Monday, February 28, 2011

Tobacco Poem III, by Creed Thie

Review of Tobaccos

The French Vanilla bears a sweetened scent,
But yet, alas! Its flavor's somewhat dry.
Burns fast away, 'tis verily its bent:
So fast is it used up, so doth it fly.

Exhausted thus, the humidor's toback;
Instead proceeds Nougat d'Couer'd'Alene:
Of fine and blended taste and smell it smacks,
Yet keeping lit with it is quite a pain.

Peaches and Cream, full sweetened, breathing light,
Voluminous in golden draughts and warm:
Its perfect unseamed smoke sings day and night,
Quite strong in pow'r, yet tinged with wistful calm.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Evan Gunn's Tobacco Poem #6

I wrote this last tobacco poem while drinking coffee. I apologize to anyone I offend.

I'll tug my hair and gnash my teeth, before I get this last poem out,
For lovely muse, you betrayeth me, so tobaccos lost its very shout.

My friends they wag their finger at me, a poem to demand another,
For this is the way of the normative creed, this how they treat a brother.

I do not complain, their request is just; but buckle down I must?
Though this is the only way I see, otherwise my writing would rust.

Get some ideas, have thought and connect tobacco to it all.
Politics, theology, ethics, astrology; speak proudly of Sir Walter Rawl.

Though now I have grown a custom to nothing, putting the practice aside,
How shall I remember to write of anything, as tobacco was the only guide.

So now I wake in the morning, seeing it is now no time for a pipe,
I ponder what shall I take, affecting my day to make the fruit ripe.

A cup of mud water! how could I forget to drink the a.m. strong,
For if it got me writing this poem, how could you consider it wrong?

But, Tobacco I do not speak you ill, and plan to have you replenishing my stock,
Though, finding there is others that stimulate my mind, should not come as a shock.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Thursday, February 10, 2011

He Runs Away . . .Or Does He?

Yes. Yes, he does.

I hereby declare my resignation from the Creed v. Gunn fantastic debate of brilliant poetry and ruthless slanders on the account of my so clearly having lost to a better satirical poet, at least.

And so here's to you Mr. Creed D. Thie,
You're poor benighted student,
But a first class writin' man.

"Gunn, you can't drop out now!", cried the women who have a thing for the bad boy. "Fear not", Gunn said, "For this will surly make Creed's head swell to the point of exploding. Which, of course, would make him dead and I would (lucky for the ladies) remain alive." "Gunn you are brilliant!" exclaimed Angelina Jolie.

Creed overheard this when he was spying on Gunn to obtain material. He shook his fist with his right hand and wrote with his left a haiku (for with his left hand a haiku was all he could manage).

This is a true account.

Anyway, some might say that either, I was holding my own well enough to stay and fight, or it was good fun to see us abuse each other. Though, I have already made a bad decision in starting the fight, for when a poet insults another that insult will end up history text books, and so I will be remembered as that guy from 2010 A.D. who is a rebel monarchist, no matter how incorrect Creed is in saying this. They are the lies of poets. But, regardless, I have had nightmares about this and now it is my reality.

All the while a reminder is needed. We know Creed is the better satirical poet and we have been successful it our encouragements to get Creed to write more often and post on his blog. You insult him, he'll insult you eloquently and painfully. The question is: what is our motive for writing literature and/or poetry? Is it to create beauty in complexity or to smite our opponent with big words and round about classical allusions. I had been desiring to smash Creed's belief's face in the wall and rub dirt in it. I wish I hadn't because I probably would have written better poetry. Shall we abide by the original intent to write? Yes.

And I quote Mr. John Bain: Remember, all smokers are equal whilst smoking.

The Tobacco Poetry Brotherhood Breaks Into Poetic Fighting:

While the Brotherhood of Tobacco Poetry has variously succeeded and not succeeded at our aim, a Poetic Fight broke out on January 29th that deserves some recognition. Out of the blue, Creed posted this, directly attacking Gunn, as a preface to his second Tobacco Poem:

'Twas yestermonth in yesteryear my last poem was wrote:
A rhymeless Dodectuplet of tobacco-praising note.
'Twas amply criticized for use of vapid Fragrant words;
And so indeed I promised to heed this warning that I heard.

But then upon a further discourse in this blag's concerne
It was foretold to me that I would not to here return:
That I was an infrequent blagger, nary wise to trust.
Henceforth I held to post on here again to be a must.

This prophecy of slackery to-wards my poet's Muse
The Fates have chosen to reverse as an ironic ruse.
This one who did accuse my Muse of slothful disposition
May yet one day eat up his words in somberest contrition.

That aspiring apprentice of an Oracle prophesied thus to me:
That my recognized status as a contributor was but illusory.
And yet while I unto this blag present this humble song
That voice of Fate's attempts to compete seem to be prolonged.

No sonnet has he spun to woo a lady's tender heart,
No epic has he sung to show his mem'ry to be smart.
Not e'en a short haiku has he yet posted on this blag-
A three-line paean to his pipe through January's fog.

O pagan Fates! Why do ye stay the writing hand of prophecy?
For what do you bless me instead? By what obscure philosophy?
That very fellow who informed me I would ne'er write another thing
Feels very mellow apathy himself towards the task of hence writing.

Is this a feat of Hercules, of such magnitude and strain
To mire him down from writing his poem with pangs and endless pain?
Or did he here consider Anon. Jr.'s poem to suffice
Despite his obligation, every month to post here once or twice?

Or does he aim to end this month by quibbling quips to humor us?
To grace this blag with noble quotes from Alexandre Dumas?
Shall therefore we consider him to not be posting frequent?
Negatory, I suppose; the reason for this is sequent:


+

The next day, the stung Gunn replied:

A man of ideas, stands for oration,
Constitutional law is his vocation.
His rebelling wrong, the battle un-won,
Power comes from the barrel of a Gunn


+

Creed came back with this masterful example:

"Might makes right!" he fiercely cries, with rhetoric and quoting,
"The Constitution wields no gun- so therefore it is nothing!"
"Republic is Rebelliousness"- this thought he's oft promoting,
And afterwards goes to the polls to take his part in voting.


+

Gunn then took the time yesterday to reply again:

The gentleman saith, "How can you speak thus?
We and our powers have a communal trust."
The powers that be will ignore this man,
And snuff him out, the best they can.

He pushes against the wind, soon forgetting the trust,
Obey the gentleman's system, the governors shall regard.
Abiding by this, the conspirator says we must,
For this is his law unchanged: Obey until life gets hard.


+

It seemed Creed already had a response at the ready:

'Twas God ordained Authorities, of all shapes, over men,
Ordaining o'er America the sovereign Constitution.
"This law is illegitimate!" the Monarchist doth stammer-
"MY only law is law of might, of shotgun and steel hammer!"

In order to save countless helpless fools lost in deception,
He mocks the Constitution with his brilliant new perception;
That great enlightened Monarchist gives us a wise perspective:
"It is the will of God for us to follow this directive:

Against what certain is God-given power, our Rule of Law-
Rebel! For thus God wills it ever, fore and even now!
Let government throw off all limits, let the nation tremble-
And him opposing this rebellion is the real rebel!"

"Obey the laws, obey them all!" is what he recommends-
And when unto the nation's throne he mightily ascends:
"No law shall bind me, though I've sworn an oath to law uphold!"
And soon, corrupted by such pow'r, he takes a tyrant's mold.


+

For my part, I think Creed has a huge talent for Satiric poetry and sincerely hope that Gunn, as only a true friend could, keeps egging him on. I've enjoyed the trip so far and hope it lasts forever.

+

UPDATE:At 12:03AM, a sleep-deprived Gunn posted this, his best effort to date by far:

The Citizen Who Thought He Was King

You may shout of ideal rights,
With police enforcement here to grow.
But have you seen a riot call fights,
They all are heathens who are born so low.
You may say you have solemn thoughts,
Creating a witness thereto fore.
When all the others are casting lots,
Of who next in power you shall abhor.
You are rippin', rollin', rantin' now,
When the masters breached their vow.
By the time your rebellion affects the mind,
A wicked soul you'll regrettably find.

Larger governments will have their poor ways,
Thus ensuing a loss of wits
But is this reason enough to say,
Licensed tantrums and kicking fits.
"The vow! The vow!", you'll cry and moan,
"Their justice shall be served!"
Though justice applies to you alone,
Your sentence made unnerved.
You are cringing, crying, crowing now,
As the masters amended the vow.
While I lay low and enjoy the attack,
Content with the smarts my leaders do lack.


+
Creed responded with another gem. Can this man write a poor satiric poem? I think not.

Behold! On new adventures doth our Hero swift embark.
To sail the seven seas, or maybe just to stroll the park?
His myriad crushing arguments, for Might-makes-Right's True Cause
In former times serv'd as his cymbals, clashing without pause.

But now, he chooses a new task, a most amusing chore:
He gives his challenge, whipping up a witty Poet's War.
Perhaps he entertains certain fresh subjects for this duel?
Indeed! For his old arguments, this duel's his brand-new tool!

And thus he hurls his javelins, his Monarchistic jabs!
Twice swinging at the Constitution, stumbling as he stabs,
While throngs of weeping flatterers adore his rival's verse,
Each begging on their knees "Mock Me! O! Mock me too!" 'til hoarse.

A third blow, now, the Monarchist brings down with vicious clamor,
And those around him tremble at this stroke's resounding tremor.
These new-spun stanzas show his creativity; his best!
He rhymes with eloquence, then writes it oth'rwise like the rest.

In Riotous effort to advance his point through rants and wits
In Tantrum urges 'gainst his foe, t'abstain from "Kicking Fits".
He who would freely break the Constitution for some cause
Accuses his vile rival of now posing 'bove the laws.

How public, bravely, fiercely, does he give his foe hortation
To "Lay Low and Enjoy" it all when evil chokes our Nation.
If only he'd believe in freedom- Paragon he'd be:
He puts such pain and effort toward the cause of Apathy.