[Zita Zenda]

How sweet of you to say, thank you!

A Comfort to Husbands

The old wives’ tale is very seldom true:
You can get the milk with an IOU.
The contract’s signed, and even bona fide,
now all you have to do is sneak and hide!

A Comfort to Wives

Admit to nothing, never, but know how
To budget shop and tenderize the cow
Meat that’s on sale. Remember, keep the ring
Upon your finger, that’s the only string.

A Discomfort to Boyfriends

Head’s up. That noise you hear is just her faking;
Her O is not for real –it’s poor lovemaking.

A Discomfort to Girlfriends

Your horse drinks from the same old sipping well
but ties his reigns at any old motel

A General Announcement

There is no universal sanction
against the art of self-expansion.

And Do Forget

What’s mine
Is mine



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

[EREME]

Hello - I'm new here and just a bit nervous. But here goes.
Some while ago, just before Christmastime, I broke my little finger, left hand. This gave rise to the following parodic sonnet. (The 'Z' in line 2 is, of course, the English 'Zed'.)

Sonnet: To my Little Finger

How do I need thee? Let me count the ways:
I need thee for the Q, the A, the Z,
And have to seek for other words instead
To type about Art's Quaquaversal Maze.
I need thee for arpeggios and scales.
When sipping china tea from china cup
I need thee pointing, delicately, up.
I need thee when my calculator fails.
And when at last the Festive Feast is o'er,
The lack of thee then shall I most bemoan -
Sans thee, how may I pull that chevron bone
To wish that life return to thee once more?
So many ways I need thee, yet I see -
To count them all I cannot count on thee.

[Carol Taylor]

Ereme, this is great! If you want critique on it I suggest launching it over at the Deep End, though I can't really find any nits to pick except that you might include the word "broken" in the title so you can do away with the explanation. Welcome aboard!

Carol

[Roger Slater]

I agree, it's quite wonderful. Is quaquaversal a real word? Not in my dictionary, but I'm not bothered. I recently had a similar experience with the little finger on my right hand, which remain a bit sore even now (six weeks later), but I failed to turn my suffering into art. Send this to Light Quarterly?

[Joe Aimone]

This is delightful, Ereme. I am sure that Robert is envious that even the parodies of Miss Barrett's chestnuts are better than those of his.

But as to Roger's wonder, which is not to say his poor finger, I suspect that "quaquaversal" is a neologism for aesthetes in re the mise en abime of the autotelic character of subjective universal judgement of the well wrought urn, among other objects of scholarly scrutiny.

Or it could be a word with common use to describe a fake doctor, in this case named Art, changing his mind so very often, for the common use of "maze" as a verb down South, in the mouth of my Grandma from Arkansas, God rest her soul and tongue, is, as my Webster's Third has it, "Chiefly Southern U.S. 1. To bewilder or astonish." But my maze--Shut my mouth!--is that a Yorkshire musician should speak with a Southern drawl. Nuff zed, I should guess, to you Neh Yawkehs.

[EREME]

Carol, Roger, Joe,
Gosh, thank you for your kind remarks - you certainly know how to make a person feel welcome!
Roger - what's Light Quarterly?
Joe - I'm neither that clever nor yet that devious! (Quaquaversal: dipping outwards in all directions from a centre; facing or bending all ways.)
All I did was hunt for a word that seemed to fit in with what I was writing about.
Thanks, all.
Ereme

[Clive Watkins]

Dear Ereme

I have just come across your delightful sonnet, "To my Little Finger". What a wonderfully amusing, inventive and skilful piece!

Best wishes!

Clive Watkins

[larisa]

I hesitate to post a mere impromptu sonnet in this exalted forum, but here goes:

Sonnet for a Sock Disappeared in the Dryer

So light, so fluffy, and so delicate,
You were so soft and pleasant on my feet -
Ah, memories that stay forever sweet
Of your white fibers (that ne'er shrank when wet)!
How tenderly you warmed my chilly toes,
How beautifully you adorned my heel -
I feel a sorrow that will never heal,
I'm weeping like a full-strength garden hose.
The dryer took you, long before your hour.
You disappeared into the gaping void
Beyond all time, from this world's cares withdrawn.
And I will weep for you, o Sockhood's flower;
All forms of happiness I will avoid,
For my white sock is now forever gone.


I apologize for the awkward points in the sonnet (namely, line 4 and line 13). It's hard to do this on the spur of the moment.

Larisa

[EREME]

If this is impromptu, larisa, then obviously it's a medium with which you are well familiar. As you say, you know where the weak spots are and, clearly, could polish them up with no difficulty; therefore there's little point in putting forward suggestions that probably wouldn't match up to your own ideas.
That said - heel/heal is a homonym, not a rhyme, and void/avoid is the same rhyme-ending, but I'm sure you realise that!
Well done!
Ereme
(p.s. -I love 'Sockhood's flower'!)

[This message has been edited by EREME (edited February 08, 2003).]

[David Anthony]

What a delightful thread, full of gems.
I'd missed it till Ereme directed me here; now I'll spend an hour or two enjoying it.
I love your sonnet, Ereme, even speaking as a two-fingered typist.
Prompted by the manhole cover that started the thread, here's my take on another utility:

My Bulkhead Light

My bulkhead light was broken;
I broke it yesterday.
I never meant to break it;
Alas alackaday!

It served me well and truly;
It made the darkness bright.
'Twas hammer-blow that laid it low
And robbed me of my light.

I hied me down to Do It All
And hailed the Overseer:
"Where will I find a bulkhead light?"
"We keep them over here."

My bulkhead light is mended;
I mended it today.
'Twill never be the same, though;
Alas alackaday!

Come all ye Home Improvements men,
Take heed and learn from me:
A bulkhead light costs seven pounds,
Including V.A.T.