Song To Be Sung by the Father of Infant Female Children

By Ogden Nash

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.
For little boys as little boys,
No special hate I carry,
But now and then they grow to men,
And when they do, they marry.
No matter how they tarry,
Eventually they marry.
And, swine among the pearls,
They marry little girls.

Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays,
With parents who feed and clothe him.
Their lips are sticky with pride and praise,
But I have begun to loathe him.
Yes, I loathe with loathing shameless
This child who to me is nameless.
This bachelor child in his carriage
Gives never a thought to marriage,
But a person can hardly say knife
Before he will hunt him a wife.

I never see an infant (male),
A-sleeping in the sun,
Without I turn a trifle pale
And think is he the one?
Oh, first he'll want to crop his curls,
And then he'll want a pony,
And then he'll think of pretty girls,
And holy matrimony.
A cat without a mouse
Is he without a spouse.

Oh, somewhere he bubbles bubbles of milk,
And quietly sucks his thumbs.
His cheeks are roses painted on silk,
And his teeth are tucked in his gums.
But alas the teeth will begin to grow,
And the bubbles will cease to bubble;
Given a score of years or so,
The roses will turn to stubble.
He'll sell a bond, or he'll write a book,
And his eyes will get that acquisitive look,
And raging and ravenous for the kill,
He'll boldly ask for the hand of Jill.
This infant whose middle
Is diapered still
Will want to marry My daughter Jill.

Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle!
My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle.
A fig for embryo Lohengrins!
I'll open all his safety pins,
I'll pepper his powder, and salt his bottle,
And give him readings from Aristotle.
Sand for his spinach I'll gladly bring,
And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring.
Then perhaps he'll struggle through fire and water
To marry somebody else's daughter.

Comments : This poem by Ogden Nash was forwarded to me by a friend who recently had a baby daughter. I found it quite funny - though a bit lengthy - and decided to post it here. Hope you enjoy it too. - Zen

Sects from A to Z

By R.S.Gwynn

High Anglicans (or C. Of E.)
Are numerous far over the sea.
They ring a small bell a lot.
Read T.S. Eliot,
And burn incense in no small degree.

The Baptists put stock in immersion
And loudly will cast the aspersion
That a ritual that stops
With a few sprinkled drops
Is merely a watered-down version.

The blue-eyed Episcopal ladies
And gentlemen look like the Brady’s.
Their children are blond
And they are all quite fond
Of the Escalade and the Mercedes.

Fundamentalists think it’s apparent
That the Bible is strictly inerrant.
When one asks, once again,
“Well, so who married Cain?”
The claim Yahweh was, singly, her parent.

A.J.W (Jehovah’s Witness)
Should never be asked in to sit. Nes-
tle in, bolt your door
or you’ll let in a bore
Who will point out your soul’s lack of fitness.

The Mormons once had a hegemony
In Utah, allowing polygamy.
With their bearded heads hung,
The men thanked Brigham Young,
Who responded, “Yes, wasn’t that big of me ?”

The Oneidans detected sin’s essence
In all symptoms of manly tumescence,
So their men they unmanned,
Crying, “Take sin in hand!” –
A religiously planned obsolescence.

The Quakers possess inner lightning
And refrain from all feuding and fighting;
They enter their meetings
With “Bless Thee” for greetings,
But the service is hardly exciting.

The Shakers thought sexual activity
Was a wasteful sinful proclivity :
“No more sleeping in pairs !
Go make tables and chairs !
Sublimate and increase productivity !”

Unitarians pray, but they never
Say to whom, and thus claim the endeavour,
While it’s heavenward sent,
More precisely is meant
To address someone known as “Whoever.”

The number of folks who use X’s
In spelling out Christmas perplexes.
It’s truly inanity
(Just think, Xianity ! ) –
A small matter, I know, but it vexes.

Most zealots are eager to tell us
That their God is bad-tempered and jealous.
They go on for hours
Describing His powers
With a zeal that’s excessively zealous.

Comment : The limericks made me smile, and I’ve always been partial to an attempt to poke fun at organised religion and zealots, hence I had to run this poem on the blog. - Zen

Verities

By Kim Addonizio

Into every life a little ax must fall.
Every dog has its choke chain.
Every cloud has a shadow.
Better dead than fed.
He who laughs, will not last.
Sticks and stones will break you,
and then the names of things will be changed.
A stitch in time saves no one.
The darkest hour comes.

Comments : Continuing on the same theme as the poem that was run yesterday. Don't cliches make you just want to scream sometimes with the rainbows-follow- rain- all-good-people view of the world ! No wonder I liked this poem and the twist on cliches. - Zen

The Sharper the Berry

Mark Pawlak

Nose out of joint, City Slicker ?
Blown a gasket, Hot Shot ?
Fit to be tied, Arty Farty ?
Going through the roof, curtain raiser ?

Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you.

Can't put the toothpaste back in the tube, Clever Dick ?
Chewing nails and spitting tacks, Front Runner ?
Got your knickers in a knot, panties in a wad, Sexy Thing ?

Every rose has it's thorn.

Popped a vein, Man-of-the-World ?
Rubbed the wrong way, Lean-and-Mean ?

Worse things happen at sea.

Worked into a lather, Bold-as-Brass ?
Blood at a boil, Dressed-to-the-Nines ?

It's not the end of the world.

Tomorrow is another day, All-Wind-and-Piss.
It's always darkest before the dawn, Bottom-of-the-Heap.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel,Thick-as-a-Brick.
Behind the clouds, the sun is shining, Back-to-the-Wall.
After the rain comes a rainbow, All-Work-and-No-Play.
Midnight is where the day begins, Beats-His-Meat.

Chin up ! With visions of redemption,
walk against the crowd, Down-at-the-Heels.

If you can't enjoy your own company, how can anyone else,
Drama Queen ?

Everyone might hate you, but at least you're still alive,
Button-Pusher.

Comments : Just started dipping into an absolutely delicious anthology of American Poetry - expect a lot more poems to be posted this month. This one was mean, nasty, random, funny, cynical and I loved it.

Note : Brilliant tongue-in-cheek comment by poet follows :
When I happened upon a list of well-worn cliches, I found it to be suggestive of a greeting card, which prompted me to splice and arrange the phrases to make this poem. I hope to interest Hallmark in my handiwork and perhaps, in this way, to supplement my meager income as a poet.