Cold are the massive ramparts of deep Hell
Demonic beasts stand waiting by their posts:
Agaliarept, the Henchman of the host
He, guards the unholy profound supreme:
Eternity waits—thine war-abyss eyes:
Here the cosmic demons pace and lye;
Underneath the oceans surface, and its tides,
Waiting to take control, of contending skies.
Down Hell’s corridors: flames sweep the deep
Blood hath wet, the devouring trodden walls:
Thunder, unbigoted, unresting, orbits—;
Immeasurable nights, fume the halls.
Here, ye— eternal gates (for fates) lift up
For humankinds, induce unnumbered tears
Here, ye—the mammoth disc, of the vast sun
Beams realms of blood-red dark tow’rs of death!
O dim bowls of fire, with faint unrest
Thine silence now rules the ghostly deep
Held by the pyres of the spectral past:
“Be patient,” says Satan; we’ll rule the weak!
Day shall soon befall this ungraceful abyss
Time shall unwind, darken dungeons: put off
And the legions of Hell, serve God’s will;
The near doom of mankind: Hell’s spawning.
Showing posts with label Friendship Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friendship Poems. Show all posts
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Red House of Stockbridge
The Red House of Stockbridge
[One Winter’s Morn]
Within the Forest large and deep
To Hawthorn’s house I walked
One winter’s morn
And touched upon the soil my feet
Where he once walked this snowy ground
Then resting upon his wooden fence
Where surely he strolled
To and fro
I listened to the story he wrote:
“The House of the Seven Gables”
Within this forest fresh with snow
Gazing upon a lake near-by
The Red House
Stands all alone
To tell his tales gone-by
Oh Yes! He walks this lane I stand
Talks to Melville of His plans
And chats with
Emerson who lives near-by
Of dreams, wishes, and winter’s sky
And as I turn to walk away
I see him resting by the fireplace…
IN the Red House of
Stockbridge
Devil Music: Red Laughter
White demons, with red laughter
Dreams lost to demonic masters
Souls in the drifting years
Footsteps during proud halls of Belshazzar
Flee far the phantasms of the fire
Swift and sudden they appear
Seizing all by hand and man’s desire
White demons, with red laughter
They weave their thoughts through ours
With goblets filled with charm and wine
Then roar and shake the earth
With their strange enigmatic minds
“…go back to sleep!” a dark night
I tell my weary, unwell wife
Afar I hear red laughter:
Devil Music, demonic Masters!…
Dreams lost to demonic masters
Souls in the drifting years
Footsteps during proud halls of Belshazzar
Flee far the phantasms of the fire
Swift and sudden they appear
Seizing all by hand and man’s desire
White demons, with red laughter
They weave their thoughts through ours
With goblets filled with charm and wine
Then roar and shake the earth
With their strange enigmatic minds
“…go back to sleep!” a dark night
I tell my weary, unwell wife
Afar I hear red laughter:
Devil Music, demonic Masters!…
Mother's Bedroom
In my mother’s bedroom:
Thin bottles for perfume,
Powder on the little desk,
Colorerful ribbons on her bed,
Snow-white curtains,
A pink nightgown,
Indian moccasins with colorful beads.
The wooden-varnished floor
Has a rustic neatness.
The ceiling light is bright,
A white glass shade:
Still it harbors some insects.
You can see the bible
Resting along side her bed,
Its warped in brown covered leather
Flyleaf’s hanging out.
Jamaican Delight Poem
If you have never taken a vacation on the beautiful and relaxing island of Jamaica before now is the time to do so. There is no need to miss out on this delightful treat anymore. Pack your bag, catch a flight and head down to the Caribbean for a wonderful time. Hopefully, the following poem will get you ready for such an unforgettable trip to paradise.
Jamaican Delightful Treat
Dumplings with ackee and salt fish
A dish you don't want to miss
Calaloo, mackerel and banana
Makes you stay another man-ya-na
Calming blue Caribbean Sea
This is heaven just for me
Rolling green hills...let you forget about the pills
Surfing and snorkeling with gorgeous reefs to see
Roast breadfruit and avocado
Erase the memories of Key Largo
While sipping slowly on Blue Mountain coffee
Relaxing with an English Toffee
Romantic sun setting on the horizon
One would die if this was poison
Reggae, steel band and calypso beat at your feet
Let the sorrel heat...this is no time to take a seat
Sweet West Indian mangoes
Bombay, black-sweetie, St Julian and lady finger
It's time for a sorrel drink mixed with sweet honey and spicy ginger
Listening to the Congo drums let's dance to the tango
Jerk chicken, curried goat with rice and peas
Red Stripe Beer delight setting the stage just right
This is a Jamaican delight
Call the airport we are outgoing missing the next flight!
Three Poems
1) An Old Adobe House in Acolla
(An forenoon in Acolla.)
What is so strange about an old adobe house in the middle of a city?
It is thick bricks of mud. I walk around and around them.
The mind is strangely torn, and cannot leave them.
At last I rest, lean back against one.
It is a small corner adobe house, across from the Plaza de Arms.
Its old windows and bricks surround me, enmesh me,
Brown bricks, with pale green chipped wooden doors and windows.
Only the sounds of brass horns from the church distract me.
The sun is chilled, trying to burn through an opening in the sky.
The plaza area, its surrounding streets are being renovated.
Why then do I care to watch…
The sun moving onto the chilled bricks of the adobe house?
The morning shall never end, I think:
I have eyes it seems only born for the daylight;
But at last, the quiet streets fill up with church people,
And my eyes see far off, as the Acolla bands ready themselves.
# 1943. When I visited Acolla, Peru, during an August Fiesta, my wife and I walked around the city, and ended up on the corner of an old adobe brick house, across from the Plaza de Arms. The morning sun was breaking in the day, and the poem I write reflects this morning, until the church lets out, and the bands take over the plaza area with their brass horns, and assortment of musical instruments. Written 8-20-2007
2) Ice, Ice, Ice
(A Minnesota, Mississippi Poem)
(Diary notes in Poetic Prose) In the late 1950s it was not uncommon to see the Mississippi freeze over with ice, ice, ice—along the banks of the city I lived in (St. Paul, Minnesota). During the spring thaw (or just prior to it), the sun breaking forth, winter to spring can be a marvelous thing, a dangerous sight; the water seems to drop a foot, as the ice, ice, ice—creates jams along the river. We have a few islands along the river’s center and on and around these and down the river around the bends, little ice mounds build up; everything melting, freezing and melting again. As it tries to warm up, the ice, ice, ice—floats down powered along by pushing ice, ice, ice—and hitting ice, ice, ice—barriers, thus creating ice, ice, ice—heavy days. The ice slows the movement of the river from a swift rush, that will develop soon, that will create a great water rush, in nearby waterfalls. The cakes of ice, on top of ice, ice, ice—will rub against the banks of the river (during this time it is best to stay at high ground). The banks and crust along the river becomes all sludge, muck a watery mess, thereafter it will mark the way downriver, around the many bends (to St. Louis and New Orleans). The levee (by the High Bridge)—with its houses—will be a foot in mud and water, the streets up to West Seventy (up a score, from the river) where the street cars are, will hear the cracking, the ice, upon ice, ice, ice—rattle, see the rising water frame the ice against the banks, until it looks like the thick walls of troy, and the jams will break and the flood will be created in its place, swift, swift, and swifter, at night this will take place (start), while the city snoozes, doses and sleeps, thus, the temperatures peaks.
# 1942 (8-18-2007) part of the story “No Road Back Home”
3) A Love Poem for Huancayo
When we love, really love
We love the old adobe homes
The rivers, mountain, the old folks
And the Plaza Fountain—
And the streetlights
That is abandoned all night!
And the dogs that sleep with one eye!
When we love, really love
We love the hovering pigeons:
In the Plaza de Arms (by the Cathedral)
The winds of July and August
And the chill at twilight
And the abandoned children—
Those walk the streets at night!
(An forenoon in Acolla.)
What is so strange about an old adobe house in the middle of a city?
It is thick bricks of mud. I walk around and around them.
The mind is strangely torn, and cannot leave them.
At last I rest, lean back against one.
It is a small corner adobe house, across from the Plaza de Arms.
Its old windows and bricks surround me, enmesh me,
Brown bricks, with pale green chipped wooden doors and windows.
Only the sounds of brass horns from the church distract me.
The sun is chilled, trying to burn through an opening in the sky.
The plaza area, its surrounding streets are being renovated.
Why then do I care to watch…
The sun moving onto the chilled bricks of the adobe house?
The morning shall never end, I think:
I have eyes it seems only born for the daylight;
But at last, the quiet streets fill up with church people,
And my eyes see far off, as the Acolla bands ready themselves.
# 1943. When I visited Acolla, Peru, during an August Fiesta, my wife and I walked around the city, and ended up on the corner of an old adobe brick house, across from the Plaza de Arms. The morning sun was breaking in the day, and the poem I write reflects this morning, until the church lets out, and the bands take over the plaza area with their brass horns, and assortment of musical instruments. Written 8-20-2007
2) Ice, Ice, Ice
(A Minnesota, Mississippi Poem)
(Diary notes in Poetic Prose) In the late 1950s it was not uncommon to see the Mississippi freeze over with ice, ice, ice—along the banks of the city I lived in (St. Paul, Minnesota). During the spring thaw (or just prior to it), the sun breaking forth, winter to spring can be a marvelous thing, a dangerous sight; the water seems to drop a foot, as the ice, ice, ice—creates jams along the river. We have a few islands along the river’s center and on and around these and down the river around the bends, little ice mounds build up; everything melting, freezing and melting again. As it tries to warm up, the ice, ice, ice—floats down powered along by pushing ice, ice, ice—and hitting ice, ice, ice—barriers, thus creating ice, ice, ice—heavy days. The ice slows the movement of the river from a swift rush, that will develop soon, that will create a great water rush, in nearby waterfalls. The cakes of ice, on top of ice, ice, ice—will rub against the banks of the river (during this time it is best to stay at high ground). The banks and crust along the river becomes all sludge, muck a watery mess, thereafter it will mark the way downriver, around the many bends (to St. Louis and New Orleans). The levee (by the High Bridge)—with its houses—will be a foot in mud and water, the streets up to West Seventy (up a score, from the river) where the street cars are, will hear the cracking, the ice, upon ice, ice, ice—rattle, see the rising water frame the ice against the banks, until it looks like the thick walls of troy, and the jams will break and the flood will be created in its place, swift, swift, and swifter, at night this will take place (start), while the city snoozes, doses and sleeps, thus, the temperatures peaks.
# 1942 (8-18-2007) part of the story “No Road Back Home”
3) A Love Poem for Huancayo
When we love, really love
We love the old adobe homes
The rivers, mountain, the old folks
And the Plaza Fountain—
And the streetlights
That is abandoned all night!
And the dogs that sleep with one eye!
When we love, really love
We love the hovering pigeons:
In the Plaza de Arms (by the Cathedral)
The winds of July and August
And the chill at twilight
And the abandoned children—
Those walk the streets at night!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Syllabic Goose Poem
Why do you have me
sitting in this place?
It is cold outside.
It's snowing out
My toes are freezing
When will we go home?
Now you're watching.
Looking at me and
thinking who knows what.
You know I gave up
from reading your thoughts
you're wondering;
when will I get mad,
take the paper sheet
and crumple the stuff.
Yes! That yellow sheet
of paper you got
from the young waitress.
I saw you touched her
while sipping your glass
of Chardonnay wine.
Writing and winking
probably thinking,
"She is just crazy."
You have just counted
on your ten fingers;
now you're using
all of your ten toes.
Syllables he says-
"It's a poet's thing!"
Hah, licking your lips?
When he is all done
then he will want me
to read it to him
when he is in bed,
ready to snore.
See if it flows right
he will say to me.
I don't know this stuff.
We should be doing
something else that's sweet
and pleasurable.
Hotter and better.
Sweeter and nicer.
Now, he wants to write
on a paper sheet
from a young waitress
with a pretty smile.
I am sitting here;
but you know just what?
He just winked at me!
What's up? Tell me now!
Another coffee?
Refill on your wine?
Muse? Yea glad you did.
Because I almost-
Walked out of this booth!
sitting in this place?
It is cold outside.
It's snowing out
My toes are freezing
When will we go home?
Now you're watching.
Looking at me and
thinking who knows what.
You know I gave up
from reading your thoughts
you're wondering;
when will I get mad,
take the paper sheet
and crumple the stuff.
Yes! That yellow sheet
of paper you got
from the young waitress.
I saw you touched her
while sipping your glass
of Chardonnay wine.
Writing and winking
probably thinking,
"She is just crazy."
You have just counted
on your ten fingers;
now you're using
all of your ten toes.
Syllables he says-
"It's a poet's thing!"
Hah, licking your lips?
When he is all done
then he will want me
to read it to him
when he is in bed,
ready to snore.
See if it flows right
he will say to me.
I don't know this stuff.
We should be doing
something else that's sweet
and pleasurable.
Hotter and better.
Sweeter and nicer.
Now, he wants to write
on a paper sheet
from a young waitress
with a pretty smile.
I am sitting here;
but you know just what?
He just winked at me!
What's up? Tell me now!
Another coffee?
Refill on your wine?
Muse? Yea glad you did.
Because I almost-
Walked out of this booth!
Birthday Poems
Many people turn forty with mixed feelings - while it is fun to celebrate a special day, so many of us feel that we are turning a corner from youth into middle age. A light-hearted 40th birthday poem can remind someone you care about that they are not only toasting the past, but enjoying a festive send-off into a bright and exciting future.
Birthday poems make unique and treasured gifts that remind those that are dear to you how much you care for years to come. For those who love to treasure keepsakes from each important event, a happy birthday poem makes a wonderful addition to a memory book or scrapbook.
When you give the gift of poetry to the ones you love, they will appreciate your thoughtfulness and caring. Add a happy birthday poem to a card or special gift and turn your offering into a memory that lasts a lifetime.
Giving a poem that reflects your appreciation for your loved ones shows that you truly put thought and effort in selecting a gift to mark their special day. The following example gives you a glimpse into the specialized rhyming verses you can share:
... joking and silliness aside
This has been a wonderful ride
So 40 I'm ready, bring what you may
I've decided, I'm a fine Chardonnay!
Of course, with a 40th birthday poem like this one, you can take a lighter look at the mysteries of turning 40. For the birthday celebrant who is less than enthusiastic about passing this new milestone, it is fun to get their mind off their depressed thoughts with a bit of fortieth birthday humor.
If you like the idea of spreading birthday joy through the personal gift of a poem, try adding one as an extra touch to your gift or birthday card. Sharing meaningful poetry with your friends and loved ones is truly a gift from the heart.
Think about how special you would feel if, instead of just a last-minute gift picked up on the way to the party, you were to receive a poem that reflects your relationship with the giver and lets you know what you mean to them. A 40th birthday poem is a great way to say how you feel, especially if you have trouble putting your emotions into words.
Poetry has been the language of feelings for millennia. Continue the tradition with a specially chosen poetry gift to mark the occasion of a fortieth birthday - four decades on earth!
When you reveal your innermost thoughts through poetry, you are giving the most precious gift of all - the gift of yourself. Remind your loved one that they are not saying goodbye to their youth, they are setting off on a new phase of a rich and wonderful life. A 40th birthday poem expresses this like nothing else can.
Birthday poems make unique and treasured gifts that remind those that are dear to you how much you care for years to come. For those who love to treasure keepsakes from each important event, a happy birthday poem makes a wonderful addition to a memory book or scrapbook.
When you give the gift of poetry to the ones you love, they will appreciate your thoughtfulness and caring. Add a happy birthday poem to a card or special gift and turn your offering into a memory that lasts a lifetime.
Giving a poem that reflects your appreciation for your loved ones shows that you truly put thought and effort in selecting a gift to mark their special day. The following example gives you a glimpse into the specialized rhyming verses you can share:
... joking and silliness aside
This has been a wonderful ride
So 40 I'm ready, bring what you may
I've decided, I'm a fine Chardonnay!
Of course, with a 40th birthday poem like this one, you can take a lighter look at the mysteries of turning 40. For the birthday celebrant who is less than enthusiastic about passing this new milestone, it is fun to get their mind off their depressed thoughts with a bit of fortieth birthday humor.
If you like the idea of spreading birthday joy through the personal gift of a poem, try adding one as an extra touch to your gift or birthday card. Sharing meaningful poetry with your friends and loved ones is truly a gift from the heart.
Think about how special you would feel if, instead of just a last-minute gift picked up on the way to the party, you were to receive a poem that reflects your relationship with the giver and lets you know what you mean to them. A 40th birthday poem is a great way to say how you feel, especially if you have trouble putting your emotions into words.
Poetry has been the language of feelings for millennia. Continue the tradition with a specially chosen poetry gift to mark the occasion of a fortieth birthday - four decades on earth!
When you reveal your innermost thoughts through poetry, you are giving the most precious gift of all - the gift of yourself. Remind your loved one that they are not saying goodbye to their youth, they are setting off on a new phase of a rich and wonderful life. A 40th birthday poem expresses this like nothing else can.
Christmas Poem
Christ is for the have nots
Many show up at parties
Or don't go because of a gift
They haven't bought or got
Such feelings of being without
Feels like utter rot
Nevertheless the shopping frenzy
It continues full force
Spiritually seeming like a farce
Certainly concerning gifts
There is nothing wrong with giving
Preferably however there is living
It's more blessed to give than receive
Christmas is a fantastic experience
When in Christ you believe
As for living
Simply sustaining oneself
On a daily basis
Unfortunately some of us
Aren't a financial oasis
And therefore can't easily buy
Our child a hippopotamus
Nor a rhinoceros
Christ is indeed most glorious
Christmas however is quite the fuss
Especially those
Who make merchandise of us
Decorating is nice
Nothing wrong with that
Yet you might not
Want to fall of your roof
Just so the neighbors
Can see some pretty lights
Becoming a paraplegic for Christmas
That's not alright
Of course if you already are
There are niceties and blessings
For you too
Yet to become one for Christmas
One might not want to do
Nevertheless Christ the healer
Certainly works miracles
And can undoubtedly heal you
But back to Christmas
There is much more to say
Grumpy relatives
Disenchanted with their gifts
Demanding kids
Pitching a fit
Irritating shoppers
Pushing you out of their way
Than there are the grinches
With nothing to say
Except to call Christmas a happy holiday
The ACLU
The Public Schools
The fear factories of corporate America
Telling us not to say "Christmas"
Lest Muslims, Jews, and atheists
Murmur and complain
Such political correctness
Christ disdains
Hark the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn king
Jesus is the King of kings
Political profiteering and kingdoms of men
Will eventually come to an end
Christ the Prince of Peace
He's our best Friend
Go ahead and celebrate
Drink some eggnog
Eat some ginger bread
Discard all your worries
From you heart and head
Forget walking on egg shells
It's Christ that takes us to heaven
Pleasing everyone is the route to hell.
Make merry this Christmas
Rejoice and be well.
Birthday Poem
Turning fifty is not just any old birthday. Some of us face it with enthusiasm and eagerness, while others look forward to this milestone with some degree of trepidation. Fifty years is a turning point, and many people feel that they are no longer young.
A 50th Birthday Poem is a great way to remind those we love that they are only as old as they feel - or, if you are feeling mischievous, a poem can remind them that they are, indeed, over the hill and point out all of the aches and pains to come.
Here is a sample from an insightful poem:
Happy birthday, time for reflection,
All those years, journeys collection.
Fifty years, cease to serve,
Unwind; and simply observe.
This poem reflects on the virtues of taking it slow and enjoying all that life has to offer. You have passed the hurry and bustle of youth and made a significant mark; now you have the opportunity to relax and appreciate the subtle pleasures of a life well-lived and years of fulfillment to come.
Give the gift of a 50th birthday poem and let them know that, just like a finely-crafted wine, they are growing in depth and richness as the years pass.
Adding birthday poems to cards or gifts brings that special touch that lets them know they are truly loved and appreciated. Your poem will be treasured as a keepsake for many years - we have even known people who received a 50th birthday poem to have it framed for everyone to see.
For those who are worried that their life is now headed downhill, reassure them with humor to lighten the mood and remind them that the best is yet to come. Everything they have worked so hard for has come to fruition, and they are poised to enjoy everything that life now has to offer.
If your mother or father is turning fifty, there is no better time to show them your appreciation for everything they have done for you. And why not include a special poem from the grandchildren - they will be thrilled with such a special gift from their precious little ones.
50th birthday poems are a wonderful way to share your appreciation for your friends or family. Why not add birthday poems to a gift basket or a bottle of wine, or slip one into a thoughtful birthday card? Make your gift stand out and let your loved one know how much they mean to you - a poem is an extra special touch that shows the effort and time you put into choosing a gift to commemorate this once-in-a-lifetime event.
This milestone birthday is one to be remembered always. Saying how you feel with a poem can be the best gift they receive at this festive time. Make the big day into a true celebration by giving the gift of a 50th birthday poem.
A 50th Birthday Poem is a great way to remind those we love that they are only as old as they feel - or, if you are feeling mischievous, a poem can remind them that they are, indeed, over the hill and point out all of the aches and pains to come.
Here is a sample from an insightful poem:
Happy birthday, time for reflection,
All those years, journeys collection.
Fifty years, cease to serve,
Unwind; and simply observe.
This poem reflects on the virtues of taking it slow and enjoying all that life has to offer. You have passed the hurry and bustle of youth and made a significant mark; now you have the opportunity to relax and appreciate the subtle pleasures of a life well-lived and years of fulfillment to come.
Give the gift of a 50th birthday poem and let them know that, just like a finely-crafted wine, they are growing in depth and richness as the years pass.
Adding birthday poems to cards or gifts brings that special touch that lets them know they are truly loved and appreciated. Your poem will be treasured as a keepsake for many years - we have even known people who received a 50th birthday poem to have it framed for everyone to see.
For those who are worried that their life is now headed downhill, reassure them with humor to lighten the mood and remind them that the best is yet to come. Everything they have worked so hard for has come to fruition, and they are poised to enjoy everything that life now has to offer.
If your mother or father is turning fifty, there is no better time to show them your appreciation for everything they have done for you. And why not include a special poem from the grandchildren - they will be thrilled with such a special gift from their precious little ones.
50th birthday poems are a wonderful way to share your appreciation for your friends or family. Why not add birthday poems to a gift basket or a bottle of wine, or slip one into a thoughtful birthday card? Make your gift stand out and let your loved one know how much they mean to you - a poem is an extra special touch that shows the effort and time you put into choosing a gift to commemorate this once-in-a-lifetime event.
This milestone birthday is one to be remembered always. Saying how you feel with a poem can be the best gift they receive at this festive time. Make the big day into a true celebration by giving the gift of a 50th birthday poem.
List of Poem Types
As poetry is as old as civlization itself, it is amazing to think that in all that expanse of time, poets have not run out of things to say and ways to play with words. As this list of poem types will show, this literary genre has undergone numerous permutaions throughout the ages.
ACROSTIC
An acrostic is a form of poetry wherein the first letters of every line spell out a word or message when read together. For instance, in Edgar Allan Poe's "An Acrostic," the first letters of each line form the name "Elizabeth."
BALLAD
Originally meant to be sung to music, ballads are folk tales in narrative poem form. Many of these are about heroic legends, but there are also ballads about love and others that are meant to be humorous.
BLANK VERSE
A blank verse is a poem whose lines do not rhyme and is written in a form of iambic pentameter that is similar to the rhythmic pattern of speech. An example of this poem type is Robert Frost's "Mending Wall."
COUPLET
A couplet consists of a pair lines which rhyme at the end. Geoffrey Chaucer wrote "The Canterbury Tales" in rhyming couplets.
ELEGY
Generally meant as a poem for mourning the dead, an elegy is a type of poem that is sorrowful and solemn in nature. One such lament is Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain!"
EPIC
An epic is a narrative poem that relates the life and adventures of a mythical hero. Among such legendary heroic sagas are the mesopotamian epic of Gilgamesh and the Anglo-Saxon tale of Beowulf.
EPIGRAM
An epigram is a short, witty poem made up of two lines, as in a couplet. An example by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: "What is an Epigram? A dwarfish whole;/ Its body brevity, and wit its soul."
FREE VERSE
Also called "vers libre," free verse is a poetic form with no fixed style; that is, they can either be in rhyme or not. Author Robert Louis Stevenson had written poems in free verse, such as "The Light-Keeper" and "The Cruel Mistress."
HAIKU
Usually dealing with nature themes, the haiku is a Japanese poem type made up of three unrhymed lines; the first line having five syllables, and the next two being of seven and five syllables respectively.
IDYLL
Nostalgic in nature, an idyll is a brief poem that tells of an ideally peaceful life in the country. An example is Lord Alfred Tennyson's "Idylls of the King."
LIMERICK
Made famous by English writer and artist Edward Lear, a limerick is a (sometimes obscenely) humorous poem consisting of five lines. An example from Lear: "There was a young person of Smyrna/ Whose grandmother threatened to burn her;/ But she seized on the cat, and said 'Granny, burn that!/ You incongruous old woman of Smyrna!"
LYRIC
A lyric a type of poetry that conveys the poet's personal feelings, such as in Emily Dickinson's "Dying." Odes and sonnets (see below) are forms of lyric poems.
ODE
An ode is a long lyric poem that is somber and contemplative in nature.
SONNET
From the Italian word "sonetto" (little song), a sonnet is a lyric composed of 14 lines in iambic pentameter. William Shakespeare is known for having written 154 sonnets.
We can only expect this list of poem types to grow longer as time stretches on. For as long fickle young minds are continually inspired to put down their thoughts into words and to mold these as artfully as they see fit, the evolution of poetry has yet to cease.
The Secret Life of Harry Jones
Round about Midnight
With pink stiletto heels
and a bright blue padded bra
Harry saunters through the alley;
Searchin' for some hot sticky spunk.
Dressed in a skintight skirt,
fishnet stockings
and a big red boa ...
A tight trembling tushie
And small pendulous breasts.
On a hot summer night,
My friend Harry makes such an impressionable scene.
When we consider this salubrious poem, it is arguable that no name may be more suitable for our two fisted, stout hearted, drag queen than "Harry Jones". This name however, certainly has a history of its own.
"Harry Jones" first surfaced as a popular moniker for illicit drug users who used it to refer to the heroin that they were able to pick-up on the street. Ingenious names such as "Horse", "Big Bag", "Big Harry", "Golden Girl", "Hard Stuff", "Henry", "Helen", "Hazel", "Hombre", "Hell Dust", "Schmack" and "Schmeck" were all the rage.
But in this particular case, references to "Goma" and "Gamot" may not be more than incidental.
After all this poem is really about a big hairy dude doin' what he really needs to do.
It's about chasin' the dragon, my friend.
It's all about gettin' high.
Strokin' the big chicken.
A slow ride but a quick fall.
But by now you must surely know ...
There ain't no hens in the hen house.
And there ain't no cats in the cradle.
Just a grimy girl lookin' for some gunk.
But as I think about it ...
It just makes me wish,
that I could wash my big black comely hands.
But don't you worry,
My boy.
Just go ahead and do it.
Upward and onward.
But please, do not delay!
Yes, choke that cockamamy chicken,
my dear!
And for goodness sake,
If you do, in fact, remember me,
Please think of me,
And say a little prayer.
Yes, Ces't la vie
My tender, lovely one.
Yes, Ces't la vie!
My tender, trusted one.
(Please note: This poem was not written to diminish the significance of illicit drug use. In fact, the tragedies associated with drug abuse are self-evident. With this in mind, this depressing little poem was written to provide a slice of life that relatively few people will ever experience, however ugly it may be.)
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