I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
quote by Thomas Gray
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Mary had a Little Vamp and Other Parodies after Sarah Josepha HALE
Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth glowed white as snow,
each night from sightly vent – no cramp -
the crimson droplets flow.
Some followed her from school one day;
though stalking's 'gainst the rules;
it made goose pimples grow and stay
to see them play at ghouls.
But they were caught, their tale remains
from history well hid,
though we discovered their remains
beneath oak coffin lid.
And so blood flowed from inside out,
none dared to lingered near
when shadows shiver, hang about
until Vamps disappear.
'Why does the Vamp love Mary so? '
the eager children cry;
'Why, Mary loves the Vamp, you know, '
the teacher did reply.
Sleep-overs followed, - little Vamp
A, B, AB, O, drew
by light of Mary’s lurid lamp
new haemoglobulu.
Thus vampire Vlad made Mary glad
hark! men well-read may read,
from kid school lad to college grad, -
mark then welt's red fey bead.
He wore a scarlet cape to match
sweet Mary’s ruddy lips,
attached thereto a cup to catch
the rhesus drips he sips.
No fly-by-night awed Mary’s Vamp,
he could fear blend at need,
though sky high flight soared scary champ -
we here end batty screed.
© Jonathan Robin parody written 3 May 2007 revised 3 September 2008 - for previous version see below
Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth were white as snow,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Oxymoron
Oxymoron:
fresh fish
*********
JBO:
'The beach at Sanibel... an Arlington Cemetery of shells.'
*
Every suffocated or strangled fish is first given
waterboarding sensations.
*
Fishes more frequently than
mammals or birds are cut open
alive, while their eyes watch
the knifing of others and their
gills struggle for absent air.
Fish cannot scream.
Greed for suffocated fish flesh causes seals to be clubbed in Canada, Norway, S Africa etc., dolphins to be knifed in Japan, whales to be murdered by
Norwegian Japanese Icelandic and American Inuit fishermen, bears
to be murdered in Alaska, untold thousands of fishermen to
be lost in tsunamis,700 Bangladesh fishermen lost in just 1 storm, Thai fishermen working for slave wages, tens of millions around
the world to die of stomach cancer, food poisoning etc.**
What's in fish? unreported Mad Fish
Disease, nuclear toxins a million
times more concentrated than in
sea water, AIDS from unprocessed
human waste dumped into
the oceans, hepatitis, anaphylactic shock, ecoli,
and other food poisoning,
throat, stomach and other cancers,
mercury, lead, cadmium, arsenic, pbb's, pcb's, thousands
of carcinogenic industrial waste products, and heavy metal sired
brain damage, pfiesteria (red tide) which poisons the fishes
FISH CAN'T SCREAM, FISH TOXINS, FISH STORIES
Are all anglers stranglers?
Dick Gregory: Eating fish liver oil is like eating the filter out of a car.
[...] Read more
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Song Of The Shrimp
(words & music by bennett - tepper)
I saw three shrimp in the water, two were old and gray
I swam a little bit closer and .. I heard the third one say
Goodbye mama shrimp, papa shake my hand
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
He showed his mama and papa, the shrimp newspaper he read
An invitation to all the shrimp and this is what it said
Free ride, new orleans, stay in grand hotel
Big creole gal who help you come out of your shell
Big creole gal who help you come out of your shell
If I should live to be ninety, I will never forget
The little shrimp and the song he sang as he jumped into the net
Goodbye mama shrimp, papa shake my hand
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
Here come the shrimper for to take me to louisian
song performed by Elvis Presley
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Red Lobster Tonight
Shrimp on the Kosher Bar-b-que
The thought of kosher water went out the door,
When a Rabbi from New York said 'No More'.
Apparently that one shrimp, a small shrimp,
a shrimp could possibly be
was in the water?
After the water was treated at the water facility.
It was uproar that swelled upon the CHASSIDIC community,
For if they drank from water that shrimp touched
they've violated
The Rules of the Torah,
Oy Vay!
They must atone forever and a day.
But need not fret For the Lord has given mankind,
All that is dear,
For example, the endless shrimp at Red Lobster.
(10-03-07)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Gioconda And Si-Ya-U
to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U,
whose head was cut off in Shanghai
A CLAIM
Renowned Leonardo's
world-famous
"La Gioconda"
has disappeared.
And in the space
vacated by the fugitive
a copy has been placed.
The poet inscribing
the present treatise
knows more than a little
about the fate
of the real Gioconda.
She fell in love
with a seductive
graceful youth:
a honey-tongued
almond-eyed Chinese
named SI-YA-U.
Gioconda ran off
after her lover;
Gioconda was burned
in a Chinese city.
I, Nazim Hikmet,
authority
on this matter,
thumbing my nose at friend and foe
five times a day,
undaunted,
claim
I can prove it;
if I can't,
I'll be ruined and banished
forever from the realm of poesy.
1928
Part One
Excerpts from Gioconda's Diary
15 March 1924: Paris, Louvre Museum
At last I am bored with the Louvre Museum.
[...] Read more
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Korean Staring Shrimp
Ok theres this girl from korea who made my family dinner once
And she made a traditional rice dish
And I am not big on the whole shrimp and mushroom thing
But I look into my bowl and there are shrimp staring at me! ! !
With those huge dead eyes,
and mushrooms crouching in the depths of the rice readuy to pounce! ! !
I stared right back at those shrimp,
and I crouched away from the mushrooms!
I took my sppon, and I thrust it into the bowl
with as must thrust as possible.
And I had that little glint you know of anger and madness in my eye
and i shoved THREE shrimp in my mouth,
and FOUR mushrooms!
I heard them SCREAM! !
And I clamped my deadly grasp on their necks and i bit and chewed, and ripped, and I SWALLOED! ! !
With all the might I had....... and I found something out.....
..................................... ....................................
IT WAS GOOD! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Fish And Shrimp [1-2]
Fish And Shrimp [1]
I sigh with deep feeling that fish and shrimp are but children.
They are slap-happy to play in the net of the fisherman.
Seafood merchants become fierce and cruel butchers,
Who exhibit them in a pool to attract buyers.
Fish and shrimp[2]
You need not sigh furiously because of the gluttons.
Since ancient times, fish and shrimp have been cooked with onions.
Excessive catch should be prevented and even God says no!
We must protect the existing resource on the earth so.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
http: //poem.bestfd.com/bbs/forum.php? mod=viewthread&tid=12101&extra=page%3D1
poem by Charles WOO
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A Fable For Critics
Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'
Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.
Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,
[...] Read more
poem by James Russell Lowell
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No Crustaceans Fresh to Eat
You prefer to have your shrimp,
With a side of lobster.
Oodles scoobie dooed,
With a ooo-ah-doo.
You want to shell the meat,
To release an aroma.
Oodles scoobie dooed,
With a ooo-ah-doo.
But the sea has been tainted with oil grease.
And what releases from that oil stinks and reeks,
To heaven.
And you see what's coming to you to be served,
Is breaded tuna that's been noodled.
You prefer to have your shrimp,
With a side of lobster.
Oodles scoobie dooed,
With a ooo-ah-doo.
You want to shell the meat,
To release an aroma.
Oodles scoobie dooed,
With a ooo-ah-doo.
But crustaceans from the sea no one can eat.
And frustrations felt begin to heat the seat you sit.
Then you realize you're leaping up on your feet...
To get no relief.
You prefer to have your shrimp,
With a side of lobster.
Oodles scoobie dooed,
With a ooo-ah-doo.
But crustaceans from the sea no one can eat.
And frustrations felt begin to heat the seat you sit.
Then you realize you're leaping up on your feet...
To get no relief.
And the sea has been tainted with oil grease.
And what releases from that oil stinks and reeks,
To heaven.
And you see what's coming to you to be served,
Is breaded tuna that's been noodled.
All crustaceans from the sea no one can eat.
Then you realize you're leaping up on your feet.
And that breaded tuna serve to you you leave,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Misnomers
The name implies inadequate size,
And indeed, many shrimp are quite small.
But a jumbo shrimp is in no way a wimp-
Why call it a shrimp at all?
And a fairy shrimph is perceived as a nymph,
'Cause it's delicate, lovely, and frail.
But a fairy it's not-no wand has it got,
And no fairy's equipped with a tail!
poem by Yen Cress
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Pasha Bailey Ben
A proud Pasha was BAILEY BEN,
His wives were three, his tails were ten;
His form was dignified, but stout,
Men called him "Little Roundabout."
HIS IMPORTANCE
Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the sea
To wait on PASHA BAILEY B.,
All bearing presents in a crowd,
For B. was poor as well as proud.
HIS PRESENTS
They brought him onions strung on ropes,
And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,
And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,
And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.
MORE OF THEM
They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,
And candlesticks, and potted quails,
And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,
And ornaments for empty grates.
WHY I MENTION THESE
My tale is not of these - oh no!
I only mention them to show
The divers gifts that divers men
Brought o'er the sea to BAILEY BEN.
HIS CONFIDANT
A confidant had BAILEY B.,
A gay Mongolian dog was he;
I am not good at Turkish names,
And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.
HIS CONFIDANT'S COUNTENANCE
A dreadful legend you might trace
In SIMPLE JAMES'S honest face,
For there you read, in Nature's print,
"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."
HIS CHARACTER
A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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An Essay on Criticism
Part I
INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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The Pillage Hangman - Parody LONGFELLOW - The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, -rejoicing, -sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Calypso Blues
(don george, nathaniel cole)
Wa-oo-oo, wa-oo-oo,
Wa-oo wa-oo wa-oo wa-ay...
Wa-oo-oo, wa-oo-oo,
Wa-oo wa-oo wa-oo wa-ay...
Sittin by de ocean
Me heart, she feel so sad,
Sittin by de ocean,
Me heart, she feel so sad...
Dont got de money
To take me back to trinidad.
Fine calypso woman,
She cook me shrimp and rice,
Fine calypso woman,
She cook me shrimp and rice...
Dese yankee hot dogs
Dont treat me stomach very nice.
In trinidad, one dollar buy
Papaya juice, banana pie,
Six coconut, one female goat,
An plenty fish to fill de boat.
One bushel bread, one barrel wine,
An all de town, she come to dine.
But here is bad, one dollar buy
Cup of coffee, ham on rye.
Me throat she sick from necktie,
Me feet hurt from shoes.
Me pocket full of empty,
I got calypso blues.
Dese yankee girl give me big scare,
Is black de root, is blonde de hair.
Her eyelash false, her face is paint,
And pads are where de girl she aint!
She jitterbug when she should waltz,
I even think her name is false.
But calypso girl is good a lot,
Is what you see, is what she got.
Sittin by de ocean
Me heart, she feel so sad,
Sittin by de ocean,
Me heart, she feel so sad...
Dont got de money
To take me back to trinidad.
Wa-oo-oo, wa-oo-oo,
Wa-oo wa-oo wa-oo wa-ay...
Wa-oo-oo, wa-oo-oo,
Wa-oo wa-oo wa-oo wa-ay...
(repeat chant to fade)
song performed by Nat King Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Shrimp
A shrimp who sought his lady shrimp
Could catch no glimpse
Not even a glimp.
At times, translucence
Is rather a nuisance.
poem by Ogden Nash
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When I Go Fishing
when i go fishing
i am always reminded
of the fish in the pond
and the hook, line
and sinker
the bait is this worm
this shrimp
and objective is always
the fish
in there
one drinks so much silence
by the pond
i see the ripples
i see the shadows of fins
i drink so much silence
i fathom so much depth
i might have missed the elusive fish
losing my worm and my shrimp
what i bring home is this inner peace
and so i never mind the shadows of the fins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shrimp Festival Pocorn Shrimp
popcorn.a clowns horn.we, the forlorn love our adjourned.me to mourn the morn, when a trash man blows his horn.the torn banner and shrimp festival cantor, over for now, be back in the summer.what a bummer i need to bleed, summer rolls and summer feeds.look at me.did you succeed in daily winters? or are you a lover, a shrimp festival beginner?
poem by Chris Bowen
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Big Ole Butt
I was at the mall, sippin on a milkshake
Playin the wall, takin a break
Admirin the girls with the bamboo earings
Baby hair and bodies built to swing
Thats when I seen her
Her name was tina
Grace and poise kinda like a ballerina
I said, how you doin, my names big l
Dont ask me how Im livin, cause, yo, Im living swell
But then again Im livin kind of foul
cause my girl dont know that Im out on the prowl
To make a long story short, I got the digits
Calls her on my car phone and paid her a visit
I was spankin her and thankin her, chewin her and doin her
Layin like a king on sheets of satin
Thats what time it is, you know whats happenin
She had a big ole booty, I was doin my duty
I mean, yo, I admit that my girls a cutie
But tina was erotic, earls my witness
With the kind of legs that put stockings out of business
When I went home, I kissed my girl on the cheek
But in the back of my mind it was this big butt freak
I sat my girl down, I couldnt hold it in
And said to her with a devilish grin...
Tina got a big ole butt
I know I told you Id be true
But tina got a big ole butt
So Im leavin you
Tina got a big ole butt
I know I told you Id be true
But tina got a big ole butt
So Im leavin you
I went to the high school about three oclock
To try to catch a cutie ridin my jock
My homeboys jeep, the system blastin
Cold forty dogs, smilin and laughin
Girls all over, the kind I adore
I felt like a kid in a candy store
Thats when I seen her
Her name was brenda
She had the kind of booty that Id always remember
I said to my man, stop the jeep
Shes only senteen but, yo, dont sleep
I kicked the bass like an nfl punter
And scoped the booty like a big game hunter
I said to the girl, yo, you look tired
Lets go get some rest, relax by the fire
I put the big booty on a bearskin rug
She gave me a kiss, I have her a hug
I said to the girl, them young boys aint nothin
[...] Read more
song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cannibal Squid And Ninja Shrimp
Cannibal squid and ninja shrimp, three
pupils in eyes on mobile stalks, mysterious
tides of red algae, fragile seahorse dwarves
found in the Caribbean
Palpable disapproval in angry frowns, I put
everything bright, glittering and beautiful away
lay down to watch TV, Nat Geo Wild, squid and
shrimp and seahorses and Wizards
Deutsche Welle, Weihnacht in Deutschland
Gefangenenaustauch, Heimatorte, Geizel
der Hamas freigekommen sind im Glanz
der Lichter und so weiter
Schlittschuhlaufen, Bundesligatabelle, langsam
voran perfekt zubereitet, Feiertags, Euromaxx
Weihnachten im Vatikan, Weihnachtzeit auf
DW TV - aufgehängt, abgetaucht
Ausgestellt, Projekt Zukunft, Backen war
immer ihren Leidenschaft – grossartig - die
meiste Menschen fehlt die Zeit selbst zu
backen – Faultier – ich lache…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Beppo
I.
'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout
All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,
The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,
However high their rank, or low their station,
With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,
And other things which may be had for asking.
II.
The moment night with dusky mantle covers
The skies (and the more duskily the better),
The time less liked by husbands than by lovers
Begins, and prudery flings aside her fetter;
And gaiety on restless tiptoe hovers,
Giggling with all the gallants who beset her;
And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming,
Guitars, and every other sort of strumming.
III.
And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical,
Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews,
And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical,
Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos;
All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical,
All people, as their fancies hit, may choose,
But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy, —
Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers! I charge ye.
IV.
You'd better walk about begirt with briars,
Instead of coat and smallclothes, than put on
A single stitch reflecting upon friars,
Although you swore it only was in fun;
They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires
Of Phlegethon with every mother's son,
Nor say one mass to cool the caldron's bubble
That boil'd your bones, unless you paid them double.
V.
But saving this, you may put on whate'er
You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak.
Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair,
Would rig you out in seriousness or joke;
And even in Italy such places are,
With prettier name in softer accents spoke,
For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on
No place that's called "Piazza" in Great Britain.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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