new game for anyone who wants to play inbetween actual writing

[butters]

parody

take a well-known piece and parody it to hell and back

post the original after the parody, if you like, so those of us who might not be familiar with the original can appreciate better what you mangled it into

 

[pelegrino]

TB or not TB?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_be_or_not_to_be

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuberculosis

 

[Tzara]

Response to Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A conifer as poetry.

Firs have no mouth, just xylem (guess--
It may be phloem) with to ingest

Their nutrients. And as for prayer?
Well, even God would find that rare.

A robin's clutch might nestle, true,
In springtime branches, ovoid, blue,

But hardy on a bosom's plain.
I will however, grant you rain.

Bad poems are birthed by fools like you,
Though fools like me? We write them too.




After Joyce Kilmer's poem, "Trees"

 

[butters]

TB or not TB?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_be_or_not_to_be

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuberculosis

pithy

Response to Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A conifer as poetry.

Firs have no mouth, just xylem (guess--
It may be phloem) with to ingest

Their nutrients. And as for prayer?
Well, even God would find that rare.

A robin's clutch might nestle, true,
In springtime branches, ovoid, blue,

But hardy on a bosom's plain.
I will however, grant you rain.

Bad poems are birthed by fools like you,
Though fools like me? We write them too.




After Joyce Kilmer's poem, "Trees"

who you be callin' a fool, fool?

nicely done *nods*

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more wet and twice as annoying.
The trees that dripped their leaves in May
Speak now of June your perfume cloying.
The crashing thunder portrays your voice
Till birds shall drop from crumpled wings,
As your snores now make my heart rejoice
No more to hear those strident vocal rings.
What once I looked upon as sweet and coy
Your simpering coquettishness at every whim
Was not just only girlish, youthful play
I now perceive at last my god you're dim.
As long as you still take breath, alas
I must survive your chronic problem, gas.

 

[butters]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more wet and twice as annoying.
The trees that dripped their leaves in May
Speak now of June your perfume cloying.
The crashing thunder portrays your voice
Till birds shall drop from crumpled wings,
As your snores now make my heart rejoice
No more to hear those strident vocal rings.
What once I looked upon as sweet and coy
Your simpering coquettishness at every whim
Was not just only girlish, youthful play
I now perceive at last my god you're dim.
As long as you still take breath, alas
I must survive your chronic problem, gas.

hahahahahahahaa

brilliant

 

[UnderYourSpell]

thank you

 

[Angeline]

This is a great idea for a thread that I hope will live long and prosper.

Took me a few days to get to it, but here is my re-imagining of Yeats' Leda and the Swan.

 

[butters]

This is a great idea for a thread that I hope will live long and prosper.

Took me a few days to get to it, but here is my re-imagining of Yeats' Leda and the Swan.

that's pretty damned cool you've upped the ante and i like that.

i started this with the intent for it to be both fun and a way of bringing some of our muses (well, mine really) back into line just by making them do a little work that felt more like play. sneaky, huh? trouble is, my muse is still being quite obstinate and so i'm ignoring it till it decides to play along.

 

[Angeline]

that's pretty damned cool you've upped the ante and i like that.

i started this with the intent for it to be both fun and a way of bringing some of our muses (well, mine really) back into line just by making them do a little work that felt more like play. sneaky, huh? trouble is, my muse is still being quite obstinate and so i'm ignoring it till it decides to play along.

Thankee. I think Annie's and Tzara's poems are both wonderful. Anyway your muse is there: she will smile on you soon. I was museless for about two years and then she came back. One never knows.

 

[butters]

Thankee. I think Annie's and Tzara's poems are both wonderful. Anyway your muse is there: she will smile on you soon. I was museless for about two years and then she came back. One never knows.

she's too busy flirting with harry to knuckle down to the more 'proper' stuff. she needs - oh, i'll be damned if i know what she needs though i expect a few suggestions might make their way into my box. :blinkz:

 

[twelveoone]

with heroin did Jog shoot up
a shot mixed with amphetamine
'cause Jog the wasted runner ran
through cabanas of the bland and tan
down past a sunfilled sea

So twice five mles to a cooler ridge
With sweaty balls over some nameless bridge
and where he dropped and rot on a vacant hill
and bosomed next to an incensed-boring tree;
his poetic bones are up there still
and so much for druggy poetry....

 

[butters]

with heroin did Jog shoot up
a shot mixed with amphetamine
'cause Jog the wasted runner ran
through cabanas of the bland and tan
down past a sunfilled sea

So twice five miles to a cooler ridge
With sweaty balls over some nameless bridge
and where he dropped and rot on a vacant hill
and bosomed next to an incensed-boring tree;
his poetic bones are up there still
and so much for druggy poetry....

*chokes on coffee*

you deserve a smack for that - and it's oh. so. metrical. footfalls.. ha! think this one's more ALF than Alph.

 

[butters]

I wandered like an ant on smack
That floats all high o'er vales and hills,
Till all the time, the sun, it frowned -
At best, those smirked emoti-cils;
Beside myself, in shadow's lee,
I wondered which of me was me.

Vertiginous as in mirrors' shine
I's sprinkled on the dancing day,
We stretched a never-ending line;
I retched and moved my lips to pray.
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Fresh salads tossed in nightly dance.








ok, enough already. sorry wordsworth

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I wandered like an ant on smack
That floats all high o'er vales and hills,
Till all the time, the sun, it frowned -
At best, those smirked emoti-cils;
Beside myself, in shadow's lee,
I wondered which of me was me.

Vertiginous as in mirrors' shine
I's sprinkled on the dancing day,
We stretched a never-ending line;
I retched and moved my lips to pray.
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Fresh salads tossed in nightly dance.








ok, enough already. sorry wordsworth

Applause

 

[Angeline]

I wandered like an ant on smack
That floats all high o'er vales and hills,
Till all the time, the sun, it frowned -
At best, those smirked emoti-cils;
Beside myself, in shadow's lee,
I wondered which of me was me.

Vertiginous as in mirrors' shine
I's sprinkled on the dancing day,
We stretched a never-ending line;
I retched and moved my lips to pray.
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Fresh salads tossed in nightly dance.








ok, enough already. sorry wordsworth

Kinda like mixing Wordsworth and jabberwocky. Well played.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

This is a great idea for a thread that I hope will live long and prosper.

Took me a few days to get to it, but here is my re-imagining of Yeats' Leda and the Swan.

nearly missed this one ........ wow that's clever

 

[pelegrino]

This is a great idea for a thread that I hope will live long and prosper.

Took me a few days to get to it, but here is my re-imagining of Yeats' Leda and the Swan.

I really enjoyed that, Angeline!
Probably your approach to classical mythology is more pragmatic than that of Yeats', cause I think people who created those myths did not mean them to be always serious and devoid of the joy of life. Leda was there to be taken by brutal force but at the same time afford some fun to a god and that's what she did. There is no sense in blaming her for the death of Agamemnon, for the birth of Helen, for the Trojan war, or anything else and I don't think ancient societies ever did blame her.
(She probably enjoyed it as well.)

 

[Angeline]

I really enjoyed that, Angeline!
Probably your approach to classical mythology is more pragmatic than that of Yeats', cause I think people who created those myths did not mean them to be always serious and devoid of the joy of life. Leda was there to be taken by brutal force but at the same time afford some fun to a god and that's what she did. There is no sense in blaming her for the death of Agamemnon, for the birth of Helen, for the Trojan war, or anything else and I don't think ancient societies ever did blame her.
(She probably enjoyed it as well.)

Thanks pelegrino! I was thinking it would be interesting to turn the perspective around and make Leda somewhat of a more knowing feminist and not this terrorized virgin.

And I wrote it with great reverence for Yeats, who is probably my all-time favorite poet.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

A lonely drunkard went to pee
in an overgrown moss green moat,
he'd lost his honey and plenty of money
and he'd even lost his coat.
The sot looked up to the stars above
and leaned out very far.
Oh lovely pissy! Oh pissy my love
what a beautiful pissy your are
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pissy you ahhhhhhhh!

 

[Angeline]

A lonely drunkard went to pee
in an overgrown moss green moat,
he'd lost his honey and plenty of money
and he'd even lost his coat.
The sot looked up to the stars above
and leaned out very far.
Oh lovely pissy! Oh pissy my love
what a beautiful pissy your are
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pissy you ahhhhhhhh!

LOL. You sick puppy.

 

[Remec]

she's too busy flirting with harry to knuckle down to the more 'proper' stuff. she needs - oh, i'll be damned if i know what she needs though i expect a few suggestions might make their way into my box. :blinkz:

Getting things into your box might be just what she needs, y'know?

 

[twelveoone]

*chokes on coffee*

you deserve a smack for that - and it's oh. so. metrical. footfalls.. ha! think this one's more ALF than Alph.

alright fess up where was the choke point?
through cabanas of the bland and tan < damn, its a shame I can't write, that is a good line
cooler ridge<give away
incensed-boring tree; <was my fail safe

already did the other one
where alf the li'l alien ran through reruns on TV

 

[butters]

alright fess up where was the choke point?
through cabanas of the bland and tan < damn, its a shame I can't write, that is a good line
cooler ridge<give away
incensed-boring tree; <was my fail safe

already did the other one
where alf the li'l alien ran through reruns on TV

the opening line! - i could tell immediately what it was parodying as i heard the words pace themselves in my thoughts.

yeah, i feel real pity for someone like you who can't write.

they're good lines, you know it

where Alf the li'l alien ran
through programmes beamed to T.V'd man

 

[butters]

Kinda like mixing Wordsworth and jabberwocky. Well played.

a kinda like an 'i don't know what the hell that is but it shouldn't be allowed' sort of thing

A lonely drunkard went to pee
in an overgrown moss green moat,
he'd lost his honey and plenty of money
and he'd even lost his coat.
The sot looked up to the stars above
and leaned out very far.
Oh lovely pissy! Oh pissy my love
what a beautiful pissy your are
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pissy you ahhhhhhhh!

*hands annie a pot to pissy in*

Getting things into your box might be just what she needs, y'know?

*smiles and says nuthin' that might incriminate myself*