This post is dedicated to Gautami Tripathy and her wonderful poetry blog. Did I just hear a groan from the black sheep? Yes, I said "poetry". Some of you could use a bit of exposure to the finer things. And I don't mean going to the museum on field trip days in your special trenchcoat, either.
Okay, are you all ready, with tea and strumpets in hand? Good. I would first like to start off with a favorite classic from Shel Silverstein, entitled "It's All The Same To The Clam".
It's All The Same To The Clam by Shel Silverstein
You may leave the Clam on the ocean floor It's all the same to the Clam. For a hundred thousand years or more, It's all the same to the Clam. You may bury him deep in mud or muck, Or carry him round to bring you luck. Or use him for a hockey puck. It's all the same to the Clam.
You may call him Frank or Jim or Nell It's all the same to the Clam. Or make an ashtray from his shell. It's all the same to the clam. You may take him riding on a train or leave him sitting in the rain. You'll never hear the Clam complain. It's all the same to the Clam.
Yes the world may stop or the world may spin It's all the same to the Clam. And the sky may come a fallin' in It's all the same to the Clam. And man may sing his endless songs, of wronging rights and righting wrongs. The Clam just sets - and gets along. It's all the same to the Clam.
My take? We can learn a lot from the clam. The first thing we can learn is that in this great big world, the problems of one (or two) people don't amount to a hill of beans. So clam the f*ck up and deal with it. And remember, it's all the same to the clam.
Okay, now that I've hog-tied you with witty-prose and greased you up for more; here is a poem that I just wrote in the comments on Gautami's blog, where yesterday's theme was "the body knows".
My Body by Pug Puerileuwaite
My body perhaps could be a temple But when I find myself alone In the dark Too often I find the need To treat my body As if it were an amusement park
My first entry, submitted a while back, was on the topic of "chalk" (no, not caulk, so get your filthy minds out of the gutter).
Chalk by Pug Puerileuwaite
Tracing and placing Giving one-dimensional boundary to a multi-dimensional shape From a form of existence in this existence no more Starkly the chalkline reveals one fact from the case Where the vessel wound up in time and in space Spirit released into limitless sky Point no finger at me I have an alibi
Well that does it for this inaugural installment of "Poetry Cornered". You may all go back to eating Sterno from the can, and watching "Three's Company" reruns.