Are there subjects inappropriate to poetry -- too ordinary, too lackluster, too dull? My gut instinct is: no.

The poet Karl Shapiro raised this question in one of his classes, whereupon his students challenged him to write a decent poem about manhole covers. They were sure he'd never be able to do it. But look at the result:

MANHOLE COVERS

The beauty of manhole covers--what of that?
Like medals struck by a great savage khan,
Like Mayan calendar stones, unliftable, indecipherable,
Not like the old electrum, chased and scored,
Mottoed and sculptured to a turn,
But notched and whelked and pocked and smashed
With the great company names
(Gentle Bethlehem, smiling United States).
This rustproof artifact of my street,
Long after roads are melted away will lie
Sidewise in the grave of the iron-old world,
Bitten at the edges,
Strong with its cryptic American,
Its dated beauty.

-------------

Your challenge: write a good poem, a ponderable poem, about an unlikely topic of your choice. Or make it silly, what the hay?

You may also throw out a challenge to other members. Offer a topic you think is poetically impossible.

Some impossible topics for ya:

Toenails
Plastic Flowers
Used chewing gum
The computer mouse
Barfing
Drywall
Mouse droppings
Salad

(Or anything else your mind immediately rejects as a "proper" topic!)

I'm always inspired by toenails:

Ageless Epiphanies

Harvesting hair from my ears patiently,
I glimpse the young man that used to be me.

Tweezing the hairs from my imposing nose,
I know where the hair from my head now grows.

Clipping my toenails, now turned yellow,
I see that I’m a ripening fellow.

Eyeing the chicks with my one good eye,
I read their signs: Geezers Need Not Apply.



------------------
Ralph

I'm still laughing Ralph--

Grudge

I slept upon a rock and hay
Out in the barn, beside the dog.
My paramour, once blithe and gay
Swung at me with a fire log.
So what I spent at Bernie’s bar
The nugget that we both had saved?

Morningwise, she let me in
To peel my clothes; to bathe and shave.
I scalp a curl and hold it up.
Beyond the pane, the sun aloft
Finds the rim of a china cup
Her half drunk tea—it still feels warm.
I sweeten it with the nail I’d shorn.

Chewing Gum, But What About Our Time

I counted on bordome as my star chart
and placed the flavorless chewing gum

smack dab on the back of Vincent's chair
in hopes that our class would fall apart

when Mrs. Mailind, out teacher, singled me out
as the villain-- guilty of wasting her time,

as all the pretty girls passed notes
that I would die to read ,even now,

in my fourth
twenty-seventh year
on marvelous earth.






[This message has been edited by 2JR (edited December 07, 2001).]

The Bat

Oh, Die Fladermaus!
An opera as amusing
as fluffundramouse

<u>Bert, Ralph and Huey</u>


God depends
upon

a white tele
phone

coated with techni
colour yawns

beside the damp
loo roll.

We've studied many dinosaurs,
Both male and female sexes;
And tracked their spoors to foreign shores,
Yet still the question vexes,
Why God would give to carnivores
Those yellow toes of Rex's.

Whose cows these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To boff his Bessie in the snow.

My little horse must think me queer
To see me stop and call her dear,
And watches while I furtive make
My path approaching from the rear.

So happy to relieve the ache,
The craving only bovines slake,
I drop into a crumpled heap
Mid easy wind and downy flake.

The woods were lovely, dark and deep.
But I've a rendezvous to keep,
And miles to go before the sheep,
And miles to go before the sheep.

Whoa! That's an instant classic, Hugh!