Poetry with Good Old Luke

Welcome!

As everyone who has bothered to visit this site is well aware, (R)uffda! has had little to say for some time now, and what he has had to say has been of no interest to any sentient being. There may be some fruit flies out there who are curious about the faint odor around here of bananas gone bad, but I’m not betting on that either.

So, once again, Good Old Luke is here to rescue (R)uffda! from himself and liven up The Blog. Today’s topic? Poetry. What is it, how can you make yourself some, and how do you know if what you make is any good?

What about volleyball?, you might ask. Well, what about it? is my reply. Check out Murina’s formulas for proving that a 5’9” outside hitter is not working as hard as the 6’4” outside hitter if you want volleyball. I’m busy.

Piece of Missing Cosmic Matter Found

This is a headline. This is not poetry. That is, it is not a poem. Could the missing cosmic matter be poetry, however? Here’s what these scientists found: “a type of extremely hot, dense matter that is all but invisible to us.” Here’s what poetry is: “the most compressed form of literature.” I think we are safe in concluding that they found some really sizzling poetry and that perhaps it was hidden in the bushes. Like an Easter egg. A super-hot Easter egg.

Furthermore, poetry is carefully chosen words expressing great depth of meaning. It uses specific devices such as connotation, sound, and rhythm to express the appropriate combination of meaning and emotion. Don’t take my word for it. I ripped this off from the folks at Gallaudet.

Let me give you an example or two. Tell me which one is the stuff of poetry:

Outside hitter, flying high,
nothing like Captain Bligh

or

Volleyball round and white
Like the moon, a satellite

Well, obviously, the answer is neither. Both are simply crap. Like crap hidden in the bushes by some malevolent rabbit out to ruin Easter for unsuspecting, and slow-witted, children.

I hope that clears that up. Next time: How to Analyze Poetry.


Puppy dog, sitting there,
Like a pillow on my chair.
Stop your chewing, my pretty boy
Or say goodbye to your squeaky toy.


More crap. Just fooling with you.