Anagram--odies
 

Anagram--odies

Several years back we did a thread of parodies of some famous writers, one another, ourselves, where the title was the author’s name in an anagram. It was a lot of fun. I thought it might be fun to do it again. Anyone interested in some gentle spoofing?

Here’s an example from a Francis Heaney book:

AN E-MAIL
A. A. MILNE

Whatever I do, there’s always Pooh,
There’s always Pooh and Me.
“Let’s write an e-mail,” I say to Pooh.
“That sounds like a wonderful thing to do,”
He says. I say, “I think so too.”
“Let’s write it together,” says Pooh, says he.
“Let’s write it together,” says Pooh.

Donna - it's a great idea and I'm up for it. I was so determined to reply in kind - but so far I haven't had a minute to make one. I'll be back, I hope.

Fun! Shall give it a go.

Rudyard Kipling
 

RUDYARD KIPLING
Ling kip Durd Yar

Ling walked into a China tent
To order up some chow,
But all he saw was gruel and stew
Not fit to feed a sow.

He said it clear, he said it true,
“This place is just a dump-“
Ling kip ('Ling kip Durd Yar' to you)
cried, "pork belly is rump!”

He had a pair of chop-sticks poised,
For pickled cabbage leaf,
But all they had to serve that day
Was bloody British beef.

wan hued
 

W H Auden

His skin was quite fair,
Like his eyes like his hair -
As pale as a woolly merino.
So would it be rude
To call him wan-hued,
Or even perhaps an albino?

Basil, funny, put the title on top. Wan Hued, ha!

Susan, good one, had a good laugh over it!

Roger, where are you? This one's for you.

Gloater's...Er?

Mine can go higher and faster than yours,
and longer and better, you’ll see.
Yours will play catch up, while mine loops and soars
Translation; the winner is me!
You kids should take a step back, you know why?
Mine’s a lightning bolt, you could get hit!
On-your-mark-ready-set, GO! Where’s my fly?
Oh, she’s still in the box eating shit.



(after My Champion Bee)

Here's another Spherian poet

Martin Elster
Startle in REM

I wake up with a start, a stifled scream.
I sit up in my bed and look around,
assured myself that it was just a dream.
A crazy dream about my basset hound,
the lead dog in a scary sci-fi flick
about a world of evil, talking mutts;
all humans did was beg to fetch a stick,
or roll in shit, or sleep, or lick their butts.

I see Ol’ Rover lying on the floor
alert, despite his droopy eyes and ears.
He yawns, and then he says, “Good God, you snore!”
I think I better cut back on the beers.

Ezra Pound
 

EZRA POUND
Pez, around

The gilded phaloi of the Pez dispensers
are thrusting at the spring air.
Here is there naught of long odds
But an abundance of corn syrup,
A procession of Palm Oils, O Adipic Acid,
Fit for your flavor additives to dwell in.
Ezra, your thumb is upon us.

The Grape is upon the Cherry.
The children about us are hungry.

Susan, keep them coming, that was great!