Archive

Monthly Archives: April 2023

National Poetry Writing Month 2023, day 7

the funny thing about sorrow

sorrow visits us all our lives
for a weekend here
and three years there
and at least a little every single minute

but it can make you laugh
as with a funeral
where the best friend of the deceased
tells funny stories
and the gathered are grateful
for laughter’s relief
and the brief escape
reliving ridiculous episodes

when you have a good cry
an ugly cry or a soft cry
it’s funny how it sometimes seems
you just had a bath or a baptism
and sins or street grit
seem to have been washed away

my mom helped my aunt zilpha cry in 1965
while kid-me watched from the next room
they were looking at letters from her brother
my grandfather
who’d been institutionalized
and died in 1963
funny how later that day
aunt zilpha was so cheery and aware

i have a little sorrow going on right now
and it’s funny how i am sort of celebrating
by not talking about it
but posting a new profile picture
with my sorrowful face on display

it is good to smile
but it is also good to cry
good to let friends know you’re not ok
but will be ok soon

and so it will be with you, my friend,
at certain times of loss,
or adverse circumstance

Shakespeare’s Falstaff said a funny thing:
“Who hath [honour]?
He who died o’ Wednesday.”

beware wednesday
says this joker
cracking wise
because sorrow

I have just finished Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers. It is one of the finest novels I have ever read. It succeeds as a mystery novel, as a period piece, as a commentary on social stratification, and as a complex and magnificent love story. It is the third tale in the saga of Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, Strong Poison and Have His Carcase being the first two. All three are superb, but Gaudy Night is the capstone.

The three acrostic poems on this page were inspired by the story of Harriet and Peter. The strictures of the acrostic forms I use and of brevity make them analogous to Plato’s Myth of the Cave in terms of reflecting the actuality of the love story, but those who have read any of the three books will hear an echo.

Downfall

Deliver a roman à clef
Designed to cure the blind & deaf

Of incomplete sensoria

Which then restores euphoria

Now Knowledge, that most bitter pill
Necessitates a lonely hill


Free Pass

Fret & weep
Fall asleep

Rouse the area
Raise hysteria

Enter Bliss

Extra kiss


High Time

Heavens! We’ll be late for T
If, though, you’ve the dough-re-mi
Glean & dawdle; twinkle; gleam
Hasten not! It spoils the scheme

A poem that acrosticizes the alphabet is known as an abecedarian. The first three syllables are pronounced A B C. Then say the name Darian, and you’re home.

Aay Bee Cee Dee Eee Eff Gee

Abracadabra, a cadre of dreamers! Whoopee! OMG

Antedeluvian essences wheedle the Infinite

Yes, let us feed wildebeests ending strife in our Noble Cause spree

Since each line has a related-but-different meter, I make bold to suggest that April 3, 2023 is the day Slant Meter was invented. There will probably be zero seismic upheaval in the world of poetry, but not bad for a chubby old guy with a bent heart, eh? 🙂

“Tap” is one of those marvelous itty-bitty words that can mean any of a number of things. You may be tapped for a promotion. You may hear gentle rain on your window. There may be a Raven ready to repeat a maddening word, wanting you to let her in. Or you may be out of funds–tapped out. (I just tapped that on my laptop.)

So I have drawn the master of tap dancing, Sammy Davis Jr., doing what he did superbly. Next to him is a tableau vivant of a man walking, and the tap on his shoulder by a lady who is about to change his life. Next to them is the prosaic and eminently useful Water Tap, based on my bathroom-sink faucet.

Tap TapTapTap Tap

The door goes rat-a-tat-a-tat
To tell a Caller’s on the mat
They may complain about your cat

A dancer taps into nostalgia
And then he has fibromyalgia
As always, Entropy will gouge ya

Penultimately we may gasp
Plead if we hear a gravelled rasp
Perhaps we feel the REAPER’S grasp

A Fool Aloof

All of us love Cinderell A

Few of us a spitting came L
One of us makes turnip jell O
Overactive as Othell O
Let us grade this wayward fellow… F

Cinderella, of course, is the classic Rags-to-Riches story. Camels do spit and most of us find that disagreeable. Turnip Jello does not exist, except here; so there is only one maker. (Fun fact: my middle name, Wright, means “maker.) And Othello had an overactive imagination, an overactive murderous urge, and an overactive tendency to believe what he was told.

In my country, the letter F denotes more than one thing. In the case of a grade, F stands for Failure, Failing, or Fail. Since the last line didn’t rhyme one the last word, the acrostic literally gets an F.

Happy April Fool’s Day, Friends!