Happy Birthday in a Minor Key and other assorted humorous poetry by Bill Bailey

 

Bill Bailey happens to be one of my favourite comedians. 

And no, I haven't shared everything he's done here, but this is special because today is my birthday. And also because he starts this segment with two short poems. 

And they're great. Not because they are wonderful poetry or anything like that, it's because one of his most impressive features is that he always knows just how to finish a work. It's sublime.

So, I thought as today is my birthday, I'd start it off with this lovely birthday song, enhanced by the sweet melancholy of the minor key. 

(NB: original recording was taken down.)

Okay, maybe it's not that sweet. But it kinda is.

And that's because of the ending. After getting progressively bleaker, the twist is hilarious. And there's something to be said for a nihilistic lack of sugar coating, or dare I say a furniture-chewing Grinch. It might be just me, but I find it uplifting.  

So  happy 'meaningless milestone of decay' to me!!!! :) 

Have a great day, everyone

A.J. 

If you like this you may also like:

Tim Minchin's F- the Poor (For musical comedy) 

Or the slightly ore uplifting milestone poem: An Affliction of Poetry: Running away with a Christmas Sonnet

Or if you like reversals, you may enjoy: A Sonnet to the Muse. 

If All the World were Paper

If all the world were paper,
And all the sea were inke;
If all the trees were bread and cheese,
How should we do for drinke?

If all the world were sand’o,
Oh then what should we lack’o;
If as they say there were no clay,
How should we take tobacco?

If all our vessels ran’a,
If none but had a crack’a;
If Spanish apes ate all the grapes,
How should we do for sack’a?

If fryers had no bald pates,
Nor nuns had no dark cloysters;
If all the seas were beans and pease,
How should we do for oysters?

If there had been no projects,
Nor none that did great wrongs;
If fidlers shall turne players all,
How should we doe for songs?

If all things were eternall,
And nothing their end bringing;
If this should be then, how should we
Here make an end of singing?

Anon

Treasury Islands (a cute site you should definitely check out if yo're faicnated by children's literature) says this piece appeared in John Mennes and James Smiths  Facetiae, published in or after 1658.

It's always interesting to speculate about the inspiration for any work -  and I can't help but wonder if it could have been this piece from the Quran. There are various translations but this is the simplest I've found. "If the seas were ink and trees were pens, the words of Allah would not be exhausted." Such magnificence. Every so often I wish I could read something in it's original language, and that is definitely the case here. 

And all this was because I thought an "If" poem would be a great way to introduce my students to poetry. But I'm so taken with if poetry, next week, don't be surprised if you see another "If" poem. (Not necessarily mine) 

Have a great week

A.J.

Have You Heard the News

Have you heard the news today?

Did you notice that the lights have changed?
or when?
seems we've all been driving for too long
and that's the song-
but it doesn't have to be
we can be free

If you'd just listen to the fool on the hill-
but you never listened to fools, did you?
and those experts
oh boy
so you kept your cents close
and spent profligately,
willingly

Yeah, well, that's a luxury
it's time to notice that your rights are gone
there's no flying on
when we cage the poor
no-one sings sweeter
when we throw our brothers, our sisters
off the cliff
it's not if

But who pays the piper -
to pick up the pieces.

A.J. Ponder

NB Yes, of course I acknowledge the influence of a couple of lines from The Beatles song. Comes from listening to their music in the car while thinking about current events.

Best wishes to all, and have a great week,
A.J.

My Dragon Pal and Me from Galivant

A little bit of fun - besides, what's a song but poetry set to music? Composed by Alan Menken and Glenn Slater. Apparently the song was inspired by a song Glenn and his wife made up called Tina and the Meatloaf" designed to help convince their kids to eat meatloaf. Described as sunshiny and innocent...

I hope you enjoy.

If you enjoyed My Dragon Pal and Me, it comes from the amazing show Galavant. If you want to check out the show and can't find it, it does stream from Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Galavant-Season-1/dp/B00RMG22LU   - I must warn you - I have a dragon.

I can only hope against hope that there's a third season... :)  I guess it's the perfect example of not everything I think is amazing is popular - I mean who wouldn't love a medieval panto that can't anything seriously, let alone the third wall?

Have a great week,
A.J.

P.S. don't forget to look after any lizards you see...just in case.

Fairy Song by John Keats

I.

Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies,--
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!
'Mong the blossoms white and red--
Look up, look up! I flutter now
On this fresh pomegranate bough.
See me! 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu -- I fly -- adieu!
I vanish in the heaven’s blue,--
Adieu, adieu!

II.
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,--
Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,--
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,--
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,
Alas! poor Queen!

And if this isn't enough Fairy Poetry For you, why not go here to my Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry here, and find some of the best Fairy poetry there is.

A.J.

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

Articles of Faith: Part 3 Dancing Pirates

Articles of Faith: Part 3 Dancing Pirates

Harden up, and pay me my money down
jibe-ho, harden up to the wind
For there at the port, is a lass who is waiting
jibe-ho, harden up to the wind

it's a hard life,
and we can hard-tack it
it's a free life
so you can unpack it-

Say I can't understand
why you sing the sea ditties
you know that the ocean
will steal all your pretties-

If the pursers' hand's in the pot-
feel free to cut the man down

Harden up, and pay me my money down
jibe-ho, harden up to the wind
But there at the port, the Jollies are waiting
jibe-ho, tack away from the shore

yeah it's a free life,
and we can free-wheel it
it's a short life
and we can die dancing
you take the cutlass
and I'll take the claymore
with a sword in the gut
and at least we'll die free

Harden up, and pay me my money down
jibe-ho, harden up to the wind
For there at the port, is a noose that is waiting-
yeah it's a free life
as free as the rope hangs 
it's a good life
albeit a short one
it's a hard life,
and it's better than starving

jibe-ho, I'm not much for dancing,
but I'm hard now, harder than sin,
jibe-ho, we paid down our money
to dance on the head of a pin.

A.J.Ponder

Alright, as promised, Dancing Pirates.  I'm wondering if I should give a glossary...

 Everything you could possibly need to know about pirates, except a lot less.

Many pirate ships had a code of conduct, known as articles of agreement, often romanticised as the pirate code, harden up is turn toward the wind, sail closer to the wind, the phrase I'm really sad about not managing to shoehorn is is to splice the mainbrace which, surprisingly enough, is to issue the crew with a drink.  According to Mirriam Webster a jibe is: to change a vessel's course when sailing with the wind so that as the stern passes through the eye of the wind the boom swings to the opposite side, which explains why Jibe-ho is the warning that the boom is swinging across the centerline, when a ship is jibing (gybing).

I hope you  enjoyed the poem, and now, instead of the more traditional angels, I'll hope you'll ask the burning question - how many pirates can dance on the head of a pin?

have a great week!
A.J. 

P.S. Articles of Faith PArt 1 and 2 are here http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2015/05/articles-of-faith-part-1-pirates-life.html 

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

 

Tuesday Poem: The Hero - Movement 1: Corpse Road

The Hero

 Movement 1: Corpse Road

This is your song

Death

This is the ruin

Of a ruined land

Hot and fetid as the breath of summer along corpse road

The stink

Overwhelming

Death moves on

To where legend breaks through reality

And the tune he sings

Is valiant

Victorious

A.J. Ponder 

Hi peeps, not going to try anything fancy this week, like timing the post - because last week it kind of didn't go as planned.  Nevertheless this poem is yet another failed attempt at a horror poem for an anthology - not because I don't like it but because it decided not to fit the theme.  Never mind - the poem is quite fun (in a macabre way) and even better, it has 2 more movements to look forward to.  Next week's was actually the movement I finished - because it did something remarkable/odd as I wrote it, turning in on itself.  Anyway it will be interesting to know if I like it as much next week as I do this.

 

Links for "The Hero" parts 2 & 3 

 

The Hero: Movement 2 Last stand

The Hero - Movement 3 Political Evolution

 

 

Of course I'd love to wish everybody a great week, and hope that whatever you do, you are successful - even if it's just successful at having fun :)  And talking about fun, why not check out some of the really great poems up on the Tuesday Blog? 

tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com

Soliloquy on an Empty Purse by Mary Jones

Alas, my Purse! how lean and low!

My silken Purse! what art thou now!

One I beheld—but stocks will fall—

When both thy ends had wherewithal.

When I within thy slender fence

My fortune placed, and confidence;

A poet’s fortune!—not immense:

Yet, mixed with keys, and coins among,

Chinked to the melody of song.

Canst thou forget, when, high in air,

I saw thee fluttering at a fair?

And took thee, destined to be sold,

My lawful Purse, to have and hold?

Yet used so oft to disembogue,

No prudence could thy fate prorogue.

Like wax thy silver melted down,

Touch but the brass, and lo! ’twas gone:

And gold would never with thee stay,

For gold had wings, and flew away.

Alas, my Purse! yet still be proud,

For see the Virtues round thee crowd!

See, in the room of paltry wealth,

Calm Temperance rise, the nurse of health;

And Self-Denial, slim and spare,

And Fortitude, with look severe;

And Abstinence, to leanness prone,

And Patience, worn to skin and bone:

Prudence and Foresight on thee wait,

And Poverty lies here in state!

Hopeless her spirits to recruit,

For every Virtue is a mute.

Well then, my Purse, thy Sabbaths keep;

Now thou art empty, I shall sleep.

No silver sounds shall thee molest,

Nor golden dreams disturb my breast.

Safe shall I walk with thee along,

Amidst temptations thick and strong;

Catched by the eye, no more shall stop

At Wildey’s toys, or Pinchbeck’s shop;

Nor cheapening Payne’s ungodly books,

Be drawn aside by pastry-cooks:

But fearless now we both may go

Where Ludgate’s mercers bow so low;

Beholding all with equal eye,

Nor moved at—“Madam, what d’ye buy?”

Away, far hence each worldly care!

Nor dun nor pick-purse shalt thou fear,

Nor flatterer base annoy my ear.

Snug shalt thou travel through the mob,

For who a poet’s purse will rob?

And softly sweet in garret high

Will I thy virtues magnify;

Outsoaring flatterers’ stinking breath,

And gently rhyming rats to death.

Mary Jones, 1707-1778

It seems that the mystery of the self-emptying purse is one that has been with us for some time now, but I am not so sure it is an affliction that is entirely the province of poets.

PS very few rats were harmed in the posting of this blog - so have a great week everybody.

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

 

The Jumblies by Edward Lear

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,   In a Sieve they went to sea: In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,   In a Sieve they went to sea! And when the Sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!' They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big, But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!   In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did, In a Sieve they sailed so fast,   With only a beautiful pea-green veil Tied with a riband by way of a sail,   To a small tobacco-pipe mast; And every one said, who saw them go, 'O won't they be soon upset, you know! For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long, And happen what may, it's extremely wrong   In a Sieve to sail so fast!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

III

The water it soon came in, it did,   The water it soon came in; So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet In a pinky paper all folded neat,   And they fastened it down with a pin. And they passed the night in a crockery-jar, And each of them said, 'How wise we are! Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,   While round in our Sieve we spin!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;   And when the sun went down, They whistled and warbled a moony song To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,   In the shade of the mountains brown. 'O Timballo! How happy we are, When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar, And all night long in the moonlight pale, We sail away with a pea-green sail,   In the shade of the mountains brown!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,   To a land all covered with trees, And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart, And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,   And a hive of silvery Bees. And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws, And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,   And no end of Stilton Cheese.       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,   In twenty years or more, And every one said, 'How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,   And the hills of the Chankly Bore!' And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; And every one said, 'If we only live, We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---   To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve. Don't ask me why, I never thought this was good poetry even as a kid - but it was fun, it has lovely rhythm rhyme tortured out of perfectly good old fashioned prose - and it's stood the test of time.  So why not post on my unofficial week off Tuesday poem posting :)  Have a great week everybody and don't forget the Tuesday Poetry group is right here at your fingertips. A.J. Ponder   A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Tuesday Poem - Hijacked

.
I have a song in my head
insistent as waves on the shore
I have a song in my head
no room for a brain any more

I have a song in my head
musak for the merry go round
I have a song in my head
every beat as my feet hit the ground

I have a song in my head
and it's wearing my patience away...

There's a song in my head
And the sea wont shut up
There's a song in my head
And I can't shut the door
There's a song in my head
Every thought now long dead
There's a song in my head
but I don't care anymore

A..J. Ponder - author page

ok warning. Next week there will almost certainly be swearing. I was thinking I could simply take out the stronger language, and I did manage to remove one. Oh, and last week I forgot to thank Tim, I don't think I could have created Ecila without our little conversation about rhyme :)

P.S. if you find your brain has been hijacked by this poem, I do not promise to give it back. Certainly mine has failed yet to return.