Sunday, December 6, 2009

Something so wondeful gone horribly awry

This is the second blog that I've written around the midnight hour.  It's not recommended.  See, things that I find fun and interesting now, probably aren't so fun when looked at with the benefit of a good nights sleep.


Well, it's time to share my poetic side.


The first poem was written for my good friend Amanda.  She worked on Thanksgiving day cleaning dishes.  Not exactly festive I thought.  So, I wrote her this:


Amanda's Poem




The sweet Amanda is like no other
spent Thanksgiving working at The Muddy Rudder
Everyone thought the food was delicous
while she was back there cleaning dishes.
You know she's a living Cinderella story
scrubing up from the chicken cacciatore.
It's such a treat to talk to her online.
If she was a tumor, she would be benign
She touches me deeply, when inclined,
like a proctologist friend of mine


I rather liked how it turned out, and yet, when I recited it to my Mom, she had concerns about the ending.

Then tonight I shared this story with my cousin Mal.  She offered some wonderful insight(as well as supplying the delectable word "deploring " for part 2).  So now without further ado,  I give unto you Part 2!


Amanda's Poem Part 2



I faced my mothers deploring gaze
once she read that final turn of phrase.
This ditty while just a simple lark
had been colored by the last remark.
To my cousin I then related
this story of becoming berated.
She then said to ignore this censure
for my Mom isn't always so pure!
See, Mum's boggle score became affluent
by brazenly spelling "flatulent".


Why must I write these things you ask?  I answer with my own question.  If I don't, then who will?


As a bonus I'll share one of my chicken poems.  Sure you probably heard it before, but it's free so stop complaining.


The Chicken Scratches on My Heart



Beautiful chicken that I doth see
Remember when we met down at KFC?
It was you who brought me out of my shell
and now I have fallen under your spell
When you left me I was like a capon
Sad and sterile with no reason to go on
I lost my pluck, my feet only shuffle
what did I do to cause your feathers to ruffle?
My mouth waters when I smell you near
and your even better with chip and root beer
Come to me, my fowl of perfection
You warm me up just like an infection







2 comments:

  1. Oh Dickon! Your poems of chicken doth touch my heart from the very start!

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  2. Love it!! Giving support to a friend and giving away family secrets of your mom...hee hee. I'm sure she is amused.

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