The Pirates of Penzance I did go to see
Gilbert and Sullivan is a definite guarantee
For nonsense to reign and let logic get set free
Just the thing to bring me happiness and glee
Gilbert, the master, could always find a rhyme
For any word or situation, he did it every time
Out of every muddle, mishap, and hill the hero had to climb
Because a sad ending would really be a crime
The stories are ridiculous, the characters are trite
But Mr. Gilbert was never ever any too uptight
To describe every silly saga as a perilous plight
Much to my sheer and thoroughly entertained delight
The silliest stanzas get repeated and repeated
Never, ever, ever would they ever be deleted
Since we the audience would then feel rather cheated
For the show for which we were staying seated
In comparison my own poems are almost somewhat serious
Although I try to make each one extremely cheerious
I could write until my eyes were bloodshot and blearious
And never come up with something quite so downright delirious
I’ve never been the Queen of Drama,
But the Oxford Comma
Causes me stress, strain, and trauma.
Semi-colons by comparison are easy;
Their rules are far less breezy.
No need to get all ill, upset, or queasy.
Periods don’t take a whole lot of thought.
They never make me even mildly distraught,
Happily aiding my characters, dialogue, and plot.
What about exclamation points, the curious might ask.
Are they apt to lead you to the flask?
No. Not even those are a chore, job, or task.
Sweet little colons are also not too bad
I use them so seldom; they make me not sad.
And as this poem finds an end, aren’t you happy, joyful, and glad?
But comma dilemmas really haunt me a lot.
The nuances of usage I still do not got.
But enough of this silliness, absurdity, and rot.
Biking on Jekyll Island one is bound
To see Spanish Moss all around
It’s everywhere, everywhere, from sky to ground
It hangs in high branches and falls out of trees
Sometimes it just swings up there, enjoying the breeze
For some reason palm trees are devoid of the stuff
But live oaks? Let me tell you, they can’t get enough
What’s amazingly terrific?
Spanish Moss is epiphytic
It causes no alarming harm
But only adds disarming charm
A holiday weekend and spring is here
The kid in me wants to stand up and cheer
Friday night was Passover at our neighbors’
We drank the fruit of the vine, reclined, and took a rest from our labors
Elijah stayed away despite a clear invite
Oh well, the rest of us had a real pleasant night
Saturday we gardened and watched the Masters
We shopped and we planned so Easter dinner would not be a disaster
Biscuits and ham and Easter lasagna with artichokes
The table decorated with bunnies–they’re right cute little blokes
Church and cooking and mingling with friends
And now it appears our weekend is at an end.
So happy holiday greetings to you all I do hereby send.
When my muse comes down with a horrid blight
The writing goes wrong with no end in sight
Every word, thought, and sentence turns out trite
Leaving me feeling oh so contrite
And wondering if an end will appear for my impossible plight
But when the writing goes right
My muse alights
To amazing new heights
Of creative delights
Then the sun shines bright
And my mood takes flight!