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Martin Elster 12-02-2008 12:54 AM

Quote:

Originally posted by Catherine Tufariello:
Ha, John! I love it. Don't mess with a poet's kid.

These are all great fun. I imagine some of you know this one already, but X.J. Kennedy's "A Curse on a Thief" (second poem from the bottom of the page) seems to belong here.
That's a brilliant poem, and so are the others on that page. Thanks for posting the link, Catherine.

Martin


Rose Kelleher 12-02-2008 01:37 PM

Someone's probably mentioned "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" already, right? It makes most of ours look like pie and ice cream.

Editing in: OMG, thank you for that Clive James poem! Now that is deliciously cackle-worthy!

Here's an old attempt of mine.

The Difference Between You and a Snake

The rattlesnake who wriggles in the heat of the Mojave,
pressed flat against its floor as he goes foraging for eggs,
doesn’t knowingly act lowly, or stoop before the snobby.
He only crawls because he has no legs.

The Congolese constrictor, whose appetites addict her,
balloons about the belly when she swallows a gazelle.
She resorts to self-inflation so starvation won't afflict her.
It isn't just hot air that makes her swell.

The adder of South Africa who puffs when he is peeved,
inelegantly lashing at whatever's in his path,
is frightened for his life and justifiably aggrieved.
There really is a reason for his wrath.

The cobra coyly coiling in the shade in southern Asia,
could kill a hapless human with a single bitter bite.
Though he oh-so-shyly sidles with a stealth that would amaze ya,
he has no cause to fear an honest fight.


[This message has been edited by Rose Kelleher (edited December 02, 2008).]

RCL 12-02-2008 02:08 PM

That's nasty Rose, but the Seuss nastier! I vent as best I can.

Dean DeSoto

Whenever Dean DeSoto showed his face,
We people in the cubicles would wince:
He was a failed professor, a disgrace—
And hack administrator ever since.

And he would swagger proudly when he walked
Within the labyrinths where teachers worked.
Our anxious angers smoldered as he stalked
And spied on everyone. He even lurked

Behind our classroom doors to ambush us
When we would make our charges laugh or grin.
Red with wrath, he’d rage and even cuss
If students liked a class—to him, a sin.

But on we worked, endured his false reports,
Till Dean DeSoto cut our pay. We said,
“Fuck you!” And as he gagged out gross retorts,
We drilled a round of dumdums through his head.


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