19-33



Blake Visits the Aquarium

Octopus, octopus, sticking tight,
Though I pull with all my might;
What slimy, squishy deity
Could frame thy eight-fold symmetry?

Who coulda thunk, much less devise,
The ghoulish glimmer of thine eyes?
What ugly mood was he evoking?
When he made you, what was he smoking?

What's with the suckers?  What's with the ink?
Why change colors—do you think
You look any better red than yellow?
You're still essentially wet jello!

Octopus, octopus, flee in fright,
To some dark hole, and well you might;
Your maker must have thought of thee,
While suffering gastrointestinally.

by Tom Schmidt

Read more Parody

Support


------------------------------------
After decades spent launching academic paper airplanes from ivory tower windows, Tom Schmidt now composes poems from the tree house he built above his bee-loud glade in central Vermont. His outlook is much improved. Now and then an editor likes his work, but more often his family and friends do, and that's a deeper satisfaction. His grandsons are more impressed that he can make authentic noises for eight different kinds of construction vehicles. And they love the tree house.

19-32



Brake, Brake, Brake
with a nod to Alfred, Lord Tennyson and the morning commuters


Brake, brake, brake!
     For a chat and a snack and a coffee.
What's all the rush and the bustle and fuss?
     You look like a bunch of zombies.

As your whizzing cars go by
     To your jobs O-so-far away,
I wish for you a day by the sea
     And the sight of your children at play.

While your metal ships sail down
     To the bottom of my long hill
I wish you good luck with your busy day
     And hope that it gives you a thrill.

Brake, brake, brake!
     On flat black tarmac, O Please!
Stop—right now—your wheels from spinning
     For just one moment and breathe!

by Elizabeth Boquet

Read more Parody

Support


------------------------------------
Elizabeth Boquet teaches English and chairs The Pernessy Poets in Lausanne, Switzerland. Her poems have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Snapdragon, Stoneboat, Necessary Fiction, Offshoots and other literary journals. Naomi Shihab Nye awarded her a Geneva Writers' Group Literary Prize (2nd place) in 2017. www.elizabethboquet.com

19-31



I Cannot Tell

I cannot tell the difference
between my grandparents.

I've never seen them apart.
I've never seen them argue.

They've had 65 years
to work everything out.

Neither one will vacuum or iron
but both are happy to cook and dust.

They talk at the same time
and repeat the same stories.

I'm not sure they even know
The difference between them.

They clipper cut each other's hair and
have taken to sporting each other's underwear.

When I arrived with groceries this morning,
I found them in front of the bathroom mirror;

Grandma was shaving her face. Grandpa was
rubbing a nub of her favorite lipstick on his lips.

Maybe they're losing it.
Maybe they're lost in each other.

Or, maybe, this is what Ruth, in the Bible means by
...and the two shall become one.

by Elizabeth Boquet

Read more Parody

Support


------------------------------------
Elizabeth Boquet teaches English and chairs The Pernessy Poets in Lausanne, Switzerland. Her poems have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Snapdragon, Stoneboat, Necessary Fiction, Offshoots and other literary journals. Naomi Shihab Nye awarded her a Geneva Writers' Group Literary Prize (2nd place) in 2017. www.elizabethboquet.com