A Few Favorite/Popular Poems

Below are a few of my favorite and most popular poems here at GottaBook. You can click on any poem title to go to the original blog post to see where/when it first appeared.

GOAL!
by
Gregory K.

Goal!
Goal!
I scored a goal.
Oh, what a perfect day.
I kicked the ball so hard and true.
Oh, what a perfect play.

Boo?
Boo?
Why would you boo?
This always was my dream:
I shot it past the goalie and...
Oh, he’s on my team.



I DON’T LIKE WORDS
by
Gregory K.

I don’t like words.
They don’t make sense.
Words make me upset and tense.
How due eye no witch whirred two ewes
Ore how too right thee won aye chews?
Wile sum mite think words are a bawl,
Eye dew knot care fore words at awl!



MY FEBLUARIES
by
Gregory K.

I’m gloomy, gray.
Don’t want to play.
My Febluaries are bad today.

Outdoors, inside --
No place to hide:
These blues I’ve got won’t be denied.

I’ll give a cheer
When March is here
And February’s gone this year.

But ‘til that day
I’m sad to say
My Febluaries are here to stay.



DUNK!
by
Gregory K.

Slam!
Dunk!
Soaring...
I'm scoring.
Crowd keeps on roaring.
In my dreams I'm unstoppable.



I WENT TO THE FARM WHERE SPAGHETTI IS GROWN
by
Gregory K.

I went to the farm where spaghetti is grown
In rows of long vines in a field of its own.
It grows in the shade of the great ziti trees,
Right next to the bushes that grow mac-and-cheese.
Lasagna plants bloom alongside manicotti,
And orchards of angel hair grow long and knotty.
I watched as a tractor plowed rows of linguini,
And cheered at the harvest of fresh tortellini.
I helped as the farmer cleared fields full of weeds
Then planted a crop using orzo as seeds.
We watered his land that was miles across
Then fertilized amply with meatballs and sauce.
When I left that farm where spaghetti is grown
In rows of long vines in a field of its own,
I thought it the greatest place under the sky...
'Til I saw the farm where they only grow pie!



THE LATE BIRD
by
Gregory K.

The early bird gets the worm
All slime and muck and dirt,
But here's what they don't tell you, friend...
The Late Bird gets dessert.



(all poems © Greg Pincus. All rights reserved.)