Home > Hobbies > Poetry Corner > Comedies
as in like Shakespeare comedy--not terribly funny, but light-hearted.
L is for Lovely
L is for Lovely
That much is true
I is for Ignatius
That describes her too
Z is for Zany
And that's good to be
'Cause she'd have to be crazy
To fall in love with me
But maybe L is for Loving
And Independent could be her I
And her Z could be for Zebra
Although I'm not sure why
And really L is more for Beautiful than Lovely
And I for Easygoing, not Ill-tempered or misled
And Z should say how she's Reliable, Terrific,
Happy, and Always listens to what I've said
But then her name would be Bertha
And I like "Liz" instead.
-F. C. Stamps
26 February 2003
He's so tall they call him Stik
And like how chocolate makes him sick,
He has no taste except for friends
He's incorrigible to the end
Legendary Ludicrous Luke
Snoopy was rightfully nicknamed
For his legends are fabled and famed
But his stories we'd rather not be in
Like his blowing up of Camp Baldwin
Bunk loves to be near the sea
And drive his car freely
He can paint anything in glass
And on the N64 kick your teeth in
Puppy Dog Py
Py doesn't dream small
His Indian name would be Water-Fall
He has plans to be rich someday
And I plan to steal his money away
To me he is like a brother
And I have known no other
Who would like him stand and never fall
But I can still beat him at basketball
He has his head in the clouds everyday
So you'd think he'd be happy flying that way
But the thin air up there I think went to his head
For he went North Dakota, not Hawaii instead
Myself I'm between quiet and wild
The side they see they call "the golden child"
Their guide, their companion, their friend so true
But my best quality is that I'm humble too.
-F. C. Stamps
(stanza 5 added 2/25/99
stanza 6 added 2/26/99)
Background: This is one of the only comical poems I've
ever written. It's specifically about my clique of friends in Oregon and probably
wouldn't be humorous to anyone who didn't know us. However, you can check out
my Click Country
page to get somewhat of an idea of who these people are. I try to avoid writing
such poetry as this that does not convey universalities, but rather is highly
personalized simply because it is exclusive rather than inclusive. I disagree
with W. B. Yeats who wrote so much poetry about individuals he knew. To write
about a figure such as President Abraham Lincoln like Walt Whitman did is one
thing. To write with vague allusion to some woman no one ever heard about or
cares about is another. Thus, this piece stands out as one of the few outwardly
and exclusively personalized poems I have written thus far.
The Man With No Name
There once lived a man without a name
A simple soul, with no claim to fame
A family or possessions had he none
But he lived in a time when a nation begun
And the government of this nation grand
With all its gold and all its land
Sought to have order among those there
As extend its power it did dare
And so out to all people went
People who watched what people spent
And others were sent as counters of men
As to report their findings now and then
And so everyone who lived over and under
Everyone there in had a name and number
A number and name each had they them
For how else would they know who they were then?
And after a season, the counters came to a man
A man with no name, yet he said, "Yet here I am!"
To each other the counters said, "This can not be!"
"A man with no name can have no number on he!"
"Yet I have none," said the man with no name
Then said the counters, "Then you we can't claim."
"We can not have people walking about,
With no name and no number but going without!
You must leave us, to have order we must
Lest our power doest turn to dust!"
"I have nowhere to go," said the man with no name
"I may have no possessions or fortune or fame,
But this is my home and at home will I stay,
And no one but no one can send me away!"
"Then we must kill you," said the counters of men
"For we can not have power over you. Then you must die then."
Then did they thusly before more time went by
For then thought them thusly-- his memory will die
For who shall remember a man with no name?
Yea who will recall such a pitiful shame?
His memory shall fade as time goes by
And our power and order will never die
But how foolish of them, one could say
For his memory lives on even till this day
It is rather the counters with their order so grand
Whose name is not found in any land
In fact, the only reason they are remembered at all
Is because this nameless man did they cause to fall
And though neither is known the name of him with no name,
His namelessness is his claim to fame.
-F. C. Stamps
28 May 1996
Background: This poem is a really fun piece, rich with
word play, irony, and symbolism. I wrote it shortly before departing for Japan
during a 12 hour shift while working at an Intel plant as a security guard.
My job was to sit at desk in a hall and make sure no one went past me, so as
you can imagine, I had plenty of time to concoct this poem.
I Long to Nombiri
As I listen to the long hanashi
My mind ponders how subarashii
It would be to be at the umi
Or playing my favourite shumi
The kyoshi waxes prolific
Now a sanpo would be terrific
My mind wanders beyond this tokoro
To a place so dear to my kokoro
I can feel the kaze on my kao
I long to be asoko now
I smell the attar of hana
I feel the flora and fauna
Demo kyo I cannot nombiri
I cannot nigeru there genkily
For now I must wear benkyo's yoke
Right just now I must be a gok.
-F. C. Stamps
31 January 2000
Background: I actually wrote this piece during a (boring) class while
in college in Hawaii. It mixes Japanese and English together. Later that same
day I showed to my friends at work and was then asked to read it aloud for a
meeting. Everyone there was bilingual, and they thought it was funny as hell.
I think you really have to speak both languages to really understand its humor.
The first stanza just rhymes Japanese words with other Japanese words. Then
the second stanza rhymes English with English and Japanese with Japanese, even
though I had the play with the English, changing "prolix" to "prolific."
The third stanza rhymes Japanese with English. And best of all, the final stanza
uses "Eigo Nihongo," Japanese words that English speakers take and
modify into zokugo or slang terms.
Verb is a Noun
Death, he was quickly coming,
Coming at a defeating rate
And the drums they were drumming,
Telling it was too late
All the verbs were fleeing
Run tried to run but couldn't
See was blind from seeing
And Jump, Jump just wouldn't
So Talk tried talking
While Walk tried walking
But Dying was doing
What Staying would be shewing
So in the end of Trying
All the verbs wound up dying
No longer could Hear hear
Nor Coming come near
For as they lived, they had died
As surely as Lie had lied
For in Bring bringing action
The verbs had sealed their destruction.
-F. C. Stamps
10 January 1994
Background: This poem is similar to the poem which is an example
of poetry without verbs in that it plays with the use of diction. Here,
I not only make verbs into nouns, but into animate, sentient beings. This poem
was originally written as a high school English class assignment along with
all of which were written on the same day as this piece.
Poetry copyright © 1998 by F. C. Stamps