National Poetry Month is Still with Us!
So give yourself a gift and whimsical up a poem. Make it silly, make it stupid, make it about meatballs on spaghetti and ninjas on Mars. About ants and queens and cabbages and Prime Ministers and digging wells with runcible spoons.
Steal rhythms, fake rhymes, have pirates dance the rhombus on paper plates with protractors, write a doggerel saga about a noble corgi’s Quest for the Golden Fleas, dance down the page with a three-legged gerbil who plays a mean sax in that rat hole of a speakeasy on the west side of Ferretburg on Saturday nights.
Forget form, forget reason, forget dignity. Have a giggle, have a laugh, have fun.
Hoist the flag of Aunt Bertha’s bloomers and scar your psyche with who salutes. Scare those horses—make puns, not war.
Wrap your hair around your bare and build more sidewalk.
Revel in your own ridiculousness and throw the scansion out the window.
Here—I’ll go first:
I pledge allegiance
To the bean
That produces my daily coffee
And to the caffeine
Which helps me stand.
Under a lid
With fat-free creamer
and a double hazelnut shot.
Clearly, even poetry-loving non-poets can have fun with this stuff.
It obviously doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be fun to write.
Lied the Raven, “Nevermore,”
As he tossed pancakes
On my kitchen floor.
It’s only his way of keeping score
With the graymalkin who lives next door.
Dragons live across the street.
The friendliest creatures
You’ll ever meet.
Block parties with them? Always a treat—
Barbecuing with neighbors can’t be beat!
There’s a paddock down the road
Who was warned twice
To keep his lawn mowed.
It’s right there in the Neighborhood Code:
“Violators will be toad.”
That pond’s home to a cute merman—
At home in water,
Not so much on land.
When the city pushed that piranha ban?
I gave him legs, so he could take a stand.
This neighborhood’s nice, that’s a fact
Close to good schools
And parks for your pack.
And if there’s trouble, I’ve got your back—
‘Cause I’m the Witch of the Cul-de-sac.
Showed you mine. Where’s yours?