Before we have Mindy's poems and snippets all over the forum, I thought it would be a good idea to set this thread up for her. I find her stuff to be absolutely charming. The full posts can be read by clicking on the little read arrows. I have kept the poems and pertinent comments and pruned out what I thought was a distraction from appreciating them.
To Mindy: If you want me to put anything back or make any changes, please send me a line.
Michael
I offer a bit of word-play that has taken--or has it given--me quite a few hours of frustration and fun. I call it "The Fuzzy-Wuzzy Chronicles" because...well, you'll see why.
The Bear:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear,
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he!
The Buzzard:
Buzzy Wuzzy was a bird,
But his buzz was seldom heard,
Buzzy Wuzzy wasn't buzzy, was he!
The Cousin:
Cozzy Wuzzy was a coz,
But no relationship he was,
Cozzy Wuzzy wasn't cozzy, was he!
The Cop:
'Cause he was, he wasn't stopped,
Fuzz he was, he was a cop,
'Cause he was, he wasn't, fuzz he was, see?
The Bear:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear,
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he!
The Buzzard:
Buzzy Wuzzy was a bird,
But his buzz was seldom heard,
Buzzy Wuzzy wasn't buzzy, was he!
The Cousin:
Cozzy Wuzzy was a coz,
But no relationship he was,
Cozzy Wuzzy wasn't cozzy, was he!
The Cop:
'Cause he was, he wasn't stopped,
Fuzz he was, he was a cop,
'Cause he was, he wasn't, fuzz he was, see?
Mike Renzulli
Is quite newly
Forty years of age.
Objectively,
He has, you see,
Set out to be a sage.
Is quite newly
Forty years of age.
Objectively,
He has, you see,
Set out to be a sage.
Here's the beginning of a poem I wrote:
Buggy little lanterns,
Wafting through the air,
Sometimes you're not,
And sometimes you're there.
It's about lightning bugs, in case that isn't clear. What I like about it is the third and fourth lines mimic the on-off of the bugs' light. I don't know what that property would be called (rhythmic onomatopoeia?) but it is the sort of thing that poetry must have, I think.
Buggy little lanterns,
Wafting through the air,
Sometimes you're not,
And sometimes you're there.
It's about lightning bugs, in case that isn't clear. What I like about it is the third and fourth lines mimic the on-off of the bugs' light. I don't know what that property would be called (rhythmic onomatopoeia?) but it is the sort of thing that poetry must have, I think.
At my childhood home, on a lake outside Atlanta, the window in the door that leads to the patio is almost three stories above the ground. Looking out towards the lake, you would be looking across a long stretch of lawn dotted with several large trees. In late June and July the fireflies on that stretch of lawn are so numerous that, as twilight deepens, you see a cloud of bllinking lights. Because of the distance, I suppose, you don't see the individual blinks, rather the cloud sparkles softly. Also, the cloud sort of "breathes" upward. The inevitable downward movement of individual fireflies isn't apparant, only a pulsing expansion of the cloud of lights. It's very special.
Lightening Bugs
Buggy little lanterns,
Wafting through the air,
Sometimes you're not,
And sometimes you're there.
Summer-nighttime miracles,
Oblivious to me,
Making light of making light,
For anyone to see.
Optimistic opticals'
Spectacular surprise,
Your glowing, gliding guideposts,
Shine only when you rise!
Mindy Newton
Lightening Bugs
Buggy little lanterns,
Wafting through the air,
Sometimes you're not,
And sometimes you're there.
Summer-nighttime miracles,
Oblivious to me,
Making light of making light,
For anyone to see.
Optimistic opticals'
Spectacular surprise,
Your glowing, gliding guideposts,
Shine only when you rise!
Mindy Newton
