Monday, July 10, 2023

Bad poems.

I know two things that should prevent me from writing this blog entry:

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. 

"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 ya
Your friends are all here
We’re happy to toast ya
With whiskey and beer
Remember those days
Growing up in the Heights
Block parties and girls
A few switchblade fights
We had so much fun 
In the high school you know
You won your diploma
When you promised to go
One day you met Joanie
Her hair then was red
Your first gal who didn’t have
To put a bag over her head
And soon came the little ones
Jill, Pete, and Joe
Pete’s up for parole now
In six months or so
The family was growing
And you said what the hells
I guess we’ll get hitched
Out rang wedding bells
You worked for the city
The union’s great pride
Doing God only knows
Running bets on the side
You’re old and your fat now
And so you’re retired
You’re leaving for Florida
On account it’s required
So we say happy birthday
And we raise up a toast
To Arnold, our brother
Who 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:

  1. Was the party still going on when you posted this?

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  2. 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!

    ReplyDelete