It's the 2025 Poem-A-Week Challenge! (This is a *poems only* thread.)

[_Land]

My Greatest Hits: The End
Post humorously by Bear Sage

I’m a lot closer to dead than famous,
but don’t worry, death’s cheaper than PR.
No agent’s cut, no brand deal,
just a two-for-one on casket nails
and a headstone font that screams discount.

My fan club will form at the wake,
half there for the free chicken wings,
half scrolling their phones,
waiting to see if my ghost
finally goes viral on TikTok.

The critics who ignored me in life
will suddenly publish think-pieces:
“He always had a unique voice,
like a chainsaw muffled by dirt.”
Five stars, posthumous only.

I picture the worms autographing my bones,
their signatures worth more
than my entire collected works.
Even the maggots get front-row seats,
wiggling with more enthusiasm
than the crowd I played to alive.

Fame is a coffin with velvet lining,
too expensive to lie in,
too tempting not to try on.
I’ll settle for plywood,
let the mildew write my legacy.

And when the curtain falls,
it’s not applause I’ll hear,
just the shovel,
steady as a metronome,
tapping out my greatest hit:
the end.

 

[Ash999]

Rhyme makes me think, a tell,
a witch's spell,
say it wrong,
go straight to hell.

Say it right,
moon shining bright,
obey the laws,
and all is yours.

U Rock Gal
U're a Dear Pal
Sweet Smiling Lez
Mon Ami Parlez !!!
Hope my French makes Sense
Otherwise it's all Nonsense.....

 

[Ash999]

My Greatest Hits: The End
Post humorously by Bear Sage

I’m a lot closer to dead than famous,
but don’t worry, death’s cheaper than PR.
No agent’s cut, no brand deal,
just a two-for-one on casket nails
and a headstone font that screams discount.

My fan club will form at the wake,
half there for the free chicken wings,
half scrolling their phones,
waiting to see if my ghost
finally goes viral on TikTok.

The critics who ignored me in life
will suddenly publish think-pieces:
“He always had a unique voice,
like a chainsaw muffled by dirt.”
Five stars, posthumous only.

I picture the worms autographing my bones,
their signatures worth more
than my entire collected works.
Even the maggots get front-row seats,
wiggling with more enthusiasm
than the crowd I played to alive.

Fame is a coffin with velvet lining,
too expensive to lie in,
too tempting not to try on.
I’ll settle for plywood,
let the mildew write my legacy.

And when the curtain falls,
it’s not applause I’ll hear,
just the shovel,
steady as a metronome,
tapping out my greatest hit:
the end.

No matter how much U try:
This cud not rate a laughter Emojy....
You are our warm, loving friend
We cannot bear jokes about your End
I cud only be Sad
This is a cruel lyric
I felt bad
I am not your Critic
But I cannot laugh@this: NO!?
PLZ understand ...my Bro!!!!????