The blog sits empty;
Ideas race in my brain,
But I can't write them
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"You are free to eat."
Disclaimer
The views and opinions on my blog don't reflect the views and opinions of my employer.
30 comments:
When I've read haiku
I can't seem to stop counting
All my syllables.
That was so profound, I can not even interpret it.
That was awesome, shan!
With haiku it is
Surprisingly quite easy
to be prolific.
One's education
In this respect at least has
Been found adequate.
Glad to entertain
(While the obsessive counting
Continues unchecked.)
Wow, that seems kinda sad
Maybe you need therapy
Bah! Don't waste your cash
Obsessive counting
Could it really be so bad?
Pink bicycle shorts
Shan,
You are creative,
Writing haikus with such ease.
Feeled with awe, I am.
I beg forgiveness.
Stealing your haiku idea
Is a form of praise.
Syllables, yes. But
the true poetic voice is
inimitable.
Jared's idea
of therapy strikes me as
a bit redundant.
For poems are, at
their very heart, a form of
cathartic release.
Perhaps, clumsy ox,
your next post could be composed
in limerick form.
New channels for ones
creativity would be
happily welcomed.
You laugh and maybe
think I exaggerate but
I'm losing my mind.
Poor imitation.
Practice and perseverance,
I shall find my voice.
Poetry in school
Has fueled Shan's insanity
Her words too measured
We write in haiku
Japanese imports rule us
They dictate our words
Alas, such is man
His words so noble, but frail
This blog so pointless
There once was a girl named Gwen
Who camped out in woods and in fen
She came back in to town
With no trace of a frown
And wanted to go out again
One of my pet peeves
is misspelling homonyms.
"Feeled" should be "filled". Sad.
Gwen made up Clumsy
Ox, but Mark proceeded to
Steal her idea
I’ve spent the whole day
Sitting at the computer
Waiting for comments
It’s int’resting how
Without doing much at all
The time can fly by.
My family’s hungry
But, I keep telling them, this
Is more important.
I can’t remember
When last I had so much fun
With that ‘refresh’ key.
Perhaps a sonnet for the Englishman
Who loaded down with Sony and Honda,
Extols the virtues of Canadian
Workmanship he is so awf’lly fond'a.
The problem’s in the rhyming, don't you see,
And even if I get the rhythm right
There’s still the question of a cogent theme
To keep your readers chuckling with delight.
I think it’s easier, taken on the whole,
To use the Asian form and build upon’t
Or suddenly I’ll find I’m up the pole
With a lame-ass half-completed sonnet.
But thank you for this chance to exercise
The brain that’s been for so long paralyzed.
jeez lady
she thought. In a whirling wind
of
Emotion.
get yourself
together
All you lot
are just jealous now
of my wit.
My poetic prowess I've spent,
Though Shan's has nary a dent.
Gwen came out sluggin', too.
There is only one thing I can do.
From poetry I must now retire,
Lest my verses become more dire.
Shan left a poem among the comments,
A simple sonnet, a sweet rhyming verse:
Our joy and respect she'd tho't to foment,
And competition was e'er the family curse.
But oh! how quickly Gwen responded,
She wrote blank verse, a modern work;
And while my taste is surely jaundiced,
We must admit she did far more than lurk.
And so now we have a full array of style:
Haiku, sonnet, and even more du jour.
The writer's craft has seen far worse and vile,
But this humble blog's not seen work more pure.
And I can't I be ought but satisfied,
This all came from sorry haiku I tried.
Ha! Shan, Ames, Jared and Gwenny
Have pushed my comments up to twenny!
And so with colours 'draggled,
with mud and mire besmirched she fell
Pow'rs of thought o'ershadowed by the might
And fearsome forces with which through the long Olympian day she did engage.
Sing, muse, the honour of Ames.
Mnemosyne, with hair unwinding in the cool stream
And fingers trailing
Remembers in the long summer the valiant fight
The war of words when
Engaged on all fronts the mighty queen,
Mother of her race,
Weeping passed from bright day into shadow.
talent untapped and
my West Coast location mean
I'll have the last word.
When do we start the
discussion of publishing this strain of poetry?
Ox probably thought
nary a comment would come
on such a small post.
I enjoy haiku
"Still, I love technology"
Bring us on home, Kip
There once was a blogger named Ox
Whose sad hiaku was bollocks
But his readers wrote verse
(And one even cursed)
As they showed their poetic chops
Unreal ditties
Under a humid fog of summer dawn
A crowd responded to Ox, so many
I had not thought blogging had undone so many
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the hood of Ox's silent grill...
The claws of the dawg
Scuttling silent under seas
Chuck busts out Prufrock
Yesterday words flowed
fast ink from the artist's pen
now I'm reticent
TS Eliot
would probably ask me is
this bang or whimper
What a boring blog
Not a comment yesterday
Get to writing, Ox!
I'm finished the book.
Regret, tinged with exhaustion,
are teeming my brain.
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