Sonya's Poetry Corner |
| What could be more gentle, nay, more womanly, than to have a poetry corner? One devoted to pink lace, spring flowers and the lovely thoughts of young girls who are seeing the world for the first time? A place to relax, a safe harbor if you will from the stress and strain of a piggish world. All dedicated to you, my Dear, Dear reader. |
| We start with this delicate ode from Amy, who transforms the flower in her heart into pure rhapsody on the page: |
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Ode To All Things Beautiful
There once was a Man from Nantucket Whose brains I spilled in a bucket He deserved no less For being so fresh Gentlemen don't ask a Lady to 'suck it'! |
| Yes, Amy, not all of us can be so eloquent. However, Lakeesha certainly gives you some stout competition with this favorite of mine, influenced by a Gospel hymn tradition: |
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A Flower At Midsummer's Night
Some gangsta rapper called me a bitch anda whore So I put a cap in his butt, dropped him right to the floor I sez Don't lay on me any o dat Gangsta crap, You can go get a job you lazy sap Cause I ain't gonna be payin no more yo rent You Can't be no Pimp-Daddy livin in a tent Back behind yo momma's garage Who's butt, my Lord, is big as a barge From workin two jobs supportin yo ass She's eatin HoHos while you got a pass Actin like some rap movie star Well I'm outta here cause you ain't goin far!
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| Well Lakeesha, your hexa-pentameter freeform poetry is quite a delight to anyone abused by the piggish grunts of a man's world. However, for a more subtle reserved tone, we turn to Prescilla, from a small hamlet near the center of that cultural mecca of Detroit. This is her first published work, one can scarce imagine what will come next: |
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Roses are Red
Roses are Red, I wish you were dead For all the nasty things, that you said My butt's too large, my brain too small Yet you were the one who wanted it all Violets are blue and we are through Though to make up I think A box of chocolates would do (A Big Box, Big Boy, a couple pounds of lovin from Ethyl M!)
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| Note the play of light and dark themes that fly like a delicate bird through Prescilla's words! Words like honey, or perhaps (if one indulges me in a mixed metaphor), like a hummingbird dipped in honey! Some chocolate would make that sucker taste even better! Yummy! |
| But finally we come to a modest rhyme written by none other than Moi! Sonya Steinem, reconteur of all that is delightful, the antidote to all things base and crude! This came to me, as beauty often does, while I dozed in my garden, amongst flowers, the buzzing of bees and the sweet clean smell of spearmint (from Jose the gardener's liquor bottle from where he slept beneath the bushes). |
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Porcine Dreams
Oh Men are pigs, yes Men Are Pigs Sometimes I wish they'd die! Except when they're a gruntin and a heavin Up between my silky thighs Ohhhh! They always make a mess of things
"I could not live without you dear"
Ohhhh! Men are pigs, and Men Are Pigs
Sometimes I think we can change them
So when PMS sometimes clears
Ohhhh! Men are pigs, yes Men Are Pigs
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