4/15-Taxes-

This is not a particularly good example of artistry or of the skill and effort most people put into poetry. But it's tax day (relevant) and it's been busy and it's getting late and I'm tired (and full of excuses, apparently).

The Tax Poem

Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays.
Tax his tractor, tax his mule,
Teach him taxes is the rule.

Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirts,
Tax his work, tax his dirt.

Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass.

Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears.

Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough.

If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he's good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays.

Put these words upon his tomb,
"Taxes drove me to my doom!"
And when he's gone, we won't relax,
We'll still be after the inheritance tax.

Note: I'm not bitter about taxes. I actually got a ton of money back this year.

4/12-by kids-

There are lots of great poetry sites for kids. When I was young (and the Internet was too) we had a writing contest. The winners' books were "bound" (spiral bound, as I remember) and were invited to attend a writing workshop where you could share and learn more. I wrote a book of poetry one year and won. I was soooo happy. I'm sure my mom kept it somewhere, I just have no idea where it went.

I illustrated it to, which would make it worth finding. Anyway, here's a great poem written by a (presumably) British girl:

I Was Going To Write A Poem Today by Maria English (aged 12)

I was going to write a poem today
But I'm afraid to say I can't.
My mind's as empty as a barrel
And every time the faintest trace of an idea appears in my head
It glides like a fish
And slips and slides its way out of my mind
Before I can grab it.

I'm tired of thinking
All through the day
And my brain has gone to bed
He's curled up in a bundle
Cosy, inside my head.

My intellect has gone a-wandering
Over the wide, blue sea of knowledge
And she's taken my memory as a boat
Sailing over the endless horizon
Bobbing up and down
On the waves.

I was going to write a poem today
But I'm afraid to say I can't.
My tap of words has run dry
And a greedy drought
Has soaked up my pool of thoughts

http://www.poetryzone.ndirect.co.uk/index2.htm

4/12-Ferlinghetti-

To the Oracle at Delphi
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Great Oracle, why are you staring at me,
do I baffle you, do I make you despair?
I, Americus, the American,
wrought from the dark in my mother long ago,
from the dark of ancient Europa--
Why are you staring at me now
in the dusk of our civilization--
Why are you staring at me
as if I were America itself
the new Empire
vaster than any in ancient days
with its electronic highways
carrying its corporate monoculture
around the world
And English the Latin of our days--

Great Oracle, sleeping through the centuries,
Awaken now at last
And tell us how to save us from ourselves
and how to survive our own rulers
who would make a plutocracy of our democracy
in the Great Divide
between the rich and the poor
in whom Walt Whitman heard America singing

O long-silent Sybil,
you of the winged dreams,
Speak out from your temple of light
as the serious constellations
with Greek names
still stare down on us
as a lighthouse moves its megaphone
over the sea
Speak out and shine upon us
the sea-light of Greece
the diamond light of Greece

Far-seeing Sybil, forever hidden,
Come out of your cave at last
And speak to us in the poet's voice
the voice of the fourth person singular
the voice of the inscrutable future
the voice of the people mixed
with a wild soft laughter--
And give us new dreams to dream,
Give us new myths to live by!
Read at Delphi, Greece, on March 21, 2001 at the UNESCO World Poetry Day

4/11-Browning Sonnet-

Ladies can do the sonnet thing too. Eat this, Shakespeare:

Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death

4/10-Haiku-

I told you at the beginning I wasn't going to make you suffer through my terrible poetry: I lied. From my VeryBadPoetry page here are 4 haikus:

I.
You want a threesome?
You don't have a large enough
bed and I won't share.

II.
I am a hero.
I am strong, smart, and can fly.
I'm perfect; love me.

III.
I farted one time.
I hoped you didn't hear it.
It turned you on, though.

IV.
Rabbits can run fast,
and they think they're such tough guys,
but foxes can too.

4/9-Euripides- or -Translation problem fixed

This English translation, by Lord Byron, of 'Warning from the Evil Fortune of Medea' is reprinted from Greek Poets in English Verse. Ed. William Hyde Appleton. Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1893.

WARNING FROM THE EVIL FORTUNE OF MEDEA (from "Medea")

by: Euripides

HEN fierce conflicting passions urge

The breast where love is wont to glow,

What mind can stem the stormy surge

Which rolls the tide of human woe?

The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortured breast no more;

The wild desire, the guilty flame,

Absorbs each wish it felt before.

But if affection gently thrills

The soul by purer dreams possessed,

The pleasing balm of mortal ills

In love can soothe the aching breast:

If thus thou comest in disguise,

Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,

What heart unfeeling would despise

The sweetest boon the gods have given?

But never from thy golden bow

May I beneath the shaft expire!

Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,

Awakes an all-consuming fire:

Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!

With others wage internal war;

Repentance, source of future tears,

From me be ever distant far!

May no distracting thoughts destroy

The holy calm of sacred love!

May all the hours be winged with joy,

Which hover faithful hearts above!

Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine

May I with some fond lover sigh,

Whose heart may mingle pure with mine--

With me to live, with me to die!

My native soil! beloved before,

Now dearer as my peaceful home,

Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore,

A hapless banished wretch to roam!

This very day, this very hour,

May I resign this fleeting breath!

Nor quit my silent humble bower;

A doom to me far worse than death.

Have I not heard the exile's sigh,

And seen the exile's silent tear,

Through distant climes condemned to fly,

A pensive weary wanderer here?

Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails,

No friend thy wretched fate deplores,

No kindred voice with rapture hails

Thy steps within a stranger's doors.

Perish the fiend whose iron heart,

To fair affection's truth unknown,

Bids her he fondly loved depart,

Unpitied, helpless, and alone:

Who ne'er unlocks with silver key

The milder treasures of his soul, --

May such a friend be far from me,

And ocean's storms between us roll!

4/8-Shel Silverstein-

Okay, I waited 8 days to post this. I really wanted to post Shel the first day. He is quite possibly my most beloved Children's poet. He's funny, talented, and a little bit twisted. For example:

Wavy hair

I thought that I had wavy hair
Until I shaved my head. Instead,
I find that I have straight hair
And a very wavy head.

Come Skating

They said come skating;
They said it's so nice.
They said come skating;
I'd done it twice.
They said come skating;
It sounded nice...
I wore roller---
They meant ice.

Of course each of these poems, as most of them are, are accompanied by line drawings by the author. I recommend his website for more fun, examples of his illustrative and poetic genius, and some games & stuff (http://www.shelsilverstein.com/indexSite.html).

Both these selections were chosen randomly (lucky they were short ones) from A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein.