Rosie Perera

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > Rosie Perera

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

"All Things Dull And Ugly" from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album

All things dull and ugly,
All creatures, short and squat,
All things rude and nasty,
The Lord God made the lot.

Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their prudish venom,
He made their horrid wings.

All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.

Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spiky urchin?
Who made the sharks? He did!

All things scant and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.

Ode to That Unusually Unloved, and Ungodly Man (Donna Pintin's Rant, Told Potently)

All things most unscrupulous,
All wars -- not least Iraq,
All killing and attacking,
George Bush, he caused the lot.

Each fume that wrecks the planet,
Each act that gets us mad,
He did it all corruptly,
He doesn't care: "Too bad!"

All things most immoral,
All dullness great and small,
All things rash and doltish,
George Bush, he did them all.

Each vacant, childish grin unfurled,
More silly than a kid,
Who made the French so angry?
Who made them pissed? He did!

All things lax and dastardly,
All horrors that do gall,
Simpleton, quite startlingly,
George Bush, he did them all.

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We don't need no education
We don't need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teacher, leave them kids alone
Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone
All in all it's just another brick in the wall
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.

Bush don't got no education.
He is into world control:
Kick those A-rabs and North Koreans.
W, leave world-rattlers alone.
Hey, W! Leave 'em all alone!
All in all it's just another dick in the hall.
(Cheney, I mean.) [Me accent. Tee hee!]
Major untrusted Dick in the hall.

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George Herbert (1593-1633) was fond of concrete poetry, that is, poetry whose shape describes the subject matter. This poem is called "The Altar" and it is shaped like an altar. It is the opening poem of his collected poems titled The Temple. An architectural entryway into a book that is very much shaped to be like a temple. My poem is about a broken heart (playing on Herbert's broken altar), a heart broken by a lover with a heart of stone (playing on Herbert's heart of stone). It is shaped like a heart, and its rhythm breaks down near the end, turning into a pool of blood below.

A  broken   A L T A R,  Lord,  thy  servant  reares,
Made  of  a  heart,  and  cemented  with   teares:
Whose  parts  are as  thy  hand did frame;
No workmans tool hath touch'd the same.
A    H E A R T     alone
Is    such    a      stone,
As      nothing      but
Thy  pow'r doth  cut.
Wherefore each part
Of   my   hard   heart
Meets  in  this  frame,
To  praise thy  Name;
That,   if     chance   to   hold   my   peace,
These stones to praise thee may not cease.
O  let  thy   blessed   S A C  R  I  F  I C E   be  mine,
And    sanctifie   this   A  L  T  A    to   be   thine.
    

The forlorn            heart's song
A broken heart doth     beat within my breast
Such sadness that a   maiden knoweth best
Who had her mad heart set upon thee
You creep, who dumpd me
Please accept my tears
For all those years

  
Shatter'd.
 
As
    if...

 

...it mattered.
                                            This heart of mine is disconnected
So also is this poem
 
                                       My love was foolish, carefree.
Thy heart of stone, intermittent, feeble.
 

That heartache can reach to thy aorta: a hard death!

(I'm a cynic, irate. Na, na, na, na!)

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The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

A Small Hen Dwelled There
by Rosie Perera

so much is bizarre
about

this weird poet's
writing

awkward, new,
mechanical

which we'd well
behold.

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The Gashlycrumb Tinies, by Edward Gorey

A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.
B is for Basil assaulted by bears.
C is for Clara who wasted away.
D is for Desmond thrown out of a sleigh.
E is for Ernest who choked on a peach.
F is for Fanny sucked dry by a leech.
G is for George smothered under a rug.
H is for Hector done in by a thug.
I is for Ida who drowned in a lake.
J is for James who took lye by mistake.
K is for Kate who was struck with an axe.
L is for Leo who swallowed some tacks.
M is for Maud who was swept out to sea.
N is for Neville who died of ennui.
O is for Olive run through with an awl.
P is for Prue trampled flat in a brawl.
Q is for Quentin who sank on a mire.
R is for Rhoda consumed by a fire.
S is for Susan who perished of fits.
T is for Titus who flew into bits.
U is for Una who slipped down a drain.
V is for Victor squashed under a train.
W is for Winnie embedded in ice.
X is for Xerxes devoured by mice.
Y is for Yorick whose head was knocked in.
Z is for Zillah who drank too much gin.

Children's Obituary Rhyme by Wasted Egg

A is for Agatha, held her breath too long.
B is for Brutus, whose prescription was wrong.
C is for Chloe, who died of the flu.
D is for Davy, who sank in dog doo!
E is for Ermengarde, fell off a wild horse.
F is for Frieda who was fried, of course.
G is for Gretchen, no food, ate a spider.
H is for Hunter, who drank yucky cider.
I is for Ida, hit by a car.
J is for Jockamo, who passed out in a bar.
K is for Klaus, who wouldn't drink water.
L is for Lulu, didn't chew when she oughta.
M is for Mathilde, struck by a nail.
N is for Ninian, walked on the third rail.
O is for Owen, who vomited blood.
P is for Penelope, who was stuck in the mud.
Q is for Quintin, a mass in his brain.
R is for Rita, became insane.
S is for Sasha, wound up in a stew.
T is for Thelma, sick yet nobody knew.
U is for Ursula, took excess sweets.
V is for Vince, squashed by beets.
W is for Wilma, unwholesomely wed.
X is for Xavier, axed, now he's dead.
Y is for Yasmine, who smoked way more.
Z is for Zelda, went away to war....

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Some definitions related to the relationship between the sexes:

chick flick n. A movie with themes, characters, or events that appeal more to women than to men.

grass ceiling n. A set of social, cultural, and discriminatory barriers that prevent or discourage women from using golf to conduct business.

leather spinster n. A heterosexual or asexual woman who is happily unmarried and has no desire to seek a mate.

male answer syndrome n. The tendency for some men to answer a question even when they don't know the answer.

man cave n. An area of a house, such as a basement, workshop, or garage, where a man can be alone with his power tools and projects.

potty parity n. The state or condition of having an equal or appropriate number of restrooms for each sex.

wife acceptance factor n. In an object, especially an electronic device, that normally appeals only to men, the qualities or features added to or modified in the object to make it acceptable to women.

Some poems are related to love of one sex for the other sex. Quite a few mention flowers. Frequently poems cover an appreciation of woman's rare virtue, fantasy, joy, sorrow, war, seduction, romance, coquetry, damsels, a fellow (Norman) attracted to a commonplace secretary (Anna), wanton madcap Monacan or Moroccan sex capers, snappy cancans, carnal appearances, mascara, mascara, mascara, Canon camera snappers, a parson.

Here is a prime example:

Song to Celia
by Ben Johnson

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did'st onely breath,
And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.

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Spring is sprung, the grass is ris.
I wonders where the birdies is.
They say the birds is on the wing.
Ain't that absurd?
I always thought the wing was on the bird.

Spring is here, ain't you heard?
'Tis the season when we step in whitish turds
(both shy baby hares' and regurgitating birds').
Sigh!...as I sit wrestling with words.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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