Monday, June 6, 2011

To the Great Ogden Nash or "I Can't Believe He Gets Away With It!"


















Raise your glass, sing a song, strike the band, come along,
Join the fun while we all throw a bash
For the one we all love, with his gift from above,
For the poet, the great Ogden Nash!

I oft read his verses, his words full of wit,
His collections are hard to put down.
America’s son, the bard of our time,
How did he achieve such renown?

I am sometimes confused, if not fully amused
At how deftly he ties up each line.
Undaunted, when words just won’t come to mind,
Why, he simply makes up a rhyme!

Delicious, fictitious, and so serendipitous,
How does he keep a straight face?
Congruitous, manipulatous, and oh so ingenuitous,
The right word in just the right place.

Now, I’m just a novice and not one to say
That the good Mr. Nash is a cheater.
But have you all noticed how often Ol’ Odgen
Strays just a bit from the meter?

And just when you think that there isn’t a chance
That the point he would make will break through,
He lengthens things out, or cuts it right short
To make sure that its clear and that you get the point of what he is saying so there is no way you could misunderstand where he was taking you.

He’s a master, I tell ya, of spinning a yarn about
things that go “bump” in the night.
He thinks the way I do, and writes the way I would
If only I only could write!

To fully appreciate this poem, you must read some of Ogden Nash's work! He is truly the master of light verse!

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

The Mud Won't Get Glovey














Throw your white glove in a puddle of mud.
Let it represent all of your toil.
The mud won’t get glovey, for crud is still crud,
But your glove, I’m afraid, will be soiled.

Take particular care in the friends that you keep,
For your friends either lift or drag down.
Choose those who propel toward goals that you seek;
Shun those with the cheek and the frown.

Yes, there is room in the world for a kind word to all,
For the saint and the ruffian alike.
Pray, offer your hand to those who would fall,
But be watchful for serpents will strike.

Say Again?
















From nearby close proximity
I looked, beheld, and I saw me
With inclinations of proclivity,
Leaning obliquely toward perdition,
Trapped by altered, changed transition,
Doomed to redundant repetition!