Archives For Poetry

For last year’s 4th of July, I wrote Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address as it might have been done by Dr. Seuss. This year, I’ve created a new poem à la Seuss—the Declaration of Independence, modeled on that great American classic, Green Eggs and Ham:

We don’t like you, no sirree
We do not like your tyranny

From Schoolhouse Rock, another American classic

Colonists are people too
We want our rights, you bet we do

To life and liberty, gracious, yes!
Pursuit of basic happiness!

And so we have to break our bond
With all our friends across the pond

Could we, should we, tell you why?
Before we say our last goodbye?

You taxed our tea, you taxed our crumpets
You even taxed our ploofs and flumpets!

We do not want to quarter troops
We do not like your army groups

We’re subject to your silly laws
And thrown in jail with no real cause

Why have you ignored our plea?
We simply want to be more free!
Would you, could you, let us be?

We ask you nicely, you don’t care
It isn’t right, it isn’t fair!

So with this fancy declaration
We’re separate now, a whole new nation

We’re free now from your tyranny
See you later, King George Three!

And given my recent chat with Abe, I decided an encore performance of last year’s post was in order:

‘Twas eighty and seven years past, so they say
That our founders created the US of A

With all of us equal! The Wuggles! The Fuzzins!
And even our naughty Confederate cousins!

Now there’s a war and it’s bad and it’s sad
But a time will soon come when we’ll all be quite glad

That our nation still stands and our country’s still here
And we’ll all drink a toast with a mug of Sneetch beer

These bravest of soldiers did not die for naught
We need a do-over to do what we ought

So let’s have no more of this Civil War folly
And remember our government’s purpose, by golly

Of people! By people! For people! Yes!
Right now this country’s one heckuva mess

I want for this country a sort of rebirth
So all these nice freedoms don’t perish from Earth.

This was inspired by Mooselicker, who mentioned both Dr. Seuss and Abraham Lincoln in a comment on my last post.  It gave me the idea to rework the Gettysburg Address as a Dr. Seuss poem.  I like to think Lincoln would have appreciated it.  And the message is just as relevant today as it was in 1863.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Twas eighty and seven years past, so they say
That our founders created the US of A

With all of us equal!  The Wuggles!  The Fuzzins!
And even our naughty Confederate cousins!

Now there’s a war and it’s bad and it’s sad
But a time will soon come when we’ll all be quite glad

That our nation still stands and our country’s still here
And we’ll all drink a toast with a mug of Sneetch beer

These bravest of soldiers did not die for naught
We need a do-over to do what we ought

So let’s have no more of this Civil War folly
And remember our government’s purpose, by golly

Of people!  By people!  For people!  Yes!
But right now this country’s one heckuva mess

I want for this country a sort of rebirth
So all these nice freedoms don’t perish from Earth.

Before we start with the festivities, I’d like to wish all my Canadian friends a happy Canada Day weekend.  Enjoy!

And now, it’s time for our next Weebles Poetry Slam!  For those of you who have joined us since our last event, here’s a recap of the highlights of that evening.

This time around I’d like to open it up to everyone, not just the Weebles.  Everyone is invited to participate and share a poem.  All submissions are welcome—freeform, limerick, couplet, doublet, sonnet, haiku, anything you like. It can be silly, serious, or somewhere in between. Doesn’t matter. Just bring it.

I’ll start us off:

Mary had a little lamb
Then she had a little ham
Followed by a little jam
And then she had cramps.

Now it’s your turn!

Mundane haiku

Madame Weebles —  June 16, 2012 — 40 Comments

I feel the need to express myself through poetry today. They always say that whether you’re writing prose or poetry, you should use your own experiences as your guide. So here goes.

I ran out of milk
I had to run to the store
Need milk for coffee

I bought six items
Or maybe it was seven
I don’t remember

Then I came back home
I brewed a pot of coffee
And added some milk

Rupert Brooke

Submitted for your approval is Mr. Rupert Brooke, an English poet who died all too young, at the age of 27. He enlisted in the Royal Navy at the start of the First World War and died of sepsis while en route to Gallipoli in 1915.

Some of Brooke’s poetry was similar to that of English war poets Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfrid Owen, but much of his earlier work was more along the lines of Romantic poets like Keats. Today Brooke is not very well known but at the time he had a cult following. Winston Churchill was a great admirer of Brooke’s work, and after Brooke’s death he eulogized him thusly: “The voice has been swiftly stilled. Only the echoes and the memory remain; but they will linger.”

But my favorite observation about Brooke comes from one of our other favorite hot dead guys, William Butler Yeats, who described him as “the handsomest young man in England.”

It’s been a rotten week so far, so I thought I would cheer myself up with another hot dead guy.

William Butler Yeats

As I’ve said before, I have a thing for Irish men. I also have a thing for men who wear glasses. If I ever find a photo of a hot Irishman wearing glasses and some sort of military uniform, I’m pretty sure my head will explode.

Yeats was one of the most prolific and versatile poets of his time, and was the first Irish poet to win the Nobel Prize. He was also one of the driving forces behind the Irish Literary Revival at the turn of the 20th century—his poetry helped shape a new national identity and inspired the Irish people to take a greater interest in their heritage and culture. Later in his life Yeats immersed himself in politics, serving for six years as a senator in the newly formed Irish Free State. But he continued his writing throughout his time in office—he created some of his best-known works during this period. He died in 1939 at the age of 73.

It’s too bad he isn’t alive right now, otherwise I’d ask this fine-looking gentleman to be my special guest at our next Weebles Poetry Slam. I’d have the best arm candy of anyone in the room.

Weebles Poetry Slam!

Madame Weebles —  April 10, 2012 — 6 Comments

We had quite a turnout for the First Annual Weebles Poetry Slam last night. There were some extraordinary performances—this was truly spoken-word artistry at its best.

For those of you who couldn’t attend, I’m going to share a few of the poems that drew the most raves.

First, Ebenezer’s twist on the classic limerick was both mesmerizing and alarming:

There once was an old man named Smee
Who spent his whole life on the sea
But one tragic day
A shark came his way
And ate him

Lionel brought down the house with this stirring anthem, but the judges felt that his piece sampled too heavily from The Prodigy to qualify for a prize:

Change my pitch up
Smack my bitch up
Scratch my itch up
Rip my stitch up
Flip my switch up
Burn my witch up
Change my pitch up
Smack my bitch up

And Henrietta made the audience cry with her moving haiku:

I want to lie down
But I always pop back up
Those Hasbro fuckers

All in all it was a great evening, and next year will surely be even better!