Robin

An Elegy [a draft]

Did you attempt to fill an inner hole
By pouring water in another’s well?
Was soothing ev’ry stranger’s sagging soul
A way to lift your own from hopeless Hell?
You were a glass that magnified delight,
A sun that shined upon the spirit’s shore.
Your blazing, blinding brilliance kept from sight
The darkness deep inside your solar core.

When choosing not to live another day,
Perhaps, you—like us—didn’t truly know
That there’d again be clouds of black and gray
Above the spots once brightened by your glow.
But, though extinguished, you remain a star—
Which means some light will reach us from afar.

Advertisement

With Deepest Regrets?

a mock (intentionally trite) greeting card by Paul “Whitberg” Burgess

Dual-Purpose Hallmark Card:
[Italian Sonnet]
“I know it seems your life’s been badly marred.
[It’s rumored by a close and friendly source
That soon you’ll file the papers for divorce.]
If leaving now appears too sad and hard,
Just know you’ll later heal if now you’re scarred–
For Time’s the Planet’s greatest healing force
And cures the folks who let it take its course.”
[In case I’m wrong, I’ve sent a second card…]
“If leaving now appears a happy choice,
And joy’s the only cause of falling tears,
Then, let’s invite some friends, and we’ll rejoice
(With party songs and rivers made of beers)
While fin’lly giving free, exalted voice
To sore resentment built up over years.”

 

*This poem was an excuse to attempt an Italian sonnet…

 

Soul-Destroying Sounds of Archaic Lamps

3 Minutes, 3 Parodies
I hope this post won’t come off as mean-spirited. My targets are not all free verse poets but rather those free verse poets who– without knowing much about formal meter or literary history and conventions– write off all formal verse as old fashioned. These parodies are supposed to be fun… feel free to laugh at them or to ignore them, but please do not become upset;)
I.

Papercut-thin

slicing my soul

each time she looks me in the eyes

and punctures my mouth with

swords of whore rebel dragon

tongue.

II.

Those wide-eyed youths

thinking they’ve earned life experience

with their passing knowledge of Hume, Nietzsche

other heretics I’ll see burning

from the burnished, embroidered

seat inscribed “Righteous prevaileth over skeptics”–

reading they missed when buried

in thin tree remnants

dried cold bits of bark

lacking life

lacking truth

worm-eaten.

I’ll sit

next

to

my

Maker

the Earth’s Maker.

III.

I-Pod Touch Mini

Aural highway exorcising

impious silence

“Cheer Up, You Gloomy Bastards!”

A poem in ottava rima by Paul Burgess

Expecting pleasure always, never strife,
You curse existence saying it’s insane
And claim Despair’s your mother, Gloom’s your wife.
Your home you’ve often called the “House of Pain.”
Unmet conditions you’ve imposed on life
Don’t justify the way that you complain.
Refrain from putting poison in your cup—
That’s how to cheer a gloomy bastard up.

 

“Anagram” (an epigram on the topic–by Paul Burgess; also posted here: https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/05/23/poem-an-epigram-on-an-anagram-by-paul-burgess/

A “poem” might become a mixed up “mope,”

Composed by some absurdly gloomy dope.

2 Limericks on the Topic– by Paul Burgess

If to write’s to complain and complain…
And complain, as if life were all pain,
Perhaps I’m no good,
And maybe I should
…complain and complain, and complain.

Some poets will write as if gloom
Were pervading all life to the tomb.
Of one who would write
With a heart that is light,
They’d declare, “For his kind, there’s no room.”

“Pills: a Modern Fable”

by Paul Burgess […a poem on the tendency to treat symptoms rather can causes and to escape pain rather than deal with it]

One day while walking through the nearby hills,
I came across a lady selling pills.
She said to take her tablets twice a day,
And troubles would all start to melt away.
The pills provided such a soaring high
That I returned to buy a new supply.
But where she’d been I heard no human sound,
And nothing of that lady was there found.
Along with waves of troubles flooding back,
I count among my woes those pills I lack.

 

“Poem” an Epigram on an Anagram [by Paul Burgess]

A “poem” might become a mixed up “mope,”

Composed by some absurdly gloomy dope.

5 Limericks a Day (To Keep the Dr. Away)–By Paul O’Burgess [Day 6]

I have decided that today’s limericks will be for people with children. Every once in a while, I will unify the five daily limericks with a theme. Some days the limericks will be best for the bar or bedroom, and other days they will be best for the nursery. Today’s are fine for the nursery;)

“The Cat as a Hat”

There was once a man with a cat
That he’d put on his head like a hat.
The kitten did hate
Being worn on his pate
And thought it was time for a chat.

“Of Birds and Boys”

A boy, who would cease not to squirm,
Resembled so closely a worm
That a robin one day
Mistook for its prey
That boy who would cease not to squirm.

“Of Birds and Men”

There was an old man I once knew
Who flapped both his arms ‘til he flew.
The last that I heard,
He had married a bird
And purchased a nest built for two.

“Swamp King”

A king who was weary of pomp
Decided to move to a swamp.
There lived he as boss
Of mosquitoes and moss
While enjoying the absence of pomp.

“Who’s Yo’ Daddy?”

There was once a boy from Baghdad
Who thought that a hare was his dad.
He’d say, “Hey there, Pop!”
But away it would hop,
And the boy would remain there so sad.