Sarah Palin Poetry

I know it's no longer National Poetry Month, but Sarah Palin (with the unlikely help of Conan O'Brian and William Shatner) has reminded us that every day can be a day to celebrate a little free verse!

Go here to enjoy!

Kelsey's Pocket Poem

The Guppy by Ogden Nash

Whales have calves,
Cats have kittens,
Bears have cubs,
Bats have bittens,
Swans have cygnets,
Seals have puppies,
But guppies just have little guppies.

Nathaniel's Pocket Poem

Nathaniel brought home what looked like a pants pocket made out of paper and colored blue. This was the poem on it:

"I Have a Little Poem"

I have a little poem
In the pocket of my jeans.
When I am feeling lonely,
All I have to do, it seems...
Is take my little poem
And read it through and through.
It cheers me up day or night,
It never makes me blue.
I have a little poem
IN my pocket, all the time.
When I'm feeling lonely,
I read my little rhyme.

-Susan Kilpatrick

This was the poem inside said pocket:

"Celery"'

Celery, raw
Develops the jaw,
But celery, stewed,
Is more quietly chewed.

-Ogden Nash

Jabberwocky

For your daily dose of poetry, head over to The Golden Orb for Carrie Nation's post du jour. I was planning on posting this one today, actually, so that worked out nicely.

My husband sang a choral version of this poem in NJ Region II Chorus under the direction of Ginny Moravek. That was 17 years ago. He still walks around singing it. In fact, any of this poem that I have memorized is his fault.

Enjoy! (And thanks, Carrie!)

http://thegoldenorb.blogspot.com/2009/04/finer-things_25.html

The First Book

Open it.

Go ahead, it won't bite.
Well...maybe a little.

More a nip, like. A tingle.
It's pleasurable, really.

you see, it keeps on opening.
you may fall in.

Sure, it's hard to get started;
remember learning to use

knife and fork? Dig in:
You'll never reach the bottom.

It's not like it's the end of the world-
just the world as you think

you know it.

-Rita Dove

Why Beth Likes Drugs

http://seymourfamohio.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-i-like-drugs-poem.html

This is Beth's second poem featured this month, which may make her our poet in virtual residence. Yea, Beth! There is no stipend for this prestigious honor, sadly. Perhaps I will bake you some cookies or something.

Read on about the drugs!

More Haiku

And speaking of Pride and Prejudice, here is today's haiku sent to me by my favorite sister-in-law, Jen:

http://authorbee.blogspot.com/2009/04/haiku-about-pants.html

"Must keep eye contact."

Love it!

Speaking of Zombies

Today's poem is a Zombie Haiku, again shared by The Fabulous Joan. (Joan is great with the pithy haikus). She is also quick to point out repeats, so in the spirit of full disclosure I did share this earlier this year also in conjunction with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

The book and the poem just want to be together. Who am I to stop them?

Zombie Haiku*

Brains brains brains brains brains
Brains brains brains brains brains brains brains
Brains brains brains brains brains

(*this post is dedicated to Nancy who I think was a little concerned after my Shakespeare post that we were going to get all high-falootin'. As you can see, you have nothing to worry about.)

Sonnet 8

SONNET 8
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'

-William Shakespeare

Pieces of Eternity

I always knew you would come
Someday;
I guess I just wasn’t expecting it
So soon.
And though I wasn’t expecting
A white stallion
And a castle in the clouds,
Maybe I was expecting a little armor.
It’s odd how quietly you came—No fanfare,
No fireworks,
No dramatic revelation;
I just turned around one day
And there you were,
Where you’d always been.
Your hand fit quietly in my hand,
And your life quietly filled a void in my life.
It seems odd;
I have always looked at eternity
As some vast and distant goal,
But now I find
That bits and pieces of eternity
Are settling quietly
All around me.

-Dayle King Searle

This poem appeared in a magazine in 1991 and I thought it was wonderful. I'm sure I thought about Todd while reading it. I even used it in a presentation my senior year of High School. Everyone in the class was paired into couples and we had to plan a wedding. I included it as one of the readings. The football player/dressed all in black/played in a band/totally didn't care about the project/and barely spoke guy that was my partner found out how much it cost to rent a tuxedo. I planned every thing else. Menu, readings, music, service, travel, guest list, invitations, cake, dress (I even included a dress pattern and a sample of the material it would be made from).

When I was married 4 years later, I used absolutely none of it. In fact I didn't care. I just wanted to be married, not get married. Which makes me think that my senior year health class husband had the right idea.

Sick (as per Abby's request!)

Sick

'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

-Shel Silverstein

Beth's Ode to her Bed

We haven't had any Odes yet this month, so here is a fabulous one written by fellow BGB, Beth.

"An Ode to My Bed"

Enjoy!

Tax Day

(This is a repeat, Joan, since I know you pay attention to these things. But it is my annual post for April 15. It's traditional, so I'm allowed to post it more than once.)

Here is today's poem.

Ninja Owl

There once was an owl from Japan
Who was a ninja but played in a band
He played the big gong
They performed in Hong Kong
but sadly he broke his hand

-Benjamin Smith

Wyoming Pig

There once was a pig from Wyoming
Who loved to wear bright pink clothing.
His favorites were vests
He thought they looked the best
Oh that silly old pig from Wyoming.

-Benjamin Smith

Anagrammer

If you believe in the magic of language,
then Elvis really Lives
and Princess Diana foretold I end as car spin.

If you believe the letters themselves
contain a power within them,
then you understand
what makes outside tedious,
how desperation become a rope ends it.

The circular logic that allows senator to become treason,
and treason to become atoners.

That eleven plus two is twelve plus one,
and an admirer is also married.

That if you could just re-arrange things the right way
you'd find your true life,
the right path, the answer to your questions:
you'd understand how the Titanic
turns into that ice tin,
and debit card becomes bad credit.

How listen is the same as silent,
and not one letter separates stained from sainted.

-Peter Pereira

Boa Constrictor

Boa Constrictor

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

- Shel Silverstein

A Poem for Jill

We met some good friends today in NJ for a cookout at a state park. My friend, Jill, said that she wasn't loving the poetry portion of my blog. She's a reader, so I asked if really there wasn't a favorite poem she had from somewhere. She looked up at the tall pine trees all around us and said:

"Birdie, Birdie in the sky
Why'd you do that in my eye?"


Which just goes to show that there's a poem for everything.

in just-

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee


-e.e. cummings

(This was a great suggestion from Nancy! Thanks, Nancy! I love the bit about the world being puddle-wonderful!)

We Real Cool

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

-Gwendolyn Brooks