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  #51  
Unread 07-23-2021, 06:00 PM
F.F. Teague's Avatar
F.F. Teague F.F. Teague is offline
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This is the poem I mentioned to John Isbell. It required rather a lot of research, lol.


Dancers of Delphi

Herse
I am Herse; Athena once asked me to care
:>for young Erik, the great Gaia's child,
but I failed, I went mad, and I tore out my hair,
:>then I jumped to my death, wan and wild;
and I trance with my sisters in broken relief
:>to an unheard melodious mix,
on our podium decked with acanthusine leaf
:>in our new home, museum room six.

Aglauros
I'm Aglauros; I too took my life that bad day,
:>though some say that I died for my town,
in a sacrifice aimed to cast Ares away,
:>thus I climbed atop cliffs and dropped down;
and I trance with my sisters in broken relief
:>to an unheard melodious mix,
on our podium decked with acanthusine leaf
:>in our new home, museum room six.

Pandrosos
I'm Pandrosos; I perished not by my own hand,
:>for I didn't peer in Erik's box,
so I saw no slick snake, guarding, frighteningly grand,
:>since I did not pick Athena's locks;
and I trance with my sisters in broken relief
:>to an unheard melodious mix
on our podium decked with acanthusine leaf
:>in our new home, museum room six.

All
Once we danced for Apollo in Pythian form,
:>at his temple in Delphi, most high,
but being stared at by humans is now the grim norm
:>with three brothers, two headless, nearby;
and we all trance together in broken relief
:>to an unheard melodious mix
on our podium decked with acanthusine leaf
:>in our new home, museum room six.

- - -
🍦🍦🍦 <-- ice creams for anyone feeling as hot as I am!
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  #52  
Unread 07-24-2021, 07:36 AM
John Isbell John Isbell is offline
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Hi Fliss,

Lovely, and that stanza ending is superb! It reminds me a bit of Flanders and Swan, of whom I am exceedingly fond.

Cheers,
John

PS ta for the choc ice! It was scrumptious. :-)
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  #53  
Unread 07-24-2021, 01:25 PM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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.

(I, too, am confused about what does and doesn't meet the fresh test... But here goes!)

My freshness is in my grandchildren. Here's a nonsense rhyme I wrote for our three-year old on his birthday. (He thinks the word "underpants" is hilarious). For me, this is fresh:



THE UNDERPANTS SONG
To the tune "It's Raining, It's Pouring"

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
A little old man in his underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Two barking dogs in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who‘s there?
Three pink pigs in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Four swinging monkeys in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Five dizzy ducks in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Six pretty ponies in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Seven hungry hippos in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Eight angry birds in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Nine naughty cats in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Ten silly boys in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who’s there?
Eleven leprechauns in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who's there?
Twelve long-necked giraffes in their underwear!

Ding Dong!
Who's there?
It's only me and I'm in my underwear!

Da-de-ta-de-ta-da
Ta-de-ta-da-de-da!

Da-de-ta-de-ta-da
Ta-de-ta-da-de-da!


.
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  #54  
Unread 07-24-2021, 02:50 PM
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F.F. Teague F.F. Teague is offline
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John, thanks for reading; I like Flanders and Swan! And you're welcome for the choc ice. I'm not eating at the moment, but virtual snacking is okay, of course. It's cooler today, so Coo is offering cookies 🍪🍪🍪

Jim, that's great. You worry too much about things, I think. You're in D&A now, with the emphasis on A here, so just write what you like and see how it turns out. And this has turned out brilliantly. I can see it as a book, a page per verse, colourfully illustrated. My artist-friend Andre (from Italy) would love working with this. Naturally I'm rather drawn to the leprechauns, but it's all good <(:-)


Best wishes,
Fliss
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  #55  
Unread 07-26-2021, 02:27 PM
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F.F. Teague F.F. Teague is offline
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And for our next trick, here is...


Guinea-pantoum

On sunny windy afternoons
in Spring, within the outdoor pen,
the guinea pigs are singing tunes;
run through a pipe, go round again.

In Spring, within the outdoor pen,
The Duchess (Dutch) and Truffle (brown)
run through a pipe, go round again,
climb on a box and jump back down.

The Duchess (Dutch) and Truffle (brown),
the twenty-fifth and -sixth of pets,
climb on a box and jump back down,
point twitching noses through the nets.

The twenty-fifth and -sixth of pets,
since March of 1983,
point twitching noses through the nets,
crunch carrots, squeak excitedly.

Since March of 1983,
the guinea pigs are singing tunes,
crunch carrots, squeak excitedly
on sunny windy afternoons.

🥕🥕🥕
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  #56  
Unread 07-26-2021, 03:49 PM
John Isbell John Isbell is offline
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Lovely. I will say, Fliss, that when I see guinea on its own, I half expect to read about guinea fowl and guinea hens. I am so used to hearing guinea pig as one three-syllable word. :-)

Anyway. What a splendid pantoum!

Cheers,
John
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  #57  
Unread 07-26-2021, 11:38 PM
Martin Elster Martin Elster is offline
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Fliss, I absolutely love that guinea pantoum. The progression of the rodents' various activities is delightful. And the rhymes and meter are right on, too.
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  #58  
Unread 07-27-2021, 06:24 AM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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.
A pantoum is a perfect platform to express the routines of guinea pigs! Really wonderful. Storybook-like.
.
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  #59  
Unread 07-27-2021, 02:55 PM
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F.F. Teague F.F. Teague is offline
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Hi John, Martin, Jim,

Thanks for enjoying the pantoum!

Yes, John; I think a lot of people might go to fowl and hens rather than pigs, lol. But in the context of a little book of pet poems, with plenty of guinea-images, hopefully it'd be okay :-)

- - -
Thanks, Martin! Well, as you might imagine, I've had plenty of opportunities to observe guinea-behaviour over the years. Thanks for liking the rhymes and meter too :-)

- - -
Jim, I'm happy you like it too. I've written quite a lot of things about guineas, including 'The Secret Diary of Truffle Teague', in which Truffle has her babies. Super-sweet, lol.


Well, I've started to think about the bull-response (cf. John's poem on Met) and I'll probably start researching tomorrow :-)

Best wishes,
Fliss
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  #60  
Unread 08-08-2021, 12:10 PM
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Okay; well, work prevented any drafting with the bulls poem until today and here's something I've just completed in between insect tasks, lol.

John, I've merged our poems; I hope that's okay with you. Feel free to make any suggestions for improvement :-)


Ye have not danced

'Oh, but I have!' – Word-Bird ;>)


You straight-winged bulls with the blank heads of men,
you watchers at the gate in Khorsabad,
show me the way to Sargon.
And the bulls
see all that nears, as if prepared to step
down from their plinth to ward off any evil.

Your royal line is gone, and you, preferred
to some bright room in Paris. But your dead –
are they now free? Is your long vigil through?
Shall I now bend the knee, remove each shoe?

The crowd mills by. And suddenly a bird
alights upon the head of one old bull
and then the second; both begin to speak:

'What's that? Remove each shoe? Well, if you must;
and bend at knee? Right-ho, then. We don't mind.
It's hard to care: our souls are cloaked in dust;
our eyes so dimmed, we might as well be blind.

'You'd better stand and put your shoes back on
if you're intent on going on a trip
to Trumpton, was it? No? Ah, King Sargon
and Khorsabad, it's that way. Off you skip!

'Hmm, wait. King Sargon's dead, his city razed;
our memories are dim and dusty too.
We stood so low and lowly and unpraised
for aeons, maybe, it might seem to you.

'We have a sense of movement to the place
where now we stand and watch through squinty eyes;
oh it is such a dull and chilly space
without our golden sands and cobalt skies.

'We are so tired of guarding nothing here
and wish some higher power would transport
our souls to somewhere far beyond this sphere
where we can guard for kings with joyous snort.'

Thus speak the bulls; and once again the bird
alights upon each head; then does a dance!
The bulls are silent then. say not a word
but only smile and smile, as if in trance.


Clay cast his net and fished. And every god
the Earth had seen – the living and the dead –
rose up as if on pillows through the sod.
They wandered up to fill Clay’s teeming head.

Thoth entered. In the silence, Dagon swam
up from the depths. Clay trembled, which was wise.
The looming gods are quick to anger, and
escape our minds – escape our peering eyes.
What is their thinking? Whim and bare command.
This was a problem. Clay was in a jam.

🐮 🐮
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