Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I’d call me Us.
—Ogden Nash
You know there’s an unfortunate lack of poems about a certain subject when I’m forced to resort to Odgen Nash, who was a clever, playful, and undeniably talented man whose utter disregard for meter drives me batguano insane.*
We shall not speak of how quick that trip must be for a woman who spent the better part of two hours searching for octopus poetry.
Instead, we shall agree that it’s clearly time for another Try It Yourself Poetry Contest!
The rules, as usual, are simple: Write me an octopus poem.
Don’t care what kind, dore care what quality—but there should be at least four lines. And if your references go beyond nudge, nudge, wink wink, e-mail it to me, please.**
There will also be double points awarded for rhyming one of the Latin classifications and for using one or more particular biological quirks of a specific cephalopod mollusc (make sure I know which one, please).
Vitreledonella
Is such a funny fella
He plays at being naive and prim
But everyone can see right through him . . .
Ahem.
If you accept this challenge and post the poem or a link to your own place in the comments—or e-mail them to me —your name will be entered into the Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win for a chance to own the regular-sized Cafepress mug of your choice,*** which doesn’t have to feature an octopus—but c’mon, how cool would that be?
This one is gonna be quick: contest starts now and ends midnight (CST) on Thursday.
Winner will be selected and announced on Friday.
Tell your friends!^
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*Not that I don’t appreciate a few of his poems, or at least what he was saying in them, but those are a rare exception—this is one of ’em.
**Kev, you’re still on limerick suspension. I’m not joking. And any graphic references to hentai will be passed on to your mother.
***Or an online gift card, if you prefer not to supply your postal address or CafePress won’t ship to your country, though so far, so good.
^If you’re related to me by blood or marriage, you aren’t eligible for this contest, sorry—but if you enter, at least I’ll know what to get you for your birthday.
Earful of Cider 