<u>Tanka Toys</u>

Spring rain on golf course
Crack of tee shots in the mist
Japanese poet
Grabs brush and ink; quickly puts
A Tiger in his tanka

The golfer’s parents
A marriage of gold and brown
Gray October frost
At the tip of autumn leaves
They are lovely, dark and deep


Whoops!

"I hang my head
Wish I was dead
Forgot this thread
Was rhymed," he said.

"What now to do
But seppuku?"

[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited April 30, 2002).]

THE NEGLECTED CRITIC

I always know a better way
to write the things they try me with:
“Good Lord, it's bad enough you play
with rhyme; why must you steep in myth
the common tryst, a lovelorn toff
and his Lady Tart, as if the throngs
of gods and goddesses got off
on human lust?” But the ding-dongs
will never listen. They ignore
my intellect, my wit, my prized
experience—they write; they bore.
You'd think that I've been demonized!
BANNED POST

BUILDING A SONNET


This will be the first line. There, it's done!
It wasn't hard to write, and now line two
continues in the spirit of line one.
Behold, I'm on line four. I wish I knew
the way to throttle quickly past line five
since by the time a poet writes line six
his engine ought to be in overdrive.
And now I'll toss the eighth into the mix,
the turning point, the volta, so line nine
can start another thought suggested by
the notions one-through-eight tried to define.
The twelfth prepares the couplet's final sigh:
If only, couplets tell us, there were time,
we'd live, we'd love, we'd worship, and we'd rhyme.



[This message has been edited by Roger Slater (edited May 01, 2002).]

THE IMPATIENT READER

A first line? Piece of cake!
A second's easy, too.
But then, for Heaven's sake,
just give it up! You're through.

BUILDING UPON IT

Recall his first critique: “What have you done?
You must discard those trite beloved's in lieu
of common speech; say Baby, or Big One.
Beware the metaphor that isn't new.
You say that Aristotle is alive;
then, 'brother, can you spare a dime?'—please fix
this overwrought, slack newbie kind of jive.
Resist the impulse to half-bake your mix.”

Remember, your riposte was asinine:
“Could you please find another mind to buy?
Your quotient's showing. Many have feared mine.”
—you thought your share of wit could terrify.

He's a bold lover, but he wastes his time
striving to love and worship what you rhyme.



BANNED POST

<u>For Michael</u>


If you've drunk Sapporo
I know what you've been through
andioxyfluoro-
carbons deep in you:
twenty fluid ounces of high-grade seppuku.

Wild Bill, new member asked about the stars...and Svein mentioned writing a poem and so:


I wonder about the stars
lined under a person's name.
Do they perhaps enlarge
the hopeful poet's brain?
What could it mean
when you see the stars amass?
Is it the more stars are seen
The more you kiss that person's @$$?

I'm just of one star stature
Lowly but hopeful poet
Explain to me "sphere nature"
I don't want to blow it.

I've noticed hob knobbery
forgive me if I say
I mean no poetic snobbery
I've only come to play...

So I ask for revelation
For I couldn't just suppose
that on forum relations
Is it okay to brown nose?

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif

merrily merrily merrily...
ha ha hee hee ho ho!

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/biggrin.gif




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 02, 2002).]

Star speculation

I think indeed they must,
Enlarge the poets brain,
For they sprinkle their stardust,
On we who write in vain.

If you'd like a galaxy
start out just the same as we:
post and read and read and post;
some day you may have the most.

special people


Again I arrive
the right place the right time
hoping to survive
the repartee rhyme

those names with those stars
you’re speaking of sneetches
they wear them on thars
for their numerous speeches

I’ve come with questions
on how I shall manage
to post direct dissentions
to those stars’ disparage

but speak out I must
or a wimp I’ll be called
but how can I trust
you won’t be appalled?


------------------
zz

Mel -

As dusk transforms to crystal night
the flickering stars appear,
but quickly would I bolt in fright
were you to kiss my rear.

Hopefully, as stars increase,
the beauty of the view
grows also, thus creating peace
in everyone's milieu.

But as I ponder pensively,
deep in creative thought,
epiphany surprises me -
I merely post a lot.

Jerry




[This message has been edited by Robert Swagman (edited May 02, 2002).]

Why stop at galaxies, when there's the universe?
Woops, I've hit a wormhole, now I'm going in reverse.

Jerry (Robert)?,

A sparkly post! Oh my!
I'm impressed with your poetic reply!
But why should you fear,
lips puckered near
your derriere
Unless..
too much hair?


[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 02, 2002).]

mel-- I wondered that too?!
why he wouldn't want two lips
on his ass of peeew
with hands on my hips
I'd bend over-- for you :P

------------------
zz

[This message has been edited by zbaby (edited May 02, 2002).]

Scintillate,scintillate, globial vivific
Please cheer everybody,
This poem is terrific!

[This message has been edited by kiwi (edited May 02, 2002).]

<u>Stars In Their Eyes</u>

Who understands the stars above,
and from where their gifts arise?
For when they twinkle - is it love
when they sparkle in our eyes?

They fall at random, so it seems,
then plummet all at once
and where we were so much bereft;
now they hammer us on the bonce.

Carol,

I have no wish for all that space
a galaxy seems a lonesome place.
Does writing poetry really grace
such a power on those who trace
their origins back to that first post
The winner is, who writes the most?
So I sit here and eat my toast,
write a plethora of poetry so I can boast
I'm a God of my own galaxy!
What should structure matter to me,
or metaphor, or simile.
Throw it all in and see
If a poem shall come to be?

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif





[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 03, 2002).]

zz,

I think that you have mistook
what I meant, now look
I didn't come here
to kiss anyone's rear.
If you feel so inferior
enough to smooch a posterior
I wouldn't try to stop
you. But did you have to drop
your pants like a goon?
We're talking about the stars, not the moon.



[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 03, 2002).]

Hey mel… whatcha ya doin’ sittin’ and stewin’?
Did you think that poem was your perfect shoe in?
Or should I lament, “Oh, what have I done?
I blundered and bantered to the wrong one!?”

Wasn’t it you? Whose words can be quoted,
on becoming more derriere devoted??
“Is it the more stars are seen the more you kiss that person’s @$$?”
Forgive me, but for that I thought you had brass.

In addition to that, you had to ask;
“Is it okay to brown nose?” as part of the task,
of “lowly but hopeful poets” who “don’t want to blow it”.
So forgive me again, when I tell you to stow it.

I ain’t kissing ass, hairy or not,
to get attention from this literal lot
of overblown babblers who think they are it,
cause they count syllables, check rhymes and call it wit.

Now what I am saying, is I wouldn’t mind
two puckered lips smackin’ my behind.
Stars or no stars under your name,
I’d welcome the smooch just the same.


------------------
zz



[This message has been edited by zbaby (edited May 03, 2002).]

CRITIQUE

I like this very much, but you should cut
everything that follows stanza three,
maybe change the second yet to but,
eliminate that pompous royal we,
then think about the meter. Are you sure
those anapests you favor don't produce
a sort of sing-song bounciness that pure
iambic verse could banish or reduce?

You might just try this as a villanelle,
or better yet, a series of haikus.
Remember, poet: always show, don't tell.
And there's a ton of padding here I'd lose.

I've seen your other work and thus surmise
this poem will turn out fine once you revise.

long days have passed
since I've been here last
I've missed you all a lot
the poem bits
and Slaters' crits
which are always on the dot


Gabrielle Joy Eleonora



[This message has been edited by joyeleonora (edited May 03, 2002).]

zz,

SO! You think you have me in a corner
stuck in a spot, like little Jack Horner.
Used my own words to prove your
point, but opened an interesting door.
So zzbaby shall we explore:

You seem quite elated
even fixated,
at the thought of lips pressed
when you are undressed
on your dimpled cheeks
by any manner of freaks.

If you bare your bottom willy nilly
not only will you look quite silly,
but by exposing and trying to tease
you're gonna end up with a disease.




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 03, 2002).]

With so many mentions,
I will think that you care
to keep the attentions,
on my derriere.

You have me undressing
for this point of a kiss;
With whom you are messing
you are quite amiss.

I seek not to corner
nor open the doors,
to that demon named Horner,
persona of yours.

I’d advise that mad face
to move right along,
and find that dark place
where demons belong.

As for catching disease
through some cyber-lipped freak,
I can assert with full ease,
that the argument’s weak.



------------------
zz

ZZ,
http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif


I assure you I really don't care
how fixated you are on your derriere.
But you were the one that made mention
of how lips and butts held your attention.
You describe me as a demon, dark and upset.
Dear Baby we've not even met!
And you've already dropped your drawers
and now you tell me, in essence: Up yours?
Come now, this is just a game
do we have to stoop to this name
calling, and third grade debate.
*yawn* I'm getting bored and it's late.

Without much prompting from me
you mentioned asskissing with glee.
Of course in cyberspace its true
you can smooch butt without turning blue
and rot from disease,
or catch someones fleas.
Yet it seems not much of an illusion
for me to come to the conclusion
That you're not picky who kisses your prat,
You want to take issue with that?

Maybe you should say uncle now,
Instead of having a cyber cow?

*all in good fun*

Wink wink




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 03, 2002).]

but mel?! I'm really having a blast
seeing exactly how long I can last.
Uncle is something I must not say!
It's the sole rule of that game that they play,
when needing to have the very last word.
Retorts and rebuts with only absurd
"you did it, not me"s as if that would end,
the fight that began with barely a friend.

I'm tired alright, but not at the thought
of using my brain against an onslought
of buts, and asses, (and prats?) and such,
aiming to paint me as nothing much
more than some crazy slut,
but,

thanks for workout!

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/wink.gif




------------------
zz

Okay then its been fun
are you saying you're done?
Or would you like to defend
Whats in question:
Your rear end?
I've not even begun...
Are you sure you don't want to run?
You seem winded old fellow
are you turning a bit yellow?




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 03, 2002).]

Roger Slater wrote:


Which I thought was quite wonderful. But nobody will ever see it, because it was buried by a space-consuming (and increasingly juvenile) doggerel food fight. So I'm bringing it back.

[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited May 04, 2002).]

Michael,

"Which I thought was quite wonderful. But nobody will ever see it, because it was buried by a space-consuming (and increasingly juvenile) doggerel food fight. So I'm bringing it back."

I agree Roger's post has flair!
but I got caught up in babe's derriere,
that subject was just too fun.
If you don't like food fights, run!

I am sorry for taking up precious time
but Michael weren't you supposed to reply in rhyme?


What's that on your nose that I see,
looks like a brown spot to me. http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/wink.gif

Okay I'm doing too much telling
I certainly hope I've not been smelling
up the board with poor poetry wit.
Just playing you know, that's it.




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 04, 2002).]

<u>A Sonnet for Melalope</u>

The reason I acted so crass
is I'm tired of jokes about ass.
The stuff that you throw up each day
is banal, with nothing to say
and meter that turns bad to verse -
an iambic insult - a curse!
Your problem right now is you laze,
you're wasting your midnights and days
on trading bad insults that show
no care to write poems that glow.
I hope you remember next time
the rhythm as well as the rhyme.
But an empty atonal boast?
I'll skewer you with my riposte!!


Mel - I'll be unrhymed again. The above is not great (too many end stops and not enough enjambment, even for light verse), but it is a sonnet and it is (more or less) iambic tetrameter. It does say something, it's not awful, it doesn't take up so much space that nothing else gets noticed, I did learn by writing it (never really worked in IT before), there are some word-play puns, and hopefully somebody will enjoy reading it. Let me challenge you to focus on semi-real writing instead of endless blather, and reply with a similar sonnet. You said some time back you wanted to learn metric verse - prove it. Use iambic tetrameter - it's good for light verse - ta-TUM ta-TUM ta-TUM ta-TUM. I used a jerky aabbccddeeff couplet rhyme scheme, but you can use that or the more classical abbacddceffegg or ababcdcdefefgg. Ideally (I didn't do it well in mine) a "turn" occurs after line 8, and the sonnet changes in tone or attitude, and the "envoi" in the last two lines has a little summary or kick in it (I did this part somewhat better) which leaves 'em laughing or crying, as the case may be. I dare ya.

Michael

Roger, I must quite agree
with Michael. Let the masses see
your poem. Run it up the flagpole;
do not bury it in this slag hole.
Here the standard's rather low,
or should I say, it will be so
if one's perspective cannot soar
much higher than his derriere.
Your arse poetica is true art,
a well-done sonnet of the sort
in Light or ByLine magazine.
But lest it seem your ass I've kissed,
there is a rhyme, alas! you've missed.
I'm sure you know the one I mean.

Carol

For Michael..

Michael, dear you do so inspire me
I’ve never seen this light before!
But did you know in formal poetry
Writing can become such an awful chore?
ta Tum ta Tum ta Tum ta Tum
Reminds me of something quite queer
An ugly brown cow chewing gum
Or perhaps banging an old steer?
So now my glee is at an end…
No more butt jokes sadly its done.
I’m chained to this meter I can’t pretend
That I am having too much fun.
But if you prefer again to talk about ass,
I won’t get upset or say you’ve no class.


Michael
you can try not
to be such a stick in
the mud. Try one of these maybe?
Chicken?

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif

Just a note back to my sloppy rhyme!
Isn't the point here to have a good time?
I didn't read a rule that said
we must use meter, honestly I'd rather be dead!
In fact if I can quote what I read this is true:
Carol said: "Do whatever you want to do."

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif J/k




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 04, 2002).]

PREAMBLE

Carol, I believe I've spotted where
the rhyme repeated, didn't really rhyme,
and so I wrote a fix. For those who care
to let me further waste their precious time,
I'm posting here a dutiful revision
wherein it can be stated as a fact
my clumsy rhymes are mated with precision:
though uninspired, they are now exact.
I thank you so much for your high opinion,
and Michael's too. You both are far too kind.
I know who rules the roost -- I'm just a minion--
so when the Duchess praises me I find
her compliments can serve to make me feel good
(although I know my poems are far from real good).

CRITIQUE


I like this very much, but you should cut
everything that follows stanza three,
maybe change the second yet to but,
eliminate that pompous royal we,
then think about the meter. Are you sure
those anapests you favor don't create
a sort of sing-song bounciness that pure
iambic verse could help you mitigate?

You might just try this as a villanelle,
or better yet, a series of haikus.
Remember, poet: always show, don't tell.
And there's a ton of padding here I'd lose.

I've seen your other work and thus surmise
this poem will turn out great --once you revise.

<u>Fourteen Ways To Rhyme a Sonnet</u>

It’s man and cat and quiet house and Dell
aligned to face the rhymer’s challenge; tell
the world I’m more than pretty villanelle
and somewhat clever face - I’ll write and spell
and clamber over iambs, then rapelle
my way down fourteen lines to yell
out to the others – see how, in one swell
single-rhyming foop, I rang the bell -
(some might say I sound the doleful knell
in sonnet’s citadel: the infidel
is at the gates and he’s got lines that smell
like pure poetic masturbation) - well -
now that I’ve rode through metric shot and shell
I fear I’ll hear again – that’s cute as hell!

change "I fear" to "I've faith" in the last line... then it will work .... for me!! http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/wink.gif



------------------
zz

LOYAL RHYMES

From many vain attempts I know quite well
that writing one-rhyme sonnets can be hell,
especially in these days when folks rebel
from writing rhyme at all. But then, why dwell
on the judgment or the taste of the infidel?
The hungry listen for the dinner bell
with closed eyes to enhance their sense of smell,
and what I'm hungry for is rhymes that dwell
and do not just ring once, then say farewell,
but keep on coming back until we swell
with their abundance. Though rhyme is a prison cell,
I don't resent the warden's personnel.
They view this jail more like a fine hotel,
so why not take a room and stay a spell?


--Bob

<u>THE WORLD POETRY FEDERATION ANNOUNCES:</u>


WHEN I MEET UP WITH JOLLY ROGER SLATER
IN THE EAST COAST SONNET DEATH MATCH HERE
AT THIS ERATOSPHERE, AN ALLIGATOR
COULD TAKE LESSONS FROM THE WAY THAT I SEVERE-
LY TEAR APART HIS STANZAS, RIP THE HEART,
STILL BEATING, FROM THE OCTAVE – THEN I’LL NAIL
(JUST LIKE IN JAIL) THE SESTET, AND I’LL START
TO NIT-PICK AT THE COUPLETS WORD BY PALE
AND LIFELESS WORD: I NEED REVENGE, YOU SEE -
GET EVEN FOR LAST MONTH, WHEN I WAS KING
OF THE SESTINA AND HE CAME AFTER ME
AND HIT ME WITH A SIX-PACK IN THE RING.
SO GET SET FOR BLOODSHED, SEX AND SONNET
(BUT I WOULDN’T BET MY BOTTOM DOLLAR ON IT).


[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited May 05, 2002).]

Cinquains
Do not take up
That much time, but the rhyme
Is the place that can likely trip you
It’s true

I’m new
To metrical
Beats and linear feats
That astound the eye and the ear
Its clear

To me
Though patterns I
Shun, I don’t want to run
So tell me how can a sonnet
Be fun?

ta Tum?
excuse me: ta-
TUM, or TUM ta ta TUM?
To write one I think you need some
good RUM.




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 06, 2002).]

Mel

I just read the insult here,
your libelous comment on my rear.
I shamedly confess to you
what you deduced is really true;
but I deduce from your ta - TUM
that you've already hit the rum.

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif


[This message has been edited by Robert Swagman (edited May 05, 2002).]

Revised with new feets and beats? Am I getting closer now?

Are sonnets really such a breeze to write?
I’m thinking that it’s not worth a big fight.
Fourteen lines with rhymes written nice and tight,
should not take poetic muscles and might.
To come up with a poem that in my sight
one can compose without being too bright.
But if we look at a different light
on my past posts a poet’s ugly blight...
speaking of butts seemed to quickly ignite,
flames of upset and disdain from a height,
that almost convinced me to take my flight.
I’m not even sure I’m doing this right...
Hairy asses I can discuss all night.
Although some may think the subject is trite.

*breaking the sonnet habit...* http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif

I don't
need rum to rhyme
about butts. 'Cause I'm nuts
enough to enjoy something hairy,
scarry?

HEY you
sonnet lovers
like rabbits, a habit
to multiply? What's there to gain?
cinquain?

Step up?
It's fun! the beat
is 2 4 6 8 2,
the rhyme is there, not to scare ya.
Dare ya.




[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited May 06, 2002).]

ANONYMOUS TIP


I knew who wrote me, though it was not signed.
A friend who wanted only to be kind
but never noticed that his words maligned
me more than all my enemies combined.
A man who'd been my guest, politely dined
beneath my roof, but in his note seemed blind
to how his words might place me in the bind
of having to react, though disinclined,
to what his words had planted in my mind.
I trusted her. Our lives were intertwined
with love that God's best angels had designed
and eighteen years of marriage had refined.
My friendship, not my love, was undermined.
I burned the note and left my friend behind.