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Thread: Preserves

  1. #1 Preserves 
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    Preserves

    Jelly you sieve
    And jam you don’t—
    Maybe I’ll tell you
    And maybe I won’t.

    Just do what you’re doing,
    The best that you can—
    That’s all there is to it
    Now that you began.

    The thing to remember,
    And remember it well—
    Some deeds go to Heaven;
    Some deeds go to Hell.

    The moral is simple:
    Don’t spit in the wind.
    And make sure your hopes
    Are sagaciously pinned.

    Don’t beard the old lion.
    Don’t slaughter the lamb.
    And don’t above all
    Confuse jelly and jam.

    Jelly you sieve
    And jam you don’t—
    Someday you’ll know this.
    Or maybe you won’t.



    Comments Welcome


    ***Other poems follow below***

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  3. #2  
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    A Parable For Pollyannas

    When I was a child, I ate as a child.
    I hated spinach as a child.
    I hated the taste of spinach.
    Spinach was not to my taste.

    When I became a man, I left behind my childish tastes.
    I liked spinach as a man.
    I liked the taste of spinach.
    Spinach was to my taste.

    For now we eat as through a straw, candy, but then what we eat we shall be.
    Now I eat junk food, but then shall I eat health food.



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  5. #3  
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    The poem "Preserves" (post #1) is modeled on traditional jump-rope rhymes and skipping songs, a lost folk art.
    Not allowed to link to these tags.
    Google is your friend. Click here to enlarge

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    Two old limericks of mine forgotten but found in a folder on my computer

    There once was a Cowgirl out walkin’,
    cellphone to ear and sweet-talkin’,
    when up popped a possum,
    called her “bluebonnet blossom,”
    and the Cowboys all gathered round gawkin’.


    There once was a Serious Man,
    who ended up where he began.
    Asked why this was so,
    he said, “I really don’t know,
    but a fellow must do what he can.”


    For members who like the limerick form, there is an entire thread devoted to it elsewhere at Bolt:

    Click here to enlarge

    http://bolt.cd/board/showthread.php?t=1362668


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  8. #5  
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    Lament

    Poetry be thankless arts
    Half the world don't understand it
    Half the world don't give a shit
    For the whole by the by
    If you're wondering why
    Is less than the sum of its parts



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    Bo the Budgie

    Bo the Budgie
    Got more and more pudgy
    A thing that was plainly absurd
    For while Bo was pudgy
    He was plainly a budgie
    And always ate like a bird!



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    No Thanks

    I really don't understand why,
    sniffed the poetess, stifling a sigh—
    It's not that they can't;
    surely not that they shan't

    Then dabbing a luminous eye,
    she cried, Fie on 'em! Ingrates! Oh fie!



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    Doggerel Don

    Doggerel Don
    Had nothing to write
    And nothing to write it on,
    But he had pen and ink
    And he had time to think,
    So he wrote on the wall of a john.


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  13. #9  
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    Nothing Personal

    Don't take it personally, the old man said
    smiling gently and shaking his head.

    Then tearing off a piece of bread,
    chewing he said:

    This thing went on a long time without you.
    Likely it'll be going on without you again some day and for another long time.
    The indifference of the universe is sublime.
    The impersonality of life is reason to rejoice.


    There was real joy in his voice.

    That you don't matter in the least in the grand scheme of things should be an imponderable relief to you.

    Be happy to be insignificant.

    That is salvation
    , he said,
    and with that word he excused himself
    and went to bed.



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    Stone Fruit

    O

    sloe

    scissura

    indehiscent

    tart astringent

    flesh unfolding

    seed enfolding

    wrap my soul



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  15. #11  
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    Cupid's Bow

    Every woman has a distance

    at which she looks her best

    regardless of complexion

    size or shape and all the rest

    but the arrow is in motion

    and before its flight is spent

    all distances recovered

    a woman’s chief charm is her scent



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  17. #12  
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    Desideri

    May your days be full of wonder
    And your nights the sweetest dreams—
    I, the lightning to your thunder;
    You, the moon to my moonbeams.


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  18. #13  
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    Misogyny

    Beware of that woman so spiteful
    she makes men think women are frightful—
    not sugar or spice
    or anything nice—
    whereas most, as we know, are delightful!


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  19. #14  
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    Leonid

    Sing-song to the tune of "Abdul Abulbul Amir"


    Proud son of the Kharkiv and Muscovite lad
    he found Mother Russia a drag
    so he travelled through Europe with all that he had
    to find a more colorful flag.

    In the Old World nothing exciting unfurled
    And after his journeys were through
    he crossed the Atlantic to see the New World
    and plumped for the Red, White and Blue!

    Well, I've known him now going on twenty-five years
    and he's made quite a difference, you see,
    through joys and through fears, through the laughter and tears,
    as a friend and a brother to me!



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  20. #15  
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    After reading the poem in post #14, Leonid pointed out to me that the Russian flag is red, white, and blue, and that it would be more accurate to say he found the Soviet Union a drag, not Mother Russia.

    So the second line might read: he found Soviet Russia a drag

    What do you think, Leonid?


    For the benefit of our Millennials, this is what the flag of the Soviet Union looked like:

    Click here to enlarge

    You see, it works perfectly in the poem.

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