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Monday, July 17, 2017

FISHDUCKY; THE DUCK, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND, PART 6


THE WOULD-BE POET


(This is one of a series of my earliest & most popular posts.  This was originally published July, 2012.  As always, all the cartoons are new.)




I’m telling you quite honestly


I’d love to write fine poetry.


I’d show such versatility


that everyone would honor me.


The words would come forth trippingly


as if they had a melody.


I’d write of plants; of rose and tree.


I’d be a big celebrity!


I’d write of kings and royalty


and I’d discuss humanity.


I’d write of love so wistfully,


of sadness and of joie de vie


And I would do this masterfully.


            I’d lecture universally.


I’d do this work unselfishly


(though I’d accept gratuities).


 So let me add, in summary,


I’d gain much popularity.


My poems loved so zealously


that  publishers would say to me,


“Write more!”  They’d beg me fervently


for poems to fill their glossaries.


They’d organize parades; you’d see


me waving at fans jauntily.


The crowds, no longer orderly,


would clamor with intensity.


The President would say, pleadingly,


“Our Poet Laureate you have to be!”


I would decline, quite modestly.


This could become insanity.


I’d have to write incessantly,


If I were to act accordingly.


There would be no more time for me


to sit and daydream lazily.


I’d be pressured overwhelmingly


to keep up this activity.


I’d hear “Please write!” repeatedly


‘til writer’s cramp took hold of me.


My brain would start to atrophy.


No one would want to be with me.


My friends, is this my destiny?


Why, in this great democracy,


Should talent push relentlessly


and rob me of my dignity?


And so I ask you, tearfully,


            is that the way it has to be


If I could write as beautifully


as I had wished for previously?


My literary wizardry


might just attack me fatally!


I’ve thought this thing out carefully


and realize the absurdity


Of living my life tragically


if I could write great poetry.





With apologies to humankind,


I fear that someday I would find


My nerves all tangled in a bind


which I, (poor soul) could not unwind,


So--never mind!




















----the lucky, plucky (& I hope not schmucky) fishducky



 


12 comments:

  1. I am always awed by poets. And writers. And artists of any genre.
    Take a bow. Take several bows.

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  2. Very good. I try...I should stop ending the first verse with orange.

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  3. Love that last one--blogging does make you feel like your work is being ignored by a larger audience.

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  4. Loved your poem!! Finally one I could understand. Doug's idea of how to get kids interested is brilliant.

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    Replies
    1. Kids love anything that has to do with farting!!

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  5. The poem is brilliant. You are the bloggy poet laureate. I like the chicken poetry slam.

    Love,
    Janie

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    Replies
    1. Chickens aren't very good poets; they keep rhyming "cluck" with "cluck"!!

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  6. Love Calvin :)
    I couldn't write poems if my life depended on it. Me and poetry just don't get along.

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  7. Dang! Who knew Savage Chickens could make me laugh so much about poetry? No other side/angry badger rolling downhill/undead poets society. They really had me clucking. Someone actually compared my laugh to that one time. I guess the chickens and I are kindred spirits.

    ReplyDelete

Your comments make my day, which shows you how boring my life has become.