Never mind my last entry! I think I've found my destiny.
He recently wrote a primer explaining how to be a poet, and since I've never been able to resist a how-to book/blog entry of any kind, I composed the following snode (sonnet and ode and all other forms of poetry thrown into one, even a hint of haiku) and dedicate it to him. (PARTS IN ALL-CAPS ARE MEANT TO BE SHOUTED, preferably in anguish, DURING PERFORMANCE AT THE POETRY JAM. He said to deliver it as if you are speaking to a bunch of five-year olds.)
On an all too black night
You hid from my sight
YES, YOU HID FROM ME
Behind a Frangipani Tree
I weep, I cry, I mourn
BECAUSE I SENSE YOUR SCORN
I am an artist, tortured by my art
I've etched YOU into my heart
And now I bleed all over the grocery cart
But even those stains are art
Because it is MY BLOOD from MY VEINS
running through MY body, subtly, beautifully, like trains
The sentences hang between us
D
R
O
P
P
I
N
G
Off in mid-air
And we can only stare
At...
The End.
Oh, I think he'll be so flattered and proud and... oh, wait a minute! It was How NOT to write a poem.
Oops.
So I guess I ought to scratch poet off my list of possible professions.
My list of possible professions:
Pulitzer Prize winner
Model ('Cause Ford Models only accepts Size 6 and a half to Size 8 for their Plus Size Division. Not even my feet are that small. Oh, and they say you have to not be ghastly to look at. Discriminatory bastards!)
Poet
Back to the previous entry then to find me a job.
R, you're kidding about the size 6.5 to size 8, right? Right? That's Red's old sarcasm, right?
*runs off to throw up her salad*
6.5 to an 8 FOR A PLUS SIZE MODEL (yes, that was meant to be shouted in anguish)?! Guess I'll waddle on over to the buffet.
LOL I laughed so much at this entry. You've applied all those rules perfectly.
Anyway, as they say, one 'good poem' deserves another, and I've composed a little poetic tribute on my blog!
Red Dahling ,
I love your poetry. Why do you insist on trying to find a job? Go drink some coffee and write more poetry.
First timer, here. Loved the poem, and the nice things poem about you over on "...Type for food", which brought me here!
If Reubens still had breath you would have been his TOP model. Unfortunately no perkies around thus only wine in that goblet. And eating on the job will be a prerequisite.
All you have to do now is wake him up!!!!!
Red Dahling,
Please come back. What will I do. I've become addicted to your wit. I might even have to do some work if you don't come back soon.