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Showing posts with the label Poetry

Anatomy Class (by Jerry Siegel)

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(To My Freshmen, with Apologies to Northrop Frye) Ah. There it is: A still-living poem. Some critic or teacher must have Done this to it. Put it on the table, boys. Gently, now. Check for vitality, Analyze the theme, Examine its metaphors, Lay bare the quivering imagery And expose the throbbing Thought. Let’s see that history. Two hundred years old? No wonder it seems in Rough shape. As you can see, the relevance is clearly herniated. Diction? Grossly inefficient. Impossibly high allusion level. There! Between the varicose values. Just as I suspected! A great mass of dense meaning Complicated by a massively conscious rhythm. There’s nothing to be done about it. Hopeless – Not a chance of reconstructing this one Into useful lyrics Or a slogan. Close it up And send it off To the anthology. ____________________ (A found poem, written sometime in the mid-1970’s, by a young professor)

Hjalmar’s Saga (a poem by Jerry Siegel)

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Photo by Richard Bartz* Wikipedia ________________ “A forest bird never wants a cage.” – Henrik Ibsen __________________ Jerry, my husband, wrote this poem many years ago. “Hjalmar’s Saga” carries very special personal meaning for me, but it is also very accessible on a surface level, which is why I am sharing it on this blog. This is the poem’s first publication. __________________ Indeed, Henrik, you’ve made your point about Zoology. The male wild duck survives When in captivity, grows fat, appears Content, remains quite placid, resting in boxes Or on pillows. Paired with suitable tame stock He may, with proper fostering, be induced To nest, to mutter happy quacks, to father Ducklings captive from the shell. He will, Of course, not fly, but rather waddle, box To nest and back in endless circuits, like Some feathered friar, lost in thought. He never Knows passion, wit, or blue horizons – curls Restive, his family close, and sleeps m

“t of cold” (Patruno Sherling, Spammer Lifting Text From a Writer Who Himself Piggybacked Upon Edgar Allan Poe – Regurgitated Here Yet Again): A Commentary on Modern Poetry

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Remixed Photo – Seedermaster Wikipedia Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. —Carl Sandburg   ________________________ [Ed. note: This usurped text from an email spam folder has been found to be original text from The Black Cat : A Play in Three Acts (based on a Edgar Allan Poe short story), by John Todhunter, and released into the public domain for any use, including, presumably, for that of notorious email spammers selling dodgy products or setting up malware links for incredibly stupid recipients who click on anything.]  [As found, except for manipulated line breaks, removed character names, some punctuation tweaks, and upper and lower case changes.] [I] mean to live it out. But your husband? You married again, did you not? Yes. Fancy a woman making that mistake twice! But, you see, I was in an equivocal position. I had left my first husband; I don’t want to conceal my misdeeds, Oh, don’t expect paving stones fro

“Foofoo coffe,” a Found Poem, by Rhia

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Sticky note with message from Rhia _________________________   The other day, when I was tidying up the living room, I found a stack of sticky notes (neon green, no less), with little messages written on them. This was definitely the hand of Rhia, my granddaughter, probably bored one day and wanting to be a bit snarky and revealing. She was 8 at the time. I decided to create a “found poem” from them – complete with creative spelling (words in parenthesis were on the obverse): Foofoo Coffe But I Don’t Want to Do my homework. (Wineing) take a brake ha!! ha!! ha!! ha!! :) ha!! :) ha!! (tickaling) aaaaaaa Stop it!! (Mad) Yay School !!!!!!!! :) :) :) :) (happy) Yhan yhan Can I go Brush your teeth (tiera tiered) I don’t know what to Do (Bord) yay Sho school !!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) I could do it I could tickle you :) grampaw does not Love or like foofoo coffe

Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment