Sometimes, The Wheel is on Fire

Sometimes, The Wheel is on Fire

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Stopping for a Nanosecond

Well, we’ve reached the mid-point of NaNoWriMo, and with over 3,000 words under my belt,1 I decided to take a break today and celebrate the other NaNoRhyMo (National Novel Rhyming Month), for which, I believe, I am the lone participant. So far, I have a dozen entries to share, all written using... wait for it... NaNo meter2:

The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
But now the little spider is in a foul mood,
Since while she was stuck swimming, some pig was killed for food.

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;
The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.
The pigs in the farmhouse are plotting our doom.
Four legs are nice, but not better than two.

Mary read a little Lamb
And turned as white as snow,
For although Christ himself was pure,
His buddy Biff? Fuck, no.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With tender care and Colin there,
But don’t let his dad know.

Little Jack Horner sat in the corner
Eating a Christmas pie.
‘Twas taken away, and he lost that day’s pay,
But three ghosts set his boss straight that night.

Jack, be nimble.
Jack, be quick.
Jack, kill whores and escape that dick*.

* Dick = detective. I know I’m the one who mentioned whores, but c’mon, people! Get your mind out of the gutter!

A tisket, a tasket,
A golem in a casket.
Young Sam and Joe wrote comic books
Till DC blew a gasket.

It’s raining, it’s pouring,
The old man’s imploring,
“Let the kid fish! No better dish
Than marlin in the morning.”

Star light, star bright,
First time on a space flight.
Towel and salt don’t ease Dent’s plight;
Earth is gone, which just ain’t right.

Hey diddle-diddle, we thought and cared little
Before our Spring Break on the moon.
Then our feeds went dead and it screwed with our heads,
None of us saw our world would end soon.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who knew not where tickets were stuck at.
He looked high and low,
Far and wide, to and fro,
But the last was found by Charlie Bucket.

In South Central Maine I was born and raised
At the Barrens where I spent most of my days,
Running, and hiding, being bullied by fools,
Sometimes constructing a dam when not at school,
When this one creepy clown who was up to no good
Started killing children in my neighborhood.
There was but one little death and we all got scared;
Instead of Pennywise we should’ve made a date with Linda Blair.

1 I actually keep them inside my computer.
2 For those of you hoping to find Coleridge’s Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner among these selections (and no, I’m not apologizing for that punderful title), I must remind you that it’s actually a poem. Thus, it’ll have to remain here, in the footnote:
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
Red sky at night, albatross in flight.

1 comment:

  1. Hehe, brilliant Cap'n! Well done! I like it when it rhymes.