Ode to our Former President

As promised, here is another of my amazing poems. This one had to follow the rules of a ballad and had to include the words flip-flop and endangered. The poem is a bit more harsh than I would normally be, but I had to choose words that I might not have if I weren't trying to meet a particular syllable count or meter :) You wouldn't think it from reading it, but it took hours and hours to write, and Brett collaborated with me on the ideas--we brainstormed all of the things that we related to George Bush and then I included as many of them as possible in a rhyming ballad. (A ballad, by the way is traditionally about the demise of someone or something, so I chose the demise of the Bush administration.) And as much as I tried, I think I broke the most rules when writing this poem because I had trouble keeping my lines iambic--ah, well. Anyway, here it is:

The Ballad of 43

43 had great potential;
his daddy led the way.
Ivy education. No less.
Money was just for play.

All play and little work led to
battles with drugs and booze.
Too much fun with skulls and bones, his
exploits made the news.

But cowboy charm and pulling strings
got him out of trouble.
His daddy knew a few tricks to set
him straight on the double.

He made two important changes
soon as he got the nod.
He roved his way to politics
and then he found God.

Oil made him rich and powerful.
Everything went his way.
He even ran for governor;
elections were his forté.

“Why stop there?” he thought with vision.
“I have a right to bid.
I am heading straight for the top
just like my daddy did.”

By the luck of a hanging chad
he won his first election.
He became Commander-in-Chief
despite public selection.

His term began with a bang
An attack on his soil.
Ignoring the real cause, he thought,
“We must protect our oil.”

He answered back with great thunder.
Hubris got in the way.
“Mission accomplished!” he proclaimed,
but we’re still there today.

His ratings soared to 84
(but) plummeted just as quick
when the public began to cry,
“We are in this too thick!”

The people allowed for his flaws.
Again, he rose to the top.
Elected again with one phrase:
“My opponent flip-flops.”

Since then, however, there has been
crisis after crisis.
Katrina opened the flood gates.
That was the end of bliss.

Bumbling through with malaprops
of nuc-u-lar proportions.
Military ops are failing;
No plans for abortion.

Theological hypocrite,
his views make one wonder.
International terrorist,
tearing the land asunder.

Fuel prices reached a record high;
ANWR is endangered;
misery index has increased;
economy is bemired.

43, the levee’s broken,
and, unless you are blind,
acknowledge that your legacy
has left this nation behind.

Beckett's vices

"A is for Angry Ack. [...] His favorite snack is stinky socks with jam packed in the toes." from G is for One Gzonk

Like father like...

Working and playing

Phoebe Faces

Yummy! Sweet Potatoes

Mama

The most wonderful thing happened today--Beckett began saying mamamamamama as he was crying--and now he has done it twice--and he keeps practicing making the noise by smacking his lips together. It's so exciting! For some reason, I have not taken pictures of him sitting up, so I guess I should do that because he is pretty stable there now--except he did get a bruise this weekend because he was sitting on the bathroom floor when he leaned too far forward and went all the way down on his head--it was so sad. He didn't cry long, but I felt bad. He's too big/too mobile for his swing, so we took that down, and now he is enjoying sitting in his play pen. I put several of his toys in there and set it up in the middle of the kitchen so that he can play while I do dishes or cook dinner. He enjoys it until he falls over or lays back--then he gets mad because he can't right himself and sit up again. He isn't crawling, yet, but he has the desire to move, so I just have to keep providing him motivation and he'll get going soon, I'm sure. We had a great weekend visiting the Garfield Park Conservatory for their 'sweet Saturdays' where they provide facts about the plants that they have that produce sweet food and provide samples of those sweets as well. It was almost as good as the chocolate fest last year :) And we went to the zoo yesterday--I have never seen a zoo that empty, but it was extremely cold. We enjoyed seeing the dolphins and the elephants and the cats. My friend Kathy was in from Virginia and Phoebe was enamored immediately. She did not want Kathy to leave. I have several pictures to post but not many that match this entry--I'll have to get those up soon.

Six Months

Beckett is six months today, but I don't have any vitals on him because we haven't done the measurements, yet. He is wonderful, though. Last night, I came across this poem that I had to write for a class I took this summer. It was one of the hardest classes I have taken because it required me to write poetry. I am not a poet--not even remotely close to a poet. I love language. I appreciate poetry (some of it), but I do not write poetry or pretend to be lyrical. My professor did not expect us to be poets, but she wanted us to appreciate the form and understand what it took to write it, so we had to actually interact with the forms as opposed to just reading and analyzing them. And I give her credit, because I would not have understood how much crafting a poem takes if I were not forced to write them--and each poem had to adhere to specific rules depending on the particular form. There were rules regarding rhyme schemes and numbers of lines and types of repetition and syllable counts and meters and all kinds of rigorous rules that I couldn't help but break often. So while I am not a poet, and could never dream of publishing something that I wrote, I can amuse myself and others by posting the things I had to write for class here. They would not pass by poets standards, but they are not entirely awful, either. I will begin by posting the one I wrote about Beckett--before he was Beckett and things were very busy around here:



This poem had to be written in heroic couplets (I won't explain the rules, but in case you know what it is, you can see if I complied :))

Waiting

The visit begins the same way each time:
check weight (don’t look), blood pressure, vital signs.

The stethoscope is cold without remorse.
The doctor’s bedside manner could be less coarse.

Anticipation overtakes her mind
when doctor plays the game of seek and find.

With fingers crossed, she waits to hear the beat.
Its steady rhythm makes her tap her feet.

Da dum da dum da dum da dum da dum
fills her with calm awaiting what may come.

His health assured she breathes a heavy sigh,
and wonders still, what can go awry.

No peace of mind until the day arrives
when baby boy shows up to change their lives.

The passing days are filled with nervousness:
expanding space, eliminating mess.

The child is coming sooner than she thinks.
She wonders what will happen when she blinks.

Her anxiousness will finally subside
as sounds of congratulations are cried.