http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtm...ML/000590.html

Please post here:
Anything you submitted to Poetry but was rejected, or
anything you would have submitted, but didn't get around to.

Here's my entry:

Under the Weather

I went to see the doctor since
I wasn’t feeling fit.
My head was hurting and my hands
were shaking quite a bit.
He asked me if I drank a lot
(the nosy little git).
I answered, “No, in fact I spill
the greater part of it.”

http://www.davidgwilymanthony.co.uk/

LOL - I seem to recall you posting that one here; or have I read it in your book?

An oyster oozes calcium
to hide its irritation.
Likewise you have often been
a source of inspiration.

Duck Soup

The green light Gatsby spotted at the end
of Daisy Duck still permeates my dreams;
a man enamored of a waterfowl seems
odd at best, perhaps around the bend,
but I’ve been there as well; seen love transcend
the barriers of species and small schemes
and laws, and – despite the silly screams –
there’s really nothing there that should offend.

Fitzgerald’s genius wove most skillfully;
from those who paddle on against the current
to oafs, well-bred, and flasks of wine, and how
the very rich are not like you and me.
Jay Gatsby made himself the drake he wasn’t,
and wilderness turned Paradise enow.

LOL! That's Daisy's DOCK you moron!

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
Oh how wonderful you are,
up above the world you're it
but here on earth you're only shit.

Nah, it isn't mine, wish it was, it would have won.

Here's one I shoulda posted but didn't, ah well, there's always next year.

A Day in the Life.

1)The Poet at Morn.

I will arise and go now
and go to Inisfree.
but might lie in till daybreak,
'tis only half past three.

2)The Poet at Noon

I think that I will never see
a poem lovely as a tree,
although when I have drink I swear
I've written some that might compare.

3) The Poet at Night.

Now I lay me down to sleep
and pray to God my soul to keep,
and if I die before I wake
to give it back! For heaven's sake.

Jim




[This message has been edited by Jim Hayes (edited April 10, 2006).]

I posted this with three others I can't post here, as I've submitted them elsewhere or soon will:

Car Ride

Although he loves distractions, still he minds
when Brenda spots his wayward eye: the love
he winks at bottle-blondes, the sluts he finds
adorable with bras he can’t remove.

The other day he gave a girl a mark
out of ten. Brenda’s fury left him shaken.
When streetwalkers from Spoule to Shittiebark
called him by name, he whispered “You’re mistaken,”

but tears came streaming down poor Brenda’s cheeks.
“I’ve given you my life. Now make me come,
right now, in this back seat. It’s not been weeks
or months, but years. Oh save me from this doom!”

He got down to it seven times and proved
his worth, while mourning girls he wished he’d loved.


* the end-words in this poem come from Shakespeare’s 116th sonnet, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…”


[This message has been edited by winter (edited April 08, 2006).]

I shouldn't post my entries because they're all out again.

[This message has been edited by Terese Coe (edited April 08, 2006).]

These are the pieces that were rejected last year.


Artistic Resignation

Objective reason may support
an inkling that at last I should
admit my fingers are too short
to play this damn piano good.

****
I Call My Hamster Hamish

I call my hamster Hamish,
because it’s what his nameish.
He isn’t rich or fameish…
but damn few hamsters are.

We feed him leaves of lettuce;
he never has upsettuce;
a pile of straw his bedduce -
though HE prefers “boudoir”.

He feels it’s quite a dealio
to sprint inside a wheelio.
But, though he runs with zealio-
nly thinks he’s traveled far.

****

Indigo Bunting

Kindly consider the indigo bunting...
feathered so brightly, too tiny for hunting.
Now for the shocker - that wonderful blue,
scientists say, is a fraudulent hue.
Really they're black as a buzzard - it’s true.
Say ...do you think they might know?

People are said to be God's favored creatures.
So we are told by our parents and preachers.
Won’t we be more than a little indignant,
if we should find that our ballyhooed pigment
really is all an illusory figment?
Lord, you can bet we’ll eat crow.


Bugsy




[This message has been edited by Lightning Bug (edited April 10, 2006).]

Bugsy,

It's really quite a shamish
They didn't take your Hamish.

But mostly I just hope that if you ever submit again you will include your "About the Author" poem for the "Contributors" section. They are fools if they don't print that one, even if they don't accept any of your other poems.

epigone