It is requested that you review (and, if necessary, enjoy) the following outstanding selections from Ww/WmWi. Then — leaving behind your empathy and personal feelings — tell us, in “Leave A Comment,” your selection for best Poem, so that we might select our 2008 Malvolian of the Year. Also, email YOS or leave a comment if you have any additions or changes to your entries. I know I’m missing at least three or four here.
UPDATE: After carefully reviewing the flood of votes, we have a 2008 Malvolian of The Year. It is Deb Dicke, for the haunting elegy A Weekender’s Thanksgiving. Congratulations, Weekender Deb! Your prize will be presented at next year’s Willie Awards Ceremony (Resort Casual requested).
Journey halted. Absent from
O, wing-ed Angel! Violin laden spirit
Play on- your lofty tunes!
Interpret for us your cryptic runes
Resist not my clamoring cries!
Speak to Ed, and those other guys.
Here is my Haiku
Unfortunately it is
not all Bryku style
Tomorrow looms large
A day of no play they say
I liked the play
I was hoping for witches
Maybe in 09
Mineral Point! (Lyrics)
Mineral Point, Mineral Point…
What’s the point of you?
Mineral Point, Mineral Point… (It’s a)
Unique point of view.
When the Password is “bucolic”
Mineral Point’s the clue!
When the birds in sky do frolic
Mineral Point’s the blue!
When it’s time to wax symbolic
There’s only one thing to do:
Raise Old Glory o’er Mineral Point
And give a hearty “moo”!
Burn some Catholics
What is an armload of wood
That should keep us warm
[ALT last line: Who has some matches]
Oh, celestial orb
See how you shine above us
We adore your warmth
Meet the New Boss, oh really?
Same as the old boss
Frank Lloyd Wright is cool
Seventy bucks is too much
House on Rock is cheap
Perhaps The Lady Doth’t Drooped Too Much
A Sonnet on Mid-Illinois Nights’ Dreams
Shall we compare Spring Green to past loved site?
Warm corn-fed lips had she, a figure eight,
We thought. But o’er time a robust once-delight
Can almost seem somewhat – er – glaciate.
O! Summer joys we flung: Ewing dining,
B-Beer Nuts, cold Tewkesberry Slushies, glow of lake,
The triple cripple who soaked us, whining
Of crummy breakfasts (except, ‘course, Steak and Shake).
True, to have a Rubenesque figure here
May speak less of paintings than the sandwiches:
But our hostess now, undulate land of beer,
Offers such voluptuous images.
Sure to Twin Town we hie again just might!
Till then: We’ll here, with that weirdo Frank Lloyd Wright.
Eee gads! Here I am with my subscription to
Elcastellano.org’s “La palabra
del día” expired! What can a woman do?
Oh yes Fibonacci can unite destra,
Sinistra; exalt senses like flights of wine.
Process mapping, budgets, yield no such extra
Delights of pretentious cheeses; words sublime!
Does she submit? Tolerate the daily hell?
When oh how she has yearned for this special time
Away from co-workers she can never tell.
Desesperación crushing soul. The pains!
Shakespeare! Merengue! Sheer joy they would compel!
Her wish for safe travels is all that remains
And next years’ hope for perhaps tidy quatrains.
Feet of Angels Bryku
Limburger is made
From BO bacteria
Ew, smell my fingers!
do I entice you?
My quiet seething visage
One fit per trip. Done!
Life comes at you fast
Smell the roses, see the world
The slow lane is good
Oh slug bug slug bug
Thin excuse to throw a punch
A last …
P eople getting together
E veryone going it alone
M akes no difference, always a good time!!!
I can not compete
Deb, John, Bryan, Mike, Amy.
My poem is complete
– Mary Jo
Know dogs allowed
Know dogs quiet
Who’s a good boy?
(don’t count – there’s no numbers associated)
– Mary Jo
Lasses in dirndls and chucks
Plastic shoes of beer
Bastard hills of drift less beauty
hoodwink pilgrims sleepy stupor
simple syrup drains trickling
coils of hidden streams
Herbaceous comforter of mud and flies
without urbane clockworks to spoil
dinner and slow justice within
a sip of water and savory bite
The ayes glaze over night frozen
and shattered tortoise shells
forgotten belie a lost love
hidden among dust and books
White haired ladies we all
we searchers mock carelessly
at our own expense really
glad for companionship
another year a better year
an earlier year for sure
Cornish fields and laborers well spent
have left their marks for us to find
Clay and old smells lift
in breathing humid waves
unseen mites of knowing caught
between glances and waiting
too late now to change places
embracing rhythm instead
moving in predictable order away
from home to home
Intimations of Inanity from Recollections of Bloomington-Normal
What though the gleam of Lake Clinton
Be now forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the mini-golf artificial turf, of glory in the Ewing Manor bower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind,
In the oppressive humidity of outdoor theater,
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing smears of pungent cheese that spring
From Wrightian cows of single color,
In the faith that looks through intermission,
In the years that bring the alcoholic mind.
Thanks to the poets heart by which we live,
Thanks to its meters, iambic or otherwise,
To me the mixedest metaphor can give
Thoughts that lie too thick for tears.
A Weekender’s Thanksgiving
(A post-Weekend ode)
Malvolian of the Year Award
As we rinse the algae from our swimsuit crotches
As we dig the rich Wisconsin earth out from under our toenails
As we scrub the smell of Limburger from our fingertips
Let us give thanks.
For armloads and blenders, Fibonaccis and FIBs*
For spacious bathrooms that are not steamy
For vodka gimlets and stagnant tubes, liverwurst and young coconuts
For sitcom Shakespeare amidst monochromatic cows
Oh, let us rejoice in Aristophanes and also the sublime
And the look of childlike wonder as a new GoH owner is born
But most of all, dear weekenders, let us be truly grateful
That we are John Hoffman Family and Friends.
*F%#@!king Illinois B@#$#ards