- In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
[In regione caecorum rex est luscus.]
- Desiderius Erasmus, Adagia (III, IV, 96)
You say: Stupid is as Stupid does
Sometimes Stupid’s what’s needed. I say.
Smart outsmarts itself, trying to fool,
making off with more than smart can own.
Bring me yon pot of pretties,
he said, and I’ll gie ye a pennie.
Smart would take the pretties
and old man keep his pennie. Foolish me,
I did the chore and told him keep his money.
He did, but gave me his wallet instead,
flat as the top of a baker’s head,
but not averse to granting wishes.
- For today’s prompt, use an epigraph to kickstart your poem. That is, use a quotation. You can use a favorite of your own, or if you’re having trouble thinking of one, I’ve provided a few below. To format an epigraph poem, a poet places the quotation between the title and the body of the poem, while also giving credit to the source of the quotation.
- “Our homes are on our backs and don’t forget it,” -Molly Peacock
- “Always forgive your enemies–nothing annoys them so much.” -Oscar Wilde
- “Every noble work is at first impossible.” -Thomas Carlyle
- “Behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes.” -Jim Carrey
- “A friend doesn’t go on a diet because you are fat.” -Erma Bombeck
You asked some time ago for an explanation.
I have dithered over writing, hesitating only
because I know full well how you will react. Call it proactive cringing
if you want. Whatever makes you…I almost said makes you happy,
and isn’t that a laugh? I send you a fortune,
a king’s fortune, and you…Well, no matter. I left to see the world.
Now I have seen it, and the world has seen your foolish daughter,
and given her what you will never give. Love.
Mam, it was me, Stupid, that saved the world.
I am sorry about the cow.
- Write a procrastination poem, or as I like to call it a “I’ll get to it tomorrow” poem. Or…
- Write a proactive poem, or the old “I’ll get to it today” poem.
plain as a window pane, Jen
sighed at her weight
and tucked a sachet
in the sash at her waist
a coy addition,
a small ornament, but,
like the little wave in her hair
and the absence of guilt
in her mist-pale eyes, frowned on
by her grandparents and straight-laced sects.
On another plane,
a gin-swizzled jinn sighs
over fish. In the marble pool
beside her, gilt-scaled koi sashay
through bending lily stems to spawn.
Such a waste, to be over-sexed here.
A pain to wait for a lover her size,
with armament. To sire a jinn. And wit.
To make her grandparents waive their objections.