The Turtle

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal it's sex.
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix to be so fertile!

~Ogden Nash~

March the 25th

Merry....

No one's hangin' stockin's up,
No one's bakin' pie,
No one's lookin' up to see
A new star in the sky.
No one's talkin' brotherhood,
No one's givin' gifts,
And no one loves a Christmas tree
On March the twenty-fifth.

Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

I just love this poem - I hope you all have a delightful March 25th!

A Rose by Any Other Name....

We've all heard hooters, knockers and jugs,
yet be they real or fake,
when it comes to naming boobs,
nipple caddies takes the cake!

The Ballad O' Anne Rackham

Ahoy, me hearties! Shiver me timbers, but a fine, good day fer sailin' this be! The briny deep's a-callin', so come join me Brethren O' the Coast, set the sails and sharpen yer cutlasses fer plunderin' (and killin' bilge rats)! T'is a bit of a journey, so pour some grog and listen up as I regale ye with the Ballad O' Anne Rackham, me namesake:



THE BALLAD O' ANNE RACKHAM


Draw nigh me hearties and I'll tell ye the tale
o' plunder and love, o' fortune and fame.
This be the tale o' the pirate Anne Rackham.
This be the woman whence comes me name.

In the county o' Cork, in Ireland fair,
to a man and his mistress a young lass was born.
Away to America, these illicit young lovers,
went with wee Anne to escape spite and scorn.

At the tender, young age of only thirteen
t'is said our dear Anne first wielded the blade.
A servant displeased her with unkind remark
and was stabbed in the gut, the unfortunate maid!

A scurrilous rogue, the sailor James Bonny,
met and married dear Anne when she was sixteen.
But Calico Jack Rackham, a true buccaneer,
soon caught Anne's eye and they departed the scene.

Now, wenches were barred from sailin' the deep-
considered bad luck by a true buccaneer.
So Anne dressed like a man, and swore like one too
and her fightin' and plunderin' filled hearts with fear!

As luck would have it, one fellow discovered
Anne's true identity, and threatened to tell.
So she ran the rogue through without hesitation
and sent the man down to a watery hell.

Many a year did Anne and Jack sail,
pillagin' and livin' a life on the deep.
Their exploits were legend, their treasures were many
then fate took a twist, one to make a man weep!

Our lovers crossed paths with one Captain John Barnet
they crossed swords as well and fought a brave fight.
Alas, sweet victory was not theirs this battle
and their ship, crew and pride were lost on that night.

When Anne had been captured, her belly she pled -
for she was carryin' the babe of Calico Jack.
The courts would not hang a woman with child
and so to the jail, Anne was sent back.

Before he was hung Jack was privileged to see
his beloved wench Anne who had this to say,
"If ye'd fought like a man, you'd not hang like a dog!"
Fine parting words on a man's dying day!

Some say Anne went back to her home in Carolina,
and married again, bearin' many a child.
Some say she ran off and found a new ship
and continued her pillagin' and livin' so wild.

Methinks at the end of her hail, hearty life,
somewhere down below in the briny, blue deep
she cast off her life, and all of her treasures,
and in Davy Jones locker does Anne Rackham sleep.

- Red Anne, aka Significant Snail-

(This fine portrait o' Anne Rackham was reproduced from an early woodblock, edited and colorized by BlindKat Publishers)

Beatnik Follow-Up and Hot Dog Day

Well, the poetry reading apparently went well. With my daughter's approval, I sent in snack mix and mixed nuts, washed down with non-caffeinated drinks (the school requests that we keep things 'healthy'). I was at work so I didn't get to see what went on, but I was informed that the windows were draped with dark cloth and there was a lamp for proper mood lighting. Oh, and they did snap instead of clap!! The theme this month was family. The students were asked to write their own poem or find one to read. My daughter chose to write a limerick about her grandfather:

My Grandpa's Hair

My grandpa’s in love with his hair,
If you touch it you’d better beware!
He’ll catch hold of you,
And tickle you blue,
Then laugh and say, “Don’t touch the hair!”

She's already considering what poem to use next time.

By the way, the folks at American Greetings have declared September 9th to be Hot-Dog Day. Not sure why, but what the heck. Enjoy a hot-dog today. Have it grilled, boiled, fried, or just go ahead and explode one in the microwave! Just not in my microwave! My new, beautiful, spotless microwave.

Speaking of hot-dogs, I was home from college for a visit once and my mom had fixed some hot-dogs. I took a bite and thought I would gag! Some sort of goo came oozing out and I informed her that the hot-dogs must be bad. What did she do? She laughed. A lot. Seems someone at Oscar Mayer had the brilliant idea to make hot-dogs with cheese inside them. I guess it's not a bad idea so long as you have some warning!

If you care to, leave me a comment about how you prefer your hot-dogs: relish (sweet or dill?), sauerkraut, onions, ketchup, mustard? Chili, cheese, hot peppers? I like them all different ways but right now I'm thinking chili-cheese dog with chopped onions...mmmmm!

Middle School Beatniks

"The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot." -Salvador Dali

My younger daughter's 6th grade literature class is going to be having a monthly poetry reading. We parents were asked to help out by providing some sort of food for their poetry readings. You see, their teacher is going to transform the classroom each month to provide 'atmosphere' and everything is better when a snack is involved, right? Immediately an image pops into my head of the quintessential 1950's Beatnik coffee-house. Complete with bongo drums, black turtleneck sweaters, beret's, goatees, dark sunglasses and cigarettes. (Note: I didn't create the image on this page...it's just one I've seen around the internet).

Naturally I signed up to bring food for the first reading, which is tomorrow. I suppose coffee and cigarettes are out of the question, so I have to think of something age appropriate. Chex Mix and bottled water might please the masses but that doesn't seem jazzy enough somehow. I guess I'll go wander the store later and see what kind of inspiration I get. Maybe something from World Market - food with an international flair, if you will. I'd love to find some cocktail napkins with a Beatnik theme - how fun would that be? I suppose I could go to the craft store and find a rubber stamp that says 'cool' and make my own. Am I getting carried away? Probably.

Interestingly enough, I asked my daughter what she thought I should bring and she said, "Mixed nuts. Aren't there always nuts at a coffee house?" She was serious. That was a difficult question to answer without laughing! Perhaps I will send nuts. And we actually do own bongo drums...

In the fine tradition of poetry reading everywhere, I'll leave you with a poem. I read somewhere that he wrote this as a response to some criticism of poets in a newspaper. I can't verify that but it sounds right. Put on your shades, Daddy-O, and give us a recitation:

Epigram

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool,
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.

-Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Allergic to August

I think I'm allergic to August,
July posed no problem for me.
No sniffles, no sneezes, no headaches,
and the temp stayed below one-o-three.

I must be allergic to August,
how else to explain the iced-tea?
How else to explain the afternoon nap
and the aversion to humidity?

The days how they pass by so slowly.
To Alaska I wish I could flee.
The cure takes too long in it's coming,
for September is my remedy.