ode to a form

13 Jun 2016 29 Comments

by lynn__ in quadrille Tags: , , , ,

yes, it

requires

some skill

to write a

real quadrille;

musical, like

a trill, a thrill

to take up

your best quill

let creative

juices spill;

count each

word,

you will

keep writing

until the

quota of

cuarenta y cuatro

you fill…

then chill.

 

Chilling at the poets’ pub today, writing quadrilles on the word “spill”.

 

odious ode

11 Mar 2014 Leave a comment

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: , ,

(recipe for disaster in quatrain verse)

 

Slow cook this hearty hot porridge,

stir in sweetest honey and cream;

if bears come to breakfast, oh horridge,

we shall hear dear Goldilocks scream.

 

blond trespasser flees cottage in rush–

Papa growls over cooled bowls of mush:

“On warm servings of girls and oatmeal put dibs,

they’re both full of fiber and will stick to your ribs!”

 

photo credit: Quaker Oats (an Iowa based company)

 

 

Just for fun response to

Tweetspeak poetry prompt

to write ode to a favorite cereal

 

(photo credit:  www.quakeroats.ca)

Ode to the Potato

22 Nov 2013 12 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: , ,

 

Magnificent

member of

most basic

food group;

venerated

versatile

starch to

fill bellies,

fuel for

farm work;

 

enjoyed

raw… like

an apple –

aardappel,

pomme

de terre

…or

baked

(twice),

boiled,

mashed,

scalloped,

broasted,

hashed

and

browned;

 

Favorite

fast food

fried so

French; first

proffered in

Paris by

push-cart

vendors

and now

featured

at McD’s

“fine dining”.

 

I say

“potato”,

you say

“patata”,

you say

“tuber”

I say

“spud”…

derived

from the

simple spade

…and the

Society for the

Prevention of

Unwholesome

Diet  (!?)

-19th century,

(Great Britain).

 

Not sanctioned

by church,

degenerate

delicacy

thought

unbiblical

(with no cross

references)

until

sprinkled

with

“holy water”;

now just

sprinkled

liberally

with

salt.

 

A famine

of this

humble root

forever

changed the

histories

of two nations

transforming

lives of

immigrants,

and

indigenous

alike,

by laying rails

across

a continent.

 

So what

do you

think,

Mr. Potato

Head?

Is this

just a

wild

truffle?

I think not.

It’s no

small

potatoes!