Nonsense Poetry

[UnderYourSpell]

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

'happy gold of her wide, wide smile' isn't nonsense it's lovely

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?

Damn I am in the wrong place then cos I am terminally nosy!

 

[unpredictablebijou]

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?

I believe I can explain.

The "scrim scram cat" represents the presence of Sorrow in the Hearts of Poets everywhere. He moves on his little cat feet toward the unending sea of Zuppa Inglese, threatening to cut off the source, the "wine stein" of inspiration for the Poet, here represented appropriately enough by booze.

Notice, please, the assonance in the phrase "wine stein" which is an immensely complex reference. Not only does it refer to the two kinds of booze poets begin with, before they move to the harder stuff and become Raymond Carver, (or, gods forbid, David Mamet) but it also makes reference to the "wine" of divine inspiration and eternal life and all that jazz. It is also a sly reference to the Judaic origins of the poet herself.

"Rappa Napa .... soup" is a reference to the nourishment, both emotional and physical, within the current relationship. We conquer the "scrim scram cat" who threatens our inspiration and find connection with other poets, so that we can gaze happily at one another's navels, instead of solely at our own.

"knuckle daddy nail" is both a reference to previous emotional relationships and to the dark taskmaster that is the poetic urge. (Dysentery is a similarly dark taskmaster). It is also an allusion to Sylvia Plath.

The sad thing is, I could go on. There are multiple referential layers within those last two lines that could give me material for a 3000 word essay at least.

But I think not. Let's pretend I actually have a life. Just pretend.

I do hope that clears up a few things, anyway.

bj

 

[unpredictablebijou]

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

You're wrong about your own poem, totally and thoroughly wrong. See my post above for what you actually meant.

bj

 

[Angeline]

You're wrong about your own poem, totally and thoroughly wrong. See my post above for what you actually meant.

bj

Yup. It's why I need you.

 

[KOLKORE]

bj interpretation is jaw dropping!

You're wrong about your own poem, totally and thoroughly wrong. See my post above for what you actually meant.

bj

You know Angeline how much I appreciate your judgement and your view but I am sorry, on this one I am with bj! Every one knows that once one turns into a poet one can't tell right from left and wrong from right! One better leave the work of evaluating one's work to objective knowledgble reviewers like bj! I am still at awe by the breath and depth of knowledge reflected in the interpratation of Angeline's poem...

 

[Angeline]

You know Angeline how much I appreciate your judgement and your view but I am sorry, on this one I am with bj! Every one knows that once one turns into a poet one can't tell right from left and wrong from right! One better leave the work of evaluating one's work to objective knowledgble reviewers like bj! I am still at awe by the breath and depth of knowledge reflected in the interpratation of Angeline's poem...

Me too. I can't tell you how happy I am to finally have someone to tell me what my poems mean. I keep asking eagleyez, but he just hugs me and says they're good.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

See, this is why I don't volunteer as a reviewer.

And the Eliot piece is why I don't refer to myself as a 'poet'.

Saddest of all is this: I'm quite sure I amuse myself far more than I'm amusing anyone else with this stuff.

But God gets all my jokes. That's all that really matters.

bj

 

[Angeline]

See, this is why I don't volunteer as a reviewer.

And the Eliot piece is why I don't refer to myself as a 'poet'.

Saddest of all is this: I'm quite sure I amuse myself far more than I'm amusing anyone else with this stuff.

But God gets all my jokes. That's all that really matters.

bj

Not true! The "wine stein" comment made me snort. I snort when I'm really laughing. If you like me, it's cute. If not, it's kinda gross but I yam what I yam.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Not true! The "wine stein" comment made me snort. I snort when I'm really laughing. If you like me, it's cute. If not, it's kinda gross but I yam what I yam.

Good think I totally like you, in that "she likes you" sort of 6th grade way.

Round my household, we keep score on making someone genuinely snort. Not just laugh, but that totally shameless inhale-through-the-nose involuntary laugh snort. It's huge when we get that out of one another, and celebrated like a sports event.

"SCORE! I totally made you SNORT!"
"You did NOT. That was, um, a cough."
"No fricken' way, that was a legitimate snort. HAHHAHAHA I WIN! HA!"

and so on. Occasionally third witnesses are called upon to testify. Legitimacy is questioned. Long debates ensue on whether an exhaled "snort of derision" is the same as an "inhaled snort" caused by laughing really hard. Points are assigned for varying degrees of loudness and sincerity.

It's an odd household, but it seems to work.

bj

 

[PandoraGlitters]

'happy gold of her wide, wide smile' isn't nonsense it's lovely



Damn I am in the wrong place then cos I am terminally nosy!

Thank you, UYS. I'm not sure I can really write in this mode. It was a try. Thank you for reading and commenting.

 

[Anschul]

I believe I can explain.

The "scrim scram cat" represents the presence of Sorrow in the Hearts of Poets everywhere. He moves on his little cat feet toward the unending sea of Zuppa Inglese, threatening to cut off the source, the "wine stein" of inspiration for the Poet, here represented appropriately enough by booze.

Notice, please, the assonance in the phrase "wine stein" which is an immensely complex reference. Not only does it refer to the two kinds of booze poets begin with, before they move to the harder stuff and become Raymond Carver, (or, gods forbid, David Mamet) but it also makes reference to the "wine" of divine inspiration and eternal life and all that jazz. It is also a sly reference to the Judaic origins of the poet herself.

"Rappa Napa .... soup" is a reference to the nourishment, both emotional and physical, within the current relationship. We conquer the "scrim scram cat" who threatens our inspiration and find connection with other poets, so that we can gaze happily at one another's navels, instead of solely at our own.

"knuckle daddy nail" is both a reference to previous emotional relationships and to the dark taskmaster that is the poetic urge. (Dysentery is a similarly dark taskmaster). It is also an allusion to Sylvia Plath.

The sad thing is, I could go on. There are multiple referential layers within those last two lines that could give me material for a 3000 word essay at least.

But I think not. Let's pretend I actually have a life. Just pretend.

I do hope that clears up a few things, anyway.

bj

Hey wait a minute, Weinstein was my Bar Mitzvah teacher.

 

[Anschul]

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

Here you go.
Did most of the boring tourist stuff (boring, but beautiful), because it was the kids' first trip over.

 

[Angeline]

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

I don't know about nonsense, but nonsense-schmonsense because it's beautiful. and for some reason (and I'm probably totally off) it says "Minnesota" to me. Must have been the Paul Bunyan/Babe reference, but you'd think that would say Maine to me. He was originally from Maine, yknow. And I know this (if I didn't before) because there is a gigantic statue of him in my "downtown."

See?

 

[Angeline]

Good think I totally like you, in that "she likes you" sort of 6th grade way.

Round my household, we keep score on making someone genuinely snort. Not just laugh, but that totally shameless inhale-through-the-nose involuntary laugh snort. It's huge when we get that out of one another, and celebrated like a sports event.

"SCORE! I totally made you SNORT!"
"You did NOT. That was, um, a cough."
"No fricken' way, that was a legitimate snort. HAHHAHAHA I WIN! HA!"

and so on. Occasionally third witnesses are called upon to testify. Legitimacy is questioned. Long debates ensue on whether an exhaled "snort of derision" is the same as an "inhaled snort" caused by laughing really hard. Points are assigned for varying degrees of loudness and sincerity.

It's an odd household, but it seems to work.

bj

My daughter snorts exactly the same way. It's very heartwarming to me. Neither of my kids are southpaws like me darnit, but at least one's a snorter.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I don't know about nonsense, but nonsense-schmonsense because it's beautiful. and for some reason (and I'm probably totally off) it says "Minnesota" to me. Must have been the Paul Bunyan/Babe reference, but you'd think that would say Maine to me. He was originally from Maine, yknow. And I know this (if I didn't before) because there is a gigantic statue of him in my "downtown."

See?

Thank you very much, Angeline. You know I used to try to make sense and write nonsense. Now when I try to write nonsense I apparently don't. I think maybe I need some wine or psilocybin mushrooms or something.

I didn't know Paul Bunyan was originally from Maine! and Wow that's some statue! I wonder how many kids from your town had night terrors of Paul Bunyan chasing them with an axe? I blended a lot of giant images together in that one I had thought, trying to write a nonsense poem that turned into a memory poem about my mother.

I am in awe of the poems I've read on this thread. All of them have been great fun, but I have to say Bijou is a comic geeeenyus.

 

[Eluard]

Thank you very much, Angeline. You know I used to try to make sense and write nonsense. Now when I try to write nonsense I apparently don't. I think maybe I need some wine or psilocybin mushrooms or something.

I didn't know Paul Bunyan was originally from Maine! and Wow that's some statue! I wonder how many kids from your town had night terrors of Paul Bunyan chasing them with an axe? I blended a lot of giant images together in that one I had thought, trying to write a nonsense poem that turned into a memory poem about my mother.

I am in awe of the poems I've read on this thread. All of them have been great fun, but I have to say Bijou is a comic geeeenyus.

I swear I totally got that about your mother! And isn't your father in there as well? A trip to a park.

Agree about bj and the comic jean-yus. The analysis of Ange's poem was spot-on.

 

[Angeline]

Thank you very much, Angeline. You know I used to try to make sense and write nonsense. Now when I try to write nonsense I apparently don't. I think maybe I need some wine or psilocybin mushrooms or something.

I didn't know Paul Bunyan was originally from Maine! and Wow that's some statue! I wonder how many kids from your town had night terrors of Paul Bunyan chasing them with an axe? I blended a lot of giant images together in that one I had thought, trying to write a nonsense poem that turned into a memory poem about my mother.

I am in awe of the poems I've read on this thread. All of them have been great fun, but I have to say Bijou is a comic geeeenyus.

Well I must say that statue creeps me the hell out every time I see it. It's just so happy. And large. When I first moved here I had a temp job at this place right across the road from it, and spent too much time staring at it and thinking "what the heck am I doing here? This is so not New Jersey."

But here. You can have the wine stein. Or the Weinstein. Whatever.

 

[Eluard]

Speaking of Nonsense

PG — do you realise you are at post 333? That is The Number of the Bea.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

333 (and a third)

stompum slee
Mini Bea
stakes her spot
in Camelot
foot to foot
and hopping hot
pitchfork fingers
God forgot
but Devil lingers
shot put snot
on cold cut plea

 

[sassynyc]

monkey business

seven monkeys bathed
in a barrel of beer
befitting of a bevy of barflies
besotted and besmirched
they bickered boisterously
over a bushel of berries gone bad
beneath the beating of
the beacon we call sun

 

[sassynyc]

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

'Tis a far, far cry from nonsense, girly. If only all nonsense were so pretty.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

What is life but a speck
of fly shit on a monitor screen?
Myriads of butterflies with wings
of translucent vivid green
feast upon fruits rotting stink
and soar clapping wings merrily
to the scorching reality
that burns the waving treetops.
Beneath the turgid waters
sludge and roll the carcasses
of what is left of the reality
that life sucks down, down
in the gravity of fallen pea soup.

And on that merry note ...... anyone for party games?

 

[normal jean]

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.

I agree with you, Anschul. Now whenever I see an orchid, I think of that beauty who lives in the semi- Arctic land way, waaaay above me, I worry that she gets cold, or lonely, but her poetry, well, WOW. Her verses are orchids in their own right .

 

[normal jean]

You know Angeline how much I appreciate your judgement and your view but I am sorry, on this one I am with bj! Every one knows that once one turns into a poet one can't tell right from left and wrong from right! One better leave the work of evaluating one's work to objective knowledgble reviewers like bj! I am still at awe by the breath and depth of knowledge reflected in the interpratation of Angeline's poem...

Dear Kolkore

Don't you just get a huge kick out of someone reviewing your poem and they get it so totally wrong??

I have had people go in length about what a poem I wrote "means" when it should have just been taken literally, lol.

Just beware of those who tell you, insist, in fact, that they are not poets, for they are the ones who believe most strongly that they are.



ps, thank you for all the wonderful FB you have given me over the past few months.

 

[Anschul]

I agree with you, Anschul. Now whenever I see an orchid, I think of that beauty who lives in the semi- Arctic land way, waaaay above me, I worry that she gets cold, or lonely, but her poetry, well, WOW. Her verses are orchids in their own right .

NJ, you are one of my favorites. The beach will always remind me of you.