A DEDICATORY ODE in NINE STANZAS

Ἀπόλλων μουσηγέτης


Ye NaPoWriMoids, hear my prayer
let's mix our metaphors and dare
as fragrant smoke ascends the sky,
offend some readers by and by.

Apollo—grant me rocket fuel
to launch into your stratosphere.
Athena—by your wisdom, rule
and whisper in my waiting ear.

Receive this bright poetic spark
And let the Nine, as one, inspire
transform this puddle, stagnant, dark,
from sludge to pure Promethean fire.

Thou Father of Olympus, bless
our paltry April offering:
a dubious cybernetic mess
composed of poets' suffering.

I'll sing of waters fair (and foul),
uncork my potions for your ears
while Dionysus' Maenads howl
banishing winter's remnant fears.

A radiant poetic flush
beams forth from every laureled face.
The springs of Babel: let them gush
and bathe our souls in lyric grace.

A product line in low demand,
the blogosphere: our public forum;
quorum one man short of ******
where verses vie with vague decorum.

Consult your muse—then let it flow;
a rain of primaveral dreams
whose rivulets descend below
and swell the tributary streams

to flooding verses, transcendental
irrigating, bringing life
(though some are merely excremental.
Foaming sewage...  ask my wife).

"Nineteen trillion,
nine hundred
sixty three billion"
says the duke of finance

"Woa, that's a lot of dough"
says the king
"We need to cut back
on our spending"

Funny some court jesters
Had gathered around
To inspire the king's laugh
Yet, he made not a sound

Though they did bear witness
to the majestic king
signing a new decree
"Only the bare necessities"

And some of the people
were well pleased,
And some of the people
Protested in the streets