Motley Moose – Archive

Since 2008 – Progress Through Politics

Poetry Wars: An Occasionally Rhyming Thread

I’ve known a few Moose

Who when asked to produce

Some lines of rhythmical text,

Would take it in course

To lampoon the source

Of such an achievable quext.

It passes my mind

That in order to find

A causational trigger sufficients

To stampede the Meeses

Resulting in pieces

Of contextual arts they’ve proficients,

Presented a hurdle

Less’r bloods which would curdle

But True Mooses would span with omniscience.

So lay down, you Moose

Your pens do let loose

And fire some iambic pentameter,

You’ve just let a geek,

Coke-glass’ed, outspeak

A roomful of scholars who’re apter.

Bring it.


Categories: Uncategorized.

/ 26 Comments

26 comments

  1. John Allen

    There once was a fellow named Blask

    Who lifted his head from a rum-filled cask

    and said with a loud shout,

    “Are there any Meese here-abouts

    who have more booze in their flask?”

  2. janicket

    I wished to take part in the rhyming

    So carefully polishing the timing

    And scanned every line

    To tune it just fine

    While still without nickel-and-diming

    The final result, as opposed to

    An interim version composed through

    Some toing and froing

    Which seemed to be going

    To Hades; and thus I proposed to

    Keep trying till something appeared

    Whose brilliance would leave my heart cheered

    By self-congrats glow.

    Is this it?  Sigh…. No.

    It just gets increasingly weird

    To see how my lim’ricking slips

    Into stanza ‘pon stanza that drips

    With pointless meandering

    And desperate pandering

    To form without content.  Let chips

    Fall whither they may!  I’ll conclude

    By scribbling some neat platitude

    That happens to rhyme

    And keep lim’rick time

    And limp off the stage, roundly booed.

  3. fogiv

    The Murder of Two Men by a Young Kid Wearing Lemon-colored Gloves

    Wait.

                                                    Wait.

                                           Wait.

                           Wait. Wait.

                   Wait.

                                                             Wait.  

                                     W a i t.

                           Wait.

                                                 Wait.

                                                                  Wait.  

                                       Wait.

                                                             Wait.

                      Wait.

                                       NOW.

    http://www.poetryfoundation.or…

  4. John Allen

    I still haven’t decided whether I like it or not.

    Dream Catcher

    Where do dreams go when they die?

    Do they vanish like a puff of smoke?

    Or, do they flutter off to some unknown

    plane where they pile up in windrows

    to be collected and pinned to a board,

    like the faded trophies of a lepidopterist,

    to be displayed for the amusement of the gods?  

  5. janicket

    Backstory:  I like to do song pastiches.  

    I belong to a message board for a site that uses live cams to monitor mares and cows and ewes and does and bitches etc. imminently about to foal, calve, lamb, kid, whelp, etc.  It is, quite literally, sometimes a matter of life and death whether anyone happens to be watching when labor begins: http://exurbanmusings.blogspot…

    It’s also incredibly boring, at times, to MareStare, leading one with a penchant for song-pastiching to have at it, thus:

    Let’s foal, little Susie, please foal

    Let’s foal, little Susie, please foal

    I wake up out of my sleep, go check the cam, Susie, and weep

    There’s still no foal, it’s four o’clock, and I yell “Bleepity-bleep!”

    Let’s foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie, well

    When you gonna have that baby?

    When you gonna have that foal?

    When you gonna listen up and heed my plea: “Let’s roll!”

    Let’s foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie, well

    I told my friends that you would foal real soon

    But, Susie, baby, you sing another tune

    Let’s foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie, you gotta foal now

    Let’s foal, little Susie, please foal

    Let’s foal, little Susie, please foal

    This waiting isn’t so hot, I beg “Foal!” but you say “Not!”

    I’m losing sleep, my eyes are red, my nerves are just about shot

    Let’s foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie, well

    When you gonna have that baby?

    When you gonna have that foal?

    When you gonna listen up and heed my plea: “Let’s roll!”

    Let’s foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie

    Please foal, little Susie!

    And if that ain’t enough Everly Brothers for ya, there’s also this:

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, happiness.

    Hello, nervousness.

    I think I’m a-gonna cry-y.

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, nightly rest.

    Hello, sleeplessness.

    I feel like I could di-ie.

    Bye bye, my sleep, goodby-ye.

    Where is my baby

    A foal so new.

    That mare looks happy.

    I sure am blue.

    She’s got my baby

    She keeps it in.

    Goodbye to night’s sleep

    That might have been.

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, happiness.

    Hello, nervousness.

    I think I’m a-gonna cry-y.

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, nightly rest.

    Hello, sleeplessness.

    I feel like I could di-ie.

    Bye bye, my sleep, goodby-ye.

    I’m a-through with sleeping.

    I’m a-through with naps.

    I’m through with-a countin’

    The sheep that pass

    And here’s the reason

    That I’m so free:

    My lovin’ maa-aare

    Won’t foal for me.

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, happiness.

    Hello, nervousness.

    I think I’m a-gonna cry-y.

    I think I’m a-gonna cry-y.

    Bye bye, sleep.

    Bye bye, nightly rest.

    Hello, sleeplessness.

    I feel like I could di-ie.

    Bye bye, my sleep, goodby-ye.

    Bye bye, my sleep, goodby-ye.

    Bye bye, my sleep, goodby-ye.

    Still with me?  There’s always Elvis:

    Are you restless tonight,

    Do you think it’s tonight?

    Are you ready, has labor begun?

    Does your memory stray to that long-ago day

    When you last foaled and knew how ’twas done?

    Do the teats in your udder seem ready to burst?

    Do you gaze at your flanks now and wonder what hurts?

    Is your croup filled with pain, shall I rub you again?

    Tell me, dear, are you restless tonight?

    And also, too:

    It’s now or never, that foal won’t wait

    Lie down, my darling, and parturate

    Tomorrow will be too late

    I”m going crazy! Don’t make me wait!

  7. Strummerson

    Stand Up For Bastards (as best as I remember it through the haze and the embarrassment)

    I never knew my father

    My mother, she died young

    I was raised by some uncle

    Who was almost always drunk

    Spot on my 13th birthday

    I started my first job

    Running errands and deliveries

    for the creeps in the local mob

    Then I turned from crime to politics

    but my politics were a crime

    I began by demanding justice

    I ended up doing time

    Now I’m working as a bouncer

    ’til I finish my degree

    I write sacred psalms of protest

    someday I’ll learn to sing

    CHORUS:

    Now, God, stand up for bastards

    Now, God, stand up for scum

    If everyone is truly sacred

    Why are some blessed while the others are shunned

    Now, God, stand up for bastards

    Now, God, stand up for me

    Your world is spinning faster and faster

    The head is aching but the heart still beats

    No woman has ever loved me

    quite the way that I desire

    Once I nearly married

    but she turned out to be a liar

    Of course she was a beauty

    and her voice was always sweet

    but she stole much more than money

    and she left me in the street

    I cannot be your prophet

    who will set you on your way

    I’d invite you to share a meal with me

    But I don’t know how I’d pay

    I may never be the poet

    who will teach you how to pray

    But every morning I chant praises

    just to get me through the day

    Repeat CHORUS

    OUTRO:

    So sing your sorrow and dance your joy

    Sing for tomorrow and dance your joy

    Sing your horror and dance your joy

    Sing out Halleluja and dance your joy

    Sing your sorrow and dance your joy

    Sing for tomorrow and dance your joy

    Sing your horror and dance your joy

    Sing out Halleluja and dance your joy

  8. HappyinVT

    the first reading of this?:

    So lay down, you Moose

    Your pens do let loose

    I really am a perv.

  9. Chris Blask

    The Christmas I was 16 was the first after my Normal Middleclass Suburban Family life had come apart. The spring divorce with promises of adding a new branch to the family experience was becoming clear to rather be a simply matter of losing my father and my home.

    I could not afford Christmas presents that year so I wrote poems instead, typed on rice paper, for people who mattered to me.

    This is one of them.

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