On the Subject of Birds

On the Subject of Birds

Joe sat at the desk in his cube                                   

From behind him walked up a crass rube

I see your bird pics

Them’s some mighty fine tits

Said he, that’s no tit, it’s a boob.

Old Joke is Old

There, see? I told you I'd have something silly for today. Today is a limerick, which if you haven't heard of, you're not really on the internet, and you should probably question your very existence. While trying to find rhymes, I learned a new word! Rube means 'hick' or 'country bumpkin.' True story. 

The Thing That Everyone Else Could Not

The Thing That Everyone Else Could Not

Silently creeping across every thought

Like ambulance, elephant, marching band

Never a dull moment have you dear brought

Twas obvious stole me with sleight of hand

I really don’t care for the way you keep

My stubborn heart dancing at your command

And yet ‘fore I enter eternal sleep

A whisper to you in my loudest voice

A secret for you and the world to keep

The one who’s own warmth had almost forgot

Did the thing that everyone else could not

Cough

Don't you hate it when you're trying to be funny, and you end up being truthful instead? Well, dear husband is coming back for the weekend soon, so I can stop calling out to him in my poetry. Stupid brain! Today was supposed to be a funny po'm. P'em. P'm. Poome?

An Unfortunate Case of Mistaken Identity

An Unfortunate Case of Mistaken Identity

I glared at them with friendly eyes,
And wondered then at their replies,
That they should possibly mistake,
And admonition to me make.
Again, I pointed at the flies.

“Seriously?” I said, “Allies,
Just listen to me then, you guys,
Right through his heart you stabbed a stake!”
I glared at them.

“Oh, come, come, come, there’s no disguise,”
Said they, “And now let’s see him rise.
A silver bullet it would take,
For werewolf is he. Goodness sake.”
“VAMPIRE in costume underlies!”
I glared at them.

Oops. ;-) 

I decided, since we're well into October, that I should make a silly Halloween poem for you. I hope you enjoyed it. This  particular form is called the Rondeau, and it's particularly easy (as poetry goes) to make, because it's written in syllables of eight: the meter of most music. 

I highly suggest if  you're going to try your hand at song writing for the first time, try the Rondeau. It may sound simplistic, but frankly, song writing is hard, so any assistance is a good thing.

Not Unlike a Garden

Not Unlike a Garden

My sweet love,

To my senses wond’rous reek

Is pungent, wafting, balmy perfume.

Like a rose, sweet love, you stink.

Like the skunk

Whose butt blows sea breeze air, your

Most welcome presence refreshes all

When you saunter through the door.

When you leave

The room, your scent lingers on

Like the fog of a titan arum

Oh, how I wish you weren't gone.

Oh, to rest

Against your neck where the glands

Leak odoriferous pheromones

I'd be putty in your hands.

Why, Hello There

Welcome to Defective Poems: where romance blooms and connotation means nothing. To kick off these shenanigans  I've written a memoriam stanza about a particularly fragrant person. This type of poem was often used by Alfred Tennyson, though it's safe to say that his writings were far more serious and somber. But what's the fun in that?

My husband has been out for some weeks, and will continue to travel for a few months more. He returns on the weekend, but most days between Sunday evening and Friday evening, he's all over the most boring parts of the country working. So I'll dedicate this poem to him: the man whose natural scent is quite pleasant...until he starts sweating. Then, I think, the titan arum may actually be an accurate description—I love you, honey!