Nonsense Poetry

[Eluard]

Mea culpa. A touch of spelling fascism came over me.

What the World needs: more Misstresspieces!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I was a mistress once perhaps I should write a poem about being a bit of fluff

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Homage to T.S. Eliot

Amo, amas, amat, a mess 1
How long? Gongula?
La plume 2 de ma Tante
est sur la pont D'Avignon3
and surely the sturm und drang of this
soft October night
will bring Fosse4 to risposta.

In the restroom the women come and go
discussing articles from Cosmo.

What are you saying? What saying? What? 5
Sweeney's rolled his trousers up above his knees
and lies etherized upon a table
like a peach. 6

FOOTNOTES:
1. Ecclesiastical invokation for St. Marinara, patron of children with disorderly rooms.
2. In this case, a plume. Not a pen.
3. This bridge, unlike that in London, is not for sale.
4. Bob
5. I mean it. What.
6. A nice one, I mean. Ripe, juicy, not that shipped-in unripe mealy crap that passes for fresh fruit at my local Piggly Wiggly, where the stockboys come and go in a wasteland of Ipod goth music. My grandmother had a peach tree and we could go out in the summer and just take one off the tree and eat it. Of course, this was in Mississippi where the rednecks come and go, and you could get sweet corn in season at a roadside stand manned by a podgy, red-faced farm wife in a babushka, fanning herself with the latest copy of Better Homes and Gorgons. You just don't see produce like that anymore. Oy vey! C'est dommage!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

But you only got London Bridge not the stately Tower Bridge which I believe was what was imagined to have been bought

 

[unpredictablebijou]

But you only got London Bridge not the stately Tower Bridge which I believe was what was imagined to have been bought

If that's the worst thing about that poem then I'm mighty pleased.

bj

 

[Eluard]

Homage to T.S. Eliot

Amo, amas, amat, a mess 1
How long? Gongula?
La plume 2 de ma Tante
est sur la pont D'Avignon3
and surely the sturm und drang of this
soft October night
will bring Fosse4 to risposta.

In the restroom the women come and go
discussing articles from Cosmo.

What are you saying? What saying? What? 5
Sweeney's rolled his trousers up above his knees
and lies etherized upon a table
like a peach. 6

FOOTNOTES:
1. Ecclesiastical invokation for St. Marinara, patron of children with disorderly rooms.
2. In this case, a plume. Not a pen.
3. This bridge, unlike that in London, is not for sale.
4. Bob
5. I mean it. What.
6. A nice one, I mean. Ripe, juicy, not that shipped-in unripe mealy crap that passes for fresh fruit at my local Piggly Wiggly, where the stockboys come and go in a wasteland of Ipod goth music. My grandmother had a peach tree and we could go out in the summer and just take one off the tree and eat it. Of course, this was in Mississippi where the rednecks come and go, and you could get sweet corn in season at a roadside stand manned by a podgy, red-faced farm wife in a babushka, fanning herself with the latest copy of Better Homes and Gorgons. You just don't see produce like that anymore. Oy vey! C'est dommage!

Laughing my ass off and don't foresee (Fosse?) ever getting my ass back again!

 

[Eluard]

Oh heck done to death by a flower that looks like something out of Jurassic park ... heyyyyy I can't help the way I look at things!

Oh God I so agree UYS! Champers, that is the most butt-ugly AV on the poetry board! "Triffid in Sunlight". And how long have we had to look at it now? I'm starting a petition…

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Hey now, you kids.

*courteously hands you your ass, which seems to be over here on the floor*
*takes it back, brushes it off, gropes it inappropriately, hands it back*

That's a damn sexy flower, make no mistake. I don't see Jurassic Park; I see Anais Nin. Naked on a purple satin fainting couch with a tulip glass of blueberries in zabaglione. Holding a rose between her thighs.

But that's just me.

'Course, I'd trade it for a nekkid pic of Champie...

bj

 

[Eluard]

'Course, I'd trade it for a nekkid pic of Champie...

bj

Yes, yes, good suggestion girl at the back with her dress hoiked up. Nekkid pictures of Champers would be most welcome. Doing unspeakeable things to root vegetables even better.

 

[Eluard]

Apologies, Champers, for going off at the triffid AV — I must have been under the temporary influence of the anti-vegetable angel!

 

[Angeline]

When he found out he
was like oh my god and I
was like oh my god
~ Billy Collins

 

[Anschul]

Just a thought...
When vivid poets fight
What is the result?
Too's get berated,
Flowers get trashed unseemly,
Witches brew cauldrons like giraffes;
Giraffes? What stately beasts they be
Except in summer, when sweat dampens
Their erectile necks.
But do erectile necks sway gently,
And laugh as asses fall off,
Get picked up, stroked,
And then returned to rightful owners
Who don't necessarily care?
And to what end?
The end is the beginning
Of a fight among poets.

P.S. I love the flower.
It reminds me of sex
And a purple giraffe.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Sheesh I never said I didn't like the flower I just said it reminds me of the wotsits in Jurassic park which incidentally were the best thing in it and I would love one as a pet bet I wouldn't get burglars then ......... sooooo shuts up belts up and goes home

 

[KOLKORE]

"Flowers get trashed unseemly,
Anschul,
Our shared 'pets'!

"Witches brew cauldrons like giraffes;
Giraffes? What stately beasts they be
Except in summer, when sweat dampens
Their erectile necks."
Bautiful and...funky lines. Love them. You are such a peace maker. The whole poem was very much to my liking.

kolkore

p.s. based on the above- some free verse in the horizon?

 

[Anschul]

"Flowers get trashed unseemly,
Anschul,
Our shared 'pets'!

"Witches brew cauldrons like giraffes;
Giraffes? What stately beasts they be
Except in summer, when sweat dampens
Their erectile necks."
Bautiful and...funky lines. Love them. You are such a peace maker. The whole poem was very much to my liking.

kolkore

p.s. based on the above- some free verse in the horizon?

Absolutely. As soon as I finish with this 30/30 sonnet madness. Why oh why did I think this would be a fun idea? The 30/30 is a hungry and demanding mistress, but I am a finisher, so I will complete the task. Tomorrow is twenty, and I've already started working on it. In the meantime, free verse will show up as occasional blurts as the need arises, like this one. It seems that nothing I say these days pleases some people, but that's show business. I'm all emotional about leaving my home town, and sometimes not thinking straight. Ergo, the occasional misspeak. I find that this nonsense thread is extremely interesting, and I read it every day, even if I don't write much. God, but I do go on...blah...blah...blah...

 

[Anschul]

But you only got London Bridge not the stately Tower Bridge which I believe was what was imagined to have been bought

You mean:
This :

Tower Bridge? [size=-2]I took this picture![/size]

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Did you , was you on a boat? When was that then you could have waved on the way past!

 

[Anschul]

Did you , was you on a boat? When was that then you could have waved on the way past!

Two summers ago we took our kids to London and Belfast to see family (I have family that lives near the Queen's Park Underground station on the Brown Line--, AA has family near Belfast and also an hour and a half south of Belfast). The picture was taken on a boat ride to Greenwich. I have lots of pictures, if you want to see them. Let me know, and I will give you the link. We come to London every couple of years--maybe again next summer, unless AA's job is too demanding. Summer is a tight time for museums in the States, and because we're relocating a thousand miles, I have NO idea what next month will look like, let alone next year.
By the way, I do love your poem on this thread. I think I may stick around and write here a bit.

* pulls open the raincoat *

 

[Anschul]

Hey now, you kids.

*courteously hands you your ass, which seems to be over here on the floor*
*takes it back, brushes it off, gropes it inappropriately, hands it back*

That's a damn sexy flower, make no mistake. I don't see Jurassic Park; I see Anais Nin. Naked on a purple satin fainting couch with a tulip glass of blueberries in zabaglione. Holding a rose between her thighs.

But that's just me.

'Course, I'd trade it for a nekkid pic of Champie...

bj

ZABAGLIONE IS HERE

 

[unpredictablebijou]

ZABAGLIONE IS HERE

*dousing myself like winning athletes do with gatorade*

I have realized that I made a terrible error on the T.S. Eliot poem. The title should read:

Homage to T.S. Eliot
Excerpt from Canto 6, Section 3

There now. All fixed.
g'day, Aussie and all. How's it hangin'?

bj

 

[Anschul]

*dousing myself like winning athletes do with gatorade*


bj

And man, oh man, I especially dig wet Bat Costumes. So ...ahhh...clingy. Yummmmmm

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Two summers ago we took our kids to London and Belfast to see family (I have family that lives near the Queen's Park Underground station on the Brown Line--, AA has family near Belfast and also an hour and a half south of Belfast). The picture was taken on a boat ride to Greenwich. I have lots of pictures, if you want to see them. Let me know, and I will give you the link. We come to London every couple of years--maybe again next summer, unless AA's job is too demanding. Summer is a tight time for museums in the States, and because we're relocating a thousand miles, I have NO idea what next month will look like, let alone next year.
By the way, I do love your poem on this thread. I think I may stick around and write here a bit.

* pulls open the raincoat *

I only live 33 miles from London (so you could have waved) and Ron was born there, a real cockney though he doesn't talk like that he was bombed out as a small boy. His claim to fame is that Winston Churchill patted him on the head! Please send the link and thankyou about the poem which is a load of nonsense and written in 1 minute flat lol

 

[PandoraGlitters]

ladybug songs

silly stuff leaks like straw
from under my hat, gaw
lee all that long ago under murals
of the big blue ox and the way God
brought the water down to swim
like movie stars in neat rows between
green plumes of agricultural fringe

yes I remember when we stopped
lunch and walked around the pond
the giant's footprint made
all the baby ducks spots of sputtering mallow
and she was tall and narrow as the stream

her head over the horizon helping me
imagine how tall a giant must be
his hand even longer
even stronger than her long gait
I would step three times to match
sing lady bug songs to bring that happy gold
of her wide, wide smile

ladybug dots all over the skirt held out
for maryjane pirouettes around
the clove leather swan

 

[KOLKORE]

Hooray to "Lindy hoppy, and cottonail"

This "Wop bop a lula" poem did some really good things to me. For compulsivly inquisitive minds (Warning: it's strongly discouraged here): Have knuckle daddy drank some Napa wine? Who /what is Zuppla Inglese and what is the nature of the flip flop bim bam boops? What's the role of scrim scram cat in all this mess?

And so happy.


Wop bop a lula sha boom bee bop
Zippa zappa loopa lolla scrim scram cat
Zuppla Inglese flip flop bim bam boop
Rappa Napa wine stein flim flam soup
Knees nose tappy toes knuckle daddy nail
Shake bake lindy hoppy wail cottontail.

 

[Angeline]

This "Wop bop a lula" poem did some really good things to me. For compulsivly inquisitive minds (Warning: it's strongly discouraged here): Have knuckle daddy drank some Napa wine? Who /what is Zuppla Inglese and what is the nature of the flip flop bim bam boops? What's the role of scrim scram cat in all this mess?

No intent or forethought whatsoever. Just scatting (a la Louis Armstrong or Ella Fitzgerald). What came out is totally stream of consciousness. Zuppa Inglese is an Italian custard made with marsala wine (the recipe is in Chefzilla's Kitchen today, I believe).

It's what happens to a mind after five or six years of listening to jazz at least a hour or two every day.

Oh. The Wail Cottontail came from this