Photo by Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
Oh, Mister Silverstein, we need more of you.
Childlike rhymes (not child-like) and
Oddities you drew.
Oh, Mister Silverstein, how we need your views!
Giggling at our differences,
Poopooing the news.
Oh, Mister Silverstein, help us all to see,
Anything can happen, sir.
Anything can be.
Oh, Sister Milverstein, I am just slo bue.
Runny Babbit yisses mou
And I yiss mou, too.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Root of the matter:
Life is no small potato,
so keep your eyes peeled.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
By no means do I like to travel
On water, air, pavement, or gravel.
So by all means, go.
I’ll stay put. (You know,
Ain’t pretty to see me unravel).
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
Don’t want a dog. No kitty, nor Marie.
He wants a hippo Mrs. placed beneath the Christmas tree.
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I didn’t think this through, when asking Santa Claus
to give a hippopotamus to me for ‘just because.’
I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.
My Christmas hippo wants a hippo missus.
Only a hippopotamiss will do.
I love my hippo friend, I love him through and through
I have a hippopotamus, I don’t think I need two.
But I don’t want my hippo to be blue!
I tell my hippo
we don’t have room for more.
He tells me he’s not asking for a 12-foot dinosaur.
I should have known that he
would need more than just me
And should have seen that he would need a hippopota-she!
I can see him now on Christmas morning,
creeping down the stairs.
Of course, he doesn’t creep, and the stairs are way too steep
To hold a hippo wobbling in his sleep.
Then Santa brought a missus for my hippo.
Only a hippopotamiss would do.
His hippopota missus gives hippo-lotta-kisses,
And now they’re both in hippopota-bliss!
My hippo loves his hippopotamiss!
© Marie Elena Good, 2010 (and revised in 2018)
He was handsome.
Warmhearted.
Excellent mind,
when it mattered.
Nobody more well-
mannered.
Clearly he had the world
at his fingertips.
Then came the diagnoses:
and they were many,
and they were hard to stomach.
This unmasking of
high impact issues
caused setbacks.
He felt he was
plunging into limbo.
No more spearheading projects.
No more chairing committees.
No more researching solutions
at breakneck speed.
But then good news was delivered!
He’d been misdiagnosed all along!
The moral of the story?
Though I try bloody hard to be humerus
It’s all in vein.
And you know what else?
For as long as you have breath,
you’ll never not see noses
in diagnoses.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I do not like her sans iamb.
She messes with my rhythmic ear.
I wish that she would disappear.
I do not like Ae freslighe, Ma’am.
I’d rather eat green eggs and spam.
© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good
“The Ae freslighe (ay fresh lee) is a fascinating, but fairly challenging Celtic poetic form.” ~ R.J. Clarken
Per Terry Clitheroe of The Poets Garret (http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/celtic1.html):
Ae freslighe: (ay fresh lee):
Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines one and three rhyme with a triple (three syllable) rhyme and two and four use a double (two syllable) rhyme. The poem should end with the first syllable, word, or the complete line that it began with.
| x x x x (x x a) x x x x x (x b) x x x x (x x a) x x x x x (x b) |
*
Ain’t got no time for silliness, I say.
No room for fun. No need for loud guffaws.
Can’t cope with pranks. Can’t stand the phrase, “Let’s play.”
I’d rather deal with early menopause.
Ain’t got no time for silliness, for sure.
Won’t take the time to write a silly poem.
I’m too articulate, and too mature.
I’d rather chew on tin or Styrofoam.
Ain’t got no time for silliness, ya hear?
I’ve got no use for gigglers all aglow.
Don’t whisper no sweet nothings in my ear.
I’d rather use teaspoons to shovel snow.
Were I to pen some fun, I’d be remiss.
I’m glad that it’s a somber sonnet, this.
© Marie Elena Good, 2017
*Izzy’s first haircut! 😀
If the whole world was silly, you know what I’d eat?
Worm Fettuccini, right off of the street.
Some caramelized whiskers of catfish today;
Tomorrow, perhaps a nice leather fillet.
A handful of gravel from Mr. Green’s drive,
With honey bee’s knees from an elephant’s hive.
Gallons of hazelnut-chocolate-bean chili.
That’s what I’d eat if the whole world was silly.
If the whole world was silly, you know what I’d wear?
An upside-down tuba, and one for a spare.
A glove on my foot, and two socks on one hand,
Yesterday’s junk mail; fresh peach skin (or canned).
My big sister’s homework, my Uncle Jim’s lures,
And maybe that G.I. Joe lunch pail of yours.
Oversized dentures from Great, Great Aunt Milly.
That’s what I’d wear if the whole world was silly.
If the whole world was silly, you know what I’d do?
I’d unzip the sky to let hippos skip through.
I’d hop into books, and I’d flip through my bed.
I’d butter my face, and smooth lip balm on bread.
I’d plant fish from seed, and teach star fruit to swim.
Then I’d color each glare with a nice shade of dim.
Everyone’s name would end with “The Frilly,”
If I was the queen, and the whole world was silly.
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2009
Inspired by “If the World was Crazy” by Shel Silverstein
