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Aphorisms for a Foggy Morning
No literary monuments exist without the word.
A lord who lacks entitlements is patently absurd.
A song that has no sound to give has never yet been heard.
Two wings for every bird that sings, no cheese without the curd.
*
The prospects for a stomach would be dismal
Without the anodyne of Pepto Bismol.
*
Although the words he spoke were always vatic,
It would have helped if he’d been more emphatic.
*
A bird in hand, we’ve all heard said,
Is worth the two still in the bush.
May God in heaven strike me dead
If shove should ever come to push.
*
To see where cotton and a callus meet,
Look to the soles that underlie your feet.
*
The most we ever see of California shores
Today are tracts of over-managed public park
Rededicated to the Gretas and Al Gores,
Which we may never enter safely after dark.
*
When passed a drink, he’d almost always sip it.
He’d taught himself, when asked to speak, to zip it.
*
A pessimist, though seldom disappointed,
Must bear the oil with which he’s been anointed.
*
What goes for saints must also go for sinners:
By what they do shall they be known.
It’s not the perfect set-up for beginners
Or those who sterile seeds have sown.
*
The crucial thing is not how thick the skull,
But that the brain inside it isn’t dull.
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Wrestling with Nature
Bright and early in the morning
Dewy prisms are aborning
On every supple blade of grass;
Throaty croaks from courting frogs
Stir the marshes and the bogs—
The lake looks like a sheet of glass.
Time it is to do some fishing
Or to sit there, simply wishing
The day would stay just as it is.
Copying the wary trout,
Shifting shadows made him doubt
That he would get what should be his.
Many times before, this fellow,
Thoughtful, still, and almost mellow,
Had taken in the rising sun.
Thus he fully understood:
Fresh complaints will do no good,
And self-restraint would not be fun.
Episodes of doleful yearning,
Breakfast for a soul that’s burning,
Will not attend to vital needs.
Flower-stalks must lignify
Lest their blossoms droop and die.
Dame Earth can only plant the seeds.
.
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C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.
“The crucial thing is not how thick the skull,
But that the brain inside it isn’t dull.”
These lines simply cracked me up. I can only summarize my feelings aptly with that modern day cliche: ROFLMAO.
CB, you are a fine poet. Keep them coming.
Best regards,
Paddy
I hope you can patch yourself up, Paddy. I don’t know what ROFLMAO means; please enlighten me. I’ll keep them coming as long as I can hold a pen and see the page.
ROFL = Rolling on the floor laughing.
I’ll let you look up ROFLMAO online.
Best regards,
Paddy
PS Yes, I did patch myself up. 🙂
Wit, wisdom, and humor; can there be anything better?
Maybe, Phil. How about insight, vision and rigor?
Another set from you that I’m going to take and review from time to time, CB.
Marvelous!
When CB has grabbed his quill,
Few exhibit greater skill.
Wit and grace in every line,
Premium poetic wine.
You, Julian, seem a bit drunk on the wine yourself. I’m glad I could help.
These are perfect little aphorisms, and it is a shame that the rhyming maxim has ceased to be used much in poetry. The form is excellent for satiric and comic commentary — concise, direct, and biting.
Notice in “Wrestling…” the poet’s first two lines are a rhyming couplet with feminine endings, while the following quatrain rhymes ABBA, but with masculine endings. This reminds me of one of those unusual stitches that trained seamstresses could do, but that were impossible for other women to manage.
Well, Joseoh, I cannot disagree with you when it comes to maxims — the more the merrier.
Although you’ve written practically the same thing, my metrical scheme for each stanza is: Every line is tetrameter; lines 1 & 2 are strict trochaic; lines 3 & 6 are strict iambic; and lines 4 & 5 are catalectic trochaic. When it comes to sewing, I am never this accurate.
The Aphorisms were witty and true in every case. I hate to admit that I had to look up Vatic but I’ve now added that very useful word to my arsenal.
New words, Warren, are always a blessing, especially if one can recall them when they are needed.
Delightful, Sir!
My pleasure!
I enjoyed these and could read this kind of thing all day.
Then I shall try to write this kind of thing all day.
I love these! Like Joe, I agree that we need more rhyming maxims in poetry. Let’s start a trend!
I also agree that the form of the second is really good. It reminds me of French poetry, where masculine and feminine rhymes are alternated.
I’ve started it, and it goes way back on his site. I would like to see more, from other authors. I am presently compiling my next batch.
Can masculine and feminine rhymes switch identities? Just asking.
Yes, they can switch identities, but it’s a complicated journey involving personal pronouns… a painful journey. If the destination isn’t as expected there is no turning back… the process is (sadly) irreversible. I’d leave them in their original state if I were you. 😉
To answer your question, Russel, only if iambs mate with trochees and beget amphibrachs.
C.B., I can’t believe I missed this gem of a post. ‘Aphorisms for a Foggy Morning’ – highly amusing and cleverly done, but I simply adore ‘Wrestling with Nature’ for its melodious wonder and for the images your vibrant words paint. Thank you!
Well, Susan, “Aphorisms …” is just a collection, cobbled to make it look like there was a real theme.
I, too, have a fondness for “Wrestling with Nature” and I think it should be apparent fairly early on in the poem that the nature with which this character is wrestling is human nature. But that’s just my opinion. I could’ve meant something else entirely. The images are drawn from nature. And I have already been thanked many times over with the sparkling lines you frequently lay out for public consumption.
Your aphorisms put a witty new spin on old clichés. I think one of the best uses of poetry is to convey wit, satire, and sarcasm. A good rhyme adds an extra opportunity for cleverness and the meter makes it fun.
“Wrestling with Nature,” aside from its beautiful evocation of an idyllic scene, offers an important lesson.
Thanks for expressing your appreciation, Adam. I think I know what that “important lesson” is. Now, if I could only learn and apply it!
I’ve read “Wrestling with Nature” five times, C.B., and I’ve found more in it with each reading. I think that’s the mark of an exceptional poem. I especially like the couplet at the start rather than at the end of each stanza. It suggests to me thoughts which start with great conviction and certainty which are then subtly reconsidered or unraveled.
All of which is as it should be, Brian, or at least as I think it should be. Top of the morning to you.