Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Come on now, where is my brain?
Did I leave it in the car?
Is it dripping with the rain,
or in the mail to Zanzibar?
I try to think, where is my brain?
Is it somewhere in my room?
Did I leave it on the train,
or is it buried in Khartoum?
It’s not funny. Where is my brain?
Is it still inside my head?
Has it fallen down the drain,
or is it underneath my bed?
Seriously, where is my brain?
Is it in a viper pit?
Perhaps it’s in the Spanish main?
I’m pleading now, have you seen it?
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Okay, now this one is 75% of the same band he used today (the pianist was different but equally good) and I think the same suit. :) Among my favorite jazz standards ever.
And with that, I have to bid you adieu for tonight. I will try to do more substantive work tomorrow.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Here's my example. As a quick aside, let me say that I got the first line from a randomly posted note on an apartment building wall on the way home from a walk today, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to use it. In beginning the poem, however, I realized that nothing rhymes with the last word, so look for the visual rhymes!
What would we wear were we werewolves?
Slinking, howling, lurking around the caves
at the edge of the wood, a bat
screeching his displeasure, a cat
succumbing to our imperatives.
Despite all of our resolve,
the full moon would still involve
running amok, due to the fact that
we were werewolves.
In the morning, we will devolve
into bitches, that is, ourselves
growling sotto voce at
the asshole who called us fat
behind our backs. The palliative?
We were werewolves.
You can read more about the rondeau here. There you have it, folks. The key is a good, repeatable first line, and either a willingness to use near-rhymes or sight rhymes or a good ear. Let me see what you've got!
Monday, August 24, 2009
- Cooked dinner
- Fed the boy
- Put the boy to bed
- Picked up toys
- Put away leftovers
- Carried at least 3 loads of laundry upstairs and folded it
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Odysseus to Telemachus
My dear Telemachus,
The Trojan War
is over now; I don't recall who won it.
The Greeks, no doubt, for only they would leave
so many dead so far from their own homeland.
But still, my homeward way has proved too long.
While we were wasting time there, old Poseidon,
it almost seems, stretched and extended space.
I don't know where I am or what this place
can be. It would appear some filthy island,
with bushes, buildings, and great grunting pigs.
A garden choked with weeds; some queen or other.
Grass and huge stones . . . Telemachus, my son!
To a wanderer the faces of all islands
resemble one another. And the mind
trips, numbering waves; eyes, sore from sea horizons,
run; and the flesh of water stuffs the ears.
I can't remember how the war came out;
even how old you are--I can't remember.
Grow up, then, my Telemachus, grow strong.
Only the gods know if we'll see each other
again. You've long since ceased to be that babe
before whom I reined in the plowing bullocks.
Had it not been for Palamedes' trick
we two would still be living in one household.
But maybe he was right; away from me
you are quite safe from all Oedipal passions,
and your dreams, my Telemachus, are blameless.
to “So What” by Miles Davis
A hundred runners passing me.
This isn’t really competition.
I’m only running to be fit.
So why be annoyed?
I never aimed to beat the pack.
No way in hell that I could catch them.
So don’t feel sorry for yourself.
Just keep on running.
Despite whatever they may think,
I’m not too bad for a beginner.
Now I just need to clear my mind,
and concentrate on what I’m doing.
Now that my pity party’s done,
I can get going on to business.
I lift my eyes to the skyline,
and remember this:
So, let your imaginations and feelings run wild. If you are inspired by a particular instrumental song, feel free to co-opt its rhythms or tonal colors to create your lyric poem. Otherwise, just look inside yourself. I am a firm believer that anyone can be a poet. Good poetry just takes honesty and a willingness to think and write outside the box. C'mon, show me what you've got.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Water curls around
like fingers of lovers’ hands
caressing the beach.
Combined with my family,
I can ask for nothing more.
You can read more about tanka here. Sorry for the lack of examples, but I didn't want to give you a bad one, and it's late and I need my sleep to chase after my toddler in the morning. Have fun!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Mkay, now I want to know what gave you a giggle when you were a little kid. Please share with me!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Grammar Geek-Out #5