The other day a friend on my list wrote a poem, and I was both textually titillated and monographically moved. I bring you the art of an old Live Journal friend who shall here remain nicknameless (Please don't read this aloud or you may violate mechanical copyright laws.)
Girls are crazy,
Boys are mean.
Cats are fluffy,
Frogs are green.
Truth! Word sister! Four rhythmic lines of undeniable honesty! What could be more poetic than that?
was after seeing this gem that I recognized that even l'autorité du
poésie needs practice now and then; if for no other reason than to keep
ahead of the pretenders to the throne! And here was the perfect raspy
rock on which to hone my somewhat flagging skills; The ROSES ARE RED
PARADIGM (RARP)! Well, you can imagine my trepidation; regular readers
of this page know that I may never have attempted the Roses Discipline,
though since their memories are no better than mine we both may be
blowing smoke. Still, I couldn't help but try and master the as yet
unconquered, the singleverse shortyrhymer! Scoff if you please, but it's
much more difficult than it sounds, so much to say, so little space.
Beyond that there's the mathematical syllabicometry to take into
consideration, and the TRUE rhyme, as opposed to the Pop Song Lyricist
Rhyme, wherein the word "telephone" rhymes with "humpyouallnightlong".
If you doubt me, witness my first attempt at the genre. I call it
People have spoken
people were bled
(the swine) should be dead.
you may see this as a triumph as it meets all the criteria for a RARP;
but in truth, I would NEVER have said something so cruel. I had in mind
to add "by natural causes of course", but as is obvious, that would
violate both the meter and audial duplicity of the work as a whole,
disqualifying it as a RARP. But as it's most certainly art, I must leave
it be as is, and suffer the catcalls.
Below I have endeavored
to redeem myself, and put back the keen edge my sword of versitocity
once had. I'll start with something simple, so I don't sprain any of my
Bruises are Purpleish
Gothies wear black
Kitties have hairballs
that make them go ACK!
No, perhaps too simple. Perhaps profundity would be more challenging.
Life can be groovy
Life can be grand
So long as I keep
my big head in the sand.
Hardly publish-worthy. What would Billy Shake do with this form I wonder?
Hither with zither
yon bard, methinks, spews
A cat oh so feral
with whine in his mews
the American Poet Laureate Robert Frost would attempt a passage, while
jingling through the woods, considering trespassing, on a snowy evening,
were he not dead.
Two roads split direction
one north and one south
McDonalds is that way
I'll follow my mouth
Or Poe might enjoy the exercise.
Oh Woe! My heart breaks here!
I'm living but dead!
The proof in my spirits
has gone to my head!
I'd bet William Shatner would dance to one!
I'm not even Irish
and yet I can jig
It's hard to not dance
when my paycheck's so big!
Hell, even the Pope might dance to one!
I rise every morning
and say a short prayer
He answers mine neither
it just isn't fair!
I could go on forever, but I guess that's enough practice for one day
after holiday day. Still, I could do one last one, in all seriousness,
following the original format.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
my words would be nothing
if it weren't for you.