11. February 2007 · Comments Off · Categories: imported, Poetry

REEDSALOT
(done in jest, of course … I really do like flute players!)

A law was made a distant moon ago here—
An oboe player never will be shot.
And there’s a legal limit to the flute here.
In Reedsalot.

Free oboe reeds to every single player
who plays the oboe, I say “Heck, why not?”
And all the flutists have to be real ugly
in Reedsalot.

Reedsalot!
Reedsalot!
Free oboe reeds for everyone.
Reedsa lot!
Reedsalot!
It surely is the best of fun.

So if you want to be a rotten person
choose flute to play (although you might get shot),
But better far, tis true
the oboe choice for you
for happ’ly ever aftering right here
in Reedsalot.

PEM 2/11/07

… and because I can’t for the life of me guess Lancelot’s first note in “If Ever I Would Leave You” (how he manages I don’t know!)

If Ever I Could Find It

If ever I could find it—
the pitch to sing this song.
I would be so happy,
and I’d sing along.
But no I can’t find it—
it’s a myst’ry to me,
and so I’ll flounder sadly.
Poor me.

If ever I could find it—
you’d probably be flustered.
Bet you’d miss your entrance
and that would be bad.
And so I won’t find it—
I’m just thinking of you.
I know it is the right thing
to do.

And could I sing it
if the trumpets blared it out?
Or would I still be scared and cry?
Without a doubt!

I guess I’ll stick to oboe.
I know it will be better.
Knowing how I sing
you are surely relieved!
Or are you disgusted?
Does my playing appall?
I guess I shouldn’t be here
at all.

PEM 2/11/07

*RBPs = Really Bad Poems

… so there you go. A bit ‘o Camelot right there on your screen.

Or not.
—–

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