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Poems By Poet Alessandra Liverani  7/31/2014 4:37:47 PM
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Puppet On A String

Millions of strings fill our space
At the end of each one, a lonely puppet's face
Arms, legs, fingers, mouths and hands
Also attached, a puppet show most grand

The strings are jerked day and night
So the puppets move ceaselessly, to the puppet master's delight
His nimble, slick fingers control with immense skill
So that the puppets think that it is their own will

Which makes them repeat actions robotically
Hand to mouth, drag deeply, oh so constantly
He gives the strings a yank, well-timed
The puppet responds with an action well mimed

Hand to mouth, drag deeply, again and again
He thinks the cigarette is his friend
Although it will kill him in the end
Certainly not something on which he can depend
Alessandra Liverani

Read more: lonely poems, friend poems, night poems



- Making Plurals In English: : Humour

The plural in English is usually made
By adding an 's', so don't be afraid
Of making this sound so that it can be heard
At the end of the plural form of a word

Then there will be no doubt in anyone's mind
Whether your meaning is of the singular or plural kind
An extra syllable is needed when patch becomes patches
And take note that the plural of batch is batches

Of course there are always exceptions to every rule
The fish that swim around in a school
Are still just fish, they don't become fishes
But the plural of dish will always be dishes

The plural of goose is, as we all know, geese
Although the plural of moose is definitely not meese
One mouse, but a plague of them would be called mice
Though to call houses hice is something for which I do not give advice

Hypothesis in plural form translates to hypotheses
And parenthesis, of course, becomes parentheses
But your garden variety of plurals, just stick an 's' on
Next week we'll talk about the 's' for possession

(Sydney, Australia - 2006)
Alessandra Liverani



Fiddle Faddle

Something which seems clamorous and compelling
Crucial and critical it seems to be yelling
Important, indispensable, an absolute must
Really, can you explain to me what is all the fuss?

That feeling which claims you must light up a smoke
On what authority does it say you are yoked?
Who said you must always bow to its wishes?
Who said you have to listen to something so vicious?

(Sydney, Australia - 2004)
Alessandra Liverani

Read more: light poems



I Can't Be Bothered

Why don't smokers think like this?

I can't be bothered smoking cigarettes
It really is a pain
Sometimes you've got to huddle out there
In the cold and freezing rain

I'm sick of what I have to do
Always carrying them around
And then feeling tense and anxious
When the rotten sticks can't be found

Oh they are such a nuisance
Stinking up my clothes and hair
And they cost a lot of money too
It just isn't fair

They really aren't worth a toss
There's nothing in it for me
Why don't I just throw them out?
And start to feel so free

Why don't smokers think like that?
Alessandra Liverani
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Poems By Poet Alessandra Liverani