Paradelle Universes

                     
I confess, for those of us who need                      
I confess, for those of us who need                      
a hand in slowing the thinking process                      
a hand in slowing the thinking process                      
I confess in the thinking process                      
a hand for slowing those of us who need                      
                     
that I resort to drinking                      
that I resort to drinking                      
but not to a point of excess                      
but not to a point of excess                      
that I resort to a point                      
but not to excess of drinking                      
                     
in which the room begins to spin                      
in which the room begins to spin                      
and I lose all my bearings                      
and I lose all my bearings                      
and I lose the room begins to spin                      
in which all my bearings                      
                     
I confess, in slowing the thinking process                      
a hand for those of us who need                      
that I resort to excess                      
but not to the point of drinking                  
and in which the room I lose                      
begins to spin all my bearings        
       
       
       
=====================        
       
                     
                     
According to Josh                
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Josh/                
and Wikipedia                
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paradelle                
my two leading experts on the subject ...                      
                     
The Paradelle poem was invented by Billy Collins as a parody poking fun at poems in general that require a strict form like the Villanelle.            
                  
Here are the rules:                  
              
1) The Paradelle is a 4 stanza poem.              
                   
2) Each stanza consists of 6 lines.              
                   
3) For the first 3 stanzas,      
the 1st and 2nd lines should be identical      
the 3rd and 4th lines should be identical      
the 5th and 6th lines should be composed of all the words from the 1st and 3rd lines, yet scrambled.                  
              
4) The final stanza should be composed of all the words in the 5th and 6th lines further scrambled.                   
                    
and according to Johnny Blaze ...                    
                     
5. You receive extra credit if you can successfully write one of these motherfuckers in under 45 minutes while you are hammered.            
              
       
                 
=====================        
       
                   
         
Here are the basic ingredients of the poem without all of the tomfoolery.  
      
I confess, for those of us who need              
a hand in slowing the thinking process              
that I resort to drinking              
but not to a point of excess              
in which the room begins to spin              
and I lose all my bearings        
       
While the best Paradelles are those that result in the formation of silly sounding stanzas, an inherent challenge is to scramble up a comprehensible poem into an alternative poem that is likewise comprehensible.  More power to you if you can accomplish both.      
     
     
       
 

        
O! Not every paradelle likewise precariously penned        
O! Not every paradelle likewise precariously penned        
reads as though branched loftily by Billy Collins        
reads as though branched loftily by Billy Collins        
Not every branched paradelle by Billy Collins        
likewise reads loftily as though precariously O penned!        
       
It takes a rare bird who thinks like him; an odd duckling        
It takes a rare bird who thinks like him; an odd duckling        
such as he is with his pre'pond'rings else quirkily quacked        
such as he is with his pre'pond'rings else quirkily quacked        
A rare bird with his pre'pond'rings; it takes an odd duckling        
Who else thinks like him quacked quirkily such as he is        
       
If aviary poem's for you my dear, disallusioned Susan        
If aviary poem's for you my dear, disallusioned Susan        
then shorely you'll swoon over this platypus docking at noon!        
then shorely you'll swoon over this platypus docking at noon!        
Dear platypus, this aviary poem's docking for you!        
At noon you'll swoon shorely if disallusioned then my Susan        
       
Though reads not as likewise precariously branched          
Billy Collins penned every paradelle o loftily!        
A rare bird who thinks as quirkily takes it such as       
he is an odd duckling; his pre'pond'rings quacked like him        
Susan, Dear! You'll then swoon at this poem's shorely        
disallusioned platypus if docking you aviary noon        
       
       
       
#BillyCollins        
       
 

( after Billy Collins)  

 
 
He shows up from out of nowhere,  
of dazzling blue once the storm passes by.  
Approaches with a smile, eyes of crescent moon,  
offering a hand of strength and of mirth,  
as honest labor of brotherly love.  
 
I could be overthinking an uncommon sight  
added to an otherwise common act.  
 
Besides, there’s nothing out of place  
when it comes to Winter at this time of year,  
with my neighborhood inundated in white powder.  
And I don’t question his abbreviated attire,  
a free-thinking soul such as myself.  
 
But has he not got things turned around  
in the scheme of temperatures?  
 
Still, off we go clearing my driveway,  
shoveling without stopping for a meditate.  
Serene, with a sense of serenity, opens his face,  
while it is our own man-made flurry’s arc  
that blurs each other in the crisp air.  
 
Working under Heaven than indoors,  
I call out in the brilliance, the Buddha digs.  
This is why we are born, with Nature in Winter,  
I raise my free hand but he concentrates.  
The way to Nirvana is via driveway.  
 
Better take the car in this weather;  
the heater doesn’t work but the radio does.  
 
We go nonstop until the day is noon.  
With my endless, run-on definitive larks,  
and him in a simple, quiet place of harmony.  
All about us, the snow castles we made,  
it’s then I hear him say like I would do;  
Can we go inside and read poetry?  
 
By all means. Anyone in particular?  
The Buddha serenely sighs, eyes seek  
as he bows in a moment’s contemplation,  
and the dazzling blue of midday sky  
casts the blade into fresh snow.  
 
 

There's only one or two    
righteous ways to read
Billy Collins how-to poetry  
   
Childishly and imaginatively,  
Mainly    
   
If you actually try to apply    
his advice in real life  
he'll drop a mouse down    
your pants!  
   
He says "it goes into the poem and    
feels for the light switch....."  
   
Not creepy, at all...  
   
   
...only to switch your hide    
with a waterski on the surface    
of his "playful" poem!  
   
Then, lets his poem play    
the martyr victim  
   
while I take the hose!  
 
 
#BillyCollins

Electricity is the kind of thing we most often survive    
unless by some misfortune it stops our heart    
This fact alone reminds me of heroin      
Heroin reminds me of a certain heroine      
     
She liked to play with electrical stimulation      
by firing her neurons with a drug    
that zapped her with strong pleasures      
but only when she was feeling lonely    
     
Just like electricity makes the heart stop    
her heart did stop, or nearly so    
until EMTs managed to revive her    
prompting an apology song    
     
Yet electricity continues to play a vital role    
in society like the unstoppable heroin trade      
athough everyone could use DC current    
and other nations succeeded in eliminating      
dangerous opium trade, only to see invasion      
     
After all is said and done, we can garner lessons      
Electrocution is a thing to be best enjoyed surviving      
Heroin or heroine also is best to be survived      
Yet none of these things will be fashionably safe... ever
 
 
#BillyCollins
 

( After Billy Collins )
 
Observing an ocean of rain—          
so many fishtails, hydroplaning            
amid a merriment of muddy streets

reflections quaver under light—
  deadwood trash washed out
  to the air by waning wind

—commuters, rippling
toward landing places

I press on despite the storm;
its downpour uterin warm
—the alchemy of each breath
a gift terraforming myself—

in the recourse of clouds I realize
every departure is an undergone act—
  every step-toward an eternal record
  burrowing deep inside ourselves

—while Life’s plow point carves
now-fertile seeds into once-fallow fields
  awaiting future yields 'of everything
  and nothing at once'          
~      
     
#BillyCollins

There is this sense of the irony here,
and of subtle humor --  
clever twists on universal truths  
not producing a so-called horselaugh or even a giggle
but more a smirk of acknowledgment
or maybe a snort or a nod
or just a twinkle in the eye
indicating that yes, we get it and yes, it is funny
especially if one likes his humor  
dipping a baby toe in the mildly acidic waters of ironic drollery.
 
Which is, like it or not, where truth often resides.
 
Because we might as well accept the slapstick antics  
involved in trying so hard,  
earnestly navigating life's turbulent seas
and attributing our sunken ships to a god's desire
or to Him taking time from his busy schedule
to teach us a lesson that is always too late to be applicable
and is better known  
as regret.

#BillyCollins

As we ran with fleeting chance
like insects, fly from summer's grass  
like dogs just let off a lead  
dirty hands, and dirty knees  
  
See no danger, pay no heed  
 lied when I said I cleaned my teeth  
tremble as I braved a "dare"  
with impish grin and tousled hair  
   
Did my mind just twist the facts  
reminisce through hazy cataracts  
Just  outlines, as we squint the past  
was my ten, just that far back  
   
Old photographic remnants, in hand-me downs  
refractions of that life in sepia brown  
   
Now let me see, was that the class of 1927  
could be; If so I had just turned eleven

#Billy Collins 
 

(…and Write a Poem About It)

Not to make myself seem a little too sensitive
or at least delicate in certain matters of
a couples playful banter but
my wife likes to play a little rough from time to time
and when I lightheartedly say “hey you’re hurting me”
she aptly replies “Why don’t you cry and write a poem about it.”

Now, I’m usually looking for inspiration for my next piece
but sometimes my muse flicks a little too hard
in those “sensitive” spots and that when I retract just a bit.
I’ll pout jokingly and that’s when she says
“Why don’t you cry and write a poem about it.”

 “OK maybe I will” I usually reply but the time never comes.

So a couple of days go by and as I’m looking for that next sign
or the Suggestion Box as Billy calls it
I find motivation when I least expect it
that’s unless she looks at me a certain way
then I get all warm and fussy and I spill something…
corny, horny or all together sappy.

But there have been times when I’ve inspired myself
Just by a random thought
Or the lyrics of a song
Or the passage of a book I remember suddenly
Or maybe even something that touched me deeply

And as I sit there quietly
Listening to the sound of my voice inside my head
Giving me the words and directions
I feel my eyes begin to well up just a bit
Enough to write a poem about it.


#BillyCollins