No poem today.

It's been a long day.  No poem today. 

Here's why.

4/18-The Pythons-

In honor of my going to see Spamalot this evening, today's poem-of-the-day is a video.

Enjoy:

4/17-Voltaire-

Probably my favorite public intellectual/author is Voltaire. There's little I love more than thinking about the rivalry between Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Voltaire. That's not really something that happens today. Sure Christopher Hitchens can take the piss out of Mos Def on national television, but it's not nearly as fun as thinking about two absolutely brilliant people publicly pronouncing their hatred for one another...especially when everyone likes Voltaire better because he wasn't such a grumpy old poop.

Anyway, on to the poetry!

FROM LOVE TO FRIENDSHIP

by: Voltaire (François Marie Arouet, 1694-1778)

If you would have me love once more,

The blissful age of love restore;

From wine's free joys, and lovers' cares,

Relentless time, who no man spares,

Urges me quickly to retire,

And no more to such bliss aspire.

From such austerity exact,

Let's, if we can, some good extract;

Whose way of thinking with this age

Suits not, can ne'er be deemed a sage.

Let sprightly youth its follies gay,

Its follies amiable display;

Life to two moments is confined,

Let one to wisdom be consigned.

You sweet delusions of my mind,

Still to my ruling passion kind,

Which always brought a sure relief

To life's accurst companion, grief.

Will you forever from me fly,

And must I joyless, friendless die?

No mortal e'er resigns his breath

I see, without a double death;

Who loves, and is beloved no more,

His hapless fate may well deplore;

Life's loss may easily be borne,

Of love bereft man is forlorn.

'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,

Which I so oft in youth repented;

My soul replete with soft desire,

Vainly regretted youthful fire.

But friendship then, celestial maid,

From heaven descended to my aid;

Less lively than the amorous flame,

Although her tenderness the same.

The charms of friendship I admired,

My soul was with new beauty fired;

I then made one in friendship's train,

But destitute of love, complain.

http://www.poetry-archive.com/v/from_love_to_friendship.html

4/16-Jon Agee-

I love Jon Agee. He's funny. His illustrations are bright and colorful. I couldn't resist using this for a Poem of the Day.


The title poem "Orangutan Tongs" is among the least tongue-twisty of all the poems in this collection (I actually made it through without a single mistake).

Here it is:
--------------------------------------
Orangutan Tongs

An orangutan went into Wong's.
He ordered the pork and the prawns.
But he couldn't eat pork with a knife and a fork,
So they brought the Orangutan tongs.
Orangutan tongs, orangutan tongs,
They brought the orangutan tongs.

The next day it happened at Kong's.
He ordered the prunes and the prawns.
But he couldn't eat prunes with a fork or a spoon,
So they brought the orangutan tongs.
Orangutan tongs, orangutan tongs,
They brought the orangutan tongs.
--------------------------------------------
My favorite (because of the picture really--a little boy on the beach with his hands down his underpants):
--------------------------------------------
Undies

There are lots of holes in Andy Bundy's undies.
His mom should get some thread and try to stitch 'em.
When Andy's at the beach, he's always cranky and upset,
'Cause Andy Bundy's sandy undies itch him.
---------------------------------------------

Highly recommended book.

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