Get the title?
It too was broken,
twice.
It was fool’s gold,
instead.
Dr. Seuss
once wanted
to change the world,
so did we
(you and me).
He used silver,
colors,
writing,
uncomfortable
honesty,
and a tiddlywinks-
wink…
wink of humor
to white out
all the sad
problems.
Indeed.
He died before
the whiteout died.
(So did
Roald Dahl).
Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka
Seemed sturdy as a *Tonka-
Yet he gave kids minty sugar blades of grass
While fizzy lifting drinks made them rise with gas!
Willy Wanka & The Chocolate Factory: Book Author: Roald Dahl.
1971 Film Screenplay: Roald Dahl and David Seltzer (uncredited).
The Age of Exploration went on and on and on
From Marco Polo to Roald Amundsen
Now it’s left the Earth, gone soaring into space
Deep inside the cosmos ~ seeks creation’s face
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
O my dear Charlie,
How could you just forget,
Our love for chocolate,
Which was given to you as a factory.
You loved it and had magic,
To make the owner get elevated from tragic,
He was impressed and gave it to you,
And you took it as a gift from him too.
You are the boy of words,
And who flies higher than even birds,
The public now asks you to fulfill the responsibility,
Of distributing chocolates to them and bringing them stability....
- THIS POEM IS WRITTEN KEEPING IN MIND THE STORY OF CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY BY ROALD DAHL.
I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.
—Groucho Marx
Adventure is just bad planning.
—Roald Amundsen
Must Be A Carnival
Lady, what did you see
advertised? Boat leaves the dock.
Your apparel, a shock.
Going cruis’n…cruis’n you say.
No time
to be lose’n.
Lady, did you pack light? …for
romantic nights. Take a peek
out the window. It’s after dark.
Tourists, look a bit screwy,
you’re near. Must be a Carnival,
it’s not.
This ship is a swing’n.
Everyone’s going out
for some drink’n.
You weren’t expecting
hot chocolate. Your Summer dress
blow’n in Alaskan winds.
The cold wrapping your legs
sans warmers. Your sandals
flopping upon the deck.
Lady, people are staring.
Have you beamed aboard?
Did someone blindfold you?
Were you buffaloed? Petunia,
are you dense? Pretense,
that you are at ease.
“I meant to dress this way.”
or perhaps it was a dare.
Daring for sure.
Lady, the ship looks a bit
lopsided,
with you.
Roald Dahl 'The Rowing Song'
¶
.. .. . ¶ ¶
¶ ¶
~~~~~~~~-- \ \ \ \ \ \ \--~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~ / / / / / / / ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~-- \ \ \ \ \ \ \--~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ / / / / / / / ~~~~~~~~~~~
The publisher of Roald Dahl’s books
Thought changes should be made
To make the books “inclusive,”
But attention has been paid
With many writers speaking out
To criticize the plan
(Despite the fact that Dahl’s ideas
Made many not a fan).
An example that I read of
Would remove the use of “fat”
If a character was overweight –
Now what’s the use of that?
What they’d substitute, I wonder;
Still, most children are aware
Of dishonesty in writing
As in life, which isn’t fair.
Yet another word replacement
Would be “parent” used instead
Of both “mother” and of “father,”
If one’s gone – divorced or dead.
Or if someone has two mommies
Or two dads, perhaps they mused
That by substituting “parent,”
Kids would not then be confused.
Still, a writer’s words are sacred
And reflective of the times,
Therefore, posthumous replacements
Feel like literary crimes.
Now the publisher’s decided,
After unexpected flak,
There’ll be two competing versions,
Which, to me, seems out of whack.
Books burners are on the loose again
Wanting to change honoured works to not offend
Noddy and Big Ears have gone
And Roald Dahl’s classic have lost their song
But these burners don’t have Jack boots
And Heil Hitler is not their salute
For burning with bonfires is old fashioned
Changing book text is their way of bashing
For protected we all will be
From naughty adjectives they do see
And describing is out of touch
Changing the text destroys the work enough.
© Paul Warren
septic
nightfall scroll,
languishing bed...
indecent snores of kin
...restless
2/3/2020
Before Charlie unwrapped the golden ticket,
all 4 grandparents rested in a slow death bed.
Willie Wonka of Chocolate Factory fame saved
their life (Author Roald Dahl)
R-ead
O-ne
A-uthor's
L-ine
D-enoting
D-ivine
A-nd
H-eavenly
L-ife
Topic: Birthday of Poet Roald Dahl (September 13)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Last thing before bed
And the first upon waking,
Before he gets dressed
And finds out what's been shaking,
A book is what Henry
Is glued to as tight
As a kite-flyer clings
To the string of his kite.
Right now Harry Potter's
His evening fare.
Both Mommy and Daddy
The chapters do share;
And mornings when Nana
Is there, Roald Dahl
And his novels hold Henry
Completely in thrall.
A lifetime of stories
And reading awaits,
But rather than trust it
To chance or the fates,
Our Henry has learned
How the mind of a boy
Can, from words on a page,
Fill with journeys and joy.
R-hyme
O-f
A-crostic
L-yric
D-elightfully
D-ovetails
A-nd
H-armonizes
L-ines
Topic: Poet (Roald Dahl)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
What's it like travelling in cold,
you think you know but do you know,
the white lands set before your eyes,
sweet summer sun shines up in sky,
I'm Mr Roald trying strong winds,
Burning my face I never knew,
in winters' sane you would not know,
this part of cold the part that burns,
the part that scorns but yet spurs me,
I'm Mr Ready I bred me for this,
I'm searching strange lands,
men little but know,
lands where the rainfall is snow,
lands with grounds all thick ice,
I'm Mr Explore I dare to find,
Here are lands no government bides,
the only emperor is a tall penguin,
too bad for him how could I know,
later on in heat his palace ruins,
I'm Mr Man I rule and ruin,
Canned beef or stew, cold biscuits hard bread,
my food for months my crew with me,
the ponies are pretty but soon they must leave,
on supplies we're short and so far gone,
I'm Mr Leader I make the hard choice,
I'm at my limits even now I quiver,
rigid bodies left behind here you must shiver,
check my compass then look uncharted lands,
lost but unforgotten I've charted the path,
I'm Mr Scott now one dead-famous.
A Limerick for Eileen Manassian
A Tribute to Her Muse
Eileen had a Golden pen
Gifted by Roald Amundsen
Her incredible ink
Essence of ruby pink
Made manna drink on a ben
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.