Random Poems by C. Randall Nicholson
The Black Beetle: Or, Probably My First Poem Ever
For a second grade class project. I don't remember what animal was in the original poem that we were supposed to follow the style of. A chipmunk, maybe? You can see that even at this early age, I was adept at utilizing metaphysical imagery to counterpoint the angst in my soul.
Harmony
Unfinished. All the animals learn to be content with their place in the great circle of life.
“Dagnabbit,” one day said the dog to the flea,
“I’m sick and I’m tired of you pestering me!
You bite and suck blood and it makes my skin itch.
And that software you sold me last week has a glitch!
I never recall asking you to come stay.
You’ve had enough fun, and now please go away.”
The flea went and sulked on its tail for a while.
Then it cheered itself up, and it said with a smile,
“I’m terribly sorry I’ve made your skin itch.
I’m just doing my best to fulfill my own niche.
I’ve a family at home that I have to support.
Over three hundred eggs, at the doc’s last report.
And I know that might not be good news for you, guy,
But as soon as they leave then I’ll probably die.”
So the flea and the dog got along after that.
Then one day the dog was chewed out by a cat.
“Schla-moley,” one day said the cat to the dog,
“Did I ask you to come with me out on a jog?
And yet every darn day, without any exception,
You chase me for hours in every direction.
It never lets up till I’m stuck in a tree.
Now I’d thank you to please cut out torturing me.”
The dog whined and whimpered a cute little pout,
And he said later on when he wasn’t put out,
“I’m terribly sorry I’ve chased you about.
Though the fire department always helped you out.
It’s a misunderstanding of what we both say.
To you ‘Drop dead, dweezer’ to me means ‘Come play.’
I’ll try in the future to not be confused
And I hope to remember you won’t be abused.”
From then on, peace reigned between them in the house.
Then one day the cat was attacked by a mouse.
“What gives here?” one day said the mouse to the cat,
“I’m small and I’m furry, and what’s wrong with that!?
You’re a bunch times my size and a lot better armed,
And it must be your mission to make me be harmed.
If you didn’t play with me and bat at my head,
By Gadfry I’d swear that you wanted me dead.”
The cat wasn’t sad or offended at all,
But he said so his pride wouldn’t cause him to fall:
“It’s just nature’s way, like the dog and the flea.
Cheese is your food, and then you’re food for me.
And as for the playing, that’s just in my genes.
It ain’t personal kid, and there’s nothing it means.
While I can’t promise much, as old habits die hard,
I shall try to esteem you in higher regard.”
So in spite of their fights, there was no cause for fumin.’
Then one day the mouse was decried by a human.
“Gaaaaaaaaaagh!” one day screamed the dame at the mouse,
“You’ve been quite annoying to me and my spouse!
We live here, and you’ve carved a hole in the wall.
What’s more, you’ve been stealing our crumbs. You’ve got gall!
And I don’t think those whiskers and tail are that cute
So you’d better talk fast, or so help me I’ll shoot!”
The mouse ran and dodged all the hot flying lead,
And while she reloaded he came out and said,
“Relax. Keep your shirt on. You’re really a mess!
You’d best see a doctor about all that stress.
Let me tell you, before you guys moved here to live,
There were woods for my home, and I was a spiv.
And those crumbs would just be ground into your rug
So I’m not very sorry to be a slight thug.”
She was still quite resentful and rage boiled inside her,
Then one day the dame was annoyed by a spider.
“Tarnation!” one day said the spider to her,
“Dagnabbit,” one day said the dog to the flea,
“I’m sick and I’m tired of you pestering me!
You bite and suck blood and it makes my skin itch.
And that software you sold me last week has a glitch!
I never recall asking you to come stay.
You’ve had enough fun, and now please go away.”
The flea went and sulked on its tail for a while.
Then it cheered itself up, and it said with a smile,
“I’m terribly sorry I’ve made your skin itch.
I’m just doing my best to fulfill my own niche.
I’ve a family at home that I have to support.
Over three hundred eggs, at the doc’s last report.
And I know that might not be good news for you, guy,
But as soon as they leave then I’ll probably die.”
So the flea and the dog got along after that.
Then one day the dog was chewed out by a cat.
“Schla-moley,” one day said the cat to the dog,
“Did I ask you to come with me out on a jog?
And yet every darn day, without any exception,
You chase me for hours in every direction.
It never lets up till I’m stuck in a tree.
Now I’d thank you to please cut out torturing me.”
The dog whined and whimpered a cute little pout,
And he said later on when he wasn’t put out,
“I’m terribly sorry I’ve chased you about.
Though the fire department always helped you out.
It’s a misunderstanding of what we both say.
To you ‘Drop dead, dweezer’ to me means ‘Come play.’
I’ll try in the future to not be confused
And I hope to remember you won’t be abused.”
From then on, peace reigned between them in the house.
Then one day the cat was attacked by a mouse.
“What gives here?” one day said the mouse to the cat,
“I’m small and I’m furry, and what’s wrong with that!?
You’re a bunch times my size and a lot better armed,
And it must be your mission to make me be harmed.
If you didn’t play with me and bat at my head,
By Gadfry I’d swear that you wanted me dead.”
The cat wasn’t sad or offended at all,
But he said so his pride wouldn’t cause him to fall:
“It’s just nature’s way, like the dog and the flea.
Cheese is your food, and then you’re food for me.
And as for the playing, that’s just in my genes.
It ain’t personal kid, and there’s nothing it means.
While I can’t promise much, as old habits die hard,
I shall try to esteem you in higher regard.”
So in spite of their fights, there was no cause for fumin.’
Then one day the mouse was decried by a human.
“Gaaaaaaaaaagh!” one day screamed the dame at the mouse,
“You’ve been quite annoying to me and my spouse!
We live here, and you’ve carved a hole in the wall.
What’s more, you’ve been stealing our crumbs. You’ve got gall!
And I don’t think those whiskers and tail are that cute
So you’d better talk fast, or so help me I’ll shoot!”
The mouse ran and dodged all the hot flying lead,
And while she reloaded he came out and said,
“Relax. Keep your shirt on. You’re really a mess!
You’d best see a doctor about all that stress.
Let me tell you, before you guys moved here to live,
There were woods for my home, and I was a spiv.
And those crumbs would just be ground into your rug
So I’m not very sorry to be a slight thug.”
She was still quite resentful and rage boiled inside her,
Then one day the dame was annoyed by a spider.
“Tarnation!” one day said the spider to her,
The WWW Limerick
The great Wicked Witch of the West
Was feeling a little bit stressed
Said the Witch of the East,
"Oh yeah? Well at least
You don't have a house on your chest."
Was feeling a little bit stressed
Said the Witch of the East,
"Oh yeah? Well at least
You don't have a house on your chest."
The Pelican
The pelican is a fearsome beast
For fish on which it intends to feast.
A bucket is built into its bill
Ensuring that it can eat its fill.
For fish on which it intends to feast.
A bucket is built into its bill
Ensuring that it can eat its fill.
Intelligent But...
An assignment from ninth grade Honors English.
Emmaline
Inspired by a girl named Emma who I thought would look good with elf ears. But I guess she wasn't inspiring enough, because I didn't even finish two verses. (Also, it's pronounced EM-ma-leen, not em-ma-LINE).
Once upon an elvish town
Where everything was keen,
And streams rolled through the mountains
Near the flowered fields of green,
There lived a maiden, raven-haired,
By name of Emmaline.
She rose each day before the sun
And fell long after set,
And in between she was the best
Young elf you’ve ever met.
Once upon an elvish town
Where everything was keen,
And streams rolled through the mountains
Near the flowered fields of green,
There lived a maiden, raven-haired,
By name of Emmaline.
She rose each day before the sun
And fell long after set,
And in between she was the best
Young elf you’ve ever met.
Sammy's Birthday Card Poem
The first time I met Sam was at a school dance where she jokingly said "Hey, good-lookin'." She was a good friend, though the fact that I had a huge crush on her and she knew made me wrapped around her finger. She used this power to take me to the mall and make me get a haircut. Anyway, I was going to give her this card on her birthday, but I felt prompted by the Holy Ghost not to, so I didn't. Later in the day I found her in tears because someone who hated her had made her a nasty card with a rude pun that didn't even make sense. At that moment I unveiled mine and voila, she was happy again. Thank you, Holy Ghost.
As the time flies (as the time likes to do)
I'm glad for each bit of it spent here with you.
They're few, far between and yet each worth enjoying
(Though having me in them might make them annoying).
In a world where the voices, both real and inside,
Attempt to defile, derail and deride,
Confuse and confuzzle, confound and outwit,
Constrain your poor brain and convince you to quit,
Say "You're a loser", "You're dumb as a flea",
And "Dash it all sweetcakes, you listen to me",
It's good to not listen, and listen instead
To a good-natured friend who puts thoughts in my head
Of pure happy feelings and frivolous fluff
And smiles restained at the thought of such stuff
And it does seem to me, in my own humble way,
I'd better to something to yield this grand day.
The Earth (Figure A) out in Space (Figure B)
Makes a habit to orbit the Sun (Figure C)
It's made the rounds once since this day the year past,
It's not the first time and I hope not the last.
But in that time gone, as I'm sure you'll agree,
(And I hope you don't mind the small bits spent with me)
You've grown quite a bit in both body and mind
I've known you but half that time, yet what I find
Is this one simple fact that puts shame to the rest.
As simple facts go, it's the best of the best.
I must say it, though I can hardly begin it...
As the time flies (as the time likes to do)
I'm glad for each bit of it spent here with you.
They're few, far between and yet each worth enjoying
(Though having me in them might make them annoying).
In a world where the voices, both real and inside,
Attempt to defile, derail and deride,
Confuse and confuzzle, confound and outwit,
Constrain your poor brain and convince you to quit,
Say "You're a loser", "You're dumb as a flea",
And "Dash it all sweetcakes, you listen to me",
It's good to not listen, and listen instead
To a good-natured friend who puts thoughts in my head
Of pure happy feelings and frivolous fluff
And smiles restained at the thought of such stuff
And it does seem to me, in my own humble way,
I'd better to something to yield this grand day.
The Earth (Figure A) out in Space (Figure B)
Makes a habit to orbit the Sun (Figure C)
It's made the rounds once since this day the year past,
It's not the first time and I hope not the last.
But in that time gone, as I'm sure you'll agree,
(And I hope you don't mind the small bits spent with me)
You've grown quite a bit in both body and mind
I've known you but half that time, yet what I find
Is this one simple fact that puts shame to the rest.
As simple facts go, it's the best of the best.
I must say it, though I can hardly begin it...
Ode to Non-Rhyming Poems
From a Facebook note of April 2, 2010. I've matured and repented since then.
You know what's really annoying?
Poems that don't rhyme.
I mean, seriously, how is that art?
Just because someone is too lazy to come up with rhyming words
That actually sound good
(Because rhyming words are conventional for a reason)
They write any old thing
And divide it so it looks like a poem.
But then they ignore scansion and stuff too and have a really really long line and right after it -
A short one.
They can just say any old crap like
"Trees.
Grass.
Flowers.
That was my poem.
I hope you liked it."
And it doesn't even sound good because it doesn't rhyme.
Sure there's a message but who will listen?
Haiku are an exception by the way
Because at least they follow a pattern
And it's forgivable if it's harder to fit in rhymes
Because Japanese words have a fifteen-to-one syllable ratio
Or something ridiculous like that.
But with a regular kind of poem, in English,
Where there are plenty of words available
And plenty of ways to fit them in,
Poems that don't rhyme are just plain lazy.
They mock the reader and waste his time and they don't even sound good.
That is why I don't like them.
You know what's really annoying?
Poems that don't rhyme.
I mean, seriously, how is that art?
Just because someone is too lazy to come up with rhyming words
That actually sound good
(Because rhyming words are conventional for a reason)
They write any old thing
And divide it so it looks like a poem.
But then they ignore scansion and stuff too and have a really really long line and right after it -
A short one.
They can just say any old crap like
"Trees.
Grass.
Flowers.
That was my poem.
I hope you liked it."
And it doesn't even sound good because it doesn't rhyme.
Sure there's a message but who will listen?
Haiku are an exception by the way
Because at least they follow a pattern
And it's forgivable if it's harder to fit in rhymes
Because Japanese words have a fifteen-to-one syllable ratio
Or something ridiculous like that.
But with a regular kind of poem, in English,
Where there are plenty of words available
And plenty of ways to fit them in,
Poems that don't rhyme are just plain lazy.
They mock the reader and waste his time and they don't even sound good.
That is why I don't like them.
A Couple of Brief Suicidal Poems
During Spring 2012 semester I was deteriorating fast and having a hard time caring about school. On one occasion, while in an Ecology study session and feeling like I was about to explode, I resorted to poetry to soothe my angst. I wrote:
Every time I breathe, I breathe in stress. Every time I act, I make a mess. Every time I speak, I creep her out. Every time I read, I'm filled with doubt. Every time I write, my words all suck. Every time I move, my brain gets stuck. Every time I think, I want to cry. Every time I live, I want to die.
Not only do a lot of those lines not even make sense (and I didn't have any specific "her" in mind, though this one would have fit perfectly), but the whole thing was just too subtle. So I wrote another poem that got right to the point:
Kill me please. I want to die. Just do it now. Don't ask me why. Just use a gun or knife or rope. Just make me dead. Don't be a dope.
Every time I breathe, I breathe in stress. Every time I act, I make a mess. Every time I speak, I creep her out. Every time I read, I'm filled with doubt. Every time I write, my words all suck. Every time I move, my brain gets stuck. Every time I think, I want to cry. Every time I live, I want to die.
Not only do a lot of those lines not even make sense (and I didn't have any specific "her" in mind, though this one would have fit perfectly), but the whole thing was just too subtle. So I wrote another poem that got right to the point:
Kill me please. I want to die. Just do it now. Don't ask me why. Just use a gun or knife or rope. Just make me dead. Don't be a dope.
Within Your Hand
Self-loathing unconvincingly disguised as humility. Mormons are good at that.
A saddened, weakened, broken, and pathetic little man,
A mind without a purpose with a life without a plan,
A loser with no prospects and no future and no hope,
A tool with all the uses of a pulley with no rope,
A book that sits unread and decomposes on the shelf –
That’s what I am. I know my place. I don’t delude myself.
But that’s not how You see me. Though I don’t understand,
You see that I can do great things when I’m within Your Hand.
I pale beside my fellow mortals when they stand nearby,
For they have bigger talents and abilities than I,
They sing and dance and joke and laugh while I can barely speak;
The human race is fortunate that I was born unique.
I can’t impress a woman with the things I say or do,
And if I’ve naught to offer her, what can I offer You?
But you accept my meager gifts as presents great and grand,
And magnify them thousandfolds when they’re within Your Hand.
Temptation sometimes finds me, but I often find it first.
Of all the Saints who sin I often feel like I’m the worst.
Some people say I’m really nice. I really don’t see why.
A better thing to say would be that I deserve to die.
I’ve broken most commandments more than seventy times seven,
And forfeited with all these sins the right to dwell in heaven.
But You redeemed me from them in another time and land,
And through Your grace I’m better when I work within Your Hand.
I boast not of myself, because I know I’m less than dirt.
My weaknesses and sins each bring me heartache and deep hurt.
But though I know that on my own I’m doomed to lose the fight,
I take Your yoke upon me, for Your burden is so light.
I’m brave and strong and able and won’t let these things upset me.
My power comes from One who loves and never could forget me.
You’ll guide me to perfection in accord with Your command,
Because the worth of my soul is engraved within Your Hand.
See Also: The Brotherhood of Lao Ling Li, Vulnerability, Sweet Dreams, Conversation, Samantha, and Lady Lauren
Main Page: Poems and Songs by C. Randall Nicholson
A saddened, weakened, broken, and pathetic little man,
A mind without a purpose with a life without a plan,
A loser with no prospects and no future and no hope,
A tool with all the uses of a pulley with no rope,
A book that sits unread and decomposes on the shelf –
That’s what I am. I know my place. I don’t delude myself.
But that’s not how You see me. Though I don’t understand,
You see that I can do great things when I’m within Your Hand.
I pale beside my fellow mortals when they stand nearby,
For they have bigger talents and abilities than I,
They sing and dance and joke and laugh while I can barely speak;
The human race is fortunate that I was born unique.
I can’t impress a woman with the things I say or do,
And if I’ve naught to offer her, what can I offer You?
But you accept my meager gifts as presents great and grand,
And magnify them thousandfolds when they’re within Your Hand.
Temptation sometimes finds me, but I often find it first.
Of all the Saints who sin I often feel like I’m the worst.
Some people say I’m really nice. I really don’t see why.
A better thing to say would be that I deserve to die.
I’ve broken most commandments more than seventy times seven,
And forfeited with all these sins the right to dwell in heaven.
But You redeemed me from them in another time and land,
And through Your grace I’m better when I work within Your Hand.
I boast not of myself, because I know I’m less than dirt.
My weaknesses and sins each bring me heartache and deep hurt.
But though I know that on my own I’m doomed to lose the fight,
I take Your yoke upon me, for Your burden is so light.
I’m brave and strong and able and won’t let these things upset me.
My power comes from One who loves and never could forget me.
You’ll guide me to perfection in accord with Your command,
Because the worth of my soul is engraved within Your Hand.
See Also: The Brotherhood of Lao Ling Li, Vulnerability, Sweet Dreams, Conversation, Samantha, and Lady Lauren
Main Page: Poems and Songs by C. Randall Nicholson