Posts from — April 2011
Make a wish! What happens? Not a thing.
Damnit, why’s it so much work to sing?
April 11, 2011 No Comments
Here are 6, and I’m caught up!
Speaker John Boehner,
The Tea Party Trainer,
Will know if he’s lost
By who pays the cost.
“Who drives? The rich!”
Right to the ditch.
May not like drama
But like it or not
That’s sure what he’s got.
In his hour of need
Reached out to the Left
Whom he’d left bereft.
Wants teachers to pay
So rich folks can play.
And Congressman Paul
Might both of them run –
How long till they’re done?
April 9, 2011 No Comments
Spring’s already here. I just got bit,
And started sneezing yesterday. It’s clear
To anyone with any trace of wit
Spring’s already here
And bears an air so calmly cavalier
It seems ungracious and somehow unfit
Remembering that snow will reappear.
Being Winter’s child I can’t commit
Completely to the progress of the year,
But onions sprout, and even I admit
Spring’s already here.
Does it matter I used the transitive verb form “bit” with no object? I think it does, and here’s a possible fix (I think it would be better even if the original were not ungrammatical):
Spring’s already here – a bug just bit
Me; I’ve been sneezing all day long. It’s clear
April 6, 2011 No Comments
Double jeez, really.
First, I’m two days behind on the 30 poems for April, and that’s a rather mournful jeez.
The second jeez is more of a WTF: in the course of his review of Gary Gutting’s Thinking the Impossible: French Philosophy Since 1960, Christopher Bray writes that Gutting considers Theory to be, like poetry, “unparaphrasable and never fully explicable.”
Well, sure. Paraphrases of poetry aren’t poetry, and Bray follows that immediately with “I dare say I’m not the only one who finds Foucault and Derrida’s coiling, arrhythmic stodge anything but poetic.” But does that mean Gutting would think a transcript of a conversation with an untreated shizophrenic to be like poetry?
April 5, 2011 No Comments
I didn’t have a clue.
That years could go so fast?
While nothing went slightly wrong,
As neither sang the wrong song.
And nevertheless I’m here
With you, my dearest dear.
Who knew we’d last so long?
April 2, 2011 No Comments
Ho Nonney! Hey Nonney!
Snider, M. W.
Says that he’s writing a
Poem each day!
Friends say he’s crazy and
Lovers despair, but he’s
Update: That stray apostrophe at the end of line 2 was from an earlier version. Gone now!
April 1, 2011 2 Comments