"Parodies Found" Your spoofs of well-known classics

[AuntShecky]

Here begins a new thread called "Parodies Found." Write a spoof or parody of a well-known classic poem or popular song. Here's a couple to start the ball rolling:

The Horny Dude to His Squeeze

Hook up with me and be my squeeze.
We could sit around my crib and shoot the breeze.
We'll hang out and pop a cold six-pack
And order in deli for a tasty snack
(Not with cheap mustard but Grey Poupon.)
I'll even change the sheets on my futon.
And if some good **** would come our way–
We'll be so high we won't care if it’s April or May.
Really smokin’, in more ways than one!
Just a one-nighter, but we'll both have fun.
Dudes don't do commitment, and we don't say “please,”
But hook up with me and be my squeeze.


The Squeeze’s Reply to the Dude

Yo, Dude, if your text message was for real,
If you really said what you truly feel,
And you're not some Internet predator sleaze,
Maybe I'll hook up with you and be your squeeze.
Lose the brewski, spring for a bottle o’ wine
After you book us a table at a fine place to dine.
A “friend with privileges” you think you would rate?
Think again, Bro -- I don't put out on the first date.
Play your cards right you might get a couple o’ hugs.
BTW, I don't get high and I say no to drugs.
Swear that with other shorties you won't flirt or tease,
Then I might hook up with you and be your squeeze.


Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.

[AuntShecky]

After Tennyson’s “The Eagle”

It idles on the tarmac, with idle ground crew hands
Close to the runway where some other plane lands
And while another takes off, it stands and it stands.

We’d cross the sea faster with creeps and crawls.
So bored we all are, we could climb the cramped walls.
And like a dry leaf, each travel plan falls.

Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.

[AuntShecky]

Parodic fragments

after Robinson Jeffers:
this is the slippery
banana peel of the world, and what it waits for
is not our poise.


after T. S. Eliot:
Up and down
The women go
Mooning over
Leonardo DiCaprio.


Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.

[Granny5]

These are great fun! I especially love The Horney Dude to his Squeeze.

[Pendragon]

My First one, and I got lucky!

Parody: Raven #1

I haven often seen that raven with his crest all shorn and shaven,
Brassy-bold and all so brave and sitting on the bust above my door.
I have heard that ghastly croak as the fire I quietly stoked,
As The Night’s enfolding cloak sheltered me from a day so sore:
As the enfolding cloak of Night sheltered me from a day so sore—
Where the bird said: “Nevermore!”

Just one thing, though, that I wonder; on one thing my soul doth ponder;
Each time I see him sitting yonder on the plaster bust above my door.
One thing I must confess, that my soul is left to guess,
Each time I hear the bird express “Nevermore!” above my door:
Every time I hear The Raven croak “Nevermore!” above my door—
And that is: Who the heck is Lenore?

Dale Harris
© 11/14/97
Published in Mobious Magazine

[AuntShecky]

Thank you, Granny, and Pendragon, I liked your spoof of "The Raven," but after what happened to the NY Mets this year I don't want to hear the n-word, "Nevermore."

[AuntShecky]

- - - - -
Variation on a Theme by Thomas Gray

We know all about the paths of glory
and where they lead –
(beyond that point, less certain.)

Yet those who embrace a different pursuit
and humbly tread a diff’rent route
have been running in the very same race
and finish at the very same place.

[Pendragon]

O, Heartburn! My Heartburn!
(Parody of O, Captain! My Captain!)

O, heartburn, my heartburn, your fearful grip has seized—
And anchored deep within my chest; it hurts me just to breathe.
The time draws near, again I fear, the porcelain bowl awaits me—
With watery eyes ‘cross the room I reel, yes, t’was fate Matey!
Ow! Pain! Pain! Pain!
Augh! This racking burning agony!
Where the devil is that medicine cabinet?
I need Pepto-Bismol to sooth me!

O, heartburn, my heartburn, I feel each Jalapeno pepper—
They go down so smooth then in the end they rise and make me suffer!
With onion rings, and pickled things they return as for a haunting—
There shall be no more rest for me tonight with wretched fire all flaunting!
Here’s to you, old sport!
Plop, plop, fizz, fizz,
Would this were a nightmare because,
It’s hell just like it is!

The heartburn designs to answer me with bursts of even greater torture—
Ravaging all my insides like a cow carcass given to some butcher!
This vile agony maybe the very death of me, expiring from a flaming liver—
I make a silent vow if I survive the night to watch the contents I deliver.
The CD plays a favorite song
But I with grim and mournful tread—
Head for the John, the heartburn calls—
Oh, sweet heaven! Makes me wish that I were dead!

Dale Harris
© 11/7/07

[blp]

Had we but oregano and thyme
this blandness, lady, were no crime

[firefangled]

Of Mere Feeling

The balm at the end of the day,
Beyond the last chore, covered
In the bronze squeeze tube.

The emollient lies,
Ready to soothe as if knowing the meaning,
Of this aching feeling within my bones.

I know then it is the reason
That makes me happy, not unhappy.
The salve heals. I'm glad it's mine.

The balm sits in my nightstand drawer.
The scent is pleasing in the air.
My on-fire soothing sinews simmer down.

[SleepyWitch]

aaaaaaaaaargh, this is my first attemt at parodie and I suppose it's kinda slapstickl...............




COME live with me and be my Love,
and I will jump thee in the grove
beneath the tree-ish sycamore,
but you might think I am a woman of negotiable affection.

There will we sit upon the rocks
and I will wash your smelly socks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
the hydro-engineer boss calls
his team.


There will I make thee beds of roses
complete with thorns and weevil bugs
to cushion our desperate hugs
No cap of baseball, and no turtle-
neck can hide the fat under my girdle
.

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
And to the poor beasts' detriment
we later into shreds will rend.


A belt of straw and ivy buds
with corals bleached by soapy suds:
And if these pleasures make thee sneeze,
you're really awful hard to please.

Thy silver dishes for thy vittels
even if you may prefer Skittles,
Shall from an auction house I steal
just to show you how I feel.

The peasant louts shall howl and prance
and we'll laugh our heads off at their dance:
If these delights thy mind may boggle,
Then live with me and let us snuggle.

[SleepyWitch]

Here begins a new thread called "Parodies Found." Write a spoof or parody of a well-known classic poem or popular song. Here's a couple to start the ball rolling:

The Horny Dude to His Squeeze

Hook up with me and be my squeeze.
We could sit around my crib and shoot the breeze.
We'll hang out and pop a cold six-pack
And order in deli for a tasty snack
(Not with cheap mustard but Grey Poupon.)
I'll even change the sheets on my futon.
And if some good **** would come our way–
We'll be so high we won't care if it’s April or May.
Really smokin’, in more ways than one!
Just a one-nighter, but we'll both have fun.
Dudes don't do commitment, and we don't say “please,”
But hook up with me and be my squeeze.


The Squeeze’s Reply to the Dude

Yo, Dude, if your text message was for real,
If you really said what you truly feel,
And you're not some Internet predator sleaze,
Maybe I'll hook up with you and be your squeeze.
Lose the brewski, spring for a bottle o’ wine
After you book us a table at a fine place to dine.
A “friend with privileges” you think you would rate?
Think again, Bro -- I don't put out on the first date.
Play your cards right you might get a couple o’ hugs.
BTW, I don't get high and I say no to drugs.
Swear that with other shorties you won't flirt or tease,
Then I might hook up with you and be your squeeze.


Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.

hahahah, great minds think alike :) I didn't read your original post :D

[PrinceMyshkin]

Re Dylan Thomas' "Lament":


When I was a long-winded boy with a voice
Like the butt-end of an old oak tree
I rambled among the randy syllables
And knock-kneed knickers
Of the good-for-guffing girls
On Gillfeather Street
Among the struts and stumbles
Of the proud as peacock peonies.
I cared not a farthing
To make sense but just strung
A lot of la-dee-dah lacy-pants together
And roam and rollicked
Till the cud-licking cows came home!
A bloody bit of alliteration
And some assonance would
Do it up quite nice!

[CdnReader]

^^^ Hahaha. This is great, PM. :)

[kilted exile]

A reworking of "To a mouse" which I wrote about 2 years ago now after seeing a story in the NEWS thread about a mouse that ended up burning down a man's home.


To A Man, on the occassion of burning down his house in January 2006.

Big, stompin', greetin', murd'rous beastie
Oh whit panic's in thy breastie
Ah laf tae see ye sat there cursin'
wi' tears a rollin
It is me that cud dae wi nursin'
Flames put oot

Twas yer ain belief in Mans dominion
That broke natures solemn union
An justifies ma glorius revenge
that makes yer heart twinge
At the loss o' yer ain dear hoose
Instead o jist a stupid moose

I dinna doubt yer wife wis feart o' me
Sae whit? she saw naw hide nor hair o me
Some respite frae the world, a fair request
Instead thrown to a bonfire nest
An never miss'd

Thy huge big house, is noo in ruins
Its whitewashed wa's the fires strewin'
An no time now tae build a new yin
of stone n clay
An swift approaches noo yer wifie
Wi her bitin tongue

Thou saw me scurryin quickly past
wi wifie comin up the gairden path
An' straight intae the burnin' leaves
Ye thought tae throw me
Till straight back tae the hoose ah ran
Wi flames a lickin'

That wee pile o brick an' mortar
cost thee mauny a weel earnt nickel
Noo its gaun fir aw' yer trooble
Nae hoose or hame
Tae shield ye fae yer wife
Or mither in law

But Man thou art no thy-lane
In proving foresight may be vain
The best laid schemes of men an' mice
Aft gang agley
An leave us naught but grief an' pain
For promised joy

But yer still good, dinnae ye see?
house rebuilt by the insurance company
But och, I feel the flames still burn
Aroun' ma back
Burnin doon yer hoose wis a jist return
I laugh an' cheer

[PrinceMyshkin]

Scots wha' hae? This is wonderful, Kiltee!

[Pendragon]

Good fir the mousie! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/HouseMouse.gif

[AuntShecky]

Great job with ALL of the previous parodies. Thanks Prince, now I have to go back and re-read some Thomas (no, really I should do it anyway.) I like Sleepy's version of the nymph+shepherd classic better than that of yours truly. The parody of R---r--r-r--obert Burns by Kilted Exile along with Pen's good-natured response both show a facility with the burrr-rr. And Fire-fangled's Wallace Stevens parody shows an expert knowledge of her (or is it "his") favorite poet. By the way, I still have a dog-eared, thirty-year old W. Stevens anthology entitled "The
Palm at the End of the Mind." Let's wave a praising palm towards all of these accomplished parodists on the LitNet!

[AuntShecky]

delete

[AuntShecky]

delete

[AuntShecky]

On First Looking Into, At, Around, and Through
“The Egotistical Sublime”

Much of his travel makes us wait around, as if for gold,
and he hangs out in realms where stars have been seen
round. Expects -– hell, requires! – - a query where he’s been,
which in turn he deletes or puts the call on hold,
oft reserving an expanse off-campus (the dad pays, I’m told)
that he keeps as his private – - you’re kidding! - – demesne.
Yet he’s all gaga and “into” some siren serene,
till he says he’s God’s image of The One who’s bold.
Then the dame has no mercy for this clod’s head in the skies.
When diss’d, he scoots to scribe – - no pencil in his ken – -
to keyboard to peck: “brids’ wont sing unless she opens her eyes!!!”
He jots facts that don’t jibe: right ocean, wrong men.
Look’d at himself as the Second Coming of Keats, a wild surmise.
Silent proof no one can stand the guy at Yale or in Darien.

[AuntShecky]

Princess Idle
(w. apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan)


I'm no damned good at symmetry and versifying gimmickry.
The wrenching rhymes that I've thus wrought are often fraught with limerick-ry.
In track-wide doubt I ever can train a wretchéd line to scan,
I am the very model of a swayback poet also-ran.

I slice my bread before the wise, and the sharp advice they live to give
says even the wriest loaf is stale, très trite, if not derivative,
referring to my alluding skill as swill from a cut-and-paster-er.
I am the moldy mold of a post-modern poet-taster-er.

The Greats whom I strain to parody and flatter with temerity
I take more seriously than myself, which “I say with all sincerity.”
No tears will drip, but laughs may trip out of my rash and leaky pen.
I am a photocopy of a poet-slash-comedienne.

[Pendragon]

Jabberwocky

T’was brillig within the beamish brain,
pulsating with REM-sleep,
and one could almost hear the furious
breeding of the threshing neurons
within the convolutions of the cortical gyri,
producing by their uffish adultery
the mimsy wisps of hallucinatory vapors
that men call “Dreams.”
Beware, my son, beware,
for although most of these ethereal essences
are perfectly harmless—
some are Boojums!

Pendragon

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Cobra.gif

[AuntShecky]

This theme song is for a guy posing as a natural foods fan in order to impress women:

(To the tune of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You”)

I get a kick from romaine.
Chateaubriand doesn't turn me right on.
So tell me, what’s in that ragout?
For I get a kick from tofu.

I get a kick every time I see
a chicken ranging freely
although it seems to be
that obviously
no chick will dine with me.

No dates, I can't catch a break.
Might as well go and order the steak
and tell you something that’s true:
I don't really care for tofu.

The next one’s going out to a wife whose husband has a new prescription that’s working too well:

(To the tune of “Our Love is Here to Stay” by the Gershwins)

It’s very clear
your ‘love’ is here to stay.
Seems like a year
that it’s been this way.
Uh-oh, my dear
I see you've got some gumption.
But I sure could use
a little more ‘dysfunction.’
You took some cold showers,
but after four hours,
you still only want to play,
and your ‘love’ is here to stay.

And finally, here’s a post-modern conundrum – a parody of a parody for a neophyte tourist in Sin City who learns that what happens in a parody should stay in a parody:

(A variation of the parody of “The Dance of the Hours,” by the late, great Allan Sherman)

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah
Here I am out in Nevadah.
It’s exciting and amusing,
And I think I'll have some fun when I stop losing.

Tried my luck at the one-armed bandit–
Lots o’ lemons, I can't stand it!
Thought the slot was a rotten deal
Till the run-around I got from the roulette wheel.

I placed a bet, oh, Muddah, Faddah,
on blackjack yet!
I don't know what to do –
I keep hitting twenty-two!

Now I'm losing five-star pokah
and I'm going even brokah.
Hope that we don't become beggahs
Wish I'd gone away to camp instead of Vegahs!

[DickZ]

This theme song is for a guy posing as a natural foods fan in order to impress women:

(To the tune of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You”)

I get a kick from romaine.
Chateaubriand doesn't thrill me at all.
So tell me, what’s in that ragout?
For I get a kick from tofu.
........

Those are all fantastic, Auntie, and so imaginative. But if I had to pick one favorite from the bunch, it would probably be the second one - the one about dysfunction. I guess the singer had to call her husband's doctor after four hours, since apparently he wasn't about to make the phone call.

[MarkBastable]

I posted this ages ago in another thread, but it seems to fit better here.

Paradise Apprehended

Mayhap in youth thou wast obliged to read,
For reason unbeknownst or unreveal’d
Or e’en set forth though not well understood,
A poem, like the world, devoid of end;
And somewhat sparsely stocked with full-stops, too,
Though forc’d full as a feather’d Christmas goose
With sub-clauses, enbracketed asides,
Diversions in parentheses unseen
And colons scatter’d: broadcast, as might be
From out the hand of God like silver’d stars
Thrown careless ’pon the darkling firmament
In multitudes to mortal mind confound:
Which – and here we’re harking back to ‘poem’ –
Was billed in the curriculum or notes
As perhaps the greatest blank-verse epic work
In English; or in any other tongue:
And ploughing through it, line by turgid line,
As one compelled to eat a sheepskin rug,
Thou mayst have wondered what the bloody hell
Could be the gain, of knowledge, or of joy,
Despite whate’er grades thou wouldst achieve
To rise to high Academe.

Fair point.
In truth, the lumpen tone of Paradise
Lost is such a product of its time
That it’s of int’rest only to those few
To whom Milton is Hist’ry (not High Art!)
As ‘twere a mammoth cold-preserv’d in ice.
On top of that, the poem’s moral stance
And theologick thrust are obsolete.
Age of Reason, my spare freaking rib.
E’en as metaphor it’s pretty lame.
Were style and content not enough to zonk
Thee off to sleep as might a hand-cupped draught
Of Lethe’s flow or poppy’s Orient sap,
Then John’s insistent soporific iambs
Thumping like a party down the hall
Will spirit dull and senses all benumb.
Ti-dum ti-dum ti-dum ti-bloody-dum.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Oh my God! How did I miss these? Especially as you took one of the mant sacrosanct lyrics by St. Cole - and made it into something that even He would have to admire!


This theme song is for a guy posing as a natural foods fan in order to impress women:

(To the tune of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You”)

I get a kick from romaine.
Chateaubriand doesn't turn me right on.
So tell me, what’s in that ragout?
For I get a kick from tofu.

I get a kick every time I see
a chicken ranging freely
although it seems to be
that obviously
no chick will dine with me.

No dates, I can't catch a break.
Might as well go and order the steak
and tell you something that’s true:
I don't really care for tofu.

[AuntShecky]

Gee, thank you, Prince! I've totally forgotten about this thread. Will try to come up with some new ones soon.

Better yet, perhaps the more accomplished and wittier LitNutters will post some good parodies.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Gee, thank you, Prince! I've totally forgotten about this thread. Will try to come up with some new ones soon.

Better yet, perhaps the more accomplished and wittier LitNutters will post some good parodies.

I was tempted, believe you me, and even began a parody of "The Raven" but found it almost impossible to exceed the innate parodic quality of the original.

[Bloomsy]

Mr. Leopold Bloop pigged out on chunks of cow, pigs innards and bit’s of bird’s bit’s. He liked stodgy offal soup, grizzled nuts, a crude creation made from something uncrude, an unheard of undelicacy. Most of all he liked charified hardened lambykins blood which gave to most peoples palate’s a vile tang of strong smelling ****.

[kittyluvr73]

Of "Fire and Ice"
Some say the world's end comes
when the sun expands and swallows up the earth
in about five hundred thousand years.
But some say global warming
will destroy us before that time,
an ice age to end our civilization.
I'd rather be burned,
at least the women
would not wear many clothes.
But freezing to death,
every man for himself,
could be an adventure.
That also would be a good end.

Of "The Road Not Taken"
I was walking down this path
(for some reason without a destination)
and came to a fork.
As I am debilitatingly indecisive,
I stood for ages at the parting
weighing the perceived merits of each option.
Finally I took one
(based on an arbitrary superiority)
thinking I'd go back and explore.
But you know how those things go,
I never returned to that place.
But my decision then will plague me
for years to come, so
I choose to believe that choice I made
changed my life.

[RaoulDuke]

An 'omage to Hogden Nash

A gentleman is struck with pain upon finishing his repast;
He hoped that it would go away but it seemed determined to last.
I hear you ask, you impatient young snip:
What pray is the cause of this jip?
A fiddle with the tongue discerns it;
Nay, the fiddle has outright confirmed it.
It appears it's grizzly, grisly bacon rashers
Wedged atwixt his Ogden Nashers.

[kilted exile]

To bbq, or not to bbq: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The microwaveable dinners of outrageous fortune,
Or to take propane against a sea of meat,
And by opposing end them? To eat: to drink;
Still more; and by a burger to say we end
The heart-burn and the thousand mozzie bites
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consumnation

[AuntShecky]

The title of this thread says "spoofs of well-known classics,"but I'm not really sure if the original song which inspired the following parody is all that "well-known." It certainly should be, though, for in the 71 years since it was first composed, the catchy song has become a jazz standard among the repertoires of many jazz musicians.

Adopting an ironic stance, "Will You Still Be Mine" is in a vein similar to that of "I Wish I Were in Love Again," by Rodgers and of course, Hart, as the latter-day lyricist Hammerstein was more attuned to sweet sentiment. After a more or less conventional, albeit wry, beginning, the lyrics segue into topical humor. The jokes from FDR's administration --or as in Matt Dennis's recording from the Fifties (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ha8JM7XWmtw)--have cobwebs on them. That's the trouble with topical humor-- it has a very short shelf-life; hence, the attempted "update."

In any event, here we go:

Will I Catch a Break?

[To the tune of “Will You Still Be Mine?” by Matt Dennis and Tom Adair]


When forecasts say that they don't know
if we'll get heat waves or more snow;
when real life’s not a TV show–
will I catch a break?

When Yankee boasts screech to a stop,
and Chicago’s Cubs end up on top;
when fat cats’ salaries finally drop–
will I catch a break?

When cell phone use is just to talk directly,
and every blogger’s blog is spelled correctly.

When airports speed you through the gate,
without one flight arriving late;
when Walmart shoppers lose some weight –
will I catch a break?

When jobs come back from overseas
and banks won't charge those sneaky fees;
when money really grows on trees –
will I catch a break?

[YesNo]

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King's horses and all the King's men
had breakfast that morning.

[MystyrMystyry]

Roll, Roll, Roll your smokes.
Deftly from a tin.
Log Cabin, Special London, Port Royal,
This is everythin'

[YesNo]

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider
Who sat down beside her,
And unfortunately for the spider she ate it, too.

[AuntShecky]

Wow.
This particular thread has been dormant for a full year.
Wonder why there are 3 new posts so quickly. . .

[YesNo]

Wow.
This particular thread has been dormant for a full year.
Wonder why there are 3 new posts so quickly. . .
After you posted your fine parody on "Will You Still Be Mine", I think the thread woke up. :)

[YesNo]

Since the thread might have died down again, here's another one:



Owl and Pussycat Wars

There's no beauty in blame. The complaints are the same.
He will call her some names I won't say.
With disgust in her eyes, you can hear her heat rise.
How they wish they weren't married that day.
Once in love, now in hate, with each other as fate,
They must live. Death is not coming soon.
So with fist raised to fist, no one knows why they're pissed,
But they fight by the light of the moon,

The moon,
The moon.
They fight by the light of the moon.

[Bar22do]

The title of this thread says "spoofs of well-known classics,"but I'm not really sure if the original song which inspired the following parody is all that "well-known." It certainly should be, though, for in the 71 years since it was first composed, the catchy song has become a jazz standard among the repertoires of many jazz musicians.

Adopting an ironic stance, "Will You Still Be Mine" is in a vein similar to that of "I Wish I Were in Love Again," by Rodgers and of course, Hart, as the latter-day lyricist Hammerstein was more attuned to sweet sentiment. After a more or less conventional, albeit wry, beginning, the lyrics segue into topical humor. The jokes from FDR's administration --or as in Matt Dennis's recording from the Fifties (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ha8JM7XWmtw)--have cobwebs on them. That's the trouble with topical humor-- it has a very short shelf-life; hence, the attempted "update."

In any event, here we go:

Will I Catch a Break?

[To the tune of “Will You Still Be Mine?” by Matt Dennis and Tom Adair]


When forecasts say that they don't know
if we'll get heat waves or more snow;
when real life’s not a TV show–
will I catch a break?

When Yankee boasts screech to a stop,
and Chicago’s Cubs end up on top;
when fat cats’ salaries finally drop–
will I catch a break?

When cell phone use is just to talk directly,
and every blogger’s blog is spelled correctly.

When airports speed you through the gate,
without one flight arriving late;
when Walmart shoppers lose some weight –
will I catch a break?

When jobs come back from overseas
and banks won't charge those sneaky fees;
when money really grows on trees –
will I catch a break?

I don't know if you can ever catch a break, Auntie, for it doesn't really look Walmart shoppers will lose weight in the near future!... so for the time being, humour will keep you going, I hope! it does me! Best regards, Bar

[Hawkman]

Allergy in a Country Churchyard

The itch I have to scratch is back again
It pricks my eyes, which run, as does my nose.
So marked by ghastly aspect as this shows,
that gen'rally, I’m treated with disdain.

A rash has bloomed upon my legs and hands,
my cheek’s unwonted pallor shows my strain
and in this heat I sweat, which is a pain,
I’d rather be where yonder pylon stands.

There, on the hill I long to reach, wind blows,
but here, within this churchyard, it is still,
whilst I, through all this overgrowth must till
amid the biting bugs and blossom snows.

This hole I dig might very well be mine,
I need to get away and breathe some air,
though someone rightly thinks of it as theirs,
we’ll share, if I can’t finish it on time.

The pollen from the grasses floats in clouds,
the insects bite and sting the flesh at will.
Invisible to sight they claim their kill;
allergic shock thus veils me in its shroud.

[cacian]

little boy blue- what was really meant-

Little Boy cute,
Come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow,
The cow's in the corn;
Where is that girl
Who lives by the meadows?
Under the pine tree
playing the flute.
Will you tell her?
share all with your banter
Oh yes , yes I,
For when I do
she will sing me a tune

[AuntShecky]

Two nice offerings to revive an old thread. I hear a rustling noise, though, Hawk--it must be Thomas Gray turning in his churchyard!

[Hawkman]

LOL, thanks Auntie, and I'm sure you're right! Positively spinning I should say...

live and be well - H

[prendrelemick]

The Highwayman -sort of.

The wind was a torrent of smogness among the neon signs
The moon was a ghostly galleon caught up in the power lines
The road was a ribbon of tail-lights across the urban moor
And the stockbroker came driving
Driving, driving,
In his BMW driving, up to the motel door.

He'd a burberry scarf around his neck, and a rolex round his wrist
A coat of blackened silk he wore and he smelt of lavender mist
His Brogues were the softest leather and made to the best design
And he came with his teeth a-twinkle
His cufflinks all a-twinkle
His i-phone five, a-twinkle under the motel sign.

.........and I can't be bothered any more.

[YesNo]

Mary ate her little lamb
And sent it off to heaven.
On its behalf she wants a rhyme
More meaningful than "seven".

[prendrelemick]

Mary ate her little lamb
And sent it off to heaven.
On its behalf she wants a rhyme
More meaningful than "seven".


It would be easier if it went to Hell

[YesNo]

It would be easier if it went to Hell

Ah! Sometimes one has to think outside the box. Thanks! Here's the new version:


Mary ate her little lamb
And sent it off to Hell.
Her classmates thought that wasn't nice
Though they ate some as well.

[AuntShecky]

Let's bump this thread so that some of our witty LitNutters can do their thing. (I'm talking to you, YesNo and Pendragon!)

Meanwhile, here's a ditty from April 2008, a parody of the famous "Misty" by Erroll Garner with original lyrics by the unsung master, Johnny Burke. Neither artist deserves to be parodied, but this one comes from affection, as when an audience, upon recognizing the initial notes, sighs a collective “Ah!”– even when the semi-professional band is fictional, and led by a pianist named “Chick.”

Look at Chick,
There’s no sweeter song that he could pick:
a pleaser he’s flinging to the crowd.
We can understand
why he chose “Misty”
for him and his band.

In a way
a thousand other groups
begin to play --
or is it the sound of his solo
so sweet and so clear?
Almost as if Erroll were here!

I could say that he’s putting us on,
but the audience knows each part.
We don’t notice how guilelessly we’re charmed.
That’s why we’re humming it by heart.

On my own
I could never play piano
or saxophone
or push wind through wood,
but this “Misty”
makes me wish that I could.

I hear “Misty,”
and wish that I could.

[Hawkman]

Parody or no it's rather good.

[YesNo]

Misty makes me wish I could play as well: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_tAU3GM9XI

Here's something to keep the thread going:



Twinkle, Twinkle

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
Now I know just what you are
Always out there, night or day,
Even when you go away,
Even when the sun shines bright
Like a star in someone's night.

[Hawkman]

Do not bemoan the dawning of the light;
The sleepless man should rise at break of day
Complaining of the snoring in the night.

The wisest of us know that this is right
Because the weary man should have his say.
Do not bemoan the dawning of the light;

You should chastise your partner for your plight,
Their selfish deed asks wakefulness to stay.
Complaining of the snoring in the night,

Tired men, not seeking quietude in flight,
Who learn too late they should have run away,
Do not bemoan the dawning of the light.

Brave men with earplugs know the score, delight
In their preserve, they have no need to stray,
Complaining of the snoring in the night.

You should not rage or blaze with anger’s might
Go out and purchase what you need today;
Do not bemoan the dawning of the light,
Complaining of the snoring in the night.

[AuntShecky]

Thanks, Hawk,for reviving this thread. Your offering is a clever one, indeed.

RE: the villanelle. Incidentally, did you know that when Sylvia Plath was a schoolgirl, she won a prize for writing a villanelle? Maybe that's what launched her poetry career. I can refer to only two villanelles that I know well enough to talk about. One of them is "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop, a poem that speaks to yours fooly personally on so many levels.

Your parody, of course, takes off on the most famous villanelle of all, by Dylan Thomas. It is a much-beloved poem, but I've always wondered why he said "gentle" and not "gently." On those rare occasions when I want to try writing a villanelle,I have to have a copy of that poem right in front of me so I can emulate the form, line by line.

I'm more likely to try writing a pantoum, but again, I wouldn't dare attempt it without having the template before me. Otherwise, I'd leave out a line or get the sequence wrong, in which case I'd be screwhoohoohooed, if you know what I mean.

You've done a nice job here, though.

[Hawkman]

Poor Sylvia, writing a villanelle is enough to make anyone suicidal!

I read Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art" and I agree it's a good poem, and I think we all feel like that sometimes, but she cheated! lol.

I don't know why Thomas used the adjective rather than the adverb, other than for its sound. The y in gently is more stressed than the swallowed 'L' of gentle.

I think I prefer rondeaus to pantoums, but I suppose I ought to give one a go, just so I can say I have :D

Thanks for reading and liking this little effort.

Live and be well - H

[YesNo]

so much depends
upon --

what? a wheel
barrow?

white chickens? rain?
drivel

from a soggy
brain?




-----------------------

Just in case someone doesn't know the original: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-red-wheelbarrow/

[AuntShecky]

Pretty clever parody, YesNo, but I hope you don't dislike WCW's other works.

[cacian]

so much depends
upon --

what? a wheel
barrow?

white chickens? rain?
drivel

from a soggy
brain?




-----------------------

Just in case someone doesn't know the original: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-red-wheelbarrow/

I liked this a lot YesNo really fun.
the red wheelbarrow is such simplicity and yet clever, thank you for posting it :)

[Hawkman]

Don't listen when Erato sings;
there's "no ideas but in stings."

a copywriter.

[cacian]

when in murk
do like a curk
deny all perk

[YesNo]

Thanks, cacian. I enjoyed the "murk", "curk", "perk" sounds in yours. I think your parody, Hawkman, was an improvement on the original. As far as liking in general WCW poems, AuntShecky, I don't recall having read enough of them to be able to say.

[AuntShecky]

Don't listen when Erato sings;
there's "no ideas but in stings."

a copywriter.

Terrific parody of the good doctor's dictum against abstractions in poetry.




As far as liking in general WCW poems, AuntShecky, I don't recall having read enough of them to be able to say.

You might like Paterson (one of his book-length poems.) My favorite William Carlos Williams poem is "To Elsie." I'nm sure that you would find that one appealing and affecting, YesNo.

[YesNo]

Come to think of it, I did read a short story of his, "The Use of Force", in my daughter's copy of The Norton Anthology of Short Fiction. After reading it, I recall thinking that it made more sense than "Red Wheelbarrow". I'll try to find "Peterson" and "To Elsie". Thanks for the recommendations.

[cacian]

''to wait or not to wait
such is the lack of faith''