The Elegy of Silver Month
Somewhere in the land of Mirth,
there was an unfortunate lad named Purple.
In this town with a very rhymable name,
(birth, girth; stretching: surf n' turf)
Purple was the only lad whose name didn't rhyme.
At first, people protest,
"Surely something must rhyme!"
They stare in the distance,
they rack their brains,
they furrow their eyebrows,
but soon it's very plain:
there's not a word that rhymes with Purple.
Alas, Purple is quite alone.
He would never have a poem with his name in rhyme.
It's something we take for granted,
of which Purple was acutely aware.
Jack and Jill
snack on the hill,
Tom Thumb had his plum,
Mary was quite contrary,
(not to mention a lamb owner),
and Miss Muffet had her tuffet!
Purple was quite alone.
His parents: Red+Blue
(To wit: sled, head, instead, Judge Dredd,
More wit: zoo, hue, fondue, J. Crew-)
he fumed at his woeful isolation.
Purple's salvation was to found his own nation!
He declared himself King of Spoon.
(Which meant the entirety of his bedroom)
The endless possibilities!
What a boon, this Spoon!
Dune, prune, spitoon, pantaloon: on and on.
Purple was overjoyed,
his scheme he employed-
Population: two-
Purple and his teddy bear, Merciless Mauler.
(Purple had full command of alliteration).
But despite his sovereignty,
Purple was still not content.
But then it hit him!
There was a sudden inhalation,
followed by an exhalation bred by exhilaration,
"You are Merciless Mauler no more!
From this day forward you are Burple!
Your name will reside in Teddy lore,
as the first teddy to rhyme with Purple!"
Purple's reign was long and wise,
he wrote long and silly and fanciful rhymes.
There were many red roses,
and blue violets abounded
small digestible doses,
nothing profound.
Structure and order and definite form.
For these were the accepted norm,
If his name couldn�t rhyme,
Surely his poems could.
Mirth looked poorly upon dissenters.
Sadly, there came dissension.
Burple caused this sudden tension.
"You named me Burple to serve your selfish needs!
What teddy bear do you know has such a name?
Call me Yogi,
Call me Teddy,
Call me Mowgli or Freddy,
but Burple is where I draw the line!"
And with that Burple became ruler of Fork,
with his second in command, sock puppet Torque.
Purple was quite alone in his realm of Spoon,
So he hired his general, bazooka army man General Yazoon.
Between Fork And Spoon, a battle raged,
for many hours were they engaged.
(With only a break for grilled cheese)
Purple realized he should compromise,
And this solution he did advise.
Why not combine forces and make Spork?
Take the best of Spoon and Fork!
So, Spork was born, and smiles returned
along with the peace which everyone yearned.
Burple was renamed Mr. Roar
(Score! Adore! Pauly Shore!)
A crisis averted,
But war merely diverted.
A new neighbor had moved in,
And this would spell trouble for Mirth,
For occupying this dwelling,
Was a girl named�Orange.
orange believed in
free verse
which was
a b s t r a c t
and sometimes, Purple thought
just a glorified
paragraph.
Where was the form?
Where was the rhyme?
This wasn�t the norm!
Orange explained that not all had to rhyme,
change was good, give it some time!
Purple resisted, he was fond of his work,
he considered Orange a silly jerk.
Until one day, she made a rhyme of her own.
She produced it for Purple to ponder.
(She also had command of alliteration)
�Sing birdy sing,
take me under wing?
Violins with strings,
castles have kings.
A passing glance,
an unbroken trance,
tumbling downstairs,
the scarecrow scares.
Now, would you believe,
that this silent reprieve
is all just a farce,
that meaning is sparse,
that electricity sparks,
the greyhound barks,
that within the rhyme
is nothing but grime?
So you scratch your head,
what's left to be said-
eat six servings of bread?
Nah, have ice cream instead.�
He fell in love that very day,
He couldn�t criticize her poetic way,
Adaptation was the best way to go.
The two unrhymables joined forces.
Orange and Purple formed Porridge.
Just right.
Gosh, that was inspiring. Now get me outta here.