I just got back from my daily visit to Karyn’s blog.
Her post today was in the form of a poem, as is frequently her habit on Wednesdays. (Sex on Friday, poetry on Wednesday... some kind of weird cycle, I guess. But hey, it’s her blog.)
As someone who also enjoys forays into the poetic realm on occasion, I thought I’d try to respond to her in kind.
Now SOME would say my poems are childish, shallow, barely rhyme, have irregular meter, and don’t make any sense. To them, I say, “Oh, yeah!? So what!?” ...which is about the most shallow, childish, un-rhyming response I can think of on short notice.
Besides, I have previously announced that one form of poetry I find particularly difficult to write is the limerick. So I challenged myself to write a poem in stanzas consisting of limericks.
What follows is my effort. (Ahem...)
Once said lovely Karyn in Dallas,
As she lounged in the pool by her palace,
“I write Fridays of sex,
Then on Wednesdays perplex
You with poems that, to some, may seem callous.”
As I pondered her blog post in rhyme,
And re-read it, time after time,
I began to believe
(Though it caused me to grieve)
She’d been drinking tequila with lime.
Then I noted the time of her post.
It was not in the evening, like most.
It was posted so soon,
(Tuesday, mid-afternoon),
If she drank THEN, her job would be toast!
So I read it once more, and I found
That its message was actually sound.
With a question that men
Have asked time and again
On a topic that’s truly profound.
Are our love and emotions for real?
Or just hormones, endorphins, and zeal?
How can anyone know
If that wonderful glow
Is the truth or just something we feel?
So with definite feelings of pride
I left Karyn’s blog satisfied
(Though she wrote NOT of lust,
Or the size of a bust)
With the thoughts that her poem did provide.
Good job, Karyn. Once again you’ve proven that you’re a lot more than just a pretty face with a one-track mind.
NOT THAT I EVER THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T! HONEST!
(There I go, putting my foot in it again! At least my meter was fairly consistent.)
8 comments:
I may be the very worst poetry writer in the world. What is so despairing is that I really, really wish I could write poetry well. So that's two strikes against me, no poet and I'm too short to donate sperm.
Did somebody say "sperm?"
(Where's karyn when I need her??)
Here I am. Uhhhhhh...what can I say? Thank you?
I'll try to overlook the comments about my "weird cycle" (how did you know I was pre-menopausal?), my callous poetry (okay...I know there aren't that many things that rhyme with Dallas), my drinking on the job, and your amazement that I could write something "actually sound" and "profound."
BTW, I enjoyed your limerick (a good choice considering the subject matter) and your meter was exceptional!
I must have been incorrect,
Because within retrospect,
It was in a comment housed
That it was you who espoused
"My Limerick writing is suspect."
Karyn,
You're welcome... I think. Yeah, all I could think of was "callous" and "Alice." Or maybe "malice." I couldn't get "Alice" or "malice" to fit, hard as I tried. Oh, and my meter is really closer to a decimeter, give or take.
Hale,
You've one-upped me. AGAIN! But that's OK. "It Occurred to Me" that you might!
What a cute poem. And you said that you can't write limeriks. Blah! That's a bunch of wonderful limeriks. Now I know that you are MODEST. I did not know that before. You poet, YOU!
Ha!
Did you all read that? I AM modest! Schnoodlepooh (Peg) says so!
In fact, I'm PROUD of my modesty!
Ha!
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