by Atmosphere
Watch Slug get schooled in a poetry battle with little Faheem:
“If life give me lemons, I’m gonna throw ’em at your car…”
Category Archives: Poetry
$25 Haiku
An ode to roasted chiles, found in The Denver Post haiku contest:
Verde angel sleeps,
Attacked with knives, awakens.
Lashes back with fire.
Excellent. The $25 prize should buy quite a few more chiles.
Italy and the Mafia
by Alan Coren
Italy is boot-shaped, for reasons lost in the mists of geology. The South is essentially agricultural, and administered by local land authorities, called the Mafia; the North is industrial, and run by tightly interlocked corporations, called the Mafia. The largest Italian city is New York, and is linked to the mainland by a highly specialized and efficient communications system, called the Mafia
Here he is on Democracy:
Democracy consists of choosing your dictators, after they’ve told you what you think it is you want to hear.
A nice explanation of the economy in the Netherlands:
Apart from cheese and tulips, the main product of the country is advocaat, a drink made from lawyers.
He even tried to explain Swiss exports:
Since Switzerland has nothing else to identify it and since both its national products, snow and chocolate, melt, the cuckoo clock was invented solely in order to give tourists something to remember it by.
Sea-Fever
from “Salt-Water Ballads” by John Masefield
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.