Here's something quick and fun that I wrote at work in an email on Friday. Yes, that's right. I write poetry during work.
A Poem about Snowy and her Melon
Snowy, oh Snowy,
oh, don't you know I'm sorry?
Leaving you last night
must have left your heart all gorey*.
Despite my good intentions,
and I have a lot of those,
I hurt you when I shouldn't have
and that's as simple as it goes.
You can imagine how happy I was last night
to finally hear your thoughts.
But let me tell you how painful it was
to have to leave you with nought*.
The other day, sunrise-smiling was I
with a new phone card in my hand.
“One thousand minutes of Snowy’s voice?!”
Oh, I must have yelled across the land.
So the night finally came
when I hoped to finally hear
my dear Snowy’s voice on the phone
whispering and singing into my ear.
“A-RING, A-RING, A-RING” it rang,
with no Snowy to pick up of the phone.
A STING, A STING, A STING, it stang (?!)*
To be sitting and ringing alone.
So I went downstairs in hopes to see
that maybe Snowy would be online.
Then KABAM! There she was (with me!),
we were typing together in no time.
But again, the fates it seemed
was against us from the start.
“Snowy forced to work all night?!”
the thought like a second knife to my heart.
And so I left you, albeit abruptly,
hoping you would eventually get some sleep,
not knowing that I left you wading
in a place that was dark and deep.
How sad it must have been that night,
both of us missing the other.
And to hear you mad at me now
is like choking while being smothered.
But nevertheless, I was quick with the jest
to leave you to get to work.
Oh my dear Snowy, see that I’m sorry.
This nice guy ended up being a jerk.
So I hope you're not mad, not upset, nor sad,
and so when I finally call you on the phone
you’ll tell me you miss me, and you really want to kiss me
for calling you and writing this poem.
For I may be forgetful (but hopefully not regretful)
and be guilty as a felon.
But one thing is for sure (and I hope you concur)
that I’ll always be your melon.
*nought: nothing, nothingness
*gorey: adjective of “gore” (“coagulated blood from a wound”). Basically, I described your heart as being bloody and wounded.
*I am quite aware that “stang” is not the past tense of “sting”. But “stung” just didn’t rhyme very well with “rang”, and so for rhyming purposes, I decided to invent my own poetic device called “MAKING UP MY OWN WORDS”. Sue me.
