POET'S CORNER: Your thoughts in verse

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I feel so swamped.
Why is it this?
Can someone bump
This topic, please?

Doing mental jumping jacks
Really helps my mind relax.
Never mind it's doggerel
And stinks worse than old mackerel.

Why is it just me
And Kevin posting?
Can someone else please
Add to this topic?

They cannot; they lack the special skill.
They cannot; they are very busy still.
They cannot; life calls to them in voices shrill.
They cannot; they cannot leave work it is done until.
They cannot; they are busy at the rumor mill.
They cannot; this poet writes works as well as krill.

Well, i can just guess.
This was all for jest.
I can write all verse
As I would Fred Durst.

Well I am here, no too soon
I feeling like kvetching 'bout every xmas tune
I wonder if hannukah harry is gonna catch on
-Before all my patience with santa is gone
He is getting annoying before december
Well he's always annoyed me from what I remember
...
Well are you two happy now that someone else said stuff,
Because I think that may need a bit more, 3 just aint enough...

Aujourd'hui, il fait beau,
Really, it went quite nice and slow,
No pienso sur el perro,
Canem, non volo.

Bona nox!
Bist a rechter Ochs,
Bona notte,
Liebe Lotte;
Bonne nuit,
pfui, pfui;
Good night, good night,
Heute müßma no weit;
Gute Nacht, gute Nacht,
Is wird höchste Zeit, gute Nacht,
schlafe fei gesund und
bleibe recht kugelrund.

Multilingual poetry should be mainstream,
Ach, but 'tis only a small dream.
It looks quite nice,
It can be repeated thrice,
There can be new styles, just like the styles of iced cream [sic].

I agree,
Like coffee,
It's better
With butter.
So c'mon,
Cinnamon,
Let's hurry,
Strawberry.

Do the way you wouldn't,
I shouldn't,
Should you, and who the hell could tell,
I fell and found a stick of rock
Inside my sock,
It blew away,
I'm proud to say,
Though shy, to speak out loud,
And proud is he,
His soul so free,
Yet longs for love,
And all his life, he lived above,
What was below,
So now we know, who told us so.
The day we went to Bangor.

For quite a while,
I though Bangor
Was Bangalore.
The look the same,
The difference:
One syllable.

i collect stuff
it's never enough
my place is a mess
this i will confess
i could be on the tube
like those other poor boobs
on TV shows about we hoarders
all disorganized old molderers
and all of us are so alone
with nobody which to atone
i'm only slightly blue
but don't know what to do.
my sis will inherit my mess
she will exclaim, "oh god bless"-
or maybe a few different words
synonymous with fornicating turds
lord please help me
i pray to thee
i can't fix it all myself
i need providential help
otherwise one day they'll find my skeleton
under piles like a heap of rotten gelatin
and stinking to heavenly hell
with my spirit in heaven to dwell
but for ever and a day
in my real divine home to stay.

Give me the twinkles
give me the songs,
Spare me the sprinkles
fruitcake, and thongs.
Holiday cheer is magic, no doubt
particularly if I leave myself out.
My spirit instead soars over the hills
viewing in silence, enjoying the chill,
The trees and the snow,
the lights down below.
No one knows it but I'm up here:
enjoying the show.

SAT, I have conquered thee!* **
Fought you I had for being free,
Free of troubles, studying time.
Of your expression, I will only mime.
Why is it I am so easy to please,
What I did fell short o' Aristophanes,
Not much humor, and not much satire,
Lit the test in an eternal pyre.

* There is no problem with using thee because this means that I am not using the formal form as an insult to the ETS
** To be read in a sing-song intonation just like the busy/clamorous one most of the actors and actresses do in theatrical productions.

Well, I am for words
This thread is growing
Can't pull out the cords
For I am longing
For more to immerse
Themselves in more verse.