Michael R. Burch: In Hock To Porlock
These people from Porlock –
the daggers they twist.
I want to write poems;
“Write cheques!” they insist.
These people for Porlock
are at it again:
I plop out pure gold,
they want cash from the hen!
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Chris O’ Carroll: Organ Inventory
They took a chunk of my liver while I
Was drugged and flat on my back.
My gall bladder might have gone missing, too.
I need to keep better track.
I’m vague about some of my inner bits,
Unclear about name and place.
Obliviousness on that scale is not
Something I want to embrace.
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Martin Parker: How Would It Be For You?
Great poetry can stir passion
in a lover's mind.
I’m sad to say however
I do not write that kind.
But to set your heart a-twitter
perhaps I might do worse
than hope to raise a titter
with a touch of light verse.
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Tracy Davidson: Save the date!
Another wedding. Not again,
her first two weddings were enough.
I think this time I’ll just abstain.
Another wedding. Not again!
No more of that Bridezilla strain.
I pen polite but firm rebuff.
Another wedding. Not again,
her first two weddings were enough.
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Tony Peyser: Slap, Slap, Tickle
Larry
Broke up with the girl he planned to marry.
She didn’t take it well – her name was Grace.
She got the news, slapped Larry across the face.
She saw him years later. He seemed to regard her
With disdain. This time, she slapped Larry harder.
When she saw him again, Larry started to wince.
No slap, a kiss: they’ve been together ever since.
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Steven Kent: Doing My Part
"A masterpiece from Mr. Kent!
A classic" (Barnes and Noble)*
But rave reviews don't pay the rent,
Domestic ones or global.
My book was writ to make you laugh,
To touch your heart, to thrill ya
With warmth and humor (half and half),
So buy the damn thing, willya?
*Author's paraphrase . . . The B & N reviewer's
exact words were "Please do not contact us again."
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David Galef: Pigging Out
51,000-year-old cave painting may be earliest
scene depicted through art. The artwork, an
example of early storytelling, shows three
humanoid figures and a pig. Sulawesi residents
of that era were “besotted” with painting pigs,
an expert said.– Washington Post, July 3, 2024
At Sulawesi’s ancient digs,
All you see are pigs, pigs, pigs,
Long years before the world online,
They pictured Indonesian swine.
Just think what else they might have shown
In cave tableaux as yet unknown.
Sketched airplanes that invade the sky?
Ha! If only pigs could fly.
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Benjamin Cannicott Shavitz: In Defence of the Scots
The English think the Scots are mad for speaking as they do,
But all of it’s just history as I’ll explain right now:
The English language’s been in Scotland fourteen hundred years
And, in that time, it’s lived a life and had its own affairs.
It’s changed along a separate path, but nonetheless it’s real.
It’s different, but it’s language and the counterclaims all fail.
The speech of Scots may baffle you at first, but just stay calm.
You’ll learn it if you listen. Plus there won’t be an exam.
Note: This poem does not rhyme in most accents of English,
but it does rhyme in a number of Scottish accents.
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Alex Steelsmith: Initial Response
(A Quintuple Dactyl)*
“RSV stands for Respiratory Syncytial Virus. It is a
common, contagious respiratory virus . . . known to
be more serious in infants . . . and in older adults.”
Jiggery-pokery, higgledy-piggledy-wiggledy,
something they call RSV, a ubiquitous malady,
drove me to visit my doctor, who wrote a prescription and
gave me the scoop on the R and the S and the V.
Noting the virus is highly contagious, she warned of its
tracheobronchial hyper-communicability,
kindly inviting me back for a visit the following
week, and I dutifully promised to RSVP.
*The Quintuple Dactyl
- All lines are in dactylic meter.
- Line 1 is rhymed, repetitive, and nonsensical.
- Line 2 is a noun or noun phrase.
- All lines are 15 syllables, except for lines 4 and 8 , which are each 13 syllables.
- Lines 4 and 8 rhyme.
- At least one line (preferably line 6) consists of a six-syllable word and a nine-syllable word.
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Liza McAlister Williams: The Good Fight
I fought in the garden with weeds and rocks,
got grime and grit in my gloves and socks.
I needed a bath, I looked a fright –
but now I'm more of a pleasant sight.
Some battles are won but the war goes on,
it's not a sprint but a marathon.
Tomorrow I'll likely start back in
hacking at Eden’s original sin.
