Tres Outre' - A Poem

Coiffure de la HedgeRows???

Tres Outre’ – A Poem
by Squeeky Fromm

I thought that I would never see
The FLOTUS looking like a tree!!!

But there she is, with Royalty,
Just standing there like shrubbery.

I bet she does not have a clue
The imagery of her hairdo.

Or how ironic it must be
That it is really he, not she

Who should be seen like potted plant.
For giving in to “Yes, We CAN’T”

For Hope and Change he did not push.
He is The One resembling Bush.

Squeeky Fromm,
Girl Reporter

NOTE:  This poem is based on a beautiful one by Joyce Kilmer, which is short enough to enjoy here:

Trees
by Joyce Kilmer

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

I Am Thy Fool - A Sonnet For Romantic Obotski

DOWN The Creek Without A Paddle Is A Bad Thing, Too.

I Am Thy Fool
by Squeeky Fromm

How do I worship thy One-derfulness?
Shall I measure slobber by the barrel,
Or celebrate thy Blessed Birth in carol
Circulated free by the Main Stream Press?

Or shall I be discreet, and not confess
Nor speak of fascination so feral?
Hiding away Love’s risque' apparel
As if it were but some blue stain-ed dress.

Yet, when every momentary stutter
Or pregnant pause is cause for happiness,
Must I draw the shades and close the shutter?
There, in Dark, lest thrill’d legs and lips a-drool
Proclaim, in involuntary mutter
For all the world to know. . . I am thy Fool.

===========================================================

Here is the background for this Sonnet. This is from Skookum at Flopping Aces, and you can find all the links to the original story there:

MEGHAN DAUM, a reporter for the LA Times, has once again tried to promote this lost and forgotten cause or at least has decided to give the dead jackass another sound thrashing, by creative use of weak metaphors. In the true wide eyed form of the typical Useful Idiot that caused Stalin the only laughter in his life that we know of, she explains Obama’s apparent speech impediment without a teleprompter as a true sign of genius. Have patience, the Times actually gives her column space for this lunacy.

Admittedly, the president is given to a lot of pauses, “uhs” and sputtering starts to his sentences. As polished as he often is before large crowds (where the adjective “soaring” is often applied to his speeches), his impromptu speaking frequently calls to mind a doctoral candidate delivering a wobbly dissertation defense.

But consider this: It’s not that Obama can’t speak clearly. It’s that he employs the intellectual stammer. Not to be confused with a stutter, which the president decidedly does not have, the intellectual stammer signals a brain that is moving so fast that the mouth can’t keep up. The stammer is commonly found among university professors, characters in Woody Allen movies and public thinkers of the sort that might appear on C-SPAN but not CNN. If you’re a member or a fan of that subset, chances are the president’s stammer doesn’t bother you; in fact, you might even love him for it (he sounds just like your grad school roommate, especially when he drank too much Scotch and attempted to expound on the Hegelian dialectic!).

So the president’s inability to speak fluently without a tele-prompter and sounding like a drunk, according to Ms Daum, is a direct result of intellectual stammering, not to be confused with the more common stuttering that afflicts many mere mortals. Woody Allen, the man who married his daughter, portrays this genius in comedic form and that should help those of us that aren’t sycophants believe the lie. Well done, Ms Daum, your lies are so preposterous that people may be hesitant to laugh at them.
Here is the link to this HILARIOUS and well-written Internet Article, which inspired my Sonnet for the Romantic Obotski—I Am Thy Fool.:

http://floppingaces.net/2011/05/28/la-times-compares-obama-iq-to-characters-portayed-in-woody-allen-films/

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

The Song of the Deathers - (Is Osama Alive???)

Will He Stumble Across Osama???

The Song of the Deathers
to the tune of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean“
by Squeeky Fromm

Osama lies under the ocean?
Osama lies under the sea?
We know ’cause Obama done told us,
When he gave his speech on TV.

Cough up! Cough up!
Cough Up the body for us to see!
Cough up! Cough up!
This smells like a conspiracy!

Obama lies about the ocean!
Obama lies about the sea!
We know because his lips are moving!
He’ll never put this one past me!!!

Osama wrapped up in a white sheet?
Osama placed on to a plank?
Osama dumped into the ocean?
We wonder who it was that sank???

Osama is in Argentina.
A CIA safehouse they say.
They’re making new papers up for him.
So he can live in Paraquay!!!

Say Cheese! Say Cheese!
Smile for the Photoshop, won’t you please???
Say Cheese! Say Cheese!
Remember you’re now Portuguese!!!

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

Rejoyce James! Ulysses Lives!!! (And Battles The One-Eyed Monster)

Ulysses Restrained From The Song Of The Sirens

Some Spam made it through the filters on a Forum I visit a lot. It was titled Singles USA For Japanese . Well, I did watch the Matrix Movies sooo I decided to read it and make sure Morpheus wasn’t trying to contact me. He wasn’t, or if he was, I wasn’t having any part of that!!!  (A screensave of the Spam is below.) But some of the phrases caught my eye, like personalized melted wine bottle.  Sooo,  I wrote a poem!!!

Rejoyce James! Ulysses Lives!!!
(And Battles the One Eyed Monster)

by Squeeky Fromm

Tie your Mother down for she must listen
To a Sermon on Relationships.
Overhead an unusual yellow tinted Sun
Draws close Kimonos of Eclipse.

Double Dark now, taking two hits
From loss of Sun and reflected Light.
One Hundred Proof is only Half
As Ulysses stumbles into the Night

Personalized melted Wine Bottles
Droop and sag over tables, surreal.
Gathering Singles offer Sacrifice
While Japanese turn, and sprawl at the Window Sill.

Now from Left Field comes a Single Canoe.
Flirts its way into mossy spring Bank.
And while others round Home Base,
They will never The Batter thank.

Se7en is the Magic Number.
As the Author strategized Policies.
Yet,  the Patient seems to shutdown.
Plans to drain the Skies and Seas

Can you wash your single Unit?
And with a single Handle, Shower?
And rationalize your Personality Profile?
Or surrender to an Enemy Power???

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

Here is a Screen Save of the Spam. If you click on it, it gets bigger and easier to read:

A Portrait Of The Artist As A Girl Reporter

A Hint of Death

The Autumn Wind by Qianyu - For More of Her Beautiful Work, Go to Http://qianyu.deviantart.com/gallery/

A Hint of Death
by Squeeky Fromm

Sometimes in August, the Summer’s Breath
Blows from the North, with a hint of Death.
Something cold, for just a moment
Spills the Truth, lets slip the Secret.

Whispering to you so indistinct,
So brief, you shudder. No time to think.
Blowing around you, then is gone.
Nothing quite to put your finger on.

Yet somehow, the Summer play
Can not continue the same way.
The ending of the Story told,
Too soon the warmth will turn to cold.
Too soon the young will turn to old.

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

What Child is This???

What Child is This? Nobody Knows. . .

What Child is This???
by Squeeky Fromm, Girl Reporter

What child is this, nobody knows
Tho' Long Forms we are demanding.
It's such a crime, each and every time,
When Courts hold that we lack standing!

Chorus:
Barack, Barack! I bet you will
Try to dodge the Birther Bill.
Twenty twelve - a new campaign.
Oh Hail! The Texas Primary!

Why does his Social Security
Number come from Connecticut?
While sweet Michelle, to hear her tell
Obama was born in a Kenyan hut?

Chorus:
Warrants bring and subpoenas, too!
Ferret out everyone who knew!
Haste, haste there's lots to do,
While we wait for the Texas Primary

But still he sits in the Oval O.
While Lakin's going to Leavenworth.
OH! What a mess, while most express
Doubts about his place of birth?

Chorus:
Help! Help! Raise a fuss!
Obama flipped a bird at us!
Hid! Hid! Documents he did!
Oh pray for the Texas Primary!

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

Anchor Baby - A REALLY GOOD Poem by Tim Burton !!!

There is a poem called "Anchor Baby" by Tim Burton that is in a book of poems by him called The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy. It is one of my FAVORITE books and you should buy it, or at least check it out at the library. It even has little pictures. It is SOOOO GOOOD!!!

Anchor Baby
by Tim Burton

Once was there a beautiful girl who came from the sea.
And there was just one place that she wanted to be.
With a man named Walker who played in a band.
She would leave the ocean and come onto the land.

He was the one that she wanted the most.
And she tried everything to capture this ghost.
But throughout all their lives they never connected.
She wandered the earth alone and rejected

She tried looking happy she tried looking tragic,
She tried astral projecting, sex, and black magic.
Nothing could join them, except maybe one thing, just maybe...
Something to anchor their spirits....They had a baby.

But to give birth to a baby they needed a crane.
The umbilical cord was in the form of a chain.
It was ugly and gloomy, and as hard as a kettle.
It had no pink skin, just heavy grey metal.

The baby that was meant to bring them together
Just shrouded them both in a cloud of foul weather.
So Walker took off to play with the band.
And from that day on, he stayed mainly on land.

And she was alone with her grey baby anchor,
Which got so oppressive that eventually sank her.
As she went to the bottom, not fulfilling her wish,
It was her and her baby ...and a few scattered fish.

Here is the book, and you can look inside:

http://www.amazon.com/Melancholy-Death-Oyster-Boy-Stories/dp/0688156819

Sooo, this is REALLY GOOD book of poems!!!

Squeeky
Girl Reporter

The Heart Wants - A Paean To Pedro and Inez

The Coronation of Inez

Ohhh!, I just learned the story about Pedro and Inez of Portugal!!! First the story, then the poem:

In 1339, Crown Prince Pedro of Portugal, at the age of nineteen, was wed to Constance of Castile, then sixteen, the daughter of the cousin of the King of Castile. This marriage cemented an alliance between the two Iberian powers. King Afonso IV of Portugal, Pedro’s father, was pleased. 

But as always in love, things got complicated. Pedro married Constance, but did not fall in love with her: instead, he fell in love with one of her handmaidens, Inés Pérez de Castro. Their affair was no secret, and the two had four illegitimate children. The affair jeopardized Portugal’s relationship with Castile, and Afonso IV tried everything he could to split up his son and Inés, but nothing worked. When Constance died in 1349, Pedro refused to marry anyone but Inés, who was not considered worthy of being the future Queen of Portugal. 

Afonso IV got desperate, and in January, 1355 he sent three assassins after Inés at the Monastery of Santa Clara in Coimbra, where she was cut down in cold blood. Rather than settle the matter, however, Pedro, in a rage, rebelled against his father, dragging the country into civil war. Although the two did reconcile, Pedro never forgave his father. 

After he assumed the throne in 1357, Pedro announced that he had wed Inés in secret, and openly recognized their previously illegitimate children. He even ordered her body dug up so that the Portuguese nobles could swear loyalty to her. He managed to capture two of the three assassins his father had sent to kill her: according to legend, he ripped their hearts out with his bare hands. 

Pedro ordered that the body of his beloved be entombed in an ornate sarcophagus inside the elegant Monastery of Alcobaça. His own tomb is across from her, supposedly so that when they both rise for judgment day, the first thing they see will be each other. 

In addition to the operas, the story has been the inspiration for plays, at least two movies, books and more. This timeless love story is part of Portugal’s national heritage and references to it can be seen all throughout Portugal. 

The Story of Pedro and Inez 

And now, even a poem by Squeeky!!!

The Heart Wants
A Paean To Pedro and Inez

She sits now, upon the Throne
Royal rings rattle on bone.
A Macabre Kiss of Fealty
Testifies to Reality.
The Heart wants what the Heart wants.

Truly affirms, the Law of Kings
Cannot compel all things.
Cannot command the Tide or Sea
Nor banish love by Royal Decree.
The Heart wants what the Heart wants.

Swears not the Grave, nor even Death
Can extinguish Love’s Breath.
Confirms by Rite of Genuflection,
Love’s eternal Resurrection.
The Heart wants what the Heart wants.

Squeeky
Girl Reporter

The Words of the Prophets by Belladonna

My friend, Belladonna, asked me to put her poem up here. She does not have her own website. I am a poet too, sometimes, but I don't understand this one. She says "If you don't get it, you don't get it." Well, I guess that's me. If anybody does get it, please leave me a comment. Thank you! Squeeky, Girl Reporter

The Words of the Prophets
by Belladonna

The Subway Walls fell.
Time-ravished and Forsaken.
Their Words ground from Ashes
Tattooed now, on my knuckles
In Black Ink.

Clawed across my back
With Green Angel Wings.
Painted between my thighs
In Magenta, Tear Drops
Foretelling Abandoned Hope.

Penned to my breasts, Orange Julia
Forever Tempts Heliconius Sappho,
While arms, in the forms of Dragons,
Contest the Gothic Cross
And a Dark Solitary Abomination.

The Words of the Prophets.
Carved now upon my Self.
Consecrated in Oil,
Blessed by Razors,
And Wed with a Barbed Wire Ring.

Logical Phallacy - A Squeeky Poem

I hope you like this. It is a poem that I wrote about OVER-THINKING something and JUST MISSING THE WHOLE POINT!!! If you do, it can lead to a:

Logical Phallacy

Bob was a boy
As smart as could be.
And he loved a young girl
By the name of Marie.

He started to court her.
Relied on his mind.
And trusted his money
He thought love was blind.

The way that he saw it,
He thought that Marie
Would calculate profits.
Decide logically.

He said he could buy her
The richest of gowns,
The biggest of houses,
His finances sound.

Bob had it figured out
Think of his woe
When Marie hit the road
With a biker named Joe.

Squeeky
Girl Reporter

How Deep Is Your Love ---Another Squeeky Poem

Just a Gigolo, Everywhere I go...

 Here is another REAL poem I wrote about grunty, little malebeasts.

How Deep Is Your Love

I wondered how deep your love.
No way to measure I could think of.
And with your soft caress,
No way that I could guess.
Tender words so warm and sweet?
A Masquerade for your deceit.
Now I know, in emptiness,
About six inches, more or less.

Squeeky


After I wrote this REAL poem, I wrote another one later last night. So rather than do a new post, I am just going to add it here because it is only 4 lines:

All Men

All men say they aren't the kind
To break your heart, and then you find
The words they spoke were very true-
It is your soul they take from you.


Squeeky
Girl Reporter

Squeeky Poems

I was in a fight with some STUPID OBOTS and teased them about their STUPID poems. So I had to do a REAL poem in case they told me to prove it that I could do better. So I think I did. I also learned how to be a haikuer at a place called gretawire. The syllables have to be 5-7-5. I did two, but the second one was kind of a joke, and it rhymes, so it can't be a real haiku. Anyway, here they are:

A Hint of Death

Sometimes in August, the Summer’s Breath
Blows from the North, with a hint of Death.
Something cold, for just a moment
Spills the Truth, lets slip the Secret.

Whispering to you so indistinct,
So brief, you shudder. No time to think.
Blowing around you, then is gone.
Nothing quite to put your finger on.

Yet somehow, the Summer play
Can not continue the same way.
The ending of the Story told,
Too soon the warmth will turn to cold.
Too soon the young will turn to old.

Here are the two haiku ones:

Obots ridicule
While November looms ahead
Foretelling landslides

This would have been one but it rhymed which I learned they are not supposed to do:

Franzia wine rocks!
In its little cardboard box.
Replenish your stocks.

Squeeky
Girl Reporter