Here's one of my favorite poems which I came to mind when I read this post over at Navel Gazing at Its Finest.
takes talent
there are two
kinds of human
beings in the world
so my observation
has told me
namely and to wit
as follows
firstly
those who
even though they
were to reveal
the secret of the universe
to you would fail
to impress you
with any sense
of the importance
of the news
and secondly
those who could
communicate to you
that they had
just purchased
ten cents worth
of paper napkins
and make you
thrill and vibrate
with the intelligence
archy
(For those of you who are unfamiliar with archy, he was a cockroach/poet who lived in Don Marquis' office. He typed his poems by jumping from key to key on Marquis' typewriter. Unfortunately, capital letters require pressing two keys at once and were beyond archy's gymnastic abilities.)
8 comments:
To my sister,
It is TOO a poem. Sure it doesn't rhyme or have any sort of special cadence or any neato-bandito word play. Sure it was written by a cockroach. But it's true. You know it and I know it. That makes it poetry to me.
Love, Jami
I LOVE this. And yes, I totally agree - it's a poem.
(I wish I actually lived up to it.) You're awesome, thank you for making my day. I think this is one of the nicest compliments I've ever had. :>
Um, wait, I wanted to clarify. I know the poem isn't ABOUT me, but I thought it was awesome that you mentioned me in conjunction with the poem. Does that make sense?
ARG, I shouldn't comment after midnight.
Poetry....
There once was a girl from Nantucket....
Who walked around carrying a bucket
She picked up a clam
and cut up her hand
And so she screamed, [edited for content]
Poetry.....
The dog drool on my leg
trickles down into my sock.
Slime knows no boundries.
Conversation....
so, the other day
I was writing
and I decided
every three words
I would hit
the enter button
that way all
I write will
have the look
of something important.
Not a poem, a comment..... thus spake [the sister].
Oh Sister,
Thou art wise
and yet a pagan.
Thou hast the
mouth of a pithy
sailor.
Love, Jami
Sister (of Jami,
you have it just
backwards
about what is
not poetry
I forgot about archy and mehitabel. That was one of the books on our shelves growing up that I finally got bored enough to read. Not sure I understood much of it, although I do remember that mehitabel was a cat who believed she'd been Cleopatra in a previous life. (Right?)
P.S.
She frowned and called him "Mister"
Because in fun he kissed her
And so in spite
That very night
That Mister kissed her sister
------
The daughter of the farrier
Could find no one to marry her
Because she said
She would not wed
A man who could not carry her
The poor old girl was wrong enough
And had to wait quite long enough
For as she sat
She grew so fat
That nobody was strong enough
(Two non-poems from another of my childhood books, selected mainly for being the first limericks I could come up with off the top of my head.)
I'm with you, Zina.
The irony is Sister once wrote:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Poems that rhyme
are very unsophisticated.
and
There was a sheik named Abdul
who took a flying leap into a pool.
His bodyguards found him
with sand all around him
because he jumped into a mirage.
She's just razzing me, because that's what Sister does.
Those are both great -- I guess she does know her poetry.
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