Poetry Becomes a Family Affair
Did you see my May Poetic License entry from last week? Did you see the comments? If not, you missed out. The Clerihew theme inspired some family contributions right in the comment section.
But fear not, because I’m going to post them all right here for your enjoyment. After you’ve read them, drop a comment here recognizing the poetic stylings of my family.
First, my beautiful and amazing wife Sarah posted not one but two poems, which she claimed were conceived while we were running yesterday evening. Here they are:
Brandon Daniel
My love for you requires no manual
Can’t believe the years since we met have been nine
Being married to you makes me so happy you’re mine!
And:
Brandon, my love
We fit each other like a glove
Can’t believe the number of years since our wedding are five
Being with you makes me glad to be alive!
My wife rocks! Seriously, she’s the best. And if you think she sounds happy, you should see the smile on my face.
My mom rocks too. Here is her contribution, in response to my Mother’s day poem for her:
Brandon son
You truly are a wonderful one.You a wreck? Oh come on now really,
A toupee on you would look really silly!
Nice, right? This family has talent oozing out of every pore. Speaking of which, my musician sister apparently couldn’t stop laughing when she submitted this one:
Brandon, my brother
I sometimes cannot believe that we share the same mother.
You have always said that I was left by a gypsy,
Perhaps it was the one I met today, from Poughkeepsie!
Gypsy and Poughkeepsie, that’s good stuff! And rooted in fact, which is a story for another day1.
And it doesn’t end there. My cousin Jenifer got into the mix with a poem about her mom and new daughter.
Sharyl Hoge
She should be on the cover of Vogue.
This weekend she will see Annabelle.
A keeper for sure, not to sell.
So there you have it, the family gets in on the poetry carnival. My dad might even be posting a Clerihew2. If he does, I’ll post it here!
- But yes, I have insisted since she was four that she was left on the doorstep by gypsies
- or Robin, depending on whether you believe that this form is real or not
