Two would have been greedy. I must say it's just as well the magazine editors over here are too posh and idle to go a-googling. But it wasn't just Pope. Marlowe stole great lumps of Spenser. I think it was Eliot who pointed it out. I've just been working on a poem called 'Fatso in the Red Suit'. Great title, huh? I pinched it from Matthew Sweeney.

Google this one if you can.

News Headlines

Kent dinner ladies set to get the chop,
Wallasey man escapes by a hare’s breath,
Seventeen times Cassandra cheated death,
Posh outburst catches hubby on the hop,
Judge opts for hanging on a one-off basis,
Prince William pops the question in his braces.


[This message has been edited by John Whitworth (edited August 01, 2008).]

U.S. Democracy

Elections here are always fun and games,
real issues getting very little press.
A lot is made of how contenders dress
and rumors of their secret life with dames.

So when our leader’s failures are detailed,
it’s really the electorate who’ve failed.



[This message has been edited by Mary Moore (edited August 01, 2008).]

A Dissenting Voice

There is a certain grace to fourteen lines;
sufficient space to sketch a story, turn
it all about, extract a truth, and earn
some credit for the way it intertwines.

Snelsonnetry, however, dumbs things down,
and caters to man's ancient urge to clown.


The Hot New Designer's Worst Nightmare

I wonder what would happen if I'm inned;
named as a closet straight, unqueer, not gay,
who never meant the things I always say -
shamed by some sleazoid tabloid bag of wind.

And then, of course, the ultimate attack:
I hear, my dear, that he’s not even black!




[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited August 01, 2008).]

Proportion

What if my feet, though average in size
should look like plates beneath my tiny frame?
Ought I wear skirts to hide my clownish shame
or exercise to gain more powerful thighs?

Perhaps long shoes with daggers in their tips
will emphasise the swagger of my hips.

_______
Rotation

While walking with her dog a woman saw
a cat drive past in a Mercedes Benz.
The dog gave chase. It wanted to be friends
but fell beneath its wheels and chased no more.

The woman claimed insurance from the cat
and bought a wheel to exercise her rat.


_____

Salvation

What price the world when blue skies are no more?
When man-made mist casts shadow on the sun,
to modify the damage we have done.
Will any song-bird even out the score?

They say white skies are all we can expect
once memories of sunshine have been wrecked.



[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited August 02, 2008).]

Bob and Me

Cows are so moony, don't you sometimes think?—
That's what I said to Bob, and he said, "Bud,
It comes from too much chewing of the cud."
Bob wasn't kidding—didn't even blink.

Just then the cow beside us let off gas.
Bob and me laughed, and I said, "Pass the grass."

Hi Folks,

I'm lovin' it. The Dutch monopoly on the snelsonnet is no more! (Kind of you, though, Roy, calling them Royal and all. Something in the name, maybe?)

John: Prince William in "braces"? In NA, the default assumption would be braces on teeth . . . but I'm guessing you mean what we could call "suspenders" here. Either way . . . disturbing image!!!

Mary: Personally, I blame it all on Wolf Blitzer. Which, come to think of it, is an interesting rhyme. Hmm . . .

Michael: I was hoping that you'd weigh in here! For what it's worth, "A Dissenting Voice" would be my first candidate for WikiP exposure as representative of the newly born English snelsonnet. We probably should take a vote when we've got a collection built up here, but anyway, here's to nominating. As for your designer . . . well yes, Darling, but I wonder if you couldn't work in the thought that he isn't even the new black.

Janet: It's a generational thing, but I grew up listening to The Smiths (you can enjoy them here ). So I start into your first poem, and immediately I can hear Morrissey singing

Everyday, you must say
oh, how do I feel about my shoes?
They make me awkward and plain . . .

and you have my COMPLETE sympathy. (That is, your narrator does. Ahem.) By the way, there's a wonderful Asimov (? I think) story about children on another planet who grow up never seeing the sun. There's one child in the class who was born on Earth, and naturally, she's the odd one out: she remembers things like blue skies and sunshine, and she's forever going on about them. One day, in a freak of weather, the clouds part, and the sun shines through. And so what do other children do? They lock her in a closet, until the rain starts again. Absolutely devastating story. I wish I could remember the title.

Mike: Moo!

Keep 'em coming folks. This is great stuff.

Steve C.


Editing back: Janet, what would we do without Google? It's Bradbury, not Asimov, the story is called "All Summer in a Day," and it's available to read online as a Word Doc here .



[This message has been edited by Stephen Collington (edited August 02, 2008).]

These were all headlines, more or less. Prince William's braces were on his trousers. Suspenders hold your socks up.

Stephen,
I don't want to frighten you but the "Boffins" have seriously had this up their sleeves for some time. They say we aren't ready for it yet but if Global Warming gets out of hand they can fine tune the system with a touch of perpetual cloud which will reflect back the heat and save plants etc. on earth. The "only disadvantage" will be that blue skies will disappear forever. "They" say this will cause a great deal of depression and therefore is something to be avoided unless it becomes essential.

Cheers.

I once read a great deal of Bradbury.
Janet

The Low Country

What business have you Netherlanders whittling
the sonnet down? I will not see it wrecked
by low types from Nijmegen or Utrecht!
It doesn’t need your Amsterdam belittling!

And don’t read snels aloud; these short-stack frolickings,
like all your lingo, sound like "a lot of bollockings"!
...
...

Dutchifying

I scanned my sonnets, hoping to convert
this one or that to stump proportions, snel.
To me such drastic cutting seems like hell:
Ten lines are “curtal”; six are more like curt.

Since when is two point three times six too much, man?
No way six trumps fourteen, or I’m a Dutchman.
...
...

Decapitation

Back when I sometimes Deep End dunked a sonnet
a Tim or Alan often would suggest
I cut the octave, keep the nether best,
the last six lines. I’d say, “I’ll ponder on it.”

In truth I was — though this I left unsaid —
too squeamish to cut off a sonnet’s head.




[This message has been edited by Henry Quince (edited August 02, 2008).]

Henry, they're brilliant ;)