11:47 a.m. - 2004-05-30
Sing Songy Rhymy Rhymes
Rain Rain go away, you've been around too many days.

My Brain is numb, my muse is dead as moisture creeps inside my head.

Oh, endless storm must you persist,

while barbeque waits in foggy mist.

Doth cast a shadow on our play and

ruin our Memorial day.

Ok....This is about all I can conjur up. A sing songy rhymy poem.

You know, I have been told by poetry afficianados that real peotry doesn't rhyme. I am good at rhyme. It comes natural to me. I write little sing songy rhymy poems for my family for different occasions and my family in turn pats me on the back and says I am an awsome writer.

My Grandmother turned 100 in April and we had a big party for her. 100 years old and she still knows 150 people who are honored to come to her party.

Anyway, I made a scrap book for her, having interviewed all my cousins, and solicited "memories" from them to include in the scrap book along with old pictures of all us grandchildren and I wrote a "real" poem for the cover that didn't rhyme and did the whole iambic pentameter bit. I spent much more time on this poem than I do on my sing songy poems and incorporated bits of all the grandchildrens memories.

Well, although everyone liked the words and it even brought some to tears, no one recognized it as a poem. They all sort of thought of it as "The little thing I wrote for the cover".

Do only other poets and Literature teachers recognize peotry when it doesn't rhyme?

Oh well, I don't consider myself a poet anyway and enjoy writing the little rhymes. For anyone who has read my "Poop in a Tree" story maybe I should confess that when the real life event happened, the first thing that came to mind was how I could develop the story into a Dr. Suessian sort of poem/story. I have read about how the hottest selling childrens books are about bodily functions like "Walter the Farting Dog", and sort of thought that maybe I could make my foray into childrens literature by writing a childrens version of "Poop in a Tree". I did just that, although reviews by people who are forced to read my work because they love me and don't want to say no, reveal that most people liked the real version of the story to my Suessian sing song version.

For all it's worth and because it is just sitting in a word file not being read by anyone, I will include it here.

In the town of Lanark

There�s a beautiful park

With a bag full of poop in a tree.

It�s at 5th and Main

And I�ll try to explain

Exactly how that came to be

I was out for a hike

With my little dog, Mike

I forgot to take with me the scoop

When Mike started stooping, then began pooping

And left a big pile of poop.

All I had was a bag

And my Dad would be mad

If I left it for someone to step on

So I gave it a whack

Right into the sack

With a stick that I found

By the pond.

The poop was now bagged

Though the smell made me gag

And I knew it belonged in the trash

But it was so far away and I wanted to play

So I decided to do something rash.

With the bag as a sling

I started to swing

The bag full of poop round and round

With my aim toward the can

I let go my hand

And suddenly found it air bound.

Up, up flew the turd

And it looked so absurd

When it landed way up in the tree

30 feet off the ground and I looked all around

I was hoping that no one would see.

There we stood, Mike and I

Looking up to the sky

And I thought about letting it be.

Just then my friend, Paul

Came along with a ball

And I asked him if he would help me.

We threw the ball at it

And hoped it would whack it

And knock the poop out of its spot.

But the ball got stuck too, right next to the poo

And now we were really upsot.

Other people came by

And decided to try

To knock the stuff from the trees grip

But each thing we threw

Landed next to the poo

First a bat, then a hat, then a mitt.

The crowd started growing

The wind started blowing

As more stuff got caught in the tree

a shoe and a chair and some kids teddy bear

And a rake and a broom and some keys.

The wind started gusting

The whole crowd was fussing

The people were having a fit

The branches did shake

And down came the rake

Then the hat then the bat then the mitt.

Yes down came the ball

And it started to fall

With it came down the old chair.

Then the broom and the shoe,

And the keys fell out too

Then last of all down came the bear.

The crowd walked away

It had been quite a day

And Mike and I left the park too

In all the commotion

We left with a notion

That something was left yet to do

But my brother Pete

Yelled �It�s time to eat�

And Mother was calling for me.

Yet, in the town of Lanark, in a beautiful Park

There�s a bag full of poop in a tree.

That's it folks.

Hope those of you who aren't inundated with rain have a glorius, sunny Memorial Day...Paula

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