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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Saturday, April 25, 2020

National Poetry Month--Day 25--Acrostic Poem--Punting Penguins and Other Problems



It's Acrostic Poem day. It's also Red-hat Day, Save the Frogs Day, Plumber Day, Dancing Day, and International Penguin Day. For me it's Hardware Store Day.















How about Save the Red-hatted Dancing Plumber Frogs Day?

Ronald the Peeper looked for his heart's dream
Endeav'ring to find her, make her part of his team
Daring to do what a froggy must do

He puffed out his chest like a bubble in blue
At last someone heard his great basso profundo
Thund'ring out there across the great mundo.
"There never was such a deep voice," he boasted.
Evalina the Poison Arrow frog wanted him roasted
"Dead he must be, for I can't stand his croakin'.

Decidedly dead," was the thought but not spoken
And why is that, Miss Green-Skinned perfection?
"Never mind," says she. "I don't like his diction.
Could somebody please put him out of my madness
I can't hear myself think--it cuts into my sadness."
"Now what could the terribly sad problem be?"
Groused Ronny Peeper, the ebullient "He."

"Pray keep your voice down, for it's better than mine,"
Lied Evalina the PA frog, testing the line.
"Unless you can call in a less strident timber
My ears are just bleeding and it makes me less limber."
But Ronny just knew his song would make sense
Evelina must just hear it, then she wouldn't be tense
Ronald then sang his frog lungs to a frazzle

For Evalina he would belt it, for her he would dazzle
Right down to the minute when Ronny passed out
Oh poor little frog, his wee heart was not stout
Grieving then filled Evalina's small heart
Saddness claimed her as she sought from the start. 

Suddenly up jumped Ronny, his heart back to normal
A much-chastened frog was he, and much less formal
Very strong feelings for Evalina the Poison Arrow
Eked away down the dark river narrow
Rosy the Peeper was calling his name
Somewhere she waited 'cause they felt the same.













Moral of the story? Sometimes it's better to go for the less high maintenance frog. 

©2020 by H. Linn Murphy




(Please understand that this poem is born of a frustration with all this social distancing crap. I'm SO over it all, especially since I believe it to be a massive social experiment that is unconscionable and dreadful and a bunch more words that fill my head but I won't let gush forth. So there's this):

Please understand, I like penguins. They're cute little birds with a dedication I admire.
Understand too, that I'm sick of people telling me what I have to care about.
Not your job to tell me I must care about the global warming myth
That's my job if I wish it. If I want to get all misty about sea birds, I will.
I'm a big girl. I have hopes and dreams and agendas all my own.
Needing you to tell me what to do isn't a thing.
Go get someone else to boss around. As for me, I'll gladly go pick up trash in the park. On my own.

People seem to think they can order others to do their bidding because it's "correct."
End the idiocy! If you want to change that aspect of the world, do it yourself!
Natter on about saving the sea urchins on your own. I'll be the one out there doing it.
Go pay your own money to clean up streams and save weasels. I'm already there on my own.
Understand that it's not your job to be my adult nursemaid.
I know I'm not politically correct (another phrase for "I can say what I want to but you can't.")

Nope. But I do try to GOVERN MYSELF.
Sometimes I just envision drop-kicking a penguin into the water. It just makes me giggle.

©2020 by H. Linn Murphy

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