Poet’s Problem

Poet’s problem, patron saint
Puts me in the place I’m in
Passion’s letter
Poison’s pen
On these two things I can depend
Who will write your number on the wall?
I will not be there, when you call
I think I’ll do a line and then again . . .

Dirty dealers, school of thought
And armchair for the strength of thought
The TV set’s been on all night
You were wrong and I was right
You will write your number on the wall
I will not be there when you call
I think I’ll do a line and then again . . .

Who will write your number that’s not all?
I will not be there, when you call
You will write your number on the wall
I will not be there when you call
I think I’ll do a line and then again . . .

Poets Problem Lyrics as written by Jimmy Destri
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management

White Russian

 

Poor pathetic me

I have barely stirred

From my dacha

In the birch-grove

on the endless steppes . . .

Misunderstood libation

The balalaikas mourn me

The Westerners despise me

The media hates me

I’m not Kahlúa enough

Too white for the woke

No one orders me

I’m worse than Hitler

(Not to mention Scorpion Bowl)

Must have been the quality

Of the vodka they

Put in.


write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food. It could be a favorite food of yours, or maybe one you feel conflicted about.

Earthly Good

Jesus answered and said to him,
Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again,
he cannot see the kingdom of God.

Be born again. It’s not too late
Until your corpse is locked away.
The mourners all will lie for you,
but God shall have the final say.

His message does not please the mind,
Much less the pride of  arrogant men;
And women share the guilt. It’s true;
We’re in this all together, then . . .

Therefore one must obey the Lord.
We live each day upon the brink—
The soul is dead since Eden’s fall
And hell is closer than you think.

Reincarnation is a lie.
Those good intentions seal your fate.
I’m sorry Mr. BJP,
You too, must enter at Christ’s gate.

No Abrahamic new age gods
Have power to lead the world to life.
Vague revelations in a cave
Have only furthered violent strife.

Therefore be born-again. It’s late.
Earth’s bar is closing; drink or leave.
It’s not my idea nor your choice:
Heed heaven’s command: with faith, BELIEVE.

 


PROMPT #19: write a poem that starts with a command 

 

Don’t You Wish You Knew

 

 

    1.  because they would have to admit they had been wrong
    2.  their universe would no longer be a nihilistic proposition
    3.  intellectual pride is a powerful obstacle
    4.  their esthetic values would be suddenly and radically altered
    5.  a smug sense of superiority is hard to relinquish after so many years

 

 


PROMPT #18:

write your own poem that provides five answers to the same question –
without ever specifically identifying the question that is being answered.