Parody # 9: The Raving

February 8, 2021 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING |

(with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)   Once upon a morning early, while I tweeted, smug and surly, Over many a terse, ridiculous thread certain to bore, While I CAPS-LOCKED, mouth akimbo Suddenly, amid my limbo Of a spat with an on-line bimbo, a weary conversational chore There appeared a meme, a sign insistent, Daring me to sign ‘Deplore’ – ‘Tis some silly meme’ I muttered, ‘Only this and nothing more.’   Ah, distinctly I recall, it was not the antipodean fall That threw its shadows on my wall and        blew away my online post, Rather, it…

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Parody # 8: A Vision in a Nightmare

February 7, 2021 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING |

(with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)   At Idokopas did Vladimir A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where a block of seventy-four hectares span And a special rock-carved tunnel ran Down to the east Black Sea. So many miles of fertile ground With walls and turrets girdled round: And there were gardens thick with stern armed guards, And a port, vineyard, a hockey rink, and church of old; Here too was forest, a casino replete with wheels, chips, cards And toilet brushes, $850 each, all blocked in gold.   But oh! that deep troubling abyss which erupted Down slopes amid protected air and…

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Parody # 7: Welcome to Brigadoon Beach

February 5, 2021 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING |

(with apologies to Matthew Arnold)   The air is cool tonight, The tide is low, the ice lies fair In the sea, displacing its mass And the fjords stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, Greta, sweet is the night air!   The Sea of Faith Was once at the full and bore your Yacht, in uttermost luxury, to New York Before the merry flights home. But now I only hear A melancholy, long-withdrawing roar, Beating, echoing with the fading bleats Of a Swedish Doom-Goblin And here we are as at a cocktail circuit,…

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Parody # 6: The Spoodle (Home From the Lab)

February 2, 2021 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry, WRITING & LITERATURE |

(with apologies to R. M. Rilke and his ‘Panther’)   His vision, from neurotic genes Has grown so confused it cannot bear Life. It seems to him there is No line, and in his mirror image, no life.   As he squeals and rolls his eyes, again He totters on rickety, confected pegs Like the fabricated gait of a wind-up doll In which no sentience occurs.   Only at times, the veil lifts Quietly; he sees a dog from the pound, A vague picture forms of real life and love –  It clambers through his button eyes, plunges the metal…

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I’m the Man in Brown

December 7, 2020 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING |

(With apologies to Johnny Cash)   Well, you wonder why I always dress in brown, Why never smiling white or blackened frown, And why does my visage and my old clothing fade into The background of the noisy hullabaloo?   I wear brown for the folks who keep their peace And mind their business and respect police, I wear it for the citizens who behave with charity Not broadcasting from rooftops, noisily;   I wear it for the people low on cash, Whose bank accounts and cars are not too flash, For sinners who believe or those who do not…

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