Best Passé Poems
I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.
I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.
It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.
All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.
But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)
Brian Johnston
November 5, 2014
Poet's Notes:
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
I find it boring all the time.
It wasn't good in Shakespeare's hands,
No rhyming poet understands,
No Keats or Shelly, Byron, Pope,
Could find the poetry to cope
With wonders of the universe,
For that they should have tried Free Verse!
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
It seems so foolish all the time.
From Petrach through to here and now,
All rhyming works I'll disavow.
I want to drown inside the sound
of ee cummings, Ezra Pound,
Please keep me from those dreadful swines
Who choose to worship Gilbert's lines.
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
It's bell like ring should be a crime.
It's bad in English, German, French,
It leaves a horrid musty stench
And as for meter I'll just say,
That all blank verse is SO passé.
Unless your work's unrhymed and free
Your soul contains no poetry.
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
I will not hear it any time.
No Limericks shall pass my ears,
I've kept them out for years and years.
I've never heard a single word
Of Mother Goose, it's all absurd.
I only read free verse and prose
For all the rest, I hold my nose.
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
A sort of ancient worthless slime.
You cannot write constrained by rules,
The last resort of worthless fools.
Please stand by me on hallowed soil,
Where all the greatest writers toil --
Freeversing poets to a man,
Let's issue form a formal ban!
I do not like your perfect rhyme,
I can't believe it is sublime.
Now damnit! What is that you say?
Your words and meanings start to play -
I feel the meter in my bones,
Like music by the Rolling Stones!
It's not free verse it's so much more,
Your verse is like a Mozart score!
Ah YES, I LOVE your perfect rhyme!
I want to hear it all the time,
Bring Shakespeare, Shelley, Byron, Keats
With all their forms and special treats;
And after them I think I'll cope,
With Hilaire Belloc, Nash and Pope.
I've been so blind I did not see
That rhyme and flow are poetry!
Sunshine turned to cold sleet
Palm trees froze in place
Tourists walked down white streets.
to shop for hats and boots
Beach boys left the beaches;
Surfboards were turned to sleds.
Rather than surfing waves
they slid down Diamond Head.
No more graceful hula;
grass skirts became passé.
Dressed in lederhosen,
slap-polka was the rage.
Don Ho found a new song
to thrill his many fans
‘Tiny toddies,’ every-
one, makes us all feel warm.
Suzanne Delaney
Visions from Beyond
the veil is crossed
spirits dance freely
human mortality passé
the soul now blossoms
angels guide us all
no more secrets here
enlightenment pervades
we are one with eternity
time is endless
awareness sublime
mankind remains
in God’s thoughts
His divine message
peace, love, and hope
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
October 26, 2017 (Couplet)
The island of Gili Meno
is a best-kept secret, they say.
Where all the fashionistas go;
until it becomes a tad passé.
I read it in a glossy mag
while waiting for my root canal;
with where to go to see a stag;
the secret life of Marc Chagall.
Some other best-kept secrets were;
where you can buy THAT wedding dress,
or should you tip your dad’s chauffeur?
And are there monsters in Loch Ness?
I found an ‘unknown Cotswold pub’
the secret to a perfect pie’
a secret door to a nightclub’
and that it’s cool to grow bonsai.
That Lady X once dated HIM;
that he collects his navel fluff;
quite why that singer’s rather slim
(and she was photo’d in the buff!)
A best-kept-secret hideaway,
the booking details right below.
Where is the best all-day buffet,
in France they call their water eau.
Best-kept secrets are all around.
Shush, don’t let everybody know
exactly where it was you found
how to book that French chateau.
Resolved: I’ll make a MOCKERY of death,
metaphoric wake may open my eyes.
I’ll ADORN kitchen walls with shibboleth -
an OPULENCE of signs which look passé.
using words like “Get Up and Exercise”,
“Calories Count” and “Don’t Forget to Weigh.”
I will EXULT VICARIOUS free time:
tasting all those shows on the loss of weight,
eating less, letting those dinner bells chime,
keeping my IMPETUS under corral.
A SILKEN body I will re-create
giving resolution, new rationale.
This year, I’ll cross the CHASM of my death,
downfall of pounds, weight’s passing does take time.
August 25, 2018
contest: Eight-Word Challenge 8, John Hamilton
the eight words are capitalized for easy recognition.
Soul Serenity
Don't be passé to your family and friends.
Don't just say, "I am praying for you."
Tell them how and be very specific!
Have them experience His love and wholeness.
Walking in God's seasonal, auuburn and gold
sunshine's goodness.
So uplifted and so spiritually terrific!
October 8, 2019
Dedicated to: Regina Riddle
Thank you!
The deep fault of the human race
is that there are no individuals any more.
~ Søren Kierkegaard
Pixels in the machine it seems
Articulating world schemes, twirled
Reality for those addicted to a screen,
Too timid into be seen in between ~
Inventions of mad men with intentions of perverting
Common sense, it’s so passé
Loving everything but Roget’s suggestions~
Even poems must have an ending!
Menageries of words saying nothing, galleries of pixel
Animations replacing animates en masse
Nothing leftover for the poor,
who don’t exist except
in old picture books.
Adieu Ma Dear
Puisque tu es arrivée
trop tard dans cette vie
En trainant trop dans l’autre
dans l’oubli
Arrivée seulement
pour me dire adieu
L’innocence triste tremblant
dans tes yeux
Sur tes lèvres d’étudiante
tremblant
Tu me demandes
D’un air peiné autour
de ta coiffure
d’une déesse de Landes
J’eusse passé des jours
Sans trop troublantes
convenables
Comment puis-je te les dire
pour de vrai
Sans que tu ne passes tes jours
à mes côtés
Toujours et à jamais
Si tu es à moi
à moi
à moi
Toute seule
Les liens noués
dans les cieux
Je n’ai qu’attendre
Que tu me rejoignes
dans l’au-delà
Je t’attendrai
pas trop long
J’espère
dans l’autre vie
Tardes pas une seconde fois
Moi qui t’attendrai
d’arrache-pied
toujours seul
dans l’au-delà
Ne manque pas le coche
cette fois-ci
On n’a qu’une chance unique
A vrai dire
La deuxième n’est qu’un refoulement
Un déjà vu
La première n’est qu’un avertissement
Adieu Ma Dear
pour le moment
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Well to find a best game can be quite a wild ride
But just how should a fellow begin to explore?
If appropriate girl is not there by your side
There’s a chance that you won’t even get in the door.
But to come out on top you’ll need other’s support
I am guessing that solitaire’s boring for you,
You’re not beefy enough for professional sport
And think those who play golf all have something askew.
The smart money’s on making of money for sure
Or on power perhaps, drugs and fun, lots of craps.
Maybe brains turn you on, normal fare too obscure.
Subterfuge of some kind, like a job singing raps.
A James Bond kind of fight, that can light up the night,
Your own video game, even better than fame,
Scientific insight, now you’re in the limelight,
Or a critic’s acclaim, that makes fans scream your name.
Well, I’ll tell you the truth, all this crap is passé,
Most important is truly the girl on your arm
You can count all the rest fairly worthless per se
For her smile is the well that gives life to your charm.
Brian Johnston
October 14, 2015
Brevity—Quick Changes
A brown-eyed girl named Sue;
Loved to wear dresses blue.
On the first day of school she saw a girl she knew
Who stated, “That dress color is not suited for you.”
Next morning she wore a dress of grey;
She could not wait to hear what others say.
A classmate shouted, “Red would look good on you. Grey is passé.”
Concerned about what next might be said,
She thought of her dress with bright cloth of red.
Still caught in a quandary,
She searched dirty laundry.
And found what she had,
Proudly she chose a favorite plaid.
I’m all out for In, Boys, I’m all out for In
I’ll not consign dear Europe to the bonfire or the bin
We’ve fought too many flippin’ wars to call this thing a day
And isn’t such division just a little bit passé?
We’re a tiny little island, all surrounded by the sea
And the days of the Empire are consigned to history
Let’s not be cast adrift, Boys, in some Captain Pugwash boat
Vote to stay in Europe, Boys, it won’t dry up the moat
What say you? Immigration? What, the white ones or the black?
Which ones, which precisely, are you wanting to send back?
The ones who work for naff all cash, in dirt and sweat and mud?
Or the ones who ran from ISIS just to save their children’s blood?
What say you? Benefits? Well now, you’d best look in to that
It isn’t quite that easy for them all to get a flat
There’s rules to do with public funds, and residence as well
And doesn’t all that tax evasion leave a nasty smell?
And what about Intelligence, and Military Alliance
Employment, the Economy, and Human Rights compliance?
What will happen if we leave, well, lovely Boys, it won’t be pretty
There’ll be rhetoric on rhetoric, committee on committee
And all of flippin’ Europe will be looking down its nose
“You’re not with us, you’re against us” will be how the anthem goes
And Boris, hey don’t start me off, don’t listen to the bloke
Unless you went to Eton you’re the punchline of his joke
“More Bolly, Boris?” “Do you know, I don’t mind if I do
Oh dear, I fear I’ve drunk the lot, and now there’s none for you”
And Dave isn’t much better, though he’s talking far more sense
Hey, even Ms Claire Perry’s on the right side of the fence
And what about the Berlin Wall, the night that it came down
You could hear the cheers from Germany from old Devizes Town
We all thought that was progress, some sure sign of evolution
How can leaving Europe be a sensible solution?
And would you trust the Government to sell you a used car?
I’d rather have them supervised by Europe, thank you, ta
So, Votey McVote Face, it’s all down to you
I’m all out for In, Boys, and I hope that you are too
© Gail Foster 2016
L’Intégration – Oui! Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “Integration – Yes!” by T. Wignesan
Nous apprenons de vous avec gratitude,
La race qui nous devance,
Vous qui incarnent des siècles des usages et coutumes,
Nous sommes des Australiens long temps avant
Votre arrivé lequel ne date que d’hier,
Que nous devons être disposer de changer,
Apprendre à vouloir des choses que nous ne voulons pas du
tout,
Des nouvelles contraintes que nous n’avons jamais subis,
La rançon de notre survivance.
Une bonne partie de ce que nous aimons a disparue et devait
disparaître,
Mais ne pas les fondements profonds de notre être.
Le passé fait toujours partie de ce que nous sommes,
Il se trouve toujours autour de nous, toujours en dedans de
nous même.
Nous sentons les plus heureux
Quand nous sommes parmi notre propre peuple. Nous
aimerions pratiquer
Nos propres coutumes vivantes, nos vieilles
Danses et chansons, nos arts et nos corroborées..
Pour quelle raison devons nous échanger nos mythes sacrés
pour les vôtres !
Non, pas d’assimilation, mais l’intégration,
Pas de domination mais de notre essor,
Afin que les noirs et les blancs pourraient s’avancer main
dans la main
En paix et la fraternité.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
wood carving passé
springtime mood grows rose from clay
phoenix born of flame
Brian Johnston
November 27, 2015
Bloody streuth look out mate here they come
The Tourists Downunder to have some fun
Clickin’ their cameras, looking goggle eyed
While out in the hot sun getting deep fried
Askin’ for service and getting in our hair
Makes you wonder if there really all there
Thinkin’ it Spring in the middle of May
Speakin’ foreign lingo, as they say G’Day
Forget we’re multi-cultural and highly urbanized
Give em the Aussie salute that the ads advertise
Imports are out, the Aussie image wins
Now here’s were your work it really begins
Wear Moleskins, an Akubra, Drizabone
Hide the credit cards and Bluetooth phone
Cover the microwave, throw out Sarah Lee
From now on its damper, pavolvas and billy tea
Yack about the outback and the old pioneers
Have a bush Barbie and down a few beers
Quote a couple of verses from old Banjo
Hobnob round the fire, put on a dinkum show
Get out the four wheel and take em for a drive
Never mention our crooks can eat you alive
Ignore all the snakes, sharks, mozzies and the flies
Crows flying backwards, and them peckin’ magpies
Explain that kangaroos don’t hop down our streets
Nor for breakfast do we bush tucker eats
Throw a boomerang, take em to a corroboree
Tell em the tour guides take care of the fee
Bush dances are popular, and so is Uluru
Dingoes, frilled lizards and wallaby stew
Show em the Australia that we’ve never seen
Mate tourists on nature are so bloody keen
Let em hug a koala, they’re as cute as can be
Just watch the bloody bastards don’t on em pee
Before they go home, help them spend all their loot
Then add departure tax, so they’re real destitute.
Sing “Waltzing Matilda”, “Advance Australia Fair”
In those tourist dollars, we all want to share
This Aussie image to some may seem passé
Mate you watch em flock here, what more can I say!