PD30 Day 8: The Occasional Poem
September 8, 2008 by John Hewitt
Many of us may be occasional poets, but only a few of us have written the occasional poem. An occasional poem is a poem written about or for a specific event. Some of the typical events that poets write about are weddings, funerals, birthdays, holidays, elections, military battles, tragedies, riots, revolutions, sport contests, project or construction completions, and concerts or festivals.
Any significant public event can be the subject of an occasional poem. Many times, poems about tragic events are called elegies instead of occasional poems. The elegy is specifically about something tragic or sad, but an occasional poem can be about any sort of event, happy, sad or otherwise. The key is that it marks an occasion. Many people write occasional poems in advance of an event, or to be read at an event. Wedding poems are popular occasional poems, and are often read as part of the ceremony.
There is no specific form that an occasional poem must take. Most poetry forms can be used when writing an occasional poem. Free verse is just as acceptable. It is the subject that defines the poem, not the form. Even a limerick is capable of being an occasional poem.
There once was a party in Saint Paul
To complain of the Democrat’s shortfalls
Up stepped Sarah Palin
To talk of their Failin’s
While promoting her lack of credentials
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Write an occasional poem about an event that has taken place in the past year. For an added challenge, try to capture both positive and negative aspects of the event. If that doesn’t work, write a limerick. Limericks are fun too.
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days set for September (1.000)
- All About 30 Poems in 30 Days (1.000)
- PD30 Day 1: I Believe in Poetry (1.000)
- PD30 Day 2: Generally Be Specific (1.000)
- PD30 Day 3: A Review of Meter (1.000)
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Limmericks (properly done) are tremendous fun!
I do not mean well composed limmiricks, but true limmericks as were done in the pubs of Limmerick, for which the form bears its name.
According to my sources, Limmericks were a jovial word game, where a person would shout out a couplet. Another person would pick up the mantra adding a the second couplet. Then the poem would be completed by the originator or a third person. Since rules in pubs are lax at best, a larger group could particpate, by shouting out lines instead of couplets. As the drink loosened tongues, the poems would become both more humorous and more risque. Of course many such Limmericks end up unprintable, and unremembered.
While I do not think John is suggesting that we start the juice this early, here’s stab:
There Once was a man from Tucson
Who’d write Poems from dusk to dawn.
…
Eulogy of Ingratitude
Ribbons of Colors
Bringing Joy & Happiness
But why oh why,
Is the forest green missing
From my wonderful gift of ribbons?
Orange and Red
A cutsy cat
With a turban
To grace the bathroom door
But why oh why,
Does it come not in pairs?
Famous Amos Cookies
Delicious fragrance
Wonderful texture
But why oh why
Did it have to be
In a heart shaped vessel?
Red and Black
Dress bag
Wonderful for a great night out
But why oh why
Did the rich colors not come
In a better design?
A Precious Moment Cup
With a lid for holding drinks
Nice material and great gift box
But why oh why
Did it have to be so sweet
And unsuitable for me?
Brazilian coffee bean
Coated in Chocolate
Exotic and rare
But why oh why
Did such a gift come
To a non-caffeine drinker?
A cheerful yellow
Backpack on a teddy bear
So adorable it look
But why oh why
Did it come with a
Gaudy necklace?
Oh the wonders of Christmas
For wondering why
Gifts are selected so unsuitably
Oh the wonders of Christmas
For showing ingratitude
To all the thoughtful gestures
Oh the wonders of Christmas
For being rude and wicked
To all who were so nice
Oh the wonders of Christmas
For a eulogy
To insult all the gift buyers
For while the gifts may lack perfection
But what in the world is really perfect anyway?
So bear with the ingratitude
For in the insults
My gratitude is shown
Thank you.
Ack! You are reminding me that I owe an epithalamion to a couple, but for now a limerick will suffice.
It is only September
but summer’s dying ember
has lit the presidential pitch
flaming forth to decide which
will triumph in November
…hmm, I think I should keep to my day job.
Been trying, so thought I might as well post a try:
A Drive Home
Is there meaning in a long drive
down a crescent highway
where the night fogs the white lines
and the tourists have long gone?
Is there beauty in the taillights
of the fearless revellers,
trailblazers warning of the drink,
like twin lanterns in an old Boston church?
Is there more truth in the thoughts
you voice to the universe
to keep yourself awake,
to promise yourself tomorrow?
You drive past the red and white
lights of the Christmas factories.
Pretty lights, you think.
City lights, you think.
There must be elves in the tunnels
that circulate like a jungle gym.
There must be silos of cocoa
that billow pillows of clouds.
There must be fingers, like army ants,
that crook the canes, that shred the tinsel,
that manufacture the gingerbread homes
for the gingerbread crones to live within.
And it must be magic
that churns plastic in August
to mold a better Christmas,
and magic still
that rouses hope
toward the better New Year.
Obama, Obama
he’s our man
if he can not arouse a crowd
than damn it no one can
Obama for change
Obama for peace
Obama is the one candidate
for meeting our needs
Obama has charisma
Obama has pride
Obama candicy is noted
for changing lives
Vote Obama 2008