Thursday, November 8, 2012

982. LOST: One Sense of Humor

No preamble, let's jump right in:

By Vikram Madan

The tale is spreading quickly;
You must have heard the rumor
I hurt my funny bone and then
I lost my sense of humor

I've looked for it all summer
I've searched afar and near
I'm feeling very dismal and
Unsmilingly severe

Hilarity eludes me
My wit induces tears
My jokes are flat as pancakes and
Repulsive to all ears

My puns are vile and pun-gent
My tales of jest appall
My gags induce much gagging and
My banter makes them bawl

Don't let this happen to you
Protect your funny bone
Or else you too might write a poem
Whose ending is a 'groan'.

Text and Illustration Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

If that ending made you groan, then I consider this poem a success :). Now hopefully I'll find my sense of humor one of these days - I suspect it'll be in the last place I look.

Happy Poetry Friday, hosted this week at Think, Kid, Think.


Thursday, November 1, 2012

Classic Poems: 'I'm Growing Old' by John Godfrey Saxe

As I turned another year older this week (sigh), I thought I'd share this poignant little poem 'I'm Growing Old' by John Godfrey Saxe, penned sometime in the 1800s. Seems like nothing has really changed in the last two centuries on how we grow old.

I'm Growing Old
By John Godfrey Saxe

My days pass pleasantly away;
  My nights are blest with sweetest sleep;
I feel no symptoms of decay;
  I have no cause to mourn nor weep;
My foes are impotent and shy;
  My friends are neither false nor cold,
And yet, of late, I often sigh--
                 I am growing old!

My growing talk of olden times,
  My growing thirst for early news,
My growing apathy to rhymes,
  My growing love of easy shoes,
My growing hate of crowds and noise,
  My growing fear of taking cold,
All whisper, in the plainest voice,
                 I'm growing old!

I'm growing fonder of my staff;
  I'm growing dimmer in the eyes;
I'm growing fainter in my laugh;
  I'm growing deeper in my sighs;
I'm growing careless of my dress;
  I'm growing frugal of my gold;
I'm growing wise; I'm growing,-- yes,--
                 I'm growing old!

I see it in my changing taste;
  I see it in my changing hair;
I see it in my growing waist;
  I see it in my growing heir;
A thousand signs proclaim the truth,
  As plain as truth was ever told,
That, even in my vaunted youth,
                 I'm growing old!

Ah me! my very laurels breathe
  The tale in my reluctant ears,
And every boon the Hours bequeath
  But makes me debtor to the Years!
E'en Flattery's honeyed words declare
  The secret she would fain withhold,
And tells me in "How young you are!"
                 I'm growing old!

Thanks for the years! -- whose rapid flight
  My sombre Muse too sadly sings;
Thanks for the gleams of golden light
  That tint the darkness of their wings;
The light that beams from out the sky,
  Those heavenly mansions to unfold
Where all are blest, and none may sigh,
                   "I'm growing old!"  

Excerpted from 'The Poems of John Godfrey Saxe: Complete Edition', James R. Osgood and Company, Boston, 1873.

I suspect I'm not the only one with whom this poem will resonate ... :)

PS Happy Poetry Friday, hosted this week at the Mainely Write blog.
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