No-Fear Poetry
The old man dreamt of the lions
The lions dreamt of lunch
The old man liked lions well-caged
Those lions liked the old man a bunch
A bunch
Of lunch
On which
To munch
The old man owed much to the lions –
His whole career –
But he had a hunch
If the lions called in the debt
He’d be the original credit crunch
***
***
Jazz: a contrapuntal elaboration of static harmony –
i.e. barmy, to the uninitiated. It’s chromatic, diatonic, syncopated, pentatonic. It’s harsh on the ear, like a child’s first hearing
of a Shakespearean sonnet, finding the rhythm unclear,
the rhyme invisible, the whole indivisible from a clash
or a bash or a rash of noise. Not all have the chops to relish
bop or bebop, to absorb backbeats and block chords;
yet why not? It is the music of Counts, Dukes and Earls – aristocrats all.
Some ask, What is jazz for?
Counter point: what is any art for?
It is for self-expression; the death of repression; the impromptu
jam session. If you don’t swing that way, that’s cool:
not everyone’s schooled in creativity. Take your time,
whether half/dot/double or broken: jazz is never diminished
by miscomprehension. But try to open up to a little modulation –
a lot more syncopation – take a lick at sweet improvisation.
See your soul augmented as the music pours in;
you’ll find the whole tone legit. Just listen – just hear
and watch the blues quit.
***
***
Father and son disagreed:
A ram.
A lamb.
A ding-dong,
***
I can’t believe I’m the first person to come up with this joke but I couldn’t find anything via Google.
***
I think it might be just a British joke:
ding-dong
[ˈdɪŋdɒŋ, dɪŋˈdɒŋ]
NOUN
BRITISH
INFORMAL
a fierce argument or fight:
“they had a bit of a ding-dong”
***
But I did find this for my American readers:
***
***
If evolution had taken another route
frogs would be wearing glasses
and diners would be asking waiters
Where’s the fly in my soup?
***
Jackson Pollack –
talent,
spotted.
I wrote this back in 2009, at the height of the MPs’ expenses scandal, but I think it works just as well today.
***
Pools rush in
where workmen
fear to tread.
God is love
>forwards
<backwards
p
u
&
d
o
w
n
and just to prove
how much love
can be encompassed
in a three-letter word
He sent a dog
because everyone
who has ever known
a dog knows
that dog is love
We came in peace.
We left in pieces.
***
Today is the 203rd anniversary of the Peterloo Massacre of 1819. It is a shameful episode in the fight for British democracy. You can read more about it here.
Okay, that’s a huge assumption, that these rhymes are good, but I’ve been celebrating for three days and I’m a little hungover on relief that I managed to put together three days’ worth of posts without actually having to write anything, so please give me a little latitude.
Or, in other words, the song popped into my head so I punned it, because that’s what I do.
Here are the final two old poems (and as we’re talking about puns…):
Rosemary
On chicken, pork or lamb,
that herb works fine.
I would try others
but I’m kinda busy
and there’s no thyme.
***
The Drill Bit
Quakes where quakes
were never known:
what the frack
is going on?
Poetry Fluff 