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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, BarQuote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
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.
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
Two nice offerings to revive an old thread. I hear a rustling noise, though, Hawk--it must be Thomas Gray turning in his churchyard!
LOL, thanks Auntie, and I'm sure you're right! Positively spinning I should say...
live and be well - H
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.
Mary ate her little lamb
And sent it off to heaven.
On its behalf she wants a rhyme
More meaningful than "seven".
Quote:
Originally Posted by 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:Quote:
Originally Posted by prendrelemick
Mary ate her little lamb
And sent it off to Hell.
Her classmates thought that wasn't nice
Though they ate some as well.
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.
Parody or no it's rather good.
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.
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.
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.
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
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/
Pretty clever parody, YesNo, but I hope you don't dislike WCW's other works.
I liked this a lot YesNo really fun.Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
the red wheelbarrow is such simplicity and yet clever, thank you for posting it :)
Don't listen when Erato sings;
there's "no ideas but in stings."
a copywriter.
when in murk
do like a curk
deny all perk
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.
Terrific parody of the good doctor's dictum against abstractions in poetry.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hawkman
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by 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.
''to wait or not to wait
such is the lack of faith''