Friday, July 02, 2010

Poetry Friday: Oh, Crap!

The inaugural Poetry Friday was a smashing success. On to round two:
Oh, crap! It’s Friday. I need a poem quick,
Faster than the rising of a biscuit made with Bisquick.
Oh, crap! It’s Friday, I need a poem...
And yeah, that’s as far as I got. I made further attempts but found myself rhyming “now” with “cow” and “pronto” with “Tonto”, and the whole thing started looking really ugly, so... And yes, I realize the first couplet really just rhymes “quick” with itself (and do biscuits made with Bisquick actually rise any faster than regular biscuits?), but if you’re so fancy, what’ve you got? Today’s theme, your choice:
The brutal agony of being expected to write something terse and clever and metrical and funny—or at least sort of rhymey—every week! For two weeks in a row!
or
Bisquick.
Attaquons!

4 comments:

  1. "Pronto, Tonto!
    We're needed in Sri Lonko!
    There's a loose broncho in need of a poncho!"

    The Masked Man took a slow boat to India.
    When he arrived, monsoon season had passed.
    Far from home, with nothing to do,
    He was hungry for a french fry po'boy or some red beans with rice.

    "Beans with rice would be nice," he muttered,
    "Beans and rice with a touch of spice."

    Tonto said, "Ugh! All we have are silver bullets."
    Isaac the bartender popped two cans of Coors.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Gotta make my deadline
    Have to write a headline
    Still waiting on a phone call
    And a quote for attribution

    My editor has a double-dot
    But seven grafs are all I’ve got
    My article isn’t finished
    But perhaps there’s a solution

    These stories sometimes write themselves
    Like shoes made late at night by elves
    And this is just a local paper
    Not some journalistic institution

    So I’ll quote “an off-the-record source”
    And engineer some facts, of course
    And if I get caught, like Glass or Blair
    I’ll beg for absolution

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  3. A man who asks poem a week
    May find the output pretty bleak.
    Then again, without practice
    we might all be as sad as cactus!

    ReplyDelete
  4. pookie8:30 PM

    I am not a poet
    And I know it
    But then maybe
    I will write about baby

    ReplyDelete