Poetry

Still a few minutes left to Poem In Your Journal Day (I can't bring myself to use the B-word):

"Hooch." Los ticka toe rest. Might likea sender doe ree. Your make a doll a ray day sender bright like a penelty.

Exi-tease my ray day member half lost a beat away. Purst in like a one way sender war give a heart like a fay.

Cuz I can ford a red eed only street a wide a ree land. Die-mond make a mid-evil bike a sake a like a ree caste. Cuz I can ford a red eed only street a wide a ree land. On a ree land. Find a ree land.

You sink a my swan. Rolly a get a worst in. Maybe minus way far central poor forty duck a pin.

Milk maid dud bean. Master a load a head. Pill pop a dope a well run general hash pump a gonna led.

The Melvins, from Houdini. More lyrics.

More Poetry

Okay, for those who don't think song lyrics count as poems:

I was brought up by dear bizarre Aunt Maud,
A poet and a painter with a taste
For realistic objects interlaced
With grotesque growths and images of doom.
She lived to hear the next babe cry. Her room
We've kept intact. Its trivia create
A still life in her style: the paperweight
Of convex glass enclosing a lagoon,
The verse book open at the Index (Moon,
Moonrise, Moor, Moral), the forlorn guitar,
The human skull; and from the local Star
A curio: Red Sox Beat Yanks 5-4
On Chapman's Homer, thumbtacked to the door.

A stanza from Canto One of "Pale Fire", by John Francis Shade, by Vladimir Nabokov.