The Book of Nonsense, 10
Edward Lear
There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
When they said, "Does it buzz?"
He replied, "Yes, it does!"
It's a regular brute of a Bee!"
-----
There once was a parrot named Bob
And he used to continually sob,
"Please notice me! Can't anyone see
That I just want corn on the cob!"
-----
Yay for off-the-cuff limericks! I haven't tackled one of these in quite some time.
07 July 2009
06 July 2009
SoP 12: "El Paso" and Another one Re: The Admirer
El Paso
sung by Chris Thile
(Go to 52:02... that's where the song starts)
sung by Chris Thile
(Go to 52:02... that's where the song starts)
A pianist sat beneath a tree
atop a verdant hill
And passed her days writing away
letting her mind go where it will.
Now a phantom lived atop the tree
Where the pianist liked to be
And soon became smiten with what she'd written
"I think I'm in love," thought he.
But the phantom could not tell his love
Of his feelings strong
Without her sight knowing, without his face showing
Until an idea came along.
He knew she kept her writing book
Inside the olden tree
"I'll leave a not ehtere, my thoughts I will share."
He wrote, then waited to see.
The pianist she came very early next morn
And a curious sight she found:
She found her book, 'steand of in the nok
Opened up near rock on the soft ground.
She found a note scrawled on a page
"I thiink I'm in love!" it declared.
She came most suspicious. "I wonder who this is,"
For she was the only one there.
This continued for a few weeks more
Till the pianist cried, "enough!"
"If yourself you don't show, anonymity goes!"
"I'm tired of secrety stuff."
Then she wondered, "¿qué pasará?"
"Would the admirer lose the strong heart
If he couldnt stay 'non'mous? Did I sound too auton'mous?"
"No, this is right, in my heart."
Weeks later she sat in her tree
Upon a surly branch
When from up in the tree came a sight to see,
The phantom stood below with timid stance.
"Ive been your secret admirere,"
He said in a tone most shy.
"I had to profess, I tried to confess
my love for you," he sighed.
The pianist crossed her arms and smiled at him
A smile thick-laden with pity.
"You sure have some gumption. I make the assumption
YYou'd like to stay'n anonymity?"
The phantom nodded eagerly,
enamorous glint in his eye.
The pianist shook her head, and to herself she said,
"Least I know who those notes are by."
-----
I whipped this up late, I know the meter's off, but I had to write this in light of a revelation. Yes, the Admirer's finally revealed himself to me. I'm not only a technicality freak, I'm also a chiquita of my word. In "The Dangers of Loving an Imp" (SoP 7), I "threatened" (paraphrased) "Unless you give me some sort of clue to your identity, poof goes the anonymous option." So, because he i.d.'ed himself to me, I'll be nice and keep the option of anonymity for future commentage.
SoP 11
To write poetry in the dark
Is to write poetry confused
Is to write poetry confused
The muttled noise
The lack of light
Shrouded in darkness
Is all sight, all sound
How to make sense of
It all?
How to escape?
Like a car on the highway,
All we can do
Is sit back,
Buckle up,
And hold on.
04 July 2009
SoP 10: Star-Spangled Banner
The Star-Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land,
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto— "In God is our trust; "
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
- - - - -
No poem from me today... Happy Independence Day!
Francis Scott Key
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land,
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto— "In God is our trust; "
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
- - - - -
No poem from me today... Happy Independence Day!
03 July 2009
SoP 9: Untitled Haiku
It is just my luck
We know so many people with
High awesome levels
- - - - -
I didn't have the energy to find a good poem today... ah well.
02 July 2009
SoP 8: "The Road Not Taken" and Deep Traffic
http://blogsergiofreire.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/yellow_wood.jpg
- - - - -
The Road Not Taken
~Robert Frost~
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- - - - -
Deep Traffic
(sung to the tune of "Deep River")
Deep traffic, my home is a-cross five lanes
Deep traffic, Lord... I want to cross over the great highway.
Oh, don't you want to cross to the other side
Of that old stretch? But no one'll move aside.
Deep traffic, my him is a-cross five lanes
Deep traffic, Lord... I want to cross over the great highway.
- - - - -
I thought of this coming home from driver's ed this morning. It's short, but I rather like it.
01 July 2009
SoP 7: "To His Coy Mistress" and The Danger of Loving an Imp
To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
- - - - -
The Danger of Loving an Imp
Tis dangerous to love a slyish imp,
To strangers she is quite skeptic
And when she's a skeptic, the stranger is prone
To 'ceive blows most knavish, that's typic.
Inately s'picious, she gets quite confused
About her nameless admirer.
And when she's confused, you'd better watch out
For iminent impish-like fire.
With folk she don't know, whose i.d. stay mum
Under the veil "Anon'mous,"
She smirks a sly smirk, and says to herself,
"I've 'cided to be auton'mous...
"...And possibly wield my blog-running power
By ex-naying that shadowy shroud
And so my Admirer'd have to say something,
No longer 'hind the 'nonymous cloud."
And with a poised finger she almost did press
The button to cut off the choice,
And then she did think, "But what if the guy
Loses the courage, his voice?"
The impish girl thought, then with a sigh-shrug,
"I'll give it just one more small chance."
And so, Secret One, I say to you now,
To willingly show self's last chance.
- - - - -
To be frank, if a certain somebody (you know who you are) doesn't give me some kind of clue (blogger profile link, webpage/blog link), the option of comments-in-complete-anonymity's going adios, sianara, good-day-to-you-sir. I've been good enough to inadvertantly give a certain somebody a glimpse of my soul, I think I deserve the same.
- - - - -
I apologize for neglecting to post a poem yesterday, I simply didn't have time to whip anything up. Perhaps I'll double up one of these next days.
Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
- - - - -
The Danger of Loving an Imp
Tis dangerous to love a slyish imp,
To strangers she is quite skeptic
And when she's a skeptic, the stranger is prone
To 'ceive blows most knavish, that's typic.
Inately s'picious, she gets quite confused
About her nameless admirer.
And when she's confused, you'd better watch out
For iminent impish-like fire.
With folk she don't know, whose i.d. stay mum
Under the veil "Anon'mous,"
She smirks a sly smirk, and says to herself,
"I've 'cided to be auton'mous...
"...And possibly wield my blog-running power
By ex-naying that shadowy shroud
And so my Admirer'd have to say something,
No longer 'hind the 'nonymous cloud."
And with a poised finger she almost did press
The button to cut off the choice,
And then she did think, "But what if the guy
Loses the courage, his voice?"
The impish girl thought, then with a sigh-shrug,
"I'll give it just one more small chance."
And so, Secret One, I say to you now,
To willingly show self's last chance.
- - - - -
To be frank, if a certain somebody (you know who you are) doesn't give me some kind of clue (blogger profile link, webpage/blog link), the option of comments-in-complete-anonymity's going adios, sianara, good-day-to-you-sir. I've been good enough to inadvertantly give a certain somebody a glimpse of my soul, I think I deserve the same.
- - - - -
I apologize for neglecting to post a poem yesterday, I simply didn't have time to whip anything up. Perhaps I'll double up one of these next days.
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