1) I have written plenty of bad poetry -- some unintentionally; and
2) People are out there, trying to do their best for their loved ones, and shouldn't be ridiculed for it.
But part of my Saturday afternoon was spent on the porch with baby dog Izzy, and the music from a birthday party half a mile away was as loud as if it was on a speaker next to us. During a pause in the entertainment -- the musicians were good, the singer, well, not so much -- a family member got up and read a poem to the birthday person. Thanks to the miracle of modern loudspeakers, everyone within a mile got to hear it.
Woof.
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| "This'll wow 'em!" |
I'm not saying people should write poems for birthday parties like Robert Frost. Robert Frost would have written terrible poems for birthday parties. Fights would have broken out. People would have left, angry. What I'm saying is, if you want to say something nice about the guest of honor, just say it. Don't be cute and rhyme it in some approximation of poetic meter, and then read it aloud with the da-da-da enthusiasm of a fourth-grader on mandatory speech day.
The writer always has to mention everyone, lest they offend anyone by leaving them out. What do I mean? I mean they all sound like this:
Arnold, we love yaYour friends are all hereWe’re happy to toast yaWith whiskey and beerRemember those daysGrowing up in the HeightsBlock parties and girlsA few switchblade fightsWe had so much funIn the high school you knowYou won your diplomaWhen you promised to goOne day you met JoanieHer hair then was redYour first gal who didn’t haveTo put a bag over her headAnd soon came the little onesJill, Pete, and JoePete’s up for parole nowIn six months or soThe family was growingAnd you said what the hellsI guess we’ll get hitchedOut rang wedding bellsYou worked for the cityThe union’s great prideDoing God only knowsRunning bets on the sideYou’re old and your fat nowAnd so you’re retiredYou’re leaving for FloridaOn account it’s requiredSo we say happy birthdayAnd we raise up a toastTo Arnold, our brotherWho we love the utmost(Drunken cheers)
Actually, that party might be fun. Just leave before the fight breaks out and everything would be fine.
2 comments:
Was the party still going on when you posted this?
I asked ChatGPT to compose a "brief" funny poem about your Saturday. It did pretty well, except for the "brief" part:
In a cozy nook, on the porch I sat,
With little Izzy, my furry chat.
The sun was shining, the sky so blue,
But a party's soundcloud joined us too.
Half a mile away, the bash was in swing,
Their speakers blared like a wild hornet's sting.
The music played loud, as if on cue,
Izzy and I danced to our own groove.
As the entertainment paused, a precious break,
A family member rose, his poem to make.
With loudspeakers booming, his words took flight,
Reaching ears far and wide, with all their might.
Oh, what a sight, what a grand affair,
A birthday poem, broadcast through the air.
From porch to porch, the message was clear,
Everyone within a mile could hear.
The musicians were skilled, oh, they were fine,
But the singer, alas, missed the golden line.
Yet through it all, laughter did ensue,
As the poem echoed, with joy anew.
So there we sat, Izzy and me,
Laughing and barking, filled with glee.
A Saturday afternoon, like no other,
With loudspeakers amplifying brother.
In this tale of sound, and canine grace,
A funny poem found its rightful space.
And as the party continued to play,
Izzy and I reveled in that melodic mayhem all day!
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