I’m Not Lion – This One’s Awful

Two lions crept among the grass:
Said one, “Just there, beyond the pass―
Two men make camp,” he did observe,
“It looks as if our dinner’s served.”

The other beast at first agreed,
But aft inspection, said “Take heed:
The man at right wields pen and ink;
the one at left, a book, I think.”

“It’s best we eat the latter stock,
for readers digest ― writers block.”



(Ah-thank you, I’m here til May.)

Ode from a Cult Member

If you know Trader Joe’s grocers, then you’ll likely be able to relate to this one. I’ve taken an old folk song, Shady Grove, and rewritten the lyrics to accommodate a different obsession. I’d recommend listening to a take on the original song first, so you’ve got the melody in your head as you read this. Grant me some leniency with rhythm and syllable counts, and this should be a fun one (I plan to revisit and revise, eventually). So here’s #14:

Trader Joe’s

Sweet tea in the summertime
Cider in the fall
If I can’t shop at the place I love
Then I won’t shop at all

Trader Joe’s
My little love
Trader Joe’s, I know
Trader Joe’s
My little love
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

I can’t believe such quality
Is sold at such low prices
I’ll get my kale (and a pint of ale)
My virtues and my vices

Trader Joe’s
Trader Joe’s, I know
On a shopping spree
For gluten free
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

Listen well, gonna ring that bell
For all my heart’s desires
It’s no tall tale, for in the mail
I got my Fearless Flyer

Trader Joe’s
My little love
Trader Joe’s, I know
Gonna try my luck
On a Two-Buck Chuck
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

Some come here for the wine and beer
Some just stare and stutter
Some come here for the plain kefir
―I’m here for the cookie butter

Trader Joe’s
Is where I go
Trader Joe’s, I know
Trader Joe’s
From start to close
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

In my fist, got a grocery list
Just ten things, I swore
But by the time I reach that line
I’ve bought the whole damn store

Trader Joe’s
It’s you I’ve chose
Trader Joe’s, I know
Trader Joe’s
Gonna need some of those
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

Trader Joe’s
Oh my love
Trader Joe’s, I know
Trader Joe’s
My little love
I’m bound for Trader Joe’s

The Hydrology of the Mind

I’m borrowing NaPoWriMo’s prompt from day twelve for this one, since I’m apparently low on fuel. A useful exercise (with some fun and thought-provoking results, as I’ve seen elsewhere in my travels across the blogosphere), but not my usual approach. All the same, here’s #13, a “replacement” poem:

The mind is the link
between land and water,
among the most productive
ecosystems in the world.
The mind can be
a swamp, at times:
a marsh, a bog,
filled mostly with trees
and grasses
and shrubs.
Or moss―
soaked through,
at least part of the year,
a fertile habitat.
Others, still, may lapse
into dry spells.
The mind’s function may vary:
Artificially constructed minds
may even play a role in
the developing field of
water-sensitive urban design.
But only at the frontier between
truly terrestrial and aquatic systems
can the mind exist,
inherently different from them,
yet dependent on both.

To the Birthday Girl

April showers also bring birthdays, it seems! Here’s a silly little ode to an old friend of mine – at least, a year-older friend, anyway. (Between the more thought-provoking, serious poems, it’s good to have a relaxing break like this!) Number 11:

Lament of the Nasties

O tarnished day, a day forlorn!
For tis the day that you were born!
Your smiling face unto this earth
brought warmth and wit and endless worth!
Your care brought laughter, hugs, and smiles;
Your voice, so bright, so kind ― so vile!
And so your birth spelled our demise
we Grumps and Nasties, Hrumphs and Cries.
Into the darkness we did flee,
to dodge your overwhelming glee.
But even there, within the gloom,
your selfless seed takes root to bloom!
Your friendships tend their gardens gay;
again, we pests must run away!
We might as well just disappear―
we’ve got no chance when you are here!

Scourge of the Seas

I decided to combine a couple forms of poetry for this one: I’ve adapted the lune (a form I experimented with previously) to accommodate the repeating lines, rhyme scheme, and length of the villanelle. I’m left with an interesting, fictitious forewarning of a curse on unwary sailors who might experience a stillness that goes beyond the doldrums. Best read, I surmise, in a pirate accent, but I’ll leave that up to you. Poem #10:

The Breathless Breeze

The breathless breeze
steals wind from sunken sails
on placid seas.

In mute unease
such silent ships cannot avail
the breathless breeze;

their desperate pleas
resound with no brave gale
on placid seas.

As eerie ease
descends, the sailor’s breast inhales
the breathless breeze:

a final wheeze
escapes from lips now pale
on placid seas.

By this reprise,
beware, where stranded sailors fail,
the breathless breeze
on placid seas.