Pomes for May. The Competition

Thanks to Gazoopi’s good taste I was made poet of the month for April.

I was listening to a nostalgia based radio program the other day (get the link?), which was basically a DJ playing lots of old records, when a song by Eddie Cantor which has been much covered by many other artists was played.

I will use this as an inspiration for the May poetry competition, so:



Spring is sprung,

The bells have rung

A young man turns to fancy

His Jane, his Jill or maybe

His well beloved Nancy

He will buy her wine and food

And maybe even coffee

Because he hopes against all hope

To end up “Making Whoopee”


So the theme of the competition is “Making Whoopee”. Any form of making whoopee will do, whatever floats your boat. Good luck. 🙂

PS Closing date Midnight BST May 31st.

13 thoughts on “Pomes for May. The Competition”

  1. Well, to start the ball rolling with a very high level of prose here goes:-

    The Kids

    My kids are driving me wild,
    I don’t know what I should do.
    The problem is with each child
    It’s just a hullaballoo

    Last week a frog in my bed
    Last night a mouse in the sugar
    Every day I try not to see red
    After a ‘joke’ from at least one little bugger.

    As I sit down on the couch with a start
    The laughter making such a din
    My husband hears only a fart
    There under me is a whoopee cushin.

  2. Apologies

    I must admit I’d love to write
    The sort of pome to win.
    But things conspired, events transpired,
    To make the chances slight.

    It’s not the whoopee, goodness no,
    That’s causing me such grief:
    It’s dizziness and busyness,
    That’s messing up the flow.

  3. As I averred yesterday:

    May is the month for dancing, what
    They term the Morris, rolling cheeses.
    May ain’t the month for scribing, not
    For making whoopee, bumping kneeses. 🙂

  4. Rainy Times

    It’s raining again today
    I’m feeling confined, not free
    To get back into the fray
    It’s time for making whoopee.

    I’m bored sitting here alone,
    Staring at the old oak tree,
    The dog playing with his bone,
    It’s time for making whoopee.

    Soon the sun will show his face,
    And after our morning tea,
    I’ll don my clogs and race
    Outside for making whoopee

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