More Irreverent Poetry
Got three more done in the Greek section yesterday, so here ya go :) Oh, and just for reference, Spencerian stanza and hendecasyllabic are HELL to work out... >.<
Hades’ a Goth (hendecasyllabic couplets)
Oh, Hades’ a Goth, heh, no doubt about that -
He’ll mope and He’ll brood, and snarl like a cat
If ever a thing goes wrong; He’ll curse and wail
And listen to Orpheus crank out a tale
Of sorrow and tragedy, blood guts and gore
Of heroes who’ve fallen like those gone before.
Oh yes, he’s a Goth, and with kingdom to show:
The great Lord of Death, in the vast, grey Below.
But whether Persephone lets him wear black:
A matter of knowledge I sadly do lack.
For since she did come from the world up above
Such dullness and drab she might quite disapprove
But then, she got forced into marriage with Him,
The Lord of the Dead and Underworld grim…
I bet that she cares more for light than some clothes,
Regardless of husband who dresses like crows.
Would you be like Hades and snarl and snap?
I fear for your sanity, boy how it’s tapp’d
To let you go wand’ring, so whiny and dull,
Complaints from your lips never ceasing in lull…
Remember, kids, Hades is one badass god,
And you’re just a whiner in mortal-bound bod’.
So while Goths are cool and they’re often much fun,
An Emo kid’s nothing much more than a pun.
Hera the Horrible (ottava rima, no set meter)
They say that you’re mean,
That your anger’s immense,
That you do acts obscene,
To get recompense
From your husband so mean…
Makes perfect sense
For what woman would want
The bastards he’ll flaunt.
Hera the horrible, yes,
That’s what they say
That you create such a mess
To make his gets pay
For their father, no less…
Why do things that way?
Just do what he did to his father before
And cut off his balls… that’ll even the score.
On Growing Up without a Bellybutton, or Athena, the Weird Kid in School (Spencerian)
Athena’s always in a sad torment…
In school she’s picked on, mocked, made fun of, laughed
Because she doesn’t have a navel dent:
Her belly’s smoother than a wooden raft,
What made her parents do something so daft
As send a child to school with such a mark
Of diff’rence; the flaw within her draft
All made her fellow students sneer so dark,
The social groups pass by, rejection harsh and stark.
“Oh, what’s life like in such a spot, my dear,
When no one stops to give you pause or thought?
So lonely, love, when no one will draw near…
Their hatred, fear not natural, but taught
By parents who take stock in ‘normal,’ not
So obvious a flaw as yours, sweet thing…
It’s not a flaw, my child, and thus for naught
They harp, so small a thing as that… now sing,
For they don’t know who you shall be, oh child of kings.”
“But Mother, how did such a thing occur,
To leave me with no proof of nat’ral birth,
No sign that I am just like them. Aver
That I am not some monstrous mirth,
A joke of gods, whose humor lives in dearth
Of proper, just, and merciful concern
To feelings that they never thought of worth.
Why, I would rather stop, and never learn,
Though Father sigh and give me look so grim and stern.”
“Athena, dear, don’t be so strange, so cold.
Your father did what he had thought was best,
To bear a child as you, so wise and bold,
How else could he have brought you forth? So lest
You go and anger him who shaped your breast,
Listen to me and care for what you say:
A bird may find its mother built a nest
That son does not approve in any way,
Yet what provided place on which the egg did lay?”
Like I said, next tale should be up tomorrow.
Hades’ a Goth (hendecasyllabic couplets)
Oh, Hades’ a Goth, heh, no doubt about that -
He’ll mope and He’ll brood, and snarl like a cat
If ever a thing goes wrong; He’ll curse and wail
And listen to Orpheus crank out a tale
Of sorrow and tragedy, blood guts and gore
Of heroes who’ve fallen like those gone before.
Oh yes, he’s a Goth, and with kingdom to show:
The great Lord of Death, in the vast, grey Below.
But whether Persephone lets him wear black:
A matter of knowledge I sadly do lack.
For since she did come from the world up above
Such dullness and drab she might quite disapprove
But then, she got forced into marriage with Him,
The Lord of the Dead and Underworld grim…
I bet that she cares more for light than some clothes,
Regardless of husband who dresses like crows.
Would you be like Hades and snarl and snap?
I fear for your sanity, boy how it’s tapp’d
To let you go wand’ring, so whiny and dull,
Complaints from your lips never ceasing in lull…
Remember, kids, Hades is one badass god,
And you’re just a whiner in mortal-bound bod’.
So while Goths are cool and they’re often much fun,
An Emo kid’s nothing much more than a pun.
Hera the Horrible (ottava rima, no set meter)
They say that you’re mean,
That your anger’s immense,
That you do acts obscene,
To get recompense
From your husband so mean…
Makes perfect sense
For what woman would want
The bastards he’ll flaunt.
Hera the horrible, yes,
That’s what they say
That you create such a mess
To make his gets pay
For their father, no less…
Why do things that way?
Just do what he did to his father before
And cut off his balls… that’ll even the score.
On Growing Up without a Bellybutton, or Athena, the Weird Kid in School (Spencerian)
Athena’s always in a sad torment…
In school she’s picked on, mocked, made fun of, laughed
Because she doesn’t have a navel dent:
Her belly’s smoother than a wooden raft,
What made her parents do something so daft
As send a child to school with such a mark
Of diff’rence; the flaw within her draft
All made her fellow students sneer so dark,
The social groups pass by, rejection harsh and stark.
“Oh, what’s life like in such a spot, my dear,
When no one stops to give you pause or thought?
So lonely, love, when no one will draw near…
Their hatred, fear not natural, but taught
By parents who take stock in ‘normal,’ not
So obvious a flaw as yours, sweet thing…
It’s not a flaw, my child, and thus for naught
They harp, so small a thing as that… now sing,
For they don’t know who you shall be, oh child of kings.”
“But Mother, how did such a thing occur,
To leave me with no proof of nat’ral birth,
No sign that I am just like them. Aver
That I am not some monstrous mirth,
A joke of gods, whose humor lives in dearth
Of proper, just, and merciful concern
To feelings that they never thought of worth.
Why, I would rather stop, and never learn,
Though Father sigh and give me look so grim and stern.”
“Athena, dear, don’t be so strange, so cold.
Your father did what he had thought was best,
To bear a child as you, so wise and bold,
How else could he have brought you forth? So lest
You go and anger him who shaped your breast,
Listen to me and care for what you say:
A bird may find its mother built a nest
That son does not approve in any way,
Yet what provided place on which the egg did lay?”
Like I said, next tale should be up tomorrow.