Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Momma Said I Had Big Feet

Momma said I was a poet,
Even though I did not know it.
Her proof was my feet did show it
She said they were Longfellows.

This made little sense to me,
My feet are not long, you see.
And poetry was not my game
At rhyming I was awfully lame.

My feet did grow,
Good under standing,
But poetry I thought
pushes it Demanding.

I studied poets while in school
(My teachers seemed awfully cruel).
They tried to teach me to use meter
move (But I’m not a meter reader).

Of metaphor and simile
(a poem is something like a tree?)
I tried to keep my writing free;
Nope, poetry was not for me!

And vey, oy vey, the need to rhyme;
Though it happened from time to time,
I could not rhyme consistently
My pained results were quite the crime.

But then I learned of repetition,
Repeated words and lines;
Repetition I could manage,
Yes, I love sweet repetition.

Repeated lines don’t need a rhyme;
Repeated lines don’t need a rhyme.
They naturally sound quite alike.
Repeated lines don’t need a rhyme.

And so perhaps Momma was right,
And knew whereof she spoke,
In poetry I’ll take delight
Even when written as a joke.

As musicologist Peter Schickele has created PDQ Bach I perhaps need to create my own bad poet on whom to blame my light hearted thumbing of my nose at the conventions of good poetry. I hereby dub this poem the recently discovered work of PD Crock.

If you like my whacked out poetry (or even if you hate it) check me out at SushiTuesdays.com. I am The Tuesday Poet! A new poem each Tuesday. Come on over to be impressed, jeer, leave me nasty notes about needing to take poetry lessons, whatever. Y'all come home with me now.

6 comments:

NS said...

I love the rain! and your mama is right.

Wamblings said...

I laid in bed last night running the lines of this silly thing in my head and of course nothing to write with (I really need a notebook by my bed). Anyway, at least some of the revisions came back to me this morning when I sat down to edit this poem.

jennifer said...

You thumb your nose so well! When I thumb my nose I usually wind up with a dirty thumb, not poetry!

Jen

jennifer said...

"New life pursued
Old life pursued,
no difference;
death takes it all."

Wow. Very nice.

Jen

Wamblings said...

awwwww Jen, You followed my linky. Thanks for the comments on both poems. Tuesday poet will get a fresh poem every week. Now as if I didn't have enough other things going I've added an open LiveJournal and joined a group with a challenge to write 100 poems in 100 days. I ask you, what was I thinking???

Nineran said...

Your Mamma was right
Quite 'que sera sera'
Maybe mammas are.

Besides, you more than others
Would know that rhyme is not
Po-e-try.
and through wildly fluctuating forms of verse
we'll sing along, you and me.