[Note. The Mills Brothers used to sing, “You always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn’t hurt at all.” It is not my intention to hurt anyone with the verses in this post; I’m just having a little fun. But just in case I overstepped the mark somewhere, I ask your forgiveness in advance. These are very likely the first of more that may be coming later. Or maybe not. I can’t really say because I don’t know. Inspiration can’t be turned on and off like a faucet, you know. If you would like to be included in future poetry nights, let me know! Also, if you definitely do not want to be included, let me know that too! But I hope everyone enjoys the pomes (I do not say that they rise to the level of poems) and knows the originals and maybe even will saunter over to check out someone’s blog for the first time. --RWP]
In Kiwi-land did Katherine
A veritable hive create
Where Ralph, a bureaucrat, doth grin
And worms do worm and spiders spin
And tankers leak and artists win
And bees do pollinate.
Alas, poor Pudding, I knew him, Elizabeth,
Though not very well.
A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy;
He hath made me laugh a thousand times;
And now, an awful smell
Pervades his site
(To die, to dream, perchance to sleep):
The man’s become enamored of a sheep.
Nothing could be finer
than to muck for Carolina
in the morning.
Naloma, Willem, Evie too,
(her horses) do what horses do
at dawning.
If I were a stable-boy for only a day,
I’d grab a rake and here’s what I’d say:
Nothing could be finer
than to muck for Carolina
in the morning.
Whose drugs these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To fill my stash with stuff for Snow.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go so Snow can sleep.
And miles to go so Snow can sleep.
anyone lived in a pretty putz town
(with up so floating many bikes down)
spring<<>>summer<<>>autumn<<>>winter
he blogged his didn’t denied his did
children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn<><>winter<><>spring<><>summer
crossing guard’s great but blogging’s a bummer
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
<b>Some of my earliest memories include...</b>
Seeing my mother wash the outside of the windows in our third-floor apartment at 61 Larch St. in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, by sittin...
i did do like to blog, i just think blogging stops at, oh i won't go into that<><>
ReplyDeleteand crossing guard work, i am entangled in that so, i'm not sre how i feel
I like your pomes. You should write more of them. I wonder why people who write poems are called poets and not poemists or something.
ReplyDeleteWell I enjoyed it and as they say, it is better to beg forgiveness than seek permission.
ReplyDeletePutz, ever so slowly, I am wearing you down.
ReplyDeleteJeannelle of Iowa (not to be confused with Eleanor of Aquitaine), I looked it up. Poet is from the Latin poēta which is from the Greek poiētḗs poet, literally, maker, equivalent to poiē-, variant stem of poieîn to make + -tēs agent noun suffix. Poem is from the Latin poēma which is from the Greek poíēma poem, something made, equivalent to poiē-, variant stem of poieîn to make + -ma suffix denoting result. This is why a poeT creates a poeM. The T denotes the creator and the M denotes the thing created. There is no end to what a person might learn from reading my blog!
Shooting Parrots, I don't know whether it's better, but sometimes it's easier!
I love your poems, and its pretty cool that you chose to incorporate names inside, though maybe a little bit risky
ReplyDeleteLovely pomes. You're most welcome to be stable-boy for a day. Or even longer. We could sing together while mucking ;-)
ReplyDeleteThank you :-)
Punk Chopsticks (if that is your name), I don't think we need to worry about naming these particular names. Pudding, Snow, and putz are all pseudonyms, noms-de-plume, fake. Katherine and Caroline are the ladies' real first names, but neither lady divulges her real surname on her blog.
ReplyDeleteCarolina, thanks for the invitation to duet, but I work alone.
I like your pomes too. Very clever Cheers
ReplyDeleteI am as pleased as punch (why was he pleased?) to be poemed about! And so well too! Thank you Robert!
ReplyDeleteI am honoured to be included in your skilful poem but humbly request a share of the profits if you make any money from its publication. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteHelsie, thank you, milady. I am thinking of a limerick (clean) for you.
ReplyDeleteKatherine, I think Punch was pleased because he had Judy and a great big stick.
Yorkshire Pudding, done. The profits have been estimated by my accounting firm to be zero.
Thank you, Rhymes, for honoring me with a mention on your blog.
ReplyDeleteI know two Frost poems by heart, although Edwin Arlington Robinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay are my favorite poets. Maybe you could start work on Richard Corey or Dirge Without Music.