Day by Dave by Dave Whamond for August 21, 2024

Much harder today than yesterday; it’s not bad poetry — just “poetry.” Good luck/schmuck.

He’s a poet and doesn’t even know it!

I think that I will never write/ A poem as lovely as a kite. In a tree.

Maybe he needs to stand beneath a poet tree.

Ooh, very good! I wish I had thought of that.

Roses are read,

Dave’s shirt is redd,

Poems are hard,

Spel Chek!

Upon the banks of the river Shannon,

A poem was writ that’s now canon,

of only five lines

a pattern of rhymes,

that gets dirtier as time goes on and on

There was a young girl from Nantucket. Who carried things round in a bucket. Till one day they were gone, she started carrying on. Till her mother done told her Pawtucket

Maybe your artsy-fartsy cap is too tight.

Neither can I!

Haiku. Gesundheit.

Yonder on over to Wild Goose Road.

You can’t drive to Poet’s Corner without a poetic license.

from British mathematician Leigh Mercer - A dozen, a gross, and a score Plus three times the square root of four Divided by seven Plus five times eleven Is nine squared and not a bit more

I guess Rhyme doesn’t pay.

Maybe he can’t rhyme, but he sure can whine!

One block over from the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

The prose is a con today. :)

Dave does great editorial / political cartoons

OK, here’s a poem I wrote on Sunday:

While carrots can bolster the health of your eyes

With a big dose of vitamin A,

They won’t make your vision work better than normal:

You can’t see by night as by day.

So how was the rumor blown out of proportion?

It flourished in World War II,

When ministers claimed British pilots ate carrots

So night raids were easy to do.

Of course, this was mere propaganda; they meant

To divert any German tactician.

We’re not sure it worked, but the public was fooled

Into buying the whole superstition.

Many years ago I wrote a nonsense song in which included this verse:

When I was young,

I carried a gun,

But then I shot off my foot.

Since that’s been done,

I don’t carry a gun,

I carry my foot.

What I do not understand is my friends actually love the song.

Clever indeed

Back in 1968 Mad Magazine did a takeoff on if famous poets had written nursery rhymes. One of them was if Joyce Kilmer had written Jack Spratt:

“I think that I have never seen /

A platter that was licked so clean /

As that one licked with fork and knife /

By Jack Spratt and his hungry wife /

Betwixt the two they made a deal /

Which puts an end to beef and veal /

Lean is shunned by Mrs. Spratt /

But only Jack can eat no fat.

It is also World Goat Day! I do love my goats. :-)

There was a young lady named Alice,

Who used dynamite for a phallus.

… never mind ….!

( that wind you felt is from the “GC arbiters of acceptable speech” exhaling )