Poetic Dada

Rolling with the night tram,

Tolling with the tam-tam,

The weight of the bagel with jujube yam jam

Churning in the diaphragm,

Poets of all ages

Have long graced the many stages

Of the world with their consistent bam-flam,

Conjuring the noted

Deep devotion that’s devoted

To a love on which is doted in idolatry,

Ever level with the devil

In the middle of the griddle

With a fiddle in a revel of ping-pong,

Skipping with a sing-song

To the rama-lama-ding-dong of Poetry!

Ho-

Wallowing in shadows,

Growing up on fallows,

Striving for a name in the backlots,

Dabbling in the babble

Of the razzle-dazzle rabble,

Sometimes sounding like legitimate crackpots.

In a world dreaming of lusty love from a dove,

If the hand fits the glove, then when push comes to shove,

Buddy-buddy picks whip-up buddy-buddy shticks,

Therefore buddy-buddy poets win the jackpots.

 

Feeling glib with the nib

On the bib of the lib

When we jibber jibber jab jab

Jargon of Puglia and Punjab,

Who are you to say we’re dada?

 We’re a proud generation

Living in a lively nation

Who like ABBA and Lady Gaga!

What the hey!

Come what may,

We’re as happy as a stork at play!

We got passion, intuition,

We got wordy ammunition,

That could blow you all the way to Dhaka!

 

In the heat of the battle

Of the mesmerizing prattle,

With a rattle from the cattle

Streams an ardent tittle-tattle

Through the breezes,

 Scattering serenity,

Generating lenity,

Pleasing ev’ry entity it squeezes.

And the quips never dry,

’Cause the hips never lie

When flirting with the Yip-Yips

On Sesame Street.

And the fly in the chips

Steals a sigh from the lips

Of the glamour that could make ends meet.

And keeping on the toes, ever following the nose

Through the rose beds that brighten up the glossy glows,

Underneath the sheets and pillows,

Through the wondrous weeping willows,

It doesn’t really matter where the wind blows.

In despair, in desire,

Ev’ry poet stokes the fire

Without any drops of dregs within the kegcan,

Vying with voracious vigour

To resolve with righteous rigour

Who’s the walnut, who the walrus, who the eggman!

 

Feeling glib with the nib

On the bib of the lib

When we jibber jibber jab jab

Jargon of Puglia and Punjab,

Who are you to say we’re dada?

We’re a proud generation

Living in a lively nation

Who like ABBA and Lady Gaga!

We got gaiety as gay

As a stork at play,

And the wisdom of a Muslim baba,

Peppered with posy

Round and round the rosy,

Hallowed by the mystic yaya,

Laughing with a haha,

Singing with a lala,

We are not the least bit dada!

-EDP

Reviews

[Papaya]

FUN read! :)
Nice one emi!

[emipoemi]

Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it.

[Terra]

Perfect as always, and so enjoyable to read.

[emipoemi]

.....you should hear it performed - lol. Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

[H L Rose]

I absolutely love paradoxes, and the tone in this poem that is light hearted, yet determined, seems like a paradox to me, so I loved it!
It was really fun to read, yet meaningful.
Glad I read it!

[emipoemi]

Not sure about this being a paradox, but it was definitely fun to write. one of my better absurd poems. Glad you enjoyed it, thanks for reading.

[H L Rose]

Light hearted determination feels like a seeming contradiction that actually rings true, but that could have just been the way I took it. Either way I enjoyed reading it!

[Norbanus]

No need to search for meaning in this verse.
The Backlot Bard has left it in the clear.
We read of yam yam, bam flam and what’s worse,
the jibber and the jabber comes so near.

And yet, hidden in those eighty lines of glib
There hangs the smallest, tiny fleck of doubt
Who is the eggman and the righteous nib.
Is all this worthy of a lively shout?

Before we reach the end, we find a stork,
who shows it’s doing what it does at play.
Perhaps my search for meaning needs some work.
There’s clearly more to this than I can say.

Of meaning in this verse, the shadow knows,
Tucked just outside the willows where wind blows.

[emipoemi]

This versified comment made my day!! I couldn't contain my laughter. Yes, indeed, interpretation is up to the reader (only be aware that this is absurdity, and absurdity can go in any direction).....but there is method to this madness, of that I'm certain.

[barleygirl]

Many times, these types of freestyle rhyming poems feel like they're more about the rhyming than being about the message. What I very much like about yours here is the way it's more about the message. The rhyming is superb, but not to the total distraction & obliteration of the message. Many imaginative tangents loosely connected into a mostly cohesive whole. I only saw one minor glitch (for me): line 9 . . . "devotion that’s devoted" . . . to me, this sounds redundant. Otherwise, great job! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[emipoemi]

Good call. Indeed that could be viewed as a glitch, but a) it's not a separate thought. If you combine all the three "-oted" lines, and read it as one, the grammar actually fits without any such redundancy. And b) this is supposed to be for the most part absurd, and in absurdity, there are no rules. So if this actually does prove to have a grammar glitch, the emphasis is not so much on being grammatically correct sense, for particularly in poetry, sound overpowers sense (especially in nonsense). But thanks for reading! Glad you enjoyed it.