Speak To Me of Friendship

If my friend is betraying me in small things

It is better for me to just look away

Friendship can move Everest I've heard it said 

So why let mole hills hold the slightest of sway?

Competition vies for the truest of hearts

I'll stand firm as Atlas at the interchange 

You'll think I'm a fool, as blind as any post

Still I remain though it may strike your as strange.

Friendship is the rock on which my patience stands

Kinship is a lock though tampers make demands.

Modified from a post by Roann

25% of this piece I cannot take any credit for. this rhyme-game was modeled on a conventional poem by Roann.

Pick-A-Path Poem

(At each choice pick one couplet or the other)

------------------------------------------------Stanza 1

I lay down on a sandy beach,
And lazy, closed my sleepy eyes; (Pick 1a or 1b)

 1a. A thund’rous rumble broke my sleep

And storm clouds muddled my surprise (Go to 2a.)

-or-

1b. With the wild waves just out of reach,
Under the baby blue bright skies. (Go to 2b.)

 

------------------------------------------------Stanza 2

2a. Then ocean roiled and drenched the sand

And rain-filled clouds threatened the same (Pick 2c or 2d)

2c. I found a hut that was at hand

Seeking to skip the violent rain. (Go to 3i.)

-or-

2d. But with some urge to escape land

I hid from the rain in the surf’s mane. (Go to 3j.)

 

2b. A dolphin called out, smiled at me,
Beseeching me to come and play; (Pick 2e or 2f)

2e. I waved back and swam out to sea,
On that glorious gold summer’s day. (Go to 3k.)

-or-

2f. Binoculars I took to see

Sharks, not dolphins, teeth in array. (Go to 3l.)

 

------------------------------------------------Stanza 3

3i. the hut was dark and strewn with weeds

Yet it had long served passersby (Pick 3g or 3h)

3g. Though it appeared to meet my needs

I quickly chose to leave the sty (Go to 4g.)

-or-

3h. A step inside, and my toe bleeds

Stung by a jellyfish fling inside. (Go to 4h.)

3j. Under the waters, sky so wroth

Was pickled and gingerly mute (Pick 3c or 3d)

3c. The water’s safety, warm and soft

Guarded me from storms abuse. (Go to 4c.)

-or-

3d. Till thunder pierced from high aloft

Shattering me down to the root (Go to 4d.)

3k. We chased the waves, beneath the sun,
And searched deep for sunken treasure; (Pick 3a or 3b)

3a. We found a jewel golden spun
We found pure fun and pleasure! (Go to 4a.)

-or-

3b. But ocean games are not all fun

All face the end of child’s leisure. (Go to 4b.)

3l. Furious teeth sped up my step

Fleeing from the empty beach (Pick 3e or 3f)

3e. I called a cab to end my trip

The very first payphone I reached (Go to 4e.)

-or-

3f. I heard the screams from echoed depth

And saw blood on the ocean’s crease. (Go to 4f.)

 

------------------------------------------------Stanza 4

4a. My soul rejoiced, joy brimmed my heart,
And then I woke up with a start...

4b. My soul rejoiced, joy brimmed my heart

Despite watching the waves depart.

4c. Mother Ocean serves her children best

When they reside in her den.

4d. Half dead, my mind was vicious smoke

Then with a startle – I awoke!

4e. Dolphins can be a lot of fun

But when you see the shark  -- its done!

4f. Not one word – believed the police

They claim three murders – first degrees!

4g. the sky cleared up, the sun returned

And fear-clad memories were spurned.

4h. I thought my time would end too soon

Help brought ammonia for my wound.

 

The original from Answers

Happy Hiram Is poetry real or is it just dexterous exercise?

In the Poet's magic kingdom
Readers read their works
And a hush falls on the battle field
the stanzas are just like church,

In the Rhymer's fantasy lands
Every response is praise
They write about their navel lint
Watch muses as they graze.

The Poets room is a basement sublet
And his job is toilet cleaning
He thinks about white puffy clouds
And leaves the bathrooms gleaming.

The Rhymer's reality is
That he is quite unknown
And writes about great birds of prey
But he has never flown.

Cinder Claws (They turn everything to ashes)

They bleep you when your guilty
They bleep you when your pure
They know when you've been very good
and they bleep you even more....

O you better watch out
you'd better not cry
better not pout (I'm telling you why...)
Cinder Claws reported your Q

That curly haired doll
that bobbles and coos
seems like its chat
so REPORT -- there goes you
Cinder Claws reported your Q.

(Poems about:)
Elephants, boats
and Kiddie cars too.
Aren't all about
poetry. soooo...
Cinder Claws reported your Q.

The kids in Yahoo Poetry
Will have a jubilee.
Their gonna make a wax figure
and burn Claws in effigy!

O you better watch out
Don't claim innocent
At Claws do not shout (can't help it, he's bent)
Cinder Claws reported your Q

Marred With Chilblains

What is it that draws me to the inane characters
That makes me feel they are real and sure
I watched the final episode of Married With Children
on Youtube and now I wanted more.

So I flipped right back to episode one
and I started to watch it again
when the actors were still so stiff in their roles
My reaction is hard to explain

It was as is Al and Kelly and Peg
were they, but not fully formed
and the solace I took in their reality
was chilled when I wanted it warmed.

If Bud and Peggy are not real
then a little piece of me is fake too
the show falls apart and my universe dies
though its hard to describe to you.

Standing on the edge of a precipice
where imagination leaves sanity
searching through YouTube episodes
trying to respark my humanity.

Try as I might, when I went to sleep
all my sugar plums were sclerotic
my sky and my stars were on cardboard
and my psyche was nearly psychotic.

Dawn arrived in the usual way
as I stared at the walls in my room
suddenly something appeared to me
out of the early gloom

It was the box of a DVD set
with a picture of Al's puerile grimace
reminding me of the feelings that it inspired
and that THAT reality is in us.

So I shook off the coil of solipsism
and stared at the rising sun.
Married with Children is long gone
but my love for its just begun.

A blast from the Past

Sycamore Days

I've spent a whole lifetime

in the branches of trees

looking down on the world

with the memory of an elephant.

Trees take the long view

change is all about water

the seasons are a haircut

future – a long adolescence.

My mother was young, my dad old.

Planes flew over every 3 minutes.

The farms were shrinking

and the strip malls growing.

A boy looks like a speck

hidden by the camo-skin

of a fifty foot sycamore

in the green, green youth of spring.

It seems to be Earth Day in Yahoo today (6 months early)

Mud

Who makes a meal out of mud
who vests in soils and sand?
When did carbon replace blood
and dirt get measured by the hand?

All things being equal
Earth would be a better place;
but what is high is tall
and what is low debased.

It's all mud -- you, me, Zuckerberg!
We're all on a one way trip
so save a gosh-darned iceberg
I won't give you much lip.