As I have been reading this thread I realized that several poems i have written in the past few years since getting back into riding in 99 fit this theme perfectly. They were in part inspired by my Mother, who seriously beleived in being silly as appropriate, and would often recite various litty dittys she learned as a child, one of my favorites being (i can only remember parts of it now...)
"ABC the gold fish?
EL M N O gold fish.
S T R they gold fish!"
If you can make thru both poems then you will have the satisfaction of knowing you not only learned nothing, but also spent a great deal of time at it thus acomplishing even more nothing.....
so on that theme of the Alphabet soup sort of poetry I bring you
(An ABC Poem, (literally!))
Apricot Astrolabes analyzing astrophysical anomalies
Barefoot bathers bantering beef-eating barbers
Crystalline cartographers crafting carefree confections
Dielectric dandelions defeating draconian dragonflies
Equestrian epitaphs exercising esoterical epaulets
Fastidious fermions furiously feeding flexions
Gargantuan gratitude’s grinding gregarious grain
Hysterical histories hording horrendous hyperboles
Insignificant idiosyncrasies idly imbibing insubstantiality
Jovial jabberwockies juggling juniper jack-o-lanterns
Kindred kinetochores killing kinetic kaleidoscopes
Languid libations literally lying longitudinally
Monotonous monologs meaninglessly meandering mercantiles
Notorious nimrods nimbly nurturing nutcases
Oblong Ostriches orthogonally orbiting obo’s
Porcupine principles punctuating preverbal provinces
Quantized quarter-mains quintessentially quilting quagmires
Reactionary rosaries rottenly rotating rationalizations
Serendipitous serpentines seasonally sectioning semaphores
Transactional terra-forms torrentially tackling testimonies
Unequivocal urbanites unquestioningly undermining unicycles
Vivacious victories valiantly voicing vastitudes
Whimpering wallabies wishfully washing Wellingtons
Xenophobic xylophones xylographically x-raying Xeroxes
Yabbering Yorkers youthfully yielding yodelers
Zebrine zealots zestfully zeroing zithers
(By way of a short explanation of the above poem I offer the following notation on its construct, such as it is……)
A bastardized construction, dementedly exculpating formulations grouped harmoniously in judiciously kaleidoscopic leather-bound memoirs. Nefarious operations performed, quincentennially reactionary statements trampling underlying vociferations whence xenophiles yodel zestfully!
Poem Two, that illustrates how one can articulate mouthfulls without actually saying anything...
An Application for Insanity from an Otherwise Sane Mind
There’s a sadness that sits at the base of the mountain.
There’s a cool quiet spring that feeds the stone fountain.
There’s a lonely young man at the top of the stair.
There’s a lovely young maiden who’s so full of despair.
There’s a tired old church with a crumpling steeple.
There’s a silent town-square filled with half-shadow people.
There’s a blackness that steals through the soul of the night.
There’s a tiny blue bird with its feathers alight.
There’s a long rocky road that winds through the field.
There’s a jackrabbit robber who is driven to steal.
There’s a dove flying high with a sprig in its beak.
There’s a story who’s author it so desperately seeks.
There’s a forest that’s hidden within all that’s green.
There’s a cranky old man who was once so serene.
There’s a testament written to a God up above.
There’s a heart that is seeking just one other to love.
There’s an image of quiet that is all too unreal.
There’s a picture of nothing that is longing to feel.
There’s a crow in the meadow about to take wing.
There’s a light in the doorway where an old woman sings.
There’s a face in the window with a fixed sullen stare.
There’s a fly in the ointment, though I’m not sure just where.
There’s a tree that is dieing and one yet to be born.
There’s a kings gentle she-goat about to be shorn.
There’s a reason for everything, so some would say.
There’s a Living Will somewhere slowly fading away.
There’s a cow in the kitchen baking blueberry tarts.
There’s a stranger existence who is not from these parts.
There’s a bright sunny day no one’s left to behold.
There’s a smelly odd thing that’s all covered in mold.
There’s a goose in the panty that is empty and bare.
There’s a sanctum sanctorum that was left by the chair.
There’s a down and an up without reason or rhyme.
There’s a black footed panther who’s committed no crime.
There’s a porpoise in cream cheese with a grin on his face.
There’s a time for all things, for all things there’s a place.
There’s a cat by the fireplace roasting a brick.
There’s a pacifist turkey that is feeling quite sick.
There’s cockroach that’s trying to mate with a spoon.
There’s a little dog laughing at the man on the moon.
There’s an owl who’s in need of a software upgrade
There’s another owl2 drinking pink lemonade
There’s a yin and yang so completely opposed
There’s presumptions of innocence, somewhere, I suppose.
There’s a boy in an orphanage begging for more.
There’s a hole in the window floating down by the shore.
There’s a little girl eating her soup with a fork.
There’s a prostitute lying in bed with a stork.
There’s a searcher researching a far away look.
There’s a fisherman fishing for worms in the brook.
There’s an end to this madness but I can’t say just when.
There’s a farmer, quite mad, making love to his hen.
There’s a peep hole that’s peeping through a hole in the barn.
There’s a sweater that’s knitting itself with red yarn.
There’s an envious possum asleep in its lair.
There’s a clown with his resume stuck in his hair.
There’s a endless resistance that cannot be controlled.
There’s a seemingly quaintness that is ever so old.
There’s a rhythm asleep within each one of us.
There’s a little pig family snoring loud on a bus.
There’s a over pied piper plying pies on a pin.
There’s a rodeo boy with no hairs on his chin.
There’s a vase full of flowers that was sued for abuse.
There’s a pie a-la-mode of completely no use.
There’s a horse out of time with a rider astride.
There’s a fly on its tail with his little fly bride.
There’s a fool on the hill and he’s been there too long.
There’s a rabbit’s foot icon slowly beating a gong.
There’s a crook in the soup with a ladle in hand.
There’s a Sergeant Wilczynski who is forming a band.
There’s a snow laden hill all covered with sheep.
There’s a black one among them that refuses to sleep.
There’s an end to all things that will come in good time.
There’s a method for madness from a time out of mind.
There’s a dim wit in prison, as if anyone cared.
There’s a last train to Knoxville, but the schedules unshared.
There’s an Erie Canal that is really not eerie.
There’s a drip-dry banana that is ever so cheery.
There’s a sock with no match and match with no sock.
There’s a book in the corner that looks more like a clock.
There’s a saying that says what a saying should say.
There’s a goat in the meadow that has wandered astray.
There’s a tear that is clinging to life by a thread.
There’s a croc that is trying to stand on its head.
There’s a way of retelling an old story that’s true.
There’s a carriage way somewhere that was once painted blue.
There’s a motorized rabbit often seen on TV.
There’s a man with monkey who won’t let him be.
There’s a man with a vision that refuses to see.
There’s a bat-winged rhinoceros high in a tree.
There’s a time out of mind and a mind out of time.
There’s a clever hypothesis writing a rhyme.
There’s a right and a wrong that can’t always be found.
There’s a bright and dark as the world spins around.
There’s a seer who’s seeing without any eyes.
There’s a baker who’s baking without any pies.
There’s a queen in her throne room without any throne.
There’s a saint in the garden who is made out of stone.
There’s a whiskerless walrus who’s about to give birth.
There’s a tailor who measures only fat client’s girth.
There’s an ancient Egyptian with a very strange walk.
There’s a plum in the courthouse that’s refusing to talk.
There’s a fatherless child who is seeking his roots.
There’s a Dean of Dementia wearing pink wading boots.
There’s a stove with a bonnet grazing out on the range.
There’s a million impressions that are equally strange.
There’s a chair sitting sideways at the end of the hall.
There’s a small Irish egg that once had a great fall.
There’s a moralist committing the most unholy sin.
There’s a conquering hero getting drunk on cheep gin.
There’s a wheel chair bound physicist thinking a thought.
There’s a few who believe what he says is all rot.
There’s a business card desperately seeking a job.
There’s a pocket watch aimlessly seeking its fob.
There’s an owl on an elephant afloat on the sea.
There’s a thousand things patiently waiting to be.
There’s a beard on the mantel that’s just hanging about.
There’s a doctor who’s fishing while his patient is out.
There’s a song without words that can never be sung.
There’s a tune without notes that’s been buried in dung.
There’s a poet whose poems exist without rhyme.
There’s a sense of adventure all covered in slime.
There’s an ostrich with feathers from the back of a fish.
There’s a person named Petri who invented a dish.
There’s a vision of sugarplums dancing in bed.
There’s a farmer whose donkey was recently wed.
There’s a here and a now that I can not relate.
There’s a coupon that’s looking for a cash-in rebate.
There’s a natural law about time and ‘bout motion.
There’s a bather applying for sun tanning lotion.
There’s a baby awake in his crib made of gold.
There’s a mother who’s worried she’s growing too old.
There’s a biker out biking on a trick set of wheels.
There’s a peeler repealing the peals that he feels.
There’s a basket of taskets with a tisket or two.
There’s a nut and a bolt eating pineapple stew.
There’s a bear in the pulpit and a Pope in the wood.
There’s a miscreant beanbag that is up to no good.
There’s a mulberry pie cooling up on the ledge.
There’s a boy scout reciting his boy scouting pledge.
There’s a life just beginning and another at rest.
There’s a student who’s trying to pass one more test.
There’s a color so bold that it’s often unused.
There’s a ‘nother so subtle it is often abused.
There’s a last and first, as I guess you all know.
There’s a Win and a Place, there is even a Show.
There’s a reason for starting and one to amend.
There’s a reason for stopping, which is known as…