In Peter Coghill's Musing on Mastery thread here:

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbcount.cgi?expath1=Forum3&expath2=&topic=000692& ty pe=&number

wendy v has posted a Billy Collins poem which cries out for parody.

Those who think the following is worth extending are invited to do so; if not, to start new chain poems of their own.

Huevos Guillermitos, Over Easy

A poem's not a test to pass -
there's always time to make one art.
Think of tenth-grade science class,
and clumsily incise your heart.

A poem's not a bill to pay
(though pros must sometimes be on time.)
It's always better to delay
submission till you fix that rhyme.

A poem's not a business card -
expect no calls suggesting lunch.
The line is long to be Ronsard;
of Poet-Princes, there's a bunch.

A poem's not a shopping-list -
just the right words can't be bought.
They'll come when editors insist
their own words better suit your thought.

Your poem's not your Bill of Rights
proclaiming freedom from the rules
(as set by all the leading lights
who've managed to have sired schools.)

A poem's not a printing-press -
it cannot duplicate itself.
But poets can, so nonetheless,
a single book becomes a shelf.



[This message has been edited by Cal Reinhardt (edited May 27, 2008).]

You don't have to be gay
to understand this poem,
or Italian,
or Walt Whitman,
or a tender

little vegan,
missing limbs,
rather dim,
or even

Czechoslovakian,
haunted by
the light
switch

you can't find,
the humming sound
in your hive,
or even a little
short on drive
as you water ski

across its mind,
seeking shore,
defying fools,
wide eyed
and compromised

by molecules
and mandrake roots,
mixed
as a mixed nut,
astute
as a globed fruit,

but it can't
hurt.

--

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



[This message has been edited by wendy v (edited May 26, 2008).]

This might be a bit more appropriate in the Drills and Amusements forum.

Nevertheless, a stanza...

A poem's not some daring feat
That garners gasps and long applause,
But rather, it's a work discreet
That warrants naught but hums and haws.

Yep, Drills and Amusements is where this belongs. I'll move it, but I'll leave it up here, closed, for a short while so people know it's been moved.

Maryann

I wrote a poem for all to see,
I thought they’d love its imagery.
The words I chose for stanza four
seemed the perfect metaphor.
For judicious alliteration
I held in much anticipation
all the praise that’d come my way;
such clever things I had to say.

Who knew they’d never notice how
with perfect meter I’d endowed
each line with five iambic feet.
And what about my great conceit?
They only criticized my rhyme
and claimed I didn’t take the time
to use my spell and grammar check -
so they can all go straight to heck!

Ah yes, a former member at the Round-Up used to be into this sort of thing. I was never that enamoured of it, but de gustibus and all that.

Quincy

A poem's not a magic spell
eradicating nature's laws,
but sometimes if you do it well
the laws of nature seem to pause.

This poem had a glorious spree
but gulped down one too many whiskeys.
"Oh Lord!", it cried, "What's this I see?
The Devil has sired dual Halitskys!"

All players have won dinner for two at a wonderful new Chinese restaurant just opened by Li and Lang Po.

But special mention must be made (so far) of:

wendy -

That is so good it can only be commemorated by a limerick in which endive, wendyv, and a confused vegan all play leading roles. If I come across one, I'll post it in your honor.

Roger -

Your ear-hand coordination is superb. Would you care to essay the endive/wendyv limerick mentioned above? I have no doubt you'd actually be able to succeed.



[This message has been edited by Cal Reinhardt (edited May 27, 2008).]

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out
--Billy Collins, Introduction to Poetry

A poem's not a place where you
Can drop a mouse and watch it run,
But if you dropped the poet who
Composed that stuff, and sealed it, too,
You might find you would have more fun.