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Take 500 from the opposite of light, and tell me where your father's father dwelt in the time of the Deluge.
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Today is
"A word to the wise ain't necessary --
it's the stupid ones that need the advice."
-Bill Cosby
posted by Wonderdog | 4:47 PM | Permalink
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8 comments
8 Comments:
Finally a poem even a poetry challenged person (me) can understand.
Not so fast, CIV (or should we call you '104' for short?). There is always hidden meaning in poetry. You might think tht someone having a bad day is happy that a crow knocked snow on him. Yeah, right. Who in their right mind likes that. No, it must be more sinister. Does the snow signify cocaine? I mean, "HEMLOCK" tree? Isn't that poisionous? Or is the character just nuts? Maybe the snow is really bird doo doo and this whack job likes it. Maybe he's a 12 once short of a 6 pack and ready to make with the 'little horse must think it queer' suicidal ideation. Just when you THINK you understand poetry. . . . . .
Oh, geez, Stewdog, just when I thought I was getting somewhere. The only "F" I ever got in my many years of schooling was on a poetry test. Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay" had me completely baffled.
You can call me VA or Virginia. CIV is very Washington like, but I don't care for it -- sounds like a disease. And I don't understand "(or should we call you '104' for short?)" OK, I'm short, but is that 104 some sort of poetic trick?
Oh, I just got it. Roman numerals. Very clever.
To our conservative friend. . you are a good, nay, great sport.
Frankly, once that high school diploma is passed, I think Roman numerals and poetry should be banned, but don't let Marie of Kate or the Dog of Wonder catch me saying that.
VA, please don't engage Stewdog in converstation. My advice to you would be to stop dead in your tracks and step slowly away from him. His idea of poetry is that it does not exist unless it begins with, "There once was a girl from Nantucket..."
You read a poem that finally gave you a bit of a buzz. Don't let Stewdog kill it. Kate Marie and I will convert you yet.
OK. . you don't think the Stewdawgg is a poet. . well, my feel ARE Longfellows, and I offer this verse:
I'm proud to be an American.
I'm glad that I am free.
But I wish I was a little dog,
And Michael Moore. . . a tree.
Roses are red,
Moore's name is Michael,
Arafat's dead,
please don't recycle.
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