In the past I have showcased a few new poets who impressed me at Soup, and I always enjoy when Cyndi does the same (I have not seen you doing it so much lately, Cyndi, what happened?) so I thought I would bring to your attention a poet I met a few months ago here at PoetrySoup and whose poetry I sure think is deserving of a look-see. The poet is Red OMara. Yes, he is a redhead, and also he hails from Australia. Here are two examples of his poetry. This first one displays great wit and humor and the second one shows his ability to evoke mood with imagery. If you haven't met Red, I hope you give him a welcome!How The Big Mac Got The Gherkin
Once upon an ancient time
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
/love'>lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute.
‘Twas then the mighty Big Mac
got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods
and stars made white the sky
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
lay on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac,
with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
ce qu'il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it
was this green thing from a jar
The Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least,
is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth,
and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia
and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind
to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he applied a little tickle.
The burger gave a little laugh
and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it
aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of the foulest burger buggery. On A Photograph From Singapore
You enhance Raffles and its Long Bar.
Better, I would think,
than it needs or, perhaps,
than it deserves.
Happy, tanned and fair and open.
beneath all of your bravado,
In Melbourne today,
it was cold and squally.
Now bright with bracing breeze and sunshine,
then dark with stinging windblown showers.
The ground and trees are wet,
and strewn about with autumn.
I wish that you were here.