Today I'm going to share the poem that I had the most fun writing! I hope it at least brings a smile to my readers, because immodest as it may sound this is one I laughed out loud while writing. (Luckily the store was quiet that day - and yes - for those of you about to criticize me for slacking at work, the store was spotless, the shelves faced up and inventory had been taken and called in before I took pen in hand.)
Inspiration for this ode came to me thus. About six years ago my sibs and I were gathered at my sister's house for a family get-together. (I'm guessing a visit from my Mother, who was still living in Sault Ste. Marie at the time prompted my sister to invite us all over.) Anyhow, there we were after supper hanging around the living room visiting when my mother asked me to share a poem or two. (Like most moms, mine is the biggest fan of my literary endeavors.) So I read and my siblings politely heard me out. After my reading my mother suddenly said:
"You girls get your poetic leanings from my side of the family, you know!"
She was referring to myself and my oldest sister, who is a poet of the non-rhyming variety. We must've both looked a bit surprised by this statement, because - well, my mothers siblings are nice people, but while several of them are musical, nary a soul in that connection could be suspected of being poetically inclined.
My mother went on to tell us the story of her cousin, a poet who established quite a reputation among his kin in the rural area of Dayton Ontario. As it turns out, he made a name for himself because he was known to rather unceremoniously arrive on his relatives' door steps expecting to stay for a few days to regale them with his rather horrific poetry!
She told us he hailed from some spot nearby known as Hungry Hollow, whose residents were notoriously inbred, and went on to say that when she was young a visit from this cousin was an event to be dreaded. However, none of his kin dared risk the social stigma that would accompany showing any lack of hospitality toward a visitor.
Now a poet with less faith in a mother's sincere admiration might have taken umbrage from the telling of this tale, but as it was I wasn't piqued in the slightest - nor was my sister. Instead we were intrigued by the tale of the roaming poet of the North Shore (that's the north shore of Lake Huron, by the way) who came from a place so small that even we, (with our mother who hailed from Dayton and Silverburg and our father who hailed from Cockburn Island), had never heard of it!
Yes, my mother laid down fertile soil for my poetic mind that day. I would write a poem to commemorate this purveyor of bad verse!! I could just see my grandparents trying to issue a hearty welcome to the troubadour, while inwardly praying that he'd go off and pester someone else! (Obviously I tweaked names and fictionalized this visit, so as to spare my relatives any pain when the tale becomes famous!) The lines began to percolate as I sat there, and within 48 hours I had penned an epic!
So without further ado, here it is...
The Ballad of Horace (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 2007)
Horace hailed from Hungry Hollow -
barely tall as he was wide;
a meandering route he'd follow
roaming o'er the countryside.
He believed he was poetic
(though of talent, he had none),
all his efforts were pathetic -
kin, on seeing him, would run.
Cousins would shout with insistence,
"To the barn we all must flee!",
as his girth, seen in the distance
bobbed along quite merrily.
"Oh my goodness, here comes Horace!",
moaned their frazzled mom inside,
"How I hoped he would ignore us,
but there's nowhere I can hide."
(This she said with resignation
as she braced to open door - )
"He reeks so of desperation
and his verse is such a bore!
It's a shame that he's related -
such a nephew must I own?"
At this thought she hesitated,
then repented with a groan.
"Hungry Hollow folk are inbred,
but to shun would be a sin,
so he must be welcomed and fed -
we can choose friends, but not kin.
I will smile while verse he's sharing
and try to attentive be -
I'll be blessed if I'm forbearing,
he is family to me."
Thus the door was quickly flung wide,
Horace beamed upon the stair
and he was invited inside
for she couldn't leave him there.
Soon her dear spouse from the fields came
hoping for five minutes rest
and espying Horace felt shame
at how much the sight distressed.
Horace sighed with great contentment
as he warmed before the fire,
quite immune to their resentment
and oblivious to ire.
"With which verse shall I reward them
for such hospitality?
They're deserving of my best gem - "
Ran his thoughts, jovially.
Aunt and uncle sat there waiting,
dreading their impending doom
'til his ode exasperating
filled the confines of the room.
He recited with expression -
spewed the passion of his soul...
while they held in check agression
and maintained shaky control.
Oh - it seemed he droned forever!
Minutes felt to them like years!
But to yawn - no no - not ever!
(Though they both were bored to tears.)
Horace saw their eyes a-glisten -
thrilled to note how each was moved.
With such rapture they did listen!
Surely this his talent proved!
After poem reached cresendo
he refused offer of meal
and insisted that he must go
with almost religious zeal.
His refusal was quite stunning -
they'd been granted a reprieve!
As he hastened away running,
gratefully they watched him leave.
"I don't suppose it's his fault
he's not quite right in the head,
I've heard this can be the result
when close relatives are wed.
His IQ probably should rise -
perhaps by more than dozens -
a crazy kid is no surprise
when parents are first cousins!"
'Twas this his aunt and uncle mused
as they watched the boy depart.
His inbred heritage excused
complete ignorance of art.
But Horace, joyful, walked on air.
He'd achieved his heart's desire!
He sped to others where he'd share
poetry to souls inspire!
He bounced along in portly glee
with his spectacles askew -
another mile, or two or three...
and he'd induce tears anew!
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