[x]

Who Cares About...?WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR MISTRESS' EYES?
(A Rebuttal to Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX)

Why should it matter in the least if her
Lips are coral red or pale pink?
If suntanned breasts are worrying you, sir,
You need your head examined, one would think.
And you honestly believe her cheeks and hair
Detract because they differ from the norm?
I doubt you'd find another who would care;
For as they are, they are indeed well-formed.
As to her breath and voice, I will concede
That reeks and rasps as adjectives fit well;
But Listerine will satisfy her need,
And huskiness in speech, a flaw? Do tell!
You love her, faults and all, or so you've said—

Fighting IntoleranceMy fellow Americans — and Swiss, and Provolone, and even that fellow over there from Tibet:

No more shall we, as the saying goes, stand alone! It is time to let our pressers — I mean, oppressors — know that their rancid regime is about to rind down — excuse me, wind down.

For far too long, we cheeses have been treated as second-class foods. Grains and meats garner all the glory, while we languish half-forgotten in the endmost dairy case. It's no surprise that many of us suffer from low self-esteem! And occasionally, heartburn.

Some people will actually go out of their way to avoid us! What have we done to earn such scor

Little did you knowLittle did you know.
Oh, how little did you know
what I had in store.

You knew to never trust a Fae
but you trusted anyway.

Little did you know
what I had planned.

You knew that I was rotten
but you seemed to have forgotten.

Little did you know
what was in mind.

You knew the sorts of things I do
but I‘d ne’er do that to you!

Little did you know
my little plots.

You knew my wicked little heart
but still you would take part.

Little did you know
what I would do.

And now, my poor sweet girl,
my blossom and my pearl,
do you still know quite so little
as before?

Now that you’re tangled in my snare,
can you

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The Forest For The TreesFriday, 6 p.m. I stared at the photograph on my laptop screen: a single upthrust female leg atop a vast pile of women's shoes.

The challenge, among the copyeditors in my department, was to come up with the best possible caption by 8:00 Monday morning. The winner got bragging rights for the week, the ten or so dollars in the prize pool, and free lunch that day courtesy of the department manager.

As one of the more junior copyeds, I had yet to win the weekly challenge; and some of my thusly-awarded coworkers were starting to razz me about that fact. So here I was, an hour past the end of my workday, scrutinizing this particular photo with ext

100 Words: Bogged DownDespite the common perception, it isn't a paved and marked crossroads, radiating outward from some pivotal life-changing moment.

Rather, it's the marshland found just over the hill — unmarked on your life's map, its boundary detectable only by the faintest resistance, a break in stride as you plod through the muck.

You attempt to maintain your pace, knowing your goal is in sight; but the bog grows thicker, the track less certain, your progress inexorably slower. Until you face the choice: keep struggling onward, or abandon that road for an uncertain destination.

That is a midlife crisis.

ImaginagerieThe chickens are locked in the closet;
   the dinosaur's under the bed.
The toad has just jumped from the windowsill
   and landed on top of my head.

The ferrets are out planting flowers;
   the peacock's new plumage is torn.
The unicorn used my last dishtowel
   to polish its glimmering horn.

The reindeer have raided the pantry;
   the dolphin won't fit in the tub.
The lemmings ate all of my lemon drops,
   then played hide-and-seek with the cub.

The donkey's been braying all morning;
   the cheetah's been chasing her tail.

ChuusenkenCurled in my pocket, pink and full of promise: Schrödinger's kitten.

Massacre of the InnocenceGeorgie Porgie threw an orgy
     just outside L.A.,
where Jack Be Nimble grabbed his thimble,
     outing him as gay...

Little Jack Horner bought Time Warner
     before the bubble burst,
though Jumping Jack Flash saw the crash
     and liquidated first...

Jack said Jill was taking the Pill
     to ward off impregnation;
the Three Blind Mice have lobbied twice
     for victim's compensation...

Little Miss Muffet had her tuffet
     liposuctioned out,
and L

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Recipe For Disasterby `HaveTales-WillTell

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Visual & Found Poetry

My entry for `StJoan's Gourmet Lit contest.

Rather cynical, especially considering the holiday that's inspired it. But hey; it's what occurred to me after pondering her suggestion: "It doesn't have to be for food! Take a chance and throw some satire in there!"

This is also my first visual prose submission to dA. The structure was mandated by the need for a sidebar, so as not to obscure the sardonic punch line. On the plus side, this lets me show off my (somewhat rusty) layout and copyediting skills; I used to put together a small newsletter for a local charity, back in the day.

And before anyone asks: no, this is not based on me, or anyone I know personally. It's a commentary on how our culture treats our more misguided youth as expendable until proven otherwise. Mamas, don't let your babies grow up t'be gangstas.

~WordCount: 330 words.

Update, as of Dec. 3: Third place!

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*disrhythmic Feb 19, 2012

Oh, the wordplay. I love you. And such a perfect recipe too...

`HaveTales-WillTell Mar 2, 2012 Professional Writer

I appreciate it; thank you.

~ColdomadeusX Sep 7, 2009

love it-you say it perfectly...

`HaveTales-WillTell Oct 15, 2009 Professional Writer

I'm glad you think so, and sorry for taking so long to reply.

~ColdomadeusX Oct 17, 2009

No probs and my pleasure

Gotta love satire.

~Wolfrug Aug 17, 2009

I shan't bother with telling you about the convoluted paths I took to get to this deviation (and account!) but you may rest well knowing they were, indeed, convoluted.

That said, I clicked around randomly, found that you've got a rather sharp wit and a bunch of very nice deviations, and, well...this one stood out a bit I guess? I've been reading a lot of visual poetry lately, and they're kind of cool (and appropriate for dA, I do say) - this one however I absolutely adore for its linguistic content. This is something I look up to in all poets - their ability to play with registers as they see fit. The puns and wordplay that go through this little 'recipe' (all the way up to the title!) are all very well thought out and never seem forced in any way, and the end result is, like with all good poetry, really left up to the reader to figure out - in other words, it makes me want to read through it again and analyze it more, figure out the narrator (i.e. was it written by the 'victim' or the victimizer?), the real story behind it, sort out all the disturbing and less disturbing images it conjures up.

Ahem. In short, I liked it very much.

`HaveTales-WillTell Oct 15, 2009 Professional Writer

Facing such an overwhelmingly favorable assessment, I don't know where to begin; so I'll start with an apology for this late response.

There's an old saying: "Prose is words in order; poetry is the right words in the right order." I'm flattered that you think so highly of this; to be fair, it was only placed in 'Visual Poetry' because dA lacked (and still lacks) a similar category for visual prose — unless you count Typography, which for me has always been more about the presentation than the content.

Part of what I'd been going for here, which you seem to have picked up on, was the dichotomy between the impartiality of the narration and the horror of the narrative. In that regard, it's close in theme to the Twilight Zone episode "To Serve Man" (and the eponymous book at its center).

Thank you again; and I hope you have the chance to revisit soon and explore my gallery further.

~Wolfrug Oct 17, 2009

You're very welcome! Don't worry about late replies, thank you for replying at all! As to the category: this would, I suppose, fit equally well into visual poetry and prose, although the clipped style suggests poetry to me rather than anything else.

The impartiality (and more importantly, the gruesome humour) and the horror are, I think, absolutely central to this work. So once again, well done for capturing that. Hope to read some more stuff in your gallery soon!

~nowaybutUP Mar 28, 2009

Don't try to reuse any left over memories; they could spoil everthing.

Well isn't this just every sadistic, abusive person's favourite recipe to pass the time?

Amazing execution, and holy crap, it just gave me the shivers.

That last line, man. Man oh man.

Great job, once again. I knew seeing "Massacre of the Innocence" will open up a new variety of wonderful writing for me to read.

`HaveTales-WillTell Apr 1, 2009 Professional Writer

Thank you, again. I'm glad that it resonated so well with you.

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