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Dissimilies
My pizza pie is nothing like the sun—
Except it's round and warm and yellow... Um...
No, wait! I'll start again. This will be fun!
A block of cheese is nothing like the gum
That sticks beneath the desks within the school,
Abandoned now to pandemonium—
Except they're quiet, empty... I'm a fool
To think I might summarily compose
Some sprightly verse in times of such misrule.
"My love is nothing like a red, red rose,"
I'll start to say, but then on second thought,
"My love is nothing like a red, red nose.
She clowns about more often than she ought,
Descends the stairs with shoes that flop and squeak,
Her purple hair—" But there! Again, I'm caught!
She's nothing like, I say. It's super weak
Enumerating just the opposite!
So once again! A breath, then start to speak.
The sun itself is nothing but a chit.
Symbolic, standing in for love and light,
It's just a ball of gas and quite unfit!
Avoid clichés, I think's the message, right?
Engage in fission—nothing like the sun—
And find the parts beneath before you write.
Except it's round and warm and yellow... Um...
No, wait! I'll start again. This will be fun!
A block of cheese is nothing like the gum
That sticks beneath the desks within the school,
Abandoned now to pandemonium—
Except they're quiet, empty... I'm a fool
To think I might summarily compose
Some sprightly verse in times of such misrule.
"My love is nothing like a red, red rose,"
I'll start to say, but then on second thought,
"My love is nothing like a red, red nose.
She clowns about more often than she ought,
Descends the stairs with shoes that flop and squeak,
Her purple hair—" But there! Again, I'm caught!
She's nothing like, I say. It's super weak
Enumerating just the opposite!
So once again! A breath, then start to speak.
The sun itself is nothing but a chit.
Symbolic, standing in for love and light,
It's just a ball of gas and quite unfit!
Avoid clichés, I think's the message, right?
Engage in fission—nothing like the sun—
And find the parts beneath before you write.
There's a nice sentiment here, and I can feel the narrator's exasperation at failing to find the descriptive language he's searching for. The rhythm is flawless, but the stress pattern has a few places where a word that's usually pronounced with a "STRONG-MIDDLE-weak" sequence is forced into a "STRONG-weak-STRONG" form, like the words pandemonium, summarily, and opposite.
Aside from the sentiment that all authors can relate to, I'm trying to find a narrative arc here. There seems to be one until the end, when it turns into more of an adage about writing. Structurally, it's tight, and the rhyme scheme worked nicely.
Aside from the sentiment that all authors can relate to, I'm trying to find a narrative arc here. There seems to be one until the end, when it turns into more of an adage about writing. Structurally, it's tight, and the rhyme scheme worked nicely.
This is by far the most conventional poem on this list and suffers not at all from that fact. It is easy to read, employs a smattering of humor, and even has a moral at the end (how nice!).
The self deprecation in the middle does drag it down to an extent. It trips over itself with a few transitions and wanders afield for a while but eventually ties everything up in a nice bow.
The self deprecation in the middle does drag it down to an extent. It trips over itself with a few transitions and wanders afield for a while but eventually ties everything up in a nice bow.
My misty sighs are frothing at the pun
That balks my duty like the light of lime,
And by the snicking of thy verbal gun.
O rose-fed pretty elf as old as time,
Aching of fruity joy forever spun--
Look on these works, ye flighty, and yet rhyme.
That balks my duty like the light of lime,
And by the snicking of thy verbal gun.
O rose-fed pretty elf as old as time,
Aching of fruity joy forever spun--
Look on these works, ye flighty, and yet rhyme.
I'll apologize again:
For losing track of time and not getting in here to comment on everything. Poems are so much more difficult for me to find anything possibly useful to say than stories...
But thank you for the gold and congrats to our other medalists. As for this piece here, thinking about the prompt made me wonder if there was a term for a negative similie, for a phrase that says something is not like something else. I decided that that term should be "dissimile" and went from there. My current thinking is that I need to change the middle where the Robert Burns paraphrase comes in so that the love that isn't like a red, red rose doesn't refer to the object of the narrator's affection but the emotion he himself is feeling: he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he wears it on his nose...
I dunno, though. But thanks again!
Mike
For losing track of time and not getting in here to comment on everything. Poems are so much more difficult for me to find anything possibly useful to say than stories...
But thank you for the gold and congrats to our other medalists. As for this piece here, thinking about the prompt made me wonder if there was a term for a negative similie, for a phrase that says something is not like something else. I decided that that term should be "dissimile" and went from there. My current thinking is that I need to change the middle where the Robert Burns paraphrase comes in so that the love that isn't like a red, red rose doesn't refer to the object of the narrator's affection but the emotion he himself is feeling: he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he wears it on his nose...
I dunno, though. But thanks again!
Mike