Bloody Christmas, here again.
Let us raise a loving cup:
Peace on earth, goodwill to men,
And make them do the washing-up.
Posts Tagged ‘poetry friday’
It’s late October. You know what that means? Time for a creepy poem. But first, some background:
It begins with a Dark Secret: when I was in high school, I was on the board of the school literary magazine, Out of the Blue. My junior year, we — miraculously — sold every single copy of our annual issue for two reasons, and two reason
s alone. First, my friend Brian Wagner — a talented artist and Dragonlance fanatic — drew all of these very cool pictures of knights and maidens and dragons and stuff that everybody loved. Secondly, my other friend William Aulson wrote the following poem, which was quoted so often and so frequently that I am going to just write it down from memory:
Fluffy bunny, fluffy bunny
How I love my fluffy bunny!
His fuzzy ears, his cute little nose,
When I hug him, I laugh and glow!
Oh, joy! Oh, glee!
My fluffy bunny loves me!
Oh how sad, how terrible!
My little brother, that spawn of Satan
Just took my fluffy bunny and ate him!
Just like the frog he roasted tender
And the gerbil he chucked in the blender!
Oh depression, oh gloom!
Will I get another animal soon?
Cute puppy, cute puppy.
How I love my cute puppy!
Wow. I still love it as much now as I did then. Thanks, Bill.
The leaves are just beginning to change around the countryside here in Pittsburgh. Even from my favorite reading chair (in my newborn son’s room) I can see that the trees towering over our neighbors’ houses are beginning to be touched with crimson. Say what you want about the leaf peepers in New England — autumn in southwestern Pennsyvania is pretty darn hard to beat. In honor of the season and the three rivers of my home, I present “Old River at Autumn” by M. Varin Hamler.
Autumn down old river way, dropping willows
Fringe the shallow, lazy water’s edge,
Cat-tails, bronze, on green reeds play
Hide-and-seek with goldenrod, and secure
On earthy ledge, gentian weed and marshgrass nod.
On the bank gay sumac flings banners red
As cardinal wings, and in poplar boughs
Overhead blackbirds call, and poise to fly,
Silhouettes against the sleepy sky.
Singing, silver ripples frame a lone blue heron
Where he stands, like cameo upon the sands,
While mellow sunshine peeps through tinge of
Woody-scented, smoky haze; these are lovely,
Lingering days: autumn down old river way.