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Thread: Auntie's April 2012 Thread: 30 Poems in 30 Days

  1. #31
    Justifiably inexcusable DocHeart's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by AuntShecky View Post

    Quackery Hackery
    Freud (Sigmund), analyst,
    poking and downsizing,
    cuts no goo. Some think:

    “Probity!” Probably
    microencephaly
    prompted one’s impertinence:
    “Nuts to you, dumb shrink!’

    So skillful!

    I know this is too much to ask, but I'll ask anyway: read it out for us into a mic, and post it as a file. This is definitely written to be spoken!

    (I'll love you no less if you don't. But I hope you will.)

    DH
    Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

  2. #32
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    April 10

    Man Bites Dog

    “News that stays news,”
    defined the scribe named Pound,

    also the former name
    for the county animal shelter,

    where yesterday authorities
    took 83 skeletal cats, found in filth.

    In the ensuing confusion
    an eighty-fourth unfortunate creature,

    slipping out of the quaking hand
    of the squeamish officer,

    with manic liberation, madly ran.
    It thought it saw a delectable bird,

    sunshine-y yellow with enormous blue eyes.
    From escape to chase feline thoughts segued.

    Great minds at times think alike,
    and on occasion, instinct too,

    for thereupon an English bulldog
    spotted the cat, felicitous for pursuit.

    Meanwhile, a guy believing himself
    clever for having hidden a camera

    behind the toilet paper roll in the ladies’ room
    at a CVS about a block away,

    nonchalantly stepped outside the store
    well in view of the uniformed patrol,

    from whom he fled on foot.
    The aforementioned dog,-- we neglected to note --

    carrying the condition called ADD,
    forgot the puss and switched its prey.

    Mere seconds passed when the canine caught up,
    jumped the perp, and held him fast.

    Desperately the pinned perv seized
    a paw and chomped down hard.

    Hence: MAN BITES DOG;
    SAYS ‘TASTES LIKE CHICKEN’

  3. #33
    Justifiably inexcusable DocHeart's Avatar
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    Poem of 10 April: Brilliant fun!...

    My favourite part is with manic liberation, madly ran.

    Thanks for sharing, Aunt!

    Regards,
    DH
    Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

  4. #34
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    Thank you, Doc. ^

    April 11

    Whale Watch

    The introspective prince
    saw shapes puffed up in skies,
    but could not be convinced
    without some helpful lies.

    Imagination fails,
    when real life shows its stark
    side, freezing up our sails
    and leaves us in the dark.

    With no foot on a floe,
    no need to feel the list
    of shifting ice to know
    that arctic isles exist.

    Some mammals big as rafts
    leap up and down the waves,
    swim right up to our craft,
    and splash for chum and raves.

    Unfamiliar with our kind
    within collective lore,
    others never have a mind
    to venture close to shore.

    Not speared on statistics,
    as are the friendly gams,
    natural, not mystic,
    where our realm never rams.

    Where man’s unknown as night,
    the whale world knows by heart
    Ultima Thule’s site,
    a deep berg’s greater part.

    The creatures of the sea,
    so glibly pegged as good,
    are alien as we,
    with egos full. What would

    they think or make of us,
    if not as food or harm?
    Some strange breed of grampus,
    a time piece on his arm.
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 04-13-2012 at 03:45 PM. Reason: plural of "craft" i.e. sea-going--no "s"

  5. #35
    The puddytat you saw Hawkman's Avatar
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    You do seem to have been enjoying yourself, Auntie April 9th's offering would seem to betray a predilection on your part for crosswords, as it reads a little like a clue for the cryptic variety - LOL. Playful and clever though and a lot of fun to read.

    Man Bites Dog opens as a tour de force of word association football but quickly stabilizes in to a cunning narrative artfully wound around the eponymous title. Great fun.

    Whale Watch, though bearing the stamp of your trademark humour is less successful to this reader, probably because he's missing something, but the rigid structure of 3 stresses per line kind of hamstrings the flow a bit. It doesn't quite work as a ballade as the scansion suffers occasionally and there are some howlers (presumably intentional) in the rhyming which don't sit well contextually. Waves and raves, rafts and crafts (ouch!) gams and rams... You are torturing the Hawk - LOL. I never could quite place that introspective prince, unless of course, you are referring to the much maligned Charles, which would sort of make sense as he's the Coronetted prince of Wales.

    Still, who am I to criticize; I'm not writing anything!

    Live and be well - H
    Oh no, not again...

  6. #36
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    I appreciate all of your comments. Keep in mind that most, if not all, of these things were written in fewer than 24 hours, which may (or may not) provide a little wiggle room as far as expertise and quality. Even so, please feel free to go ahead and criticize, Hawk, but nonetheless let me defend or at least, 'splain:

    The "crossword" of April 9 is a wickedly difficult form with strict rules, but my foolhardy nature tempted me to try it. Clicking the title on the April 9 posting should bring you to a webpage 'splaining how to write the Double-Dactyl.

    Speaking of which, the double dactyl form was created back in the 1960s by John Hollander (primarily) with Paul Pascal and Anthony Hecht. Incidentally, I recently read Anthony Hecht's stunning poem, "It Outherods Herod. Pray you Avoid it."

    The whale watching thingie could never in a thousand years approach the level of Hecht's artistry but I wanted to emulate the form-- nine quatrains of iambic trimeter. A couple of Hecht lines might look like tetrameter, with a couple extra syllables, but after examining them a little closer, I see that in some places there are anapests (x x /) such as in a prepositional phrase. Count the stresses, not the syllables. So maybe that's where you thought the meter went haywire. (It still may have, since your old Auntie is rhythm-impaired.) As far as the objectionable rhymes-- "raves"-- refers to the "oohs and ahhs" of the middle class whale-watching tourists. I've heard reports that some whales and porpoises --even in the "wild" outside of Sea World-- often ham it up for the crowd. Hence, they perform for chum and "raves." "Crafts" as in seagoing craft, as opposed to the more generalized and pedestrian "boats." "Gam"--collective noun for a group of whales. "ram(s)" --I wanted to use that as a syn. for "abuts," meaning the land masses inhabited by human beings, "shorelines" do not always rub up against the realm of the whales. In these oceanic regions, it's highly probable that the inhabitants have no idea human beings exist.

    Part of the theme of that poem refers to our tendency toward sentimentality toward animals and anthropomorphism, which when you come right down to it, is pretty damn condescending. But the larger theme is epistemological, a $50 word about the philosophy of knowledge--how do we know what we know? Coming to terms with the limitations of knowledge is the theme of the poem that inspired the content of the April 11 poem--"The Great Bear," by John Hollander (one of the Double Dactyl trio.) An editor's footnote to that poem contains a reference to the "Prince" in my ditty. If you've got a copy of Hamlet handy, look up Act III, scene ii, lines 392-9. Okay?

    Now, as in an opening for a leaping whale, once more into the "breach"--


    April 12

    Termagant is Fair Pay

    “Iceland” keeps coming up
    in everything I read
    maybe a sign
    I should go there

    heard how the whole island runs
    on vast pots of geothermal energy
    down in the gassy nether earth

    one can easily find a warm spot
    to sit on while wearing a bathing suit
    theoretically

    frigid air above
    hot stuff below

    cold shoulder
    hot air
    plenty of both around here
    in this so-called temperate zone

    Got to watch out for volcanoes
    up there in the N. Atlantic
    You never really can predict
    when a vent’s about to blow

    no such thing
    as a temperate termagant
    no big mystery
    in the misbegotten birth

    of the word pulled off wagons
    circling around medieval cycles
    of plays with characters
    fabricated out of thin air

    an insult to Muslims
    an insult to women

    I want to be Lilly Ledbetter
    first I got to get a job

    me all harried and harassed
    seething steaming
    bubbling under the surface

    beware the wrath
    of a patient volcano

    meanwhile Iceland
    keeps coming up
    in everything

    may be a sign
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 04-13-2012 at 03:49 PM. Reason: Ms Ledbetter spells her first name with two "l"s,as in "Lillian."

  7. #37
    Registered User Delta40's Avatar
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    I loved Whale Watch and the twist in the last stanza Auntie.
    The Rotten Apple Injures its Neighbour

  8. #38
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    Thank you, Delta. ^

    April 13

    Triskaidekaphobia

    It’s only a number, just twelve and one,
    not a digital warning from the sun.
    Take nine plus four (if I have added right.)
    It makes no sum that brings unlucky plight.

    When Friday coincides, no need to run
    this casual day, when work’s almost done.
    The weekend’s prelude at last has begun.
    Count on no ill omens timed for tonight –
    it’s only a number.

    Recall the corner pastry shop with fun:
    a bonus doughnut or an extra bun,
    thanks to the baker’s dozen of delight,
    a sweet release from superstition’s blight.
    Why spit out misfortune when there is none?
    It’s only a number!
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 04-13-2012 at 03:52 PM.

  9. #39
    I do not read poetry much, but after reading your last one and few others, I quite like them.

    Thank you

  10. #40
    Registered User Delta40's Avatar
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    Great poem Auntie and I love the way you break the 13th down with sweet things and math. I spent a wonderful afternoon yesterday having coffee and cake with a guy in my house (which is saying ALOT!) Nice way to disspell superstition.
    The Rotten Apple Injures its Neighbour

  11. #41
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    April 14 -15

    To the Reader:

    I humbly beg you to enact
    a willful suspension of fact
    over the pair this odd piece features.
    Beware -- microscopic creatures!
    This duo does so sorely lack
    a nervous system and a back.
    Sans legs to move, these two ne’er trod,
    propelled with just a pseudopod.
    Each breathes with neither lungs nor beak;
    none has a mouth with which to speak.
    Though there’s no cerebral basis
    to form firm thoughts and make the cases
    for quasi-logical debate–
    somehow these two communicate.
    So–your indulgence will go far
    for:

    “Two Amoebae Go into a Bar”

    Though Nature seldom falls for whims,
    one night she let two specimens

    escape a slide, then to arrive
    at a foreign body-- a dive,

    where rank-rot beer was called top shelf.
    The pair slid onto the bar itself.

    Not a wallet they had between them,
    no card to use in the ATM.

    Both, far more poorer than I am,
    with not a cent, let alone a clam,

    had yet a sense of being free,
    off on a lark, a wayward spree.

    One said, “Way to slip off the slab!
    Think they’ll miss us back at the lab?”

    “Nah,” said the other, wet as rain.
    “They haven’t even named our strain,”

    Then adding, with a shift in gear,
    “Not many monocytes in here,”

    looking ‘round (as if it had eyes)
    “With these prices, I’m not surprised.”

    Its pal concurred (for now, still game)
    “For the ambience, I’d say the same.

    Nowhere is there a creature small.
    Nothin’ but human, wall-to wall.”

    Then, from above there came a drop
    of the aforementioned slop,

    the slobbered overflow from a glass,
    which splashed the cells right in the —.

    Not drowned nor succumbed by fear,
    their instinct floated, treading beer,

    and best survived this gesture rude
    though in a feisty, fighting mood.

    One, with what could be called its head
    turned round, burped, and said:

    “All them smug smiles, not one damned frown.
    Wouldn’t you love to take them down?

    All that gleefulness, soon bedeviled,
    Swiftly stricken, quickly leveled.”

    Its tiny comrade cried, ” Let’s say
    a plague or epidemic. Hooray!”

    “You bet,” averred the other cell,
    “We’ll make their world a living hell.

    Stick ‘em with sickness and poor health,
    do it by hook or crook or stealth.“

    “Whoo! Nothing beats the ordinary
    like old fashioned dysentery.

    Watch ‘em double over and trot
    in their mad scramble to the pot.”

    “Right, buddy. Bring it on! Oh boy!
    But we’re not ready to deploy

    our secret weapon to wreak this fuss,
    There are, you know, just two of us!

    We’ll start our plan, affliction-wise,
    but first we’ve got to colonize.

    So tell me, Pal, how you’d deduce
    the fastest way to reproduce.”

    “Why, I know a sure way that’s easy,
    really simple and not sleazy.

    I only have to step aside,
    merely expand and then divide.

    Both of us should just break in half,
    and double,” it said with a laugh.

    “Where we were merely two before,
    presto, change-o, now we’re four–

    so on and so on. Look, no hands!
    We’ll outnumber great army bands.”

    “No, my friend, that grinds no stones--
    It makes a lot, but we’ll be clones.

    Nature commands: ‘Diversify!
    Get a portfolio, or die.’

    Your idea --sorry--I must hex,
    for the only way to go is sex!”

    “No! Why not stay in my limits?
    Be my own cell, no commitments!

    A perfect replica, carefree,
    No one to answer to but me!

    Tell me, where do you hope to find
    a partner, one who doesn’t mind,

    hooking up with another strange cell?
    Besides, how could you ever tell

    if it’s an it, a he, or–eww!-a she?”
    The other was quick to disagree:

    “Many,” it said, “are the reasons why
    Sex is the way to multiply.

    For now let’s stick with number one:
    sex is the best, since it’s more fun.”

    With no counter- “Crap!” or "hurrah!”
    an impasse thus ended le débat-

    And that, as we say, was that.
    Two little bodies ceased their spat,

    one, with the smallest phone of all
    made the world’s wee-est booty call;

    the other, the androgynous “it”
    puffed itself up, and then it split.
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 04-16-2012 at 05:28 PM.

  12. #42
    TobeFrank Paulclem's Avatar
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    Excellent Auntie.

    Did you plan the forms beforehand, or did you choose the forms on the day?

  13. #43
    The puddytat you saw Hawkman's Avatar
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    Three more wonderful offerings Auntie. Witty, wise and funny. Keep it up

    Live and be well - H
    Oh no, not again...

  14. #44
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Are there no laws against anyone having this much fun? I guess if you're sharing it with us, that constitutes mitigating circumstances. Brava!

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    April 15--"A Kid Does His Homework"

    Thank you, Paulclem, Hawk, and Prince.^^^
    Below is the posting for April 15, for yesterday, when I knew I wouldn't have an opp. to use the computer. The snorer for today (April 16) is finished, and I'll post it this evening.


    April 15

    A Kid Does His Homework

    (Translated from the original Martian by William McGonagall, Ph.D., Distinguished Professor and Chairman of the Department of Martian Language and Literature at Downstate University at Hogwash.)


    Our assignment was to report
    on an aspect of our neighbor,
    the one that’s one step closer
    to the star we share.

    My composition is about whatever it is
    that almost covers that entire sphere.

    It is a sickening color.
    It is not red at all.
    It is nothing like we have here.

    Below a bunch of star-colored streaks
    that follow the big ball while
    it rotates and revolves, we see
    the non-red thing wrinkling
    the way our sand ripples in the wind.

    When we get a closer look,
    we see the expansive edge
    rush back and forth
    like it’s chasing itself.

    If you put a small quantity
    into a transparent vessel,
    the color goes away.

    If you put some in a flat container
    and wait–
    all of it goes away
    (except for the mark it leaves behind,
    a gray shadow, like a ghost.)

    There are a few solid places
    where this covering doesn’t reach.
    But on those stony parts you’ll find
    basins full and narrow lines of it
    wriggling and cross-cutting rocks.

    When you’re next to a border
    and bravely stick an appendage in,
    it feels strange, as if you want
    to shrivel up and get yourself small,
    as you do in night-time.

    There’s a story about
    how these aliens catch
    some of it in little containers
    which they keep by their sides
    everywhere they go, like captured prisoners,

    though from time to time
    they tilt the contents out--
    right into their maws!

    I don’t believe this.
    It makes me gag!

    Also, it’s said that tiny, noisy
    bits of it shoot down
    from the tops of boxes
    where the creatures stand erect.

    They let these flashy meteors
    fall directly on themselves.
    They’re happy --
    sometimes they sing –
    as they caress and rub
    these needles into their body-shells.

    But when they move about their world
    and the white streaks in their sky
    meld into great clumps of dark gas
    and begin to ooze the identical drops,

    the earth-beings bolt in fear.
    Sometimes they hold up parabolic shields
    but mostly they run

    as if they must avoid this stuff
    or die.

    They should do what our ancestors did
    three million years ago
    when they gathered up the putrid poison
    and hid it all underground.

    Mittfzlzl
    (“The End”)


    Martian Poetry
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 04-17-2012 at 03:01 PM.

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