That time once again’s drawing near –
An end to the holiday cheer.
So go have some fun
Until it’s all done,
And then have a happy new year!
Bene scribete.
Tag Archives: poem
Wednesday Night
Uhhh…poem.
“This pizza is the worst,” I said
And punched a zebra in the head,
Then rode the escalator to
The brown side of the moon.“This place is rather bleak,” I said,
But still, I needed to be fed.
Well, then an alligator came
And offered me a spoon.“I have some jam to try,” he said,
“It makes a pretty tasty spread.”
I took the jar and stirred it up
And thanked my swampy friend.“This jam may do the trick,” I said,
But first I’d need to find some bread.
So off I ran to Mars to put
My hunger to an end.“I’d like a piece of toast,” I said,
“Though pancakes would suffice instead.”
A rabbit heard my plea and waved
Me over to her shop.“I have a biscuit here,” she said,
“You’re welcome to it – go ahead!”
But as I picked it up I heard
A nosy Martian cop.“You can’t be doing that,” he said,
Then over to my side he sped
And seized my wrist before I had
The chance to take a bite.“You’re absolutely right,” I said,
And went back home to go to bed.
Turns out I had forgotten I
Don’t eat on Wednesday night.
Bene scribete.
______________________________
After some technical difficulties, the drawing for The Amber Ring is back up. Enter below for a chance to win a free signed copy!
Bagel Guillotine
This is an actual thing that exists.
For treacherous bagels
I guess it’s not so much strange that it exists, but strange how it’s presented. For one, violently executing your breakfast is sort of grim imagery. For two, it says “Slices Bagels Safely!”, which is really just telling you that it doesn’t trust you to use a knife like a normal human being without cutting your hand off in the process. For three, bagels don’t have heads.
Anyway, here’s a poem:
“Guilty!” cried the piece of toast
(The one the bagel hated most)
And had a bacon friend of theirs
Escort the bagel up the stairs.The English muffin wept and wept,
For promises she hadn’t kept.
She’d pleaded with the toast in vain;
He’d told her she deserved the pain.The toast then strapped the bagel down
Upon the deck before the town
And wasted not a single breath
Before pronouncing bagel’s death.“Have any last requests?” inquired
The egg whom he had once admired.
“Just one,” the breadly circle said,
“Regarding how I’m to be spread:
With cream cheese I go best, you’ll find,
But please, sir – not the salmon kind.”
Salmon cream cheese offends me.
And bagels don’t have heads.
Bene scribete.
Tanka Very Much
I hope everyone had a pleasant Valentine’s Day. If not, here’s an elephant that loves you.*
*(It might not love you)
Anyway, thanks to harulawordsthatserve, I have been recently made aware of a traditional form of Japanese poetry known as the tanka. It is effectively a haiku with an added lower phrase of a 7/7 pair. Considering the relative popularity of the haiku, I’m a little surprised I’ve not before encountered its extended brother. But, alas, I have now, and must of course write one.
The Monday Spider
Creeps slowly on the sidewalk.
Should I pick it up?
As I ponder this, it leaves.
I guess it must be Tuesday.
Admit it – you want to write one, too.
Bene scribete.
Elephants?
Lacking the state of mind required to do a thoughtful post, I shall now write a stupid poem about elephants.
Elephants are big, they say.
They’re bigger than your face.
They’re smaller than a planet, though,
And can’t survive in space.Elephants are grey, they say.
They’re whiter than the night.
Yet blacker than the falling snow,
And nowhere near as bright.Elephants are tough, they say.
They’re tougher than a fly.
Unless that fly is huge, you know,
And equally as sly.Elephants are shrewd, they say.
They never do forget.
If that is true, then I should go
Before these words upset.
Have a happy new year, everyone!
Bene scribete.
Calling All Poets
As the norm of popular poetry these days shifts strongly in the direction of free-verse, I’ve been missing some good ol’ rhyme and meter.
So, this week I thought I would invite everyone to join me in having some fun with theme and structure. I figured we could start with a round of limericks – they’re easy and entertaining, right? If you need a refresher (or just like nit-picky specifications), a limerick is a five-line poem, often comical in nature, with an A/A/B/B/A rhyme scheme, and typically a 3/3/2/2/3-foot meter – every foot usually amphibrachic (short-STRESS-short), but sometimes anapestic (short-short-STRESS).
The theme for these limericks will be…mythological creatures. Well-known or obscure, from any culture.
If you’d like to participate, just post your poem in the comments! As a bit of incentive, I’ll give the author of the best one (in my very subjective opinion) a $10 USD Amazon credit (as regionally appropriate).
Buy a book, or…anything else.
Once more, simplified – write a limerick about a mythological creature, post it in the comments, and next week (November 3, 2012) the ‘winning’ contribution will get some Amazon money.
To start things off, I’ll leave you with a not-particularly-humorous example of my own:
A dragon lay siege to a castle
And said to himself, “What a hassle
To plunder unaided
And end up half-sated;
I ought to get myself a vassal.”
Bene scribete.
Just Standing
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t like to put words on paper. I wanted to post something I’d written as a child, so here’s a frivolous little poem I did around twelve years old.
The streetlamps flood the lane with light
To chase the darkness from the night.
The road is empty, all are gone
Except for one man, by a lawn.
A quite short man, with not much hair.
But why is he just standing there?All have gone home – no one is out,
So what’s this man thinking about?
A bitter coldness chills the air.
But why is he just standing there?It’s freezing out, and just a note –
He’s here outside without a coat.
I know I really shouldn’t care…
But why is he just standing there?This question fills my mind with “wow”;
It’s all that I can think of now.
His stillness gives me quite a scare.
But why is he just standing there?A blank expression on his face
Like he’d been there for many days.
This kind of thing, I’d say, is rare.
But why is he just standing there?I’m set as stone, so stiff, this night.
My eyes are fixed upon the sight.
My arms are crossed, my eyebrows raised;
I’m in the most peculiar daze.
My thoughts have left, my mind is clear.But why am I just standing here?
(I know, I know; ‘days’ is a terrible, lazy rhyme for ‘face’…that still bugs me)
Anyone else feeling brave enough to dig something up? (>^-‘)>
Bene scribete.
Writin' Fish 