Posts filed under “Poetry”
DESDEMONA’S SONG, RECONSTRUCTED BY EMINENT SCHOLARS.
The poor sap sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;
With the sketchiest knowledge of Gray’s Botanee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.
The fresh streams ran by him, and said, “’Tis a plane,”
Sing willow, willow, willow,
“Platanus in Latin”—but spoke all in vain;
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Sing all those dang trees look like willows to me.
THE KANGAROO.
A Meditation.
—
O kangaroo—
Strange beastie, you!
Another roo
Rides inside you.
Here’s something new—
One roo from two;
Two roos make you.
How very few
The creatures who
Can say that’s true!
What can I do
But say to you,
“How do you do?
How do you do?”
ALL THE GOOD TIMES.
Mr. Alexander M. Plumwax, the noted folk-song collector, first discovered this song at a roadside souvenir stand just outside Luray, Virginia, where it was sung by a one-armed banjo player who said that he had learned it at the gas station down the street. Further research has revealed that the song is widespread throughout the Appalachian region in many slightly different versions. For example, Mr. Plumwax discovered that, in Bristol (Virginia or Tennessee, it hardly matters which), the song is known as “In Albion Wood Chimes Ring So Long,” and the usual accompaniment is a Galax-style dulcimer; outside Asheville, North Carolina, the song is called “The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis” and is usually banged out on trash-can lids; and near Clarksburg, West Virginia, the song is known as “Someone to Watch Over Me” and is sung to a tune by George Gershwin.
Chorus.
All the good times have gone bad.
All the sweet times have turned sour.
All the happy times are sad,
To the last depressing hour.
All the gold times have turned blue.
All the right times have gone wrong.
So there’s nothing left to do
But sing this whiny little song.
—
1. ’Cause fair was fair a century since,
And people weren’t so jaded.
If Serbians shot an Austrian prince,
Then Belgium got invaded.
(Chorus.)
2. They sure did have it good back then.
Their lives were so much merrier
When every swamp and marsh and fen
Was teeming with malarier.
(Chorus.)
3. And days in spring had bluer skies,
And summer was more summery.
If anyone says otherwise,
He’s full of idle flummery.
(Chorus.)
A VALENTINE.
DR. BOLI’S CALENDAR FOR 2012.
Upon this grand apocalyptic day,
We’ve only six more little lines to spend
Together: then the poet’s had his say;
Our calendar at last comes to an end.
How thrilling that the lack of one more rhyme
Can somehow bring about the end of time!
DR. BOLI’S CALENDAR FOR 2012.
We set aside one day for being grateful,
Which leaves 364 or 5
For being spiteful, selfish, mean, and hateful,
And letting all our baser instincts thrive.
So, if you hate Thanksgiving, have no fear:
Be thankful that it’s only once a year.
DR. BOLI’S CALDENDAR FOR 2012.
October brings a cheery glimpse of hell,
Each vacant storefront filling up with ghouls
With zombie, ghost, and pirate masks to sell
To clever children and to grown-up fools:
For we’ve decided the deterioration
Of Western culture’s cause for celebration.
DR. BOLI’S CALENDAR FOR 2012.
ON PATRIOT DAY we all feel patriotic,
Wrap every surface in red, white, and blue,
Wave flags with fervor bordering on psychotic,
And make inspiring speeches all day through.
We show our country how much we adore her
So we won’t have to lift a finger for her.
MAKE ME WITH AN ENDLESS AFTERTASTE.
THE FORM OF literature commonly called “spam” is rich with unintended poetry, and we make no apology for quoting some of the more colorful expressions that, regrettably, we must exclude from the normal run of comments.
After I read and think of after, I think this is the best today I see articles although no gorgeous language, but expression of incisively and vividly, make me with an endless aftertaste. Thank the authors share, I will continue to focus on.
Focus on, dear reader, and perhaps Dr. Boli will focus with you for a while.
Ha ha, luck is too great, actually let I met such a good article, heart is very happy, I seriously read this article and article really feel is good, the article central thought gripping content, write very exciting.
There is nothing more gratifying to an author than to know that his readers have seriously read his articles, and that his writing has made their hearts very happy.
The writing is really too good, can use the classic two words describe this article, the article structure very logical line, I am happy to meet such a good article. I hope the author continue to issue other better articles ah.
Ah, indeed! Which words, by the way, are the classic two words? Any number of pairs of words have occurred to Dr. Boli, but he does not believe he has hit on the specific pair his correspondent had in mind.
I am very happy, because this is the article I’ve met today! The article content and people are closely related, very impressive, convincing very strong ah, I will continue to focus on such articles, expect better articles.
So many of our correspondents sighing “ah!” in obvious delight! It is nearly enough to turn one’s head.
What a good article ah, the story is very moving, even I the person of stone eldest brother also cannot help but nose under the tears, and I was going to tell others, let them know that once had a such a touching story. I really like the author’s writing technique.
Dr. Boli is sure this was meant to be flattering, although he cannot help imagining the “person of stone” as intoning “Don Giovanni!” in a deep and penetrating bass. Still, there are times when one must simply nose under one’s tears and go on.
Whenever I have what not happy or want, I always see your articles, will let me end down, your article is just like one of my close friends, when I have trouble or things, always can let me find the solution.
Dr. Boli would like it known that he disclaims all responsibility for letting anyone’s end down.
At the network’s I wandered. By chance after your web site, read your post. Very fruitful, thank you for sharing. On the Internet, it is hard to find useful information. Thank you.
At first Dr. Boli thought he might be reading a retranslated version of a poem by Robert Frost, but he lost the thread of the symbolism about halfway through.
Wow, this blog good ah, the layout is very good, very logical. I think there will be a lot of readers like reading. Very often update, and I will also continue to will pay more attention to, are looking forward to the next issue of the blog oh.
Not only an “ah,” but an “oh” as well! If our correspondent will not refuse a little advice on punctuation, adding two commas would make the second sentence clearer: “I think there will be a lot of readers, like, reading.”
The real life rich possession in the quiet. The life of a quiet life, disorientation, forget self, only muddle their fancy led by the nose.
This is a wonderful thing, such as life, and perhaps today’s brutal brutal tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow there will always be the sun.
Here we have two correspondents attempting profundity. We hope they did not hurt themselves.
We are not perfect, but we have to accept imperfect. Learn to love yourself, spoil yourself, to make their own independent.
In the immortal words of Groucho Marx, “I think you’ve got something there, and I’ll wait outside till you clean it up.”
ON THIS DAY IN HISTORY.
ON THIS DAY in 30 B.C., Cleopatra pressed an asp to her bosom, bringing Egyptian history to an end until 1952. In honor of this solemn anniversary, we reprint the Asp’s Aria from Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle’s libretto to the Ruthven Mophandle Heyser opera The Death of Cleopatra:
—
It was not generally made public until recently that the libretto to Heyser’s well-received new opera, The Death of Cleopatra, was written by the eminent novelist and poet Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle. The Asp’s Aria, sung by Julietta della Fripperia to Heyser’s haunting cacophony of bassoons and kazoos, has been singled out for especial praise.
[Lento arigato.]
Excuse me, please, but did I overhear
A queen’s lament, with many a bitter tear?
You’ll find a true friend lurking very near:
I am (and please try not to gasp)
An asp.
Has it occurred to you what quick relief
Would comfort you and silence all your grief—
How short your cares would be, your tears how brief,
If to your bosom you should clasp
An asp?
I happen to have made my little nest
Right here, in this bejeweled little chest
(For you’ll agree that little chests are best):
Now just pull out the bolt and grasp
The hasp.
I’ll be your passp-
Ort to eternity and lasting fame:
Soon girls from Glassp-
Ort to Sewickley will usurp your name,
If you will lift the hasp
And just reach in and grasp
And to your bosom clasp
(Forgive my vocal rasp)
An asp.