Poetry for Fabulous Donors, Part 2

My poetry writing abilities are once again put to the test, as I compose verses for the fabulous donors to my Krispy Kreme Challenge.  I should mention that most of my poetry studies happened in high school AP English, during "zero period," which is the time frame BEFORE first period, and an excellent way to torture teenagers at 7:25 a.m.  

I did a Google image search for AP English and this came up.

I do have to give props to my Agnes Meyer Award winning teacher, Mrs. McMahon--because of her, I scored a 5/5 on the AP Exam, despite never reading any of the books that year.  My English teacher father was constantly after me that I would never even get an okay score (a 3/5) on the exam if I didn't read books, and instead focused on magazine and newspaper articles.  However, I should point out that my dad is a successful author, and I'm just here writing this blog.

Speaking of this blog, you can make me write about a topic of your choosing by becoming a fabulous donor yourself.  Here are the prize levels.

• $10 - I will use my excellent high school poetry writing skills to compose a poem for/about you, to be featured here
• $25 - You will receive the poem AND a postcard from me, on which I will write terrible life advice specific to you (postcard to be featured on the blog in a later post, after you receive it).  Also, I have so many $25 donors that I had to buy more (hilarious) postcards.
• $50 - The poem, the postcard, AND you get to pick what I blog about (click here for suggestions) for one blog post
• $100 - Poem, Postcard, Blog Post AND a RepliKate!

Specifically, I bought a postcard set called "Naughty Little People."

On to the poetry!

For my sister, Amy, I have composed some lines about the time that Eddie, the headless chicken, was found on the playground by her fourth graders.  Accompanying the bird was a note indicating his name and the letters YOLO, for You Only Live Once.  Chicken disposal: this is why she has a Master's Degree.

Eddie, the Headless Chicken

At first: a claw, a scream
adjacent to the monkey bars, the slide
among the wood chips of the playground.

Then next: an investigation, a note
A small avian Ichabod Crane
scrawlings of YOLO and Eddie.

And finally: a call, a bag
the carcas slides to its final resting place
Sleep well, sweet feathered headless prince

My friends Kelley & Chris are way more hilarious than I am, and you can infrequently read about their exploits on her blog, The Lundscape.  Their poem/hymn is based on a recent post, "Cruising for a Bruising," where Kelly details the terrifying results of letting Chris pick their cruise excursions.  (Hint: it involved sting rays, fruit punch, and a lack of restrooms.)  You should read it so that the following makes sense:

WANDHAARTROCKNER

Hark! The Herald angels sing,

Grade A beef is for our king.

Taurus Suite, the drinks are mild,

Rump roast hurts, complaints are filed.

Joyful all you stingrays rise,

wear sunscreen if you are wise.

Hyper fruit punch child proclaims

Christopher's the one to blame.

Hyper fruit punch child proclaims

Christopher's the one to blame.

I always enjoy seeing Sam, who is my husband's Concert Wife, because he and I don't like the same type of music, and you couldn't pay me to visit a mosh pit.  Sam and I share the same weight loss struggles, and managing our life struggles, and being on time struggles.  We'd probably share the same "looking for decent men" struggles, if I hadn't found Chris.  So I wrote this Ode to Tinder for her.

An Ode to Tinder
Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left,
swipe left, swipe left, swipe left
and then
swipe left, swipe left, swipe left
swipe left, swipe left, swipe left
again
Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left
swipe left, all threes or fours of ten.
Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left,
swipe left, are there no good men?

For my friend Greg, who is my age and already an author, I wrote a Tyburn, mostly because it sounds like a character in Game of Thrones.  Also, you should buy his book.  It's really good, and I read it all in one sitting.

Unwilling Souls
Writing
Plighting
Citing
Frighting
Writing plighting plots,
Sits an author citing frighting thoughts.

Anna is my cousin's girlfriend, and "The First Lady of (Insert Holiday Here)," a title I assigned her when she was new to the family and shy about accompanying her boyfriend to the beginning of the buffet line.  She's also almost a nurse, which will come in handy anytime I need to carve a turkey.

First Lady of Thanksgiving

Anna

First Lady

Smiling, watching, waiting

She observes the carving knife, bandages will be needed

Spurting,trickling, coagulating

Red, dark

Blood.

Beatrice is my HR Lady equivalent for the Carolinas.  For her, I have composed a Kennings Poem about Our Chosen Profession.

Beatrice (in purple) with Hank, The King of Human Resources

HR Lady

Benefits-demystifyer
Law-interpreter
Salary-negotiator
Stakeholder-wrangler
Ethics-guardian
Relationship-counselor
Impasse-resolver
Application-reader
Payroll-runner
Probation-warner
Employee-hirer
Review-writer
Conference-attender
Accident-reporter
Compliance-stickler
Union-preventer

More than just the Party-planner:
Human Resources.

That's it!  That's everything e'rybody!  Don't forget to donate here!