Tag Archives: semi-formal

RHL, ‘If Astrology Were Real’

If astrology were real, you’d expect
it would be an unremarkable aspect
of daily life for someone to select–
to fall in love, fully connect–
with two people with the same birthday;
for victims of mass events (tornados, cities wrecked)
to share a sun-sign or unlucky day;
for astrology to be so useful that respect
for horoscopes would drive a business power play,
and with no reason to suspect
insider information when bets proved correct;
and that some other nonsense disarray
would have to be invented to display
for children, lovers, dreamers, to collect–
for old folks suffering neglect–
for young ones on the make, unchecked–
for trash TV and media to infect–
and for the rest of us to naturally reject.

*****

My English mother was a great practitioner of astrology; my Danish father was a thorough sceptic. In the 1950s he was going to take a trip across the Atlantic by sea, and asked her to do a forecast of the voyage. She went off and studied the stars, and came back and said that everything looked fine. (What else could she say?) Unfortunately the ship went on the rocks at Bermuda and everyone was taken off in lifeboats. When my father later questioned her forecast, her explanation (as he reported it) was that “Venus was in the Dragon’s Tail and kiss my arse.”

I studied astrology (along with lots of other religious and spiritual systems) in my 20s, but ended up agreeing with my father; hatha yoga is the only practice I’ve retained from those days.

This poem has just been published in Rat’s Ass Review – a good place for snarky poetry. Thanks, Roderick Bates!

Photo: “Automata on the famous astrological clock” by Curious Expeditions is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Semi-formal: ‘My Doctir’s Excus’ by Michael R. Burch, age 8

I can eggsplain why Im sick.
Sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I came to school
and I caught it from Rick.
Now I’m sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I cant do my homework
becus Im sick.
I cant take tests
becus Im a mess.
Blame Rick, the prick!
—signed, my doctir

PS, Thurd grade is hard enuff on kids nervs and bad graids make my simptoms worse! Liten up, doctirs orders!

*****

Michael R. Burch confesses: “I must admit that the whole thing is entirely fictional, and I lied about my age. Poet license! I came up with the poem this morning (December 17, 2024) as soon as I awoke. That happens to me quite bit: having a line in my head as soon as I wake up. I have even composed poems in my sleep a few times. The original poem had normal spelling, but then it occurred to me to turn it into a not-so-artful ‘doctir’s excuse.’
There was no Rick.”

Michael R. Burch’s poems have been published by hundreds of literary journals, taught in high schools and colleges, translated into 22 languages, incorporated into three plays and four operas, and set to music, from swamp blues to classical, 61 times by 32 composers. He is also the founder and editor-in-chief of The HyperTexts.

Illustration: WikiHow: https://www.wikihow.com/Make-Up-a-Good-Excuse-for-Your-Homework-Not-Being-Finished#/Image:Make-Up-a-Good-Excuse-for-Your-Homework-Not-Being-Finished-Step-18.jpg

Cowboy poetry: Using form: Doc Mehl, ‘Poems Used To Rhyme’

Poems used to rhyme.
In time, the couplets were dispensed.
Incensed, today’s poet rebels from rhyming schemes,
It seems. The writer, newly shedding the shackles of quatrains,
Refrains from even a modicum of lilt.

And built now from unpaired diphthongs,
His songs have lost a measure of glue.
It’s true. No longer does the ear delight
In flight of fancy, in teeter-totter,
Like water on the endless sand, the to-and-fro,
And no, this tide will not abate.

Of late, I find that poems no longer draw me in.
They’re thin.

*****

Doc Mehl writes: “For the last two decades I’ve written rhyming western poetry, and I’ve performed both the poetry and my original western-themed music at cowboy poetry events in the western U.S. and Canada. I’ve recorded two spoken-word CDs of my rhyming poetry, and several CDs of my original music.
I’m not averse to free verse. (OK, I must pause momentarily to savor the rhyme in that sentence.) Still, the author of a free verse poem ought to be able to convincingly answer this question: “Why do you maintain that this work should be categorized as poetry rather than prose?”
In this poem (“Poems Used To Rhyme”), I liked the gamesmanship of sneaking the rhyming word of each “couplet” into the beginning of the second line rather than at the end of the second line. The resulting poem might first appear to be a tongue-in-cheek free verse poem about why rhyme is important. Still, the magic of the closely juxtaposed rhyming words can’t help but rise from the ether.”

‘Poems Used To Rhyme’ was first published in Rattle #85 with a link to audio.

Newly transplanted from Colorado to Black Diamond, Alberta, Al “Doc” Mehl traces his family roots to central Kansas, where his grandfather raised six children on the family homestead. His debut music CD is titled “Asphalt Cowboy,” and his second music CD titled “I’d Rather Be…” was released in 2008. Doc Mehl has also published a CD of original poetry titled “Cowboy Pottery,” and a second spoken-word poetry CD titled “The Great Divide,’ named 2013 “Cowboy Poetry CD of the Year” by both the Western Music Association and the Academy of Western Artists. In 2020, Doc published his first collection of poetry, “Good Medicine: Read Two Poems and Call Me in the Morning.” And in 2022, Doc released two new CDs of music, “West of the 22” and “Tried and True. Doc’s poems and musical lyrics have been featured on the website http://www.CowboyPoetry.com, he has been published in the poetry journal “Rattle,” and he was a first-place silver buckle winner at the National Cowboy Poetry Rodeo in Montrose, Colorado in 2009.

Photo: https://docmehl.com/photo-gallery

Semi-formal: RHL, ‘Terminal’

Christian culture’s crucifixation
nails us to our seats as, station by station,
we travel the trammelled line
until we find
that terminal
more primal.

The humanstrain’s end-of-line stop
is Ragnarok.
Everyone please disembark
into the dark–
no light, no map.
Mind the Ginnungagap.

*****

This is as close as I get to religion: existential uncertainty. I’m a Militant Agnostic: “I don’t know… and neither do you!” Yet this attitude is apparently compatible with religion, being not that different from Eliot’s ‘East Coker‘:
O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters

(…)
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God.

But Christianity? I think not. Altogether too unlikely, with so many impossibilities packed into such a small understanding of the cosmos. We don’t know where we are headed, not just as individuals with finite lives, but as a species that is simultaneously developing space travel and genetic modifications… the possibilities are endless and the future, dark as well as light, is unknowable.

The poem is semi-formal with its loose iambics and paired rhymes or slant rhymes, but no structure beyond its natural flow. It was originally published in the Experimental section of a 2019 issue of Better Than Starbucks, and republished as part of work being spotlighted in The HyperTexts in August 2024.

Photo: “London Holborn tube station in Black and White effect” by Patrick Cannon Tax Barrister is licensed under CC BY 2.0.