The Hobbit, as written by Dr. Seuss

I really like my wizard friend
He came to visit me again
He brought twelve dwarves but that's okay
But do not with my dishes play!

They think I should a burglar be!
I'd rather have a cup of tea.
To Lonely Mountain should I go?
I can't decide. Oh no, oh no

We camped and there discussed our roles
But now we're overrun with trolls! 
Gandalf, damn it, where'd you go? 
They're going to eat us, this I know. 

And now the trolls are arguing
A fight that might salvation bring
The sun's first light has touched the sky
And trolls to stone are turned thereby.

We've now arrived at Rivendell
Where Elrond and the Elves do dwell
Our map has secrets yet unsealed
By Elrond's hand they're now revealed

Oh good! We're Misty Mountains bound
Oh bad! By goblins we are found
I'm best off fleeing underground
And lo! This ring was lying 'round

I tucked the ring inside my vest
A strange thing wants a riddle-fest
It turns into a hard contest
...Escaping with the ring is best

Well, twelve dwarves are now impressed
in Beorn's house we take our rest
So on we into Mirkwood go!
Giant. Fucking. Spiders. No.

And now the wood-elves have a quarrel
Into a dungeon, out in a barrel
Laketown's far more welcoming
But much desiring Smaug-slaying

I find the door, the passage in
I find my courage to begin
The dragon speaks; I answer back
See one small space his armor lacks

He's really mad about this cup
He's going to burn Laketown up
The Thrush will bring the warning whole
The dragon and its armor's hole

But Bard has his black arrow ready
His aim is true, his hand is steady
The arrow flies, the dragon falls
The dwarves reclaim their ancient halls

All should be well! We've won the day...
The men demand the dwarves should pay
For damage done unto their town
Thorin scowls and turns them down

And now a siege? The hell is this?
This Arkenstone they shouldn't miss
The men could take this and be done
A reward for a battle won

But wait! Thorin is much dismayed
He says I have the dwarves betrayed! 
He orders me to go away
As Dain, his cousin, arrives today

Gandalf returns but with a warning
The goblins and the worgs are forming
An army 'gainst both dwarf and man
So I guess we're out of the frying pan

The elves have come as well I see
They all ally as armies three
To set the goblin army back
but air support is what they lack

Oh look! We now have eagles too! 
Wings and talons, much to do!
The battle's turned, the goblins broken
And Thorin's final words are spoken

We part as friends, I take small share
For treasure I have little care
Why not more? Gandalf inquires
But this is plenty in the Shires. 

And now my story's done, dear friend
We have reached the very end
I suppose I might a book begin
Of going There and Back Again

I was gonna write a thing for today

I was gonna write a thing for today
I really was
Truly

But then things happened
And some other things
And I slept

And I did not write the thing
Nor anything else

I just slept
And came to work

And now it is lunch, and so you get this.

Missing: A Poem

My wife left the house
to get two things
some silicon tape
some toilet paper
The silicon tape-
-it comes from Home Depot

But we get the toilet paper-
-at Target

I do not know
How long
She has been gone

An hour?
A day?
A week?
(I miss her)

I feel certain
That she still lives

But time
Does strange things
Inside Target

The Goth Poem of Azrael's Sadness and Loss

Some of you may be wondering just what poem Azrael composed that so impressed the human necromancer. Well, he has deigned to share it with us, even knowing that we can't really appreciate it and will never truly understand him. Naturally, it can only be posted at midnight, and is best read by the light of a single, lonely candle flame.

Time With Extended Family, a poem

Holidays are almost here

It's time to show your relatives how you've spread your wings

And how you've flared your spines

How you flex your talons

How you stoke the flames in your chest

Until they're ready to spill past your fangs and engulf everything around you

While you stand untouched by the inferno

And laugh

Or you could just stay home

And read a book

Perhaps a cup of tea?

Tea would be nice

After all, you don't owe them anything

There's no reason

To emerge from your lair

Unless you want to

Ode to a Head Cold

Beloved art thou, O head cold
Who bring'st thy gifts in measure full
Thy presence fills me with awe
Courageous and unrelenting

Your treasures do not grow old
They continuous fill my skull
At the back of my throat they gnaw
Might trepanning offer some venting?


Study Questions:
Highlight under the questions to see suggested answers.
1. What do you think is the theme of this poem?
We must appease the head cold gods so they will leave us alone.

2. What rhyme scheme is the author using?
Cryambic Whinetameter

3. What literary technique is the author using?
Sarcasm. Also, antihistamines and decongestants.

Pantomime

Shadows and firelight flicker around the edges of the clearing,
Opposites and partners, dancing endlessly.
She sits on the opposite side of the flames from me,
Each of us casting a long shadow behind us.

Her mouth moves, but I can't hear words--
Just the wind in the trees overhead
And the surge of blood through my veins,
The throbbing of my heart.
She makes an angry gesture
And I can only stare.

I see her lips form familiar words: You don't *listen*.
But there is still no sound.
Finally she stands.
Finally she walks away, passing from firelight into darkness
Taking the trail back to the parking lot
Without me.

She is gone:
Inevitable end to this ineluctable pantomime
That we have drawn ourselves through
A dance as automatic, silent, meaningless, and fascinating
As the play of firelight and shadow on the trees.

Nonsense Love Poem

Composed last week while sitting in the shower trying to coax my brain into getting ready for work. Apparently, it preferred to do this:

You and me
are like two cups of tea
in complementary
mugs


Me and you
Are nothing that new
but we hold it together
with hugs

Tweet-length Halloween Poem!

Derelict house
Soft steps
Empty halls
Darkness outside
Quiet voices
Sudden cold
Old furniture
Stained floor
Old bones
And a human skull...

— Michael Mock (@MockRamblings) September 28, 2017

My Random Poetry: Trapped

Right, so: I guess this is a preface to a preface. Sorry. Anyway: my mother died a little over a year ago. Last weekend, my father, in the process of cleaning our her things, found that she'd apparently kept a poem I wrote in the bottom of a dresser drawer. (The poem was in the drawer, I mean. I don't generally make a habit of writing in the bottom of dresser drawers.)

Among the various oddities involved in this discovery: I have no memory of writing this. None. I might have an extant copy of it in my files somewhere, but if so I don't know where and haven't looked at it in years. I had actually forgotten that it ever existed.

Having now re-read it, I think I have a vague memory of the conversation that provoked it and the poem itself. But at this point, I'm honestly unsure whether that's a true memory, or whether my brain is just putting together some kind of backfill/retcon pseudomemory. The biggest argument for the idea that I wrote it is simply the fact that the printed paper had my name on it.

I don't suppose any of that is really relevant to the poem itself, but it was interesting enough that I wanted to make a note of it -- at the very least, just in case I came back and discovered it again, and wanted some context. And so but anyway, here's the poem, complete with its original preface.

An ex-girlfriend once asked me if I felt 'trapped' in our relationship. As you might expect with a question like that, she isn't my girlfriend anymore. Still, the question got me to thinking, and what with one thing and another my answer got garbled up with something I was humming, the result being the song you 're about to hear. I call it, "Trapped."

Trapped
December 2003

What started out as just a fling
Had been going on for years,
When she asked me the strangest thing.
I guess she had her fears.

Do you feel trapped by life with me?
Is there something you'd rather do?
Do you ever wish that you were free
To find somebody new?

I'd no idea how to answer that
Not a single word seemed safe.
So I stood there gaping like a prat,
'Til the silence seemed to chafe.

I could feel the darkness closing in,
I couldn't seem to see
'til I opened up my mouth again ...
... and these words came to me.

Is my heart trapped by my chest?
Is a bird trapped by its nest?
Does the fur restrict the dog?
Does the mud restrict the hog?
I know the news is gonna hurt,
But I'm trapped like a plant in its dirt.

Well she looked at me with sparkling eyes,
And she said, "I love you too.
I wouldn't want any other guys.
I'd rather be with you."

What we both know, some never learn:
Life isn't always fun.
But even when it's bad it can still be good,
If you've got the right someone.

For the record, she's my ex-girlfriend because she graduated to the position of "wife."

A Poem For The Inauguration

There was a bit of a kerfluffle recently when The Independent published a poem celebrating the inauguration of Donald Trump and many people mistook for something that would actually be read at the inauguration. The poem was, of course, comprehensively terrible, but I really don't think we should let that stop us. After all, the President-Elect and his team are reportedly having an embarrassingly difficult time getting anyone to perform at his inauguration. I think it behooves us, as American citizens, to step in. I think it falls to us, as patriots, to submit our own poems for the inauguration.

I have a modest example here:

There once was a fake billionaire
Who had very strange orange hair
He managed to win
By a slender margin
So thirty million folks lose healthcare

Everyday Nuisance Haikus

A friend of mine on Facebook started a thread in which she challenged us to produce Everyday Nuisance Haikus.

Thus far, I have produced the following:

Curs't JSON service
Won't load o'er http
my form is broken.

Typo in the code
Unable to find service
Fixed! Service restored

I wait at my desk
Send documents for updates
So I can go home

Slow with many cars
The highway inches me home.
Frustrations abound.

Uncleaned dishes wait
The laundry pile is so high
I'm a bad adult

Feel free to add your own in the comments. It's surprisingly therapeutic.

Endings

Some say the world will end in fire,
Others in flood or ice,
Or Civ'lization will collapse,
In violence and vice.

There's famine, plague, or asteroid,
To bring about our ends,
Or aliens come harvesting
Our families and friends.

Or World War III, or World War Z,
With zombies in the streets,
Or scientists and GMOs
polluting what we eats.

Perhaps a wolf consumes the sun
or God will come to judge.
Perhaps we die of poisoning
from our own toxic sludge.

The latest smartest robots might
Decide to wipe us out,
And if the flooding misses us
We still could die of drought.

So many things could cause the end--
far more than just this list--
It's hard to say what might be best
Or which seems likeliest.

I doubt 'twill be disaster or
Act of Divinity;
What brings us down, I most suspect
is our stupidity.

© 2016

Stuff: A Not-Poem On Adulting

Making some progress on the writing project.
Hugely busy at work.
...And at home, for that matter.
Sleep is not an indulgence; it's a necessity.
(I must remember that.)
I'm not being entertaining today.
...But I enjoyed reading this; maybe you will, too.
Tomorrow morning we take Secondborn's diorama to his school.
Winter is his favorite season.
Tomorrow evening we have Open House at both boys' schools, simultaneously.
The Beautiful Woman will be at work, and I cannot manifest in multiple locations.
I'll bet a real grown-up could keep up with all that.
Stress is the new normal.
...So I believe I shall stop and make tea.

Veteran's Day, it seems...

...Let's have poetry to mark the occasion.
Warning: this is all going to be very, very depressing.

We do not die of death

Poetry time on the Blog o' Doom:

MOTHER GOOSE'S GARLAND
Around, around the sun we go:
The moon goes round the earth.
We do not die of death:
We die of vertigo.

Archibald MacLeish

As a musing on mortality, this doesn't really work for me. However, it's an extremely apt description of certain days at work.