Greg Correll

W R I T E R

Greg Correll

Greg Correll
Location
New Paltz, New York, US
Birthday
September 21
Title
Founder, Chief of Deselopy (small packages); Editor (doesthismakesense.com)
Company
small packages, inc.
Bio
I write.

MY RECENT POSTS

Greg Correll's Links

MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MY LINKS
MARCH 13, 2012 9:04AM

a tic for doggerol

Rate: 17 Flag

Comes a Tourette'd farce

from a man of manic parts.

Read my shake-rattling scroll,

the daily toll of the abridgement troll.



I repeat, as if thick,

and with a ghastly tic,

as if movement mimics meaning,

my tremors urge me to sing

ditties without reason,

witless of their treason:

for dinero!

forty wide!

— fordinerofortywide

— fordinerofortywide



Try as all mighty to infuse

sweet reason into such refuse,

I pile, I crumple, I daven, I torque,

I creek, I riffe, I broken dis-course.

Mal homenim jetsam, wrack and ruin,

flaws a la flotsam, my jellystrings won't tune.

A real king cake for

Rilke's ink of ache, or

if he objects then melech ha-olam me bucko

if he fobs off eggs as milk (whole) on AM radio

then camembert and pear, a dios!

I'll clamber up, bare in paradise,

my auric-ore hums, my pins sizzle winsome

— to each a hammer falls, and ends

— on each sin-fenestrated skin

— panic, glossy, a cant indeed

— an-tic, a-wash, bandied creed



— and for each unwholesome movement

a candied deed splinters in the wrapper

and, incomplete, spills upon the floor

I am sweet to no one, nevermore.



Eight pounds of terror, with sinister sauce,

eight pounds of terrier, coarse, of course,

a few scraps, rapt for my doggerol,

I orate per canem, as I stroke and call:

"Terrier, you could be merrier!

Why do you growl for fun?"

 

At a yip, anchovied, hue'd celestial,

from worried, show-me, bestial you?

I am fathead grain, mis-fired, a rind,

tattered rain, a farthing, a lime!

— I mean nothing, puppy, by any of this,

and it's not you who are amiss,

for like an umbrella under the sea

like a tiny mattress under mountains of peas

my shakes display no truths, see?

 

If your mind unreeled like mine

would you be right to write these lines?

I am a shovel-ready nursery for papyric reeds,

but my body is thoughtless, on motion it feeds,

and if my quivering could but speak

it would only blather, blat, and squeak

these nonsense lines, queer and bleak,

for no thing of purpose does it seek

— say it with me: for dinero!

— repeat forever: forty wide!


Your tags:

TIP:

Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Recipient's email address:
Personal message (optional):

Your email address:

Comments

Type your comment below:
Shakes schmakes, your mind still dwarfs all around you, a scholar with the poetic sensibilities of Whitman and Bukowski.
And don't forget the equally profound O. Nash & Weird Al, Malberg et Plano!
My doggerel has ticks.

r
Your poetry is always amazing and full of wonder. This one is filled with motion and emotion. It sizzles!
Rated with love
I woofed this down. Loved it. :D
"I am sweet to no one, nevermore." I sincerely doubt that.
Reading your tags - I find this fascinating. Sorry, I'm sure you would much rather do without this fascination in your life. I must say the poetry was quite fascinating too. I'm sure it helps you deal, Greg. Keep it up - we will keep reading.
Now this is a poet!
When it all cranks up in the middle of the night, my pup makes a forgiving audience to my attempts at neurological redirection as well. The like repetition, thank God!
What a way with words. They certainly took me away :)
Rated