Countdown to Homefulness--8 (not 7) Days Left

(posted a trifle early so I don't have any distractions for tomorrow's more official writing)

A BRIEF POEM OF HOMEFUL ANTICIPATION

When I’d the chance, right off the bat

I got a little Village flat

So if I ever bought a hat

I’d have a place to hang it.

In dreams, I’ve decked its every stat

From walls to bed to bathroom mat...

But I wake up and notice that

It’s still not mine yet. Dang it!

Incidental Clerihew

LAMENT FOR A LAPTOP

Isssn't it ju t the way?
I'm ready to finissssh my book in one more day,
And my Sssssssss key
uddenly turnsss pe ky.







(In other news: 130,000 words! I'll be done with the cleaned-up draft tomorrow. Then maybe I'll answer those quiz questions and go see Wall-E.)

Vocabulary Poem: Rhipidion

RHIPIDION (rih-PID-ee-un). n. A fan used to keep flies away from the wine in the chalice during the Celebration of the Liturgy. (Eastern Orthodox.)

Before there was MetLife, and back past Providian
Some Byzantine genius devised the rhipidion
As a sort of insurance for Orthodox guys
To keep Jesus' blood unpolluted by flies.

But that wasn't all! Once the fan became known,
Then some other inventors built things of their own:
Like the gagulon rex--a small chisel and mallet
To chip bits of the Host that get stuck to one's palate;

Or the vellux--a cloth stuffed with small bits of cheeses
To capture the wine if some supplicant sneezes;
From the cermyl, a corn-floured, gluten-free Host,
To the etnoi--a cooker for Holy Host toast--

They kept adding--The nouon, the quimmel, the jeltz--
Until Orthodox priests had utility belts!
But through some clumsy mix of tradition and luck,
It seems only the simple rhipidion stuck.

(P.S.--It's just me now, but I wish instead
They'd invented good wine and some tastier bread.)

Out of Town, and Vocabulary Poem Update

I'm heading to the Berkshires for two nights of performances. So I won't have computer access for a while, and therefore I won't be updating for two days or so.

On the plus side, however, I just went over my old blog posts and realized that I have done vocabulary poems on words that start with EVERY letter except R, V, and Y, which have no representation at all. (No R! Isn't that odd?) So I'm taking about two dozen words with me, and when I return I hope to have made up this lack. (I'm particularly optimistic about rhipidion, vaccary, and yaffle, but you never know how inspiration will go, and I'm not saying there won't be a late rally by volvelle or yuzluk.)

(Next up: E, I, K, Q, T, and X, which each have only one poem. Assuming I stay focused on knocking out individual letters rather than simply opening the dictionary at random.)

Some Say the World Will End In Plagiarism...

I just realized something: my very silly poem here has the exact same rhyme scheme (and ending scheme) as Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening." Here's the proof.

I just want to point out that this is an accident. All that happened is that I was in my friend's girly shower, looking for soap, and I saw some "shower gel." I thought, "What the hell is shower gel?" and felt the swing of it, and once the next line came easily to me--I knew it would have to be something like "The label's vague; I cannot tell"--I realized it was begging to be versified. But at the time the only model I had in mind was "I Do Not Love Thee, Dr. Fell"--which, by the way, has a more interesting backstory than I was aware of.

Incidental Poem: A Naive Question About Women's Toiletries

A NAIVE QUESTION ABOUT WOMEN'S TOILETRIES

Oh, what the hell is "shower gel?"
The bottle's French and doesn't tell.
It's creamy-white with hints of taupe,
And has a citrus-floral smell.

I came here in the simple hope
That I could find a bar of soap
There's "rinse," "exfoliant,"... and yet
Is there a thing marked "cleanser?" Nope.

It pumps out in a techno-jet,
And seems to lather up when wet
I'd use it, but I fear as well
That there is something I don't get.

A word to all those folks who sell--
A diagram would serve to quell
My angst, and stop this baffled yell:
Oh, what the hell is shower gel?

Poem: To a Wonderful Host (Dave Classic, 1995 Vintage)

I was writing about Hallmark to a friend of mine this weekend, and it occurred to me that there's a poem I wrote that almost no one has ever seen. It was part of my audition for Hallmark, to show what I could do, and I decided to go a little crazy with the rhyme scheme. So here's the poem, which (modesty be damned) helped me get the card-writing job so many years ago, and which I'm reassembling from memory:

TO A WONDERFUL HOST

Your friendly hospitality's
A thing to put a pal at ease!
You throw off ostentatiousness
And jettison formalities!

With customary graciousness
And generous audaciousness
You share, devoid of vanity,
Your dwelling-place's spaciousness!

So, fighting off inanity,
And calming guests' insanity,
Your kindly hospitality's
A model for humanity!

Triolet by G. K. Chesterton

It's been too long since this site had a poem. But since I can't think of anything at the moment, here's an ultrasilly favorite of mine from G.K. Chesterton titled "Triolet." It's not even an according-to-Hoyle triolet, but I love its simplicity.

TRIOLET

I wish I were a jellyfish
That cannot fall downstairs.
Had I one thing I'd wish to wish,
I wish I were a jellyfish
That hasn't any cares,
And doesn't even need to wish,
"I wish I were a jellyfish
That cannot fall downstairs."

Anu Garg Did Me a Solid

Forgot to mention this earlier, but a few weeks back, I noticed that my site, which averages about a hundred hits a day, had suddenly had 3,000 visitors. The hell? Then I noticed that all the new comments were on a single entry: my poem on the word jentacular.

I contacted one of the commenters and found out the deal: Anu Garg (his real name, apparently) runs a Word-A-Day feature that you can sign up for via email. You get five new words every week, usually on some theme or other (toponyms, Arabic words, words about the ocean, etc.), and then on the weekend he compiles a sort of "best of comments" emailing where people say things like, "I always had trouble spelling supersede, and then I came up with this mnemonic..." or "That word reminds me of a soda bottle I once saw on vacation in Belize..." At any rate, on this particular week, the theme was "words about food," and one of the days (I want to say Thursday) was "jentacular" (pertaining to breakfast). And one of the commenters said, "Speaking of jentacular, here's a cool poem"--and linked to my site.

So I adjusted the jentacular poem accordingly (I essentially added a welcome mat), and then promptly stopped updating my site (computer woes), so I imagine that anyone who started reading my blog because of Word-A-Day lost interest pretty quickly. Still--it was nice, and I'd just like to thank Anu Garg publicly, as well as the person who sent the link. If you ever want a bunch of silly vocabulary poems...well, I think I'm actually the only game in town.

Current Events Poems: Court Forces Name Change

Italian Court Forces Parents to Change Their Child's Name from "Friday" to "Gregory"

1.
"Friday"'s just a non-name, an
Italian judge has held.
I'll tell Wednesday Addams, then,
And you tell Tuesday Weld.

2.
A strangeish name in Italy
Has got the courts dismayed:
"They'll mock the kid in Little Lea-
gue! A ruling must be laid!"
That's dumb. I'll tell you this for free:
The kids you ought to save
Are all the luckless ones like me
With dull-ass names like "Dave."

A Terribly Silly Poem...And a Follow-Up

Hannah Montana could play in Havana
And I wouldn't care one iota.
Nor would I much blink if she ate a live mink
Or she changed her last name to Dakota.

Hannah Montana could burn down Savannah
With all of her fans! That'd show 'em!
...But if Hannah Montana's last name was "Banana,"
I still might have written this poem.

*************************************************
[LATER: a follow-up poem:]

The fact that Miss Montana is the sole
Best-selling concert ticket in our nation
Says less about the state of rock and roll
And more about her market penetration.

Current Events Poem: Dracula's Castle For Sale

Dracula's Castle Is For Sale, Owner Announces

Dracula's castle is going for sale!
It's gonna cost somebody boatloads of kale,
But I'd steal the money and even risk jail
If I could have Dracula's castle.

I'd pack vintage clothing and forward my mail--
I'd goth the place up to the tiniest nail--
Pipe sound effects tapes to make visitors quail--
And it would be worth all the hassle.

I'd put on an accent and dress really fine,
Attend swanky parties and maybe drink wine,
I'd murmur "So, darling--your fortress or mine?"
And I would score babes by the passel,
If I could have Dracula's castle.

I'd glower from towers that shadow the dale
While pacing the walls in a cape and a veil.
I'd gloomily brood on my life's weary trail,
And think of the people I'd love to impale
If I could have Dracula's castle.

But alas, it would seem that this dream cannot be.
They want 90 mil and I lack even three.
You ask why the best things in life can't be free?
'Cause somebody--either the owner or me--
Is simply too much of an ass'le.

Incidental Poem: The Wages of Snow

(An oldie I wrote when I lived in Kansas City, but it's still relevant:)

THE WAGES OF SNOW

Oh I wish that I lived on a tropical isthmus,
Where the sun is as hot as a tannery!
For the wages of having a really white Christhmus
Is a hideous, slush-ridden Jannery.

Vocabulary Poem: Scacchic

SCACCHIC (SKA-kic). adj. Of or pertaining to the game of chess.

Bobby Fischer, chess god, beat the Reds,
And shortly after, went way off his meds---
Became an anti-Semite, grew a beard,
Indulged in rants both paranoid and weird...
The danger's clear. So why pursue success
In something as obsessional as chess?
The kind of folks whose drives and dreams are scacchic
Are rarely loud or dissolute or bacchic.
But why live life a brainy, zany monk?
I think I'd rather die a whoring drunk.

Incidental Poem: Get Paid to Party!

On Seeing An Internet Ad That Says "Models! Get Paid to Party With Wealthy Professionals at NY Nightclubs!"

It looks quite enticing on paper
But frankly I think it's berserk.
Who wants to get drinks at a nightclub
And have it remind them of work?

(P.S.--And still they haven't called!
Perhaps my application's stalled...)

Current Events Poem: Osama Unit Shuts Down

CIA CLOSES UNIT FOCUSED ON CAPTURE OF BIN LADEN

This doesn't mean he got away,
Say people at the CIA;
They'll just seek out Al-Qaeda more,
Bin Laden slightly less.

Besides, thanks to the thorough way
They've tapped us at the NSA,
We'll nail his ass the very day
He visits the US.

A Lament in Verse

In a world where unique
New devices each week
Are presented at minuscule cost,
Some woman or gent
Should attempt to invent
A new cell phone that cannot get lost!

Every new one's designed
With a near-human mind
That's so cunning, you cannot outflank it.
And they've gotten so small,
You can't see them at all,
Even if they're just tucked in your blanket.

My first, I remember
Was bought last September---
And today I just bought number four.
It has never been fun
To rebuild from square one,
And I simply can't take any more.

The technology's known
For a never-lose phone.
We've got gene splicing, spacecraft, and SETI.
So let's make phones wireless,
And thoroughly tireless:
Just up and implant them already!