Poetry Thursday: Make Me Laugh!

OMG, y'all, I'm so excited about the (CATO) prompt for Poetry Thursday this week that I kind of want to squeal with glee. I warn you, this post is likely to get quite, quite long! Liz Elayne writes, "This week, we are inviting you to find the laughter in the world of poetry." YES! Anyone who hangs out here at all has to know how much I love this idea. After all, I was writing (mostly smartass) limericks and haiku long before I paid any attention to "real" poetry. And now that I'm reading (and occasionally trying to write!) poetry, I adore finding poems that have a funny edge to them, not to mention those that are flat-out comedic. In fact, more than a few of the poems I've shared in past PT posts could qualify for this prompt, so if you love the idea of poems that bring a grin to your face, it might be worth a stroll through my recent archives. I can't wait to see what the other participants post! One of the earliest times I participated in Poetry Thursday, back when it was still hosted on Liz Elayne's blog, I posted several haiku (those weren't funny) and limericks (a few of those were, IMO, especially the one about Guido) and a Shakespearian-style sonnet written in honor of Johnny Depp that was purely for laughs. I thought I'd share the link to that post in case participants who might have missed it the first time want to take a look. It seemed fitting for this week, given the recent release of his latest movie. I also want to share a couple of other poems, one I wrote years ago and one I didn't write but really like and have been wanting to share for a while. This first poem is something I wrote during a bad winter about 5 1/2 years ago. It's silly, snarky, and not particularly good (For one thing, I only now realized in re-reading it that I arbitrarily switched rhyme schemes from the first stanza to the second and never looked back! Snort!), but I still think it's kind of funny. Warning: This poem is vulgar. So if vulgarity offendeth thee, removeth thyself posthaste and returnest thou another day. Ith. Or thou canst avert thine eyes and scrolleth past it to the other poem. Est. Whateverestith. Also, I must explain the title. I was going to call it "Ode To Snow" but then I realized it really isn't an ode to snow, because an ode is a poem that exalts something, like "Ode on a Grecian Urn": See that Urn. Ain't it purty? Tho' some o' them pikshurs is kinda dirty... (Obviously that's not the real "Ode on a Grecian Urn" but I can't remember how the real poem starts and I'm too lazy to look it up, so that's my imagining of how it might start if it had been written by JimBob Krump* instead of John Keats.) Anyway, what the heck do you call it when the poem doesn't exalt something, but rather is written to snark and bitch about something? What if it's the Anti-Ode, so to speak? There doesn't seem to be a word for that, at least not that I can find, so I made one up. I hereby decree that a poem written specifically to snark about something is an Edo...you know, the opposite of an Ode. So, without further ado (yes, yes, I know there's been way too much Ado already!), here is my bad poem, "Edo to Snow", along with a brief rebuttal verse and addendum created by some friends of mine. Edo to Snow I hate snow. I hate the cold. I hate the white. It sucks by day. It sucks by night. I hate it falling gently down or blowing wildly over town. I hate it when the roads get slick. This sucks the big ol' donkey dick. I would not like snow in New York, or on a ranch they call "South Fork". I would not like snow in Peru. It still would make me sad and blue. Although it's white, not yellowy, (I don't felt wool with my own pee!) the beauty does not make me stare. I'm grumpy as a grizzly bear. Oh Weather Gods, I you implore, Please do not send me anymore! We've had snow. Now can you bring some rays of sun? I want spring. I hate snow. ~~~Deb Richardson February, 2001 "Rebuttal to Edo to Snow" I come from a country with winters mild So snow excites me like a child Naked snow angels are such fun Wish they wouldn't freeze my bum ~~~Morven Walker February, 2001 "Addendum to Rebuttal to Edo to Snow" I'm grateful on the other hand Just think what freezes on a man! ~~~Pamela Allen February, 2001 And now on to a good poem. :-) This next one is definitely humorous, but it's black humor, as if the writer is laughing to keep despair away, and not quite managing the task by the end of the story. It's odd and quirky, funny and dark, and I like it a lot. I hope you do too. Just a Sestina to You, Honey, Letting You Know What an Interesting Thing Happened to Me While You Were at Home Rubbing Your Wife's Back A martian fell out of the french windows into my bed last night He wasn't much different from you, honey, except the hair in his nose was green not brown and in his left hand he clutched a nine inch satellite dish (that's a little bigger honey than the one you clutch) - any way he apologized for dropping in like that - I asked him to stay you know, chat for a while - life, love, lipstick - so he did stay actually he ended up spending the night (in case you're wondering honey, no, he didn't get any) we just sat around thumbwrestling and well the night was getting hot so I got us a dish of butter pecan ice cream - he really lapped it up like a native, honey, and then as we played a rousing game of Twister on my deck, he looked up and noticed that the Christmas lights were still up, in March. They stay up (I said) because I've got a married lover (that's you, my little dish) so every day is Christmas, hooray! (honey I didn't say how every night is Easter how you've crucified me baby) I could see he liked me, the dish he held, he clutched a little harder and asked if there were any chance for his little old martian self to experience any Earthly love. I have some single friends (I replied) and they're pretty desperate (not like me honey) the chances are good they wouldn't kick you out of bed - stay with one of them and pretty soon one night you'll get to try out that nine inch satellite dish in a way you haven't thought of; not many women get nine inches of dish (I told him), matter of fact some women don't get any. (that's where I'm lucky, right honey?) The hot night grew cold, so we stopped hanging by our ankles from the deck and came in and then I saw his suitcases (there, by the bed) You can't stay (I said) My married lover could be by to see me any month now and the place has to be empty. I might not even be here (I said) but the (I was JUST KIDDING, honey) martian got huffy, packed up his dish, asked politely to use my phone to call a cab, said he wouldn't dream of stay ing and messing up my affairs. I asked the martian if there were any thing else he wanted to know. Yes he said, How is life here on lovely Earth and I said Wake up - it sucks! Take me away, into the night (I said) but by then it was morning the sun was mooning us so any way he left (alone) (taking his nine inch dish) and I sat in my kitchen and poached some eggs. Why didn't I go with him, why do I stay (but honey here I am, dishless and cold, waiting for you to come any day any night) ~~~Carolyn Creedon "Snow Flashback" (from a photo I took last winter: clickable if you want to see it larger in a new window) If you want to read more (possibly humorous) poems, check out the links you'll find here. *For the billions of people out there who may not know who JimBob Krump is, he's the Pugilistic Poet of Podunk Hollar, Arkansas. He's also the father of Buford Krump, AKA Bob Katt.** **For the billions of people out there who may not know who Buford Krump, AKA Bob Katt is, all is explained here.