I don't know about you, but I've already attended two white elephant gift exchanges this December. To the first one I brought a monkey hat that sang the theme tune to the Monkees TV show ("Hey hey we're the Monkees! And people say we monkey around. But we're too busy singing to put anybody down..."), but to the second one I decided to be more creative. My mom and I went to the thrift store and bought three gray elephant stuffed animals of varying sizes (and a bag of mini chocolate bars) and I wrote the following poem to accompany the plushies:
Christmas—
A time of lights and snow
Of parties and go go go.
One specific gathering cannot be escaped
Though it is rather half-baked:
A white elephant gift exchange
Harder to avoid than mange.
It started with the king of Siam.
No, he didn't give his courtiers lambs.
He burdened them with white elephants—
But that is quite irrelevant.
My point is about discrimination.
Hopefully we are not in stagnation.
White elephants are well and good,
But gray are left out of the brotherhood.
It say: take your Twix and Milky Way
But don't forget your ashen friends from Family Elephantidae.
African, Asian, gray, or albino,
All elephants have floppy ears, trunks, and tusks not unlike a rhino.
So stop being exclusive;
It's rather abusive.
Include all elephants
In your gift exchange presents.
I wanted that last line to say "You ungrateful peasants!" but I thought that wasn't really compatible with the holiday spirit. :P
Merry Christmas everybody!
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Monday, December 21, 2015
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Pretty much all the poetry I've ever written
I Don't Write Poetry by Abbey, March 6 2012 (for my friend Jen's poetry contest), edited June 17 2014
I don't write poetry
I can't rhyme.
Even if I could,
where would I find the time?
I'd much rather be reading
or writing a book.
I'd even attempt it
on my friend's Nook!
My idea of a good poet is Sir Percy Blakeney
whose rhymes deal with the Scarlet Pimpernel.
The Pimpernel is an alias for-
Shhh! Spoilers! I'll never tell.
Music and piano and lit. are for me
so why, oh why
do I need poetry?
If only I could write poetry,
if only I could rhyme,
I'd enter Jen's contest,
and maybe be on time.
Now someone draws near...
to see what I write...
They recoil in fear!
They cower in fright.
They speak up with courage,
saying, "Something's amiss!
If you can't write poetry...
What is THIS?!"
My Orca Whale by Abbey, 2007. (This was a writing assignment... If I remember correctly, I had to include an orca, pizza, margaritas, and a dog named Legos.)
I have an orca whale.
My orca's name is Jack.
He likes delivering pizzas,
while swimming on his back.
Jack drinks margaritas;
he drinks one every night.
He shoots Legos out his blowhole
and gives the neighbors a fright.
Sea Snail by Abbey, 2008 (This is the result of learning about poetry in writing class, and gastropods in science.)
Ru-u-u-u-un!
The stomach foot scuttles towards food.
Dead or alive, the prey is devoured by a gastropod which uses its denticals to eat.
Disturbed by a predator, the sea snail shuts its operculum door.
Assorted Limericks by Abbey, 2009ish. (The last two are homework assignments from a Civil War class.)
There once was a poodle from Maine
who caused everyone so much pain.
They threw the dog out,
onto a whale spout!
Last I heard he was sailing towards Spain.
Food in the Civil War camps
gave the soldiers terrible cramps.
Beans three times a day,
don't keep the doctor away.
Let this be a lesson to you young scamps.
Long ago in eighteen-sixty,
doctors were as mean as could be.
They'd cut off a limb,
put it in the bin,
and send it off to charity.
The Gloating Goat by Abbey, June 17 2014
Once upon a time there was a goat who bought a new coat to match his tote. The goat with his matching tote and coat felt very fashionable and went out on the promenade to gloat.
He saw a boat on the moat and thought, If I get aboard that boat and float down the moat, everyone will see my matching tote and coat and think I'm a very fashionable goat indeed.
So the gloating goat climbed aboard the boat on the moat, carrying his tote, and wearing his coat.
The boat began to float down the moat and soon people began to take note of the goat on the moat with his matching tote and coat.
One little boy - with a toy - took note of the floating goat, and didn't much care for the tote and coat, for they made their wearer gloat. The boy with the toy came up with a coy ploy to teach the goat not to gloat over such silly things as a matching tote and coat.
So the boy left his toy and climbed aboard the boat on the moat that held the gloating goat.
As they floated down the moat, the coy boy pretended to dote on the goat's tote and coat and asked the goat to recommend him to his tailor.
The goat reached into his tote and pulled out a note and as he wrote to the tailor - with a pen from the sailor - the boy put his coy ploy into action and shoved the goat over the side of the boat into the moat!
The tote and the coat were ruined!
"That should teach you," said boy to goat, "not to gloat over totes and coats."
At first all the goat could do was fret, though in the end he was in debt, to the boy who taught him a valuable lesson, even at the cost of getting all wet!
Rhyme by Abbey
My liver quivers when I shiver.
And that's about as serious as it gets, folks.
What is your opinion of poetry; should it be something deep and difficult to understand, that needs interpretation from the reader; or should poetry be fun and easy to read, like Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein; or epic, like Beowulf and The Faerie Queene? Is a pleasant mixture the best, or should poetry just be thrown out altogether? Do you write poetry?
Live long and prosper!
I don't write poetry
I can't rhyme.
Even if I could,
where would I find the time?
I'd much rather be reading
or writing a book.
I'd even attempt it
on my friend's Nook!
My idea of a good poet is Sir Percy Blakeney
whose rhymes deal with the Scarlet Pimpernel.
The Pimpernel is an alias for-
Shhh! Spoilers! I'll never tell.
Music and piano and lit. are for me
so why, oh why
do I need poetry?
If only I could write poetry,
if only I could rhyme,
I'd enter Jen's contest,
and maybe be on time.
Now someone draws near...
to see what I write...
They recoil in fear!
They cower in fright.
They speak up with courage,
saying, "Something's amiss!
If you can't write poetry...
What is THIS?!"
My Orca Whale by Abbey, 2007. (This was a writing assignment... If I remember correctly, I had to include an orca, pizza, margaritas, and a dog named Legos.)
I have an orca whale.
My orca's name is Jack.
He likes delivering pizzas,
while swimming on his back.
Jack drinks margaritas;
he drinks one every night.
He shoots Legos out his blowhole
and gives the neighbors a fright.
Sea Snail by Abbey, 2008 (This is the result of learning about poetry in writing class, and gastropods in science.)
Ru-u-u-u-un!
The stomach foot scuttles towards food.
Dead or alive, the prey is devoured by a gastropod which uses its denticals to eat.
Disturbed by a predator, the sea snail shuts its operculum door.
Assorted Limericks by Abbey, 2009ish. (The last two are homework assignments from a Civil War class.)
There once was a poodle from Maine
who caused everyone so much pain.
They threw the dog out,
onto a whale spout!
Last I heard he was sailing towards Spain.
Food in the Civil War camps
gave the soldiers terrible cramps.
Beans three times a day,
don't keep the doctor away.
Let this be a lesson to you young scamps.
Long ago in eighteen-sixty,
doctors were as mean as could be.
They'd cut off a limb,
put it in the bin,
and send it off to charity.
The Gloating Goat by Abbey, June 17 2014
Once upon a time there was a goat who bought a new coat to match his tote. The goat with his matching tote and coat felt very fashionable and went out on the promenade to gloat.
He saw a boat on the moat and thought, If I get aboard that boat and float down the moat, everyone will see my matching tote and coat and think I'm a very fashionable goat indeed.
So the gloating goat climbed aboard the boat on the moat, carrying his tote, and wearing his coat.
The boat began to float down the moat and soon people began to take note of the goat on the moat with his matching tote and coat.
One little boy - with a toy - took note of the floating goat, and didn't much care for the tote and coat, for they made their wearer gloat. The boy with the toy came up with a coy ploy to teach the goat not to gloat over such silly things as a matching tote and coat.
So the boy left his toy and climbed aboard the boat on the moat that held the gloating goat.
As they floated down the moat, the coy boy pretended to dote on the goat's tote and coat and asked the goat to recommend him to his tailor.
The goat reached into his tote and pulled out a note and as he wrote to the tailor - with a pen from the sailor - the boy put his coy ploy into action and shoved the goat over the side of the boat into the moat!
The tote and the coat were ruined!
"That should teach you," said boy to goat, "not to gloat over totes and coats."
At first all the goat could do was fret, though in the end he was in debt, to the boy who taught him a valuable lesson, even at the cost of getting all wet!
Rhyme by Abbey
My liver quivers when I shiver.
And that's about as serious as it gets, folks.
What is your opinion of poetry; should it be something deep and difficult to understand, that needs interpretation from the reader; or should poetry be fun and easy to read, like Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein; or epic, like Beowulf and The Faerie Queene? Is a pleasant mixture the best, or should poetry just be thrown out altogether? Do you write poetry?
Live long and prosper!
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