Fish poem

1. Last fall I attended the Annapolis Boat show. One outcome of my visit was a subscription to the boating magazine SpinSheet. It’s a pulp with lots of contributions from readers. A recent issue had an article titled something like “Sitting on the dock in the bay.” Notice that that line is a double dactyl with an accent at the end.

2. Recently my brother came to town for a visit. Among other things, he had a good time reciting a poem about a mouse in a bar being ready to take on the cat after drinking some Guinness that had spilled onto the floor.

The tone of my brother’s poem, combined with the title of that article, inspired me to write this poem. Somewhat timidly, I offer it to my discerning readers. Sorry it’s so long. Mixed meter tetrameter, rhymed couplets, mostly.

I was dozing on the pier in the Chesapeake bay
When a great big fish swam up my way.
And then the fish spoke and I really awoke!
What I tell you is true, this is no joke.
Said the fish to me, “I’ll grant you a wish
If you grant me a boon—to this poor old fish.”
Amazed though I was to speak to a fish,
I asked him “Sir, what is your wish?”
And then that fish, he winked at me.
“I’ve heard about coffee, you see,” said he
“If you could bring me a taste that I could try,
Then I would be happy, before I die.”
I pondered a while his dilemma true:
The sea would ruin the finest brew.
I thought some more and then I knew a way!
“Just bide right here and stay in the bay.”
I ran to the coffee shop of my choice,
And announced to Emma in a confident voice,
“I need a special coffee brewed today,
So would you kindly make it just my way?”
She knew her trade, this barista fair,
But she looked at me askance as she tossed her hair.
“I know your tricks, you homely man,
You ask for something hard ’cause you think you can;
But I like a challenge, so fire away.”
And she began my special brew that day.
She ground those coffee beans so fine,
They turned to dust in almost no time.
Then she pressed them flat on a little tray.
“That flat enough for your taste today?”
She asked with her eyebrow raised halfway.
“Looks good to me,” I said with glee,
“Now one more step I need from thee.
Just wrap it in your finest pastry dough,
And into the oven now it must go,
To brown that flakey dough just so.”
She took it from the oven when it was done,
Saying, “Here’s your coffee-hiding bun.”
I took the little scone out to the pier
And called to the fish “I have it here!”
Pop this in your mouth and hold it still.
When the pastry melts, you’ll get the thrill
Of the taste of the very best coffee mill.”
So he took it in his mouth and held it a while,
Then his face broke out in a great big smile!
“A taysht define I dho deglaire!”
He said as he flipped his tail in the air.
He savored it a while, then swallowed it down,
Then he looked at me and he looked at the town.
“I made a promise that I must keep
Before I return to the briny deep.
What is your wish, my clever man?
I’ll do it for you, friend, if ever I can.”
I knew right away what I wanted him to do.
“I hope this isn’t too hard for you:
I’ve always been homely, so I would wish
That you make me ever so handsome, dear fish.”
“I’ll make you like the handsomest thing I’ve seen
In all the places that I ever have been.
‘Tis easy to do.” He gave his tail a swish
And turned me into—a great big fish!

Postscript: I had planned to take this to the coffeehouse in the poem, down in the historic district in Annapolis, and read it unannounced, in  the hearing of all the customers and the staff, one of whom is Emma. The day ahead of this planned performance, I was having a snack at a restaurant and doing some reading. I realized that the background music they played at the coffeehouse would interfere with my extemporaneous performance. Alas, Emma would never hear my poem, and neither would the customers. As I left the restaurant where I had been reading, whom should I run into but Emma! I let her read the poem and she laughed several times as she read it. She said she liked it. Life is good.

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Today is my dear sweet wife’s birthday. This being a writing site, I suppose I’ll write a poem for her.

I’ve known her for a decade and a half
I think that she’s a witch because I know
She’s just as gorgeous now as when we met
And still my heart is captive to her charm

I can’t escape; I haven’t even tried
The very thought of looking somewhere else
Repels me like a fox repels a hare
I really want to feel her close at hand

Two quatrains of blank iambic pentameter. Much too stiff. I need something a little more casual and friendly.

My wife is cute
She’s such a hoot
She likes to snuggle, too
She’s such a dear
’cause when she’s near,
She also likes to–

Nah, too casual. Gotta be something I can recite in public. Maybe a ballad form. Quatrains of iambic tetrameter, AABB rhyme scheme.

I like my wife, she’s nice to me
She feeds me supper faithfully
Her birthday’s coming soon I hear
What gift to get my wife so dear?

I know! I’ll take her out to eat
I think she’ll think that that’s a treat
I’ll tell her “Get what’er you wish
And you won’t have to wash a dish!”

Better, but not very lovey-dovey. Can I put together something a little more romantic?

You make me think of flowers, dear.
They’re always lovely every year.
You’re like the stars, those gems of light,
You light my life and make it bright.
You’re like a book I like to read—
I never know where the plot will lead.
You make me happy as a clam,
I married you, and glad I am!

Think that’ll do? Just in case, wish her a happy birthday in the comments, okay?

And here’s a picture of her:

Fred Langa, a techie whose material I read assiduously, recently posted a link to a humorous drawing. Here’s the link to Fred’s blog, which has a link to the drawing, but don’t click it until you finish my post. The title on Fred’s post was a short version of the picture’s caption (which has nothing to do with my post), and the title was metrical in a manner that reminded me of a poem. Here’s the title:

The bedside lamp flew away in a huff.

The name of this kind of meter slips my mind at the moment, but it’s an old way of writing poetry. We see it in the nursery rhyme Four and Twenty Blackbirds and Pease Porridge Hot. It consists of evenly spaced accents with a varying number of unaccented syllables between the accented syllables. Try it on that title, and you’ll get four evenly spaced accents. Now to the poem it reminded me of:

Way down yonder not so very far off
A jaybird died of the whooping cough.
He whooped so hard of that whooping cough
That he whooped his head and his tail clean off!

The poem is supposed to be recited with some complicated hand motions what would be difficult even for an expert technical writer such as I to describe. The motions  are best demonstrated, and they make a good activity to warm up a crowd.

Now I have a confession to make. The title about the bedside lamp didn’t remind me of that poem right away. After all, all I saw was the title. I saw “bedside” and “huff” and my mind went in its own direction. I immediately thought up a poem rather different from the theme of the humorous drawing. I capitalized to help you see the accented syllables.

the Bedside Lamp flew aWay in a Huff
he Said “I’ve Seen eNough of this Stuff.”
I’ll Come back in the Morning when the Day is Bright;
I Care not What you guys Do all Night.

(I admit it, I’m bad.) Now I invite You to write a Funny old Poem.

I’ve heard the term Grammar Nazi bandied about occasionally to refer to those of us educated and noble souls who prefer to have English spoken in a manner that doesn’t insult the speaker (or writer). I prefer the term Grammar Curmudgeon, myself, as indicating a modicum of warmth and friendly good humor toward the issue of communicating correctly.

Today I ran into a new name for those of us who know and care about correct English. Even though the context pokes fun at us, I think I like the term.

Grammar Emperor has a nice ring, don't you think?

A word about the comic. Jeff Mallett writes Frazz, a strip about a wise and athletic grade school janitor, a precocious student and his classmates, and the rest of the school staff. The comics are often insightful, and the humor is sometimes—well, it helps to have a little education and be able to think, yourself. The astute reader will get that the joke above is based on an oxymoron and a reference to a folk tale about a foolish ruler.

Yes, yes, this comic has a political theme, which I generally avoid, but it’s a good example of the subjunctive mood. In English, many verbs show that they are in the subjunctive only by having the appropriate auxiliary verb attached. I don’t recall ever hearing of the “pre-existing conditional tense,” however. Maybe pre-existing conditional clause, though.

My thanks to the comic Rhymes with Orange for today's humor.

In Greek, for those of you who are curious, “I give” is didomi (short o, omicron) and the equivalent of “I would give” is didoomi with a long o (an omega). They also have an even stronger mood, called the optative, meaning “I wish I could give.” That’s didoimi. Now you know Greek!