ALL THINGS IS GOOGLE!
Like I said, it's really bad. :(
In a world of feline folly, There lived a cat with a secret, A taste for adventure and mischief, And a love for KFC's golden treat.
With eyes like emerald jewels, And fur as black as night, This feline prowled the streets, In search of a savory delight.
Oh, how it yearned for chicken, Crispy and finger-lickin' good, But the cat knew it had to be sly, To satisfy its craving like it should.
Through alleyways it stealthily tiptoed, With nimble paws and a stealthy glide, Until it stumbled upon a secret, That made its hunger amplified.
A stash of KFC's golden eggs, Hidden away from prying eyes, An accidental treasure trove, A feast fit for a feline paradise.
With each stolen egg devoured, The cat's satisfaction grew, The taste of crispy breading, And juicy chicken, it knew.
Word soon spread of this food bandit, A legend of a cat so bold, Whispers echoed through the town, Of the one who stole the KFC gold.
But the cat with the KFC get eggs, Remained a mystery to all, A phantom of the night it became, Leaving no trace, no trail to recall.
And so, it continues its nightly quest, For chicken that satisfies its soul, The cat with the KFC get eggs, Forever on the prowl, never to be controlled.
Roses are red, the grass is greener, when I see you, I play with my wiener.
1st graders: Ay yo girl, I think you’re beautiful, let’s get married!!
2nd graders: Uhh, don’t tell my mom that we’re dating!! She won’t let me date! Let’s keep this a seeeeecret heeheehee.
3rd graders: Uh, my teacher told me to stay after school because I wrote a poem about you and I’m 9 years old, we have to break up, sweetie.
4th graders: Hey, I think you’re cute!! Wanna date? I don’t think my girlfriend will mind.......
5th graders (they start wearing makeup): Ay girl, your eyelashes are pretty, I like you now, wanna date? Here’s my numberrrrrr.
6th graders: Heyyyyy, I gotta tell you a secret, I got a crush on you!! Don’t tell anyone!! Byeee, ooh, I’ll text you later!
7th graders: We need to make Peyton jealous because she broke up with you!! Wanna date? I mean, you’re not hot, but still, great personalityyyyy, alright, bye now.
8th graders: Hi sweetheart, I got STARRRBUCKKKSSS
Me: UGLY AF AND LITERALLY NO BOYFRIEND.....
In the realm of words, I shall embark, To craft a verse, both bold and stark, Thomas Bulgin, a name that ignites, A tale of length and moist delights.
Free from the chains of structured rhyme, I wander through this realm, sublime, Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so strange, Evoking thoughts that rearrange.
Long, it stretches, like a winding road, Leading us to depths, yet to be bestowed, In syllables, it dances and it plays, A journey we embark, in myriad ways.
Moist, a word that teems with life, A touch of nature, amidst the strife, It whispers of raindrops on tender leaves, Of dew-kissed petals and gentle heaves.
Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so surreal, Unleashing emotions, that time cannot seal, In this short verse, I strive to convey, A glimpse of what these words might say.
So let us ponder, the mystery untold, Of Thomas Bulgin, both long and bold, For in the realm of poetry's sweet embrace, Even the unusual finds its rightful place.
Roses are blue, violets are blue.
What? Ohh, shit!!!!!! I hate having dyslexia!
In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A curious tale, strange as the night, Of Alex Fisher, with love so bizarre, For random Hitler lemons, bizarre but bizarre.
Free Verse, they say, this poem shall be, Unrestrained, unrhymed, flowing and free, Yet how to capture this perplexing love, For lemons and Hitler, soaring above?
Alex Fisher, a soul with peculiar taste, Finds joy in lemons with a sour embrace, And Hitler, a name that evokes dark pain, Inexplicably entwined, like wind and rain.
Randomness, the thread that weaves this tale, No logic, no reason, no rhyme to prevail, For who could fathom this peculiar love, Of lemons and Hitler, below and above?
Yet in the realm of words, where all is allowed, We explore the uncharted, the strange and the proud, And though this poem may bewilder and confuse, Let it remind us, acceptance we must choose.
For love knows no boundaries, no norms to abide, It transcends our expectations, with no need to hide, So let us embrace the quirks that make us unique, For in the tapestry of life, we find what we seek.
So here's to Alex Fisher, with love all their own, May they find happiness, wherever they've flown, In lemons and Hitler, a world so absurd, May their love be a reminder, that love has no words.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
I am high and so are you.
Roses are red, I am Groot, Honey, where's my super suit?
"Roses are red, I'm a girl, Now go and take a hike."
Roses are red, Violets are blue, How many bananas can I fit, Maybe two?
Rock-a-bye dummy, in the tree top.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
Down will come dummy, cradle and all.
In Mia's world, where bottles and parrots meet, A whimsical symphony takes its seat.
With feathers ablaze, the parrots take flight, Their vibrant hues painting the day with delight.
Mia, a dreamer with a heart full of glee, Embraces the beauty for all to see.
Her bottles, like whispers of stories untold, Capture the magic that time cannot hold.
Each bottle, a vessel of dreams and desires, Unveiling the soul's deepest fires.
They dance in the sunlight, sparkle and gleam, A kaleidoscope of colors in Mia's dream.
Parrots, enchanting with melodies rare, Sing ballads of love, floating through the air.
Their voices, like echoes of nature's sweet call, Enchanting all hearts, big and small.
Mia, with reverence, sets the parrots free, To soar across oceans, to distant lands and seas.
In their freedom, they find their truest grace, A testament to love's boundless space.
And as Mia's bottles journey afar, They carry her dreams, like a guiding star.
Through mountains and valleys, they'll forever roam, In the hearts of dreamers, they'll always find home.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A man with a spirit untamed, untold. With eyes that pierce through the darkest night, He walks a path that's far from light.
His steps are loud, his presence strong, A force of nature, where he belongs. Through the chaos, he finds his way, Leaving footprints that never fade.
A rebel soul, unafraid to speak, His words drip with passion, so unique. He dances with danger, embraces the unknown, Challenging limits, into the wild he's thrown.
No rules can bind him, no walls can contain, Frank Bulgin sets fire to the mundane. He paints the sky with vibrant hues, A kaleidoscope of dreams he pursues.
In his mind, a symphony of thoughts, An artist's palette, where inspiration is sought. He weaves words like a masterful bard, Creating tapestries that leave us marred.
With each verse, he unravels his soul, Unveiling the depths that make him whole. His poetry, a window to his essence, A glimpse into a world of fearless presence.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A maverick, a legend yet to be told. His spirit roams, forever untamed, A beacon of courage, never to be tamed.
