Classical Poetry, as Updated by My Despicable Friends

(A few of my friends – some of whose adventures I have chronicled previously – found out I kept a poetry blog, and have provided me with some helpful suggestions for poems. A selection of the more repeatable ones are shown below. – Owen)


I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said, “You suck.”


I wandered lonely as a cloud
But at least I was high


Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more hot and e’en
More likely to drive me to drink


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bin but a hamper.


One must have a mind of winter
To read this poem
And make any sense of it, whatsoever


I saw the best minds of my generation…
Not really.
The best minds of my generation
Wouldn’t have anything to do with me.


Come live with me and be my love,
And we shall all the pleasures prove
Of trailer park, and nature trail,
And Bud Light purchased (when on sale)

O Lonely Sock Upon The Floor

O lonely sock upon the floor,
Seek you the sacred coves
That other socks of mine have sought,
Escaping, then, in droves?

I see you setting out, this hour,
To find those silver gates,
And join the other mismatched soles
Who no longer have mates.

So where, tomorrow, you will be
There’s none can truly say —
For many-a-stocking citizen
Becomes an émigré.

The day you find your freedom, we
Will mark what you achieved,
And never sweat you any more.
So you should feel relieved.

O lonely sock upon the floor,
We two are weaved the same:
We both are hanging by a thread,
And have life’s dryer to blame,

Which spins us and confuses us,
And deals us tears and knocks —
For though it’s just a cycle,
It is jarring, and

It socks

At Syzygy

This poem’s ending happily,
I’ll tell you right up front.
It’s when the moon’s at syzygy
You question if that’s quite a word:
It is. And there’s the brunt

Of what I mostly meant to say
Today, tomorrow, yesterday —
For there are words that you can see
Like apogee, or perigee,
Of doubtless authenticity.
But this is like a stunt:

To use a word without a vowel,
And “y’s” slapped on it with a trowel:
I see it now – you’re doubting me –
That there’s a word like syzygy.
This seems like poem overdose
And not just that the moon is close.

Or better yet, that it’s in line
With earth and sun. All that is fine:
But Owen, really, must you flounce
About with words we can’t pronounce?
But I say we can plainly be
In harmony at syzygy.
And this is how my poem ends.
You see? We still are (mostly) friends…

Questions, Questions

Why don’t spammers get writer’s block?
Why are the worst AND the best called “goats”?

Why are politicians considered experts
On anything but getting votes?

Why is bad to be premature,
But good do be proactive?

And why do men think that shouting at women
Will make them somehow attractive?

Rebecca

Rebecca always hated me
I know, because she said:
And if I passing, spoke to her
I might as well be dead

For all the interest she would show.
But I would always try:
And she might glance up from her book
Or not, as I went by.

But then, one day, she spoke to me
And asked me if I had
A copy of Persuasion
She could borrow for a tad

I said I did, and brought it on
The very next of days;
Rebecca took it with a glance
That turned into a gaze

“You like me, Owen, don’t you?”
I did not know what to say —
“Well, don’t. Because I don’t like you,”
And so I went away

But lo, the years have gone
And I now see what I mistook –
Rebecca
If you’re out there —

Can I have
My fricking book?

A Dating Memory

I wanted to seduce her with my wit;
She started laughing at my clumsiness.
I thought, “I’ll let my style do the bit” –
Then knocked over the wine, and made a mess

She came towards me with a yellow towel,
And I no more my laughter could abate:
Then her eyes shone when I laughed at myself
And I had done enough
For a first
Date


 

(“A Dating Memory” – 7-5-2015)