POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


Simply put, a parody poem is one that pokes fun at another poem or poet. It could “mock” a song lyric (which is basically musical poetry). It can draw inspiration to answer another work. Everything is fair game; the more irreverent, the funnier (or more pointed) it will be.


O Christmas Tree (A Parody, and Ode to De)

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
One lonely gift beneath thee
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
One lonely gift beneath thee
What’s this?  The tag says it’s for me!
Let’s open it, so I may see
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
This lonely gift beneath thee!

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Your gift is not so lonely!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Your gift is not so lonely!
The finest gift, I do decree!
Beneath your boughs, a Pair-O-De!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Your gift is not so lonely!

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
However can I thank thee?
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
However can I thank thee?
Eternal muse, my Pair-O-De!
I’ll pen no longer hopelessly!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
However can I thank thee?

(Dedicated to a poet my muse is unflatteringly jealous of: De Miller Jackson)




Here in my head where my thoughts converge
and before my writing urge,
and before ideas incubate and hatch,
and where rhyme grows as wild as thatch,
and I toss my words around to make them match
to come together in some lively dirge.

I’ll remain here seated where my laptop is
and my thesaurus, dog-eared and worn,
near my waste bin where my scraps of failure fall,
I will write with a purpose that is prompted and metered,
and watch my “epoch” start to grow,
In this place where my poems begin.

Of course, I will write with a purpose that is prompted and metered,
and watch this wordy ditty grow,
for Marie will read it, and Marie will know
where my poems begin.

***Dedicated to Marie Elena for her staunch support, based on “Where the Sidewalk Ends” by Shel Silverstein, her favorite poet (one of ‘em anyway).***

From Marie Elena: Thanks Walt! I remember this! How cool that 3 of the poets I admire most are right here in this post. 😉

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  1. This parody is about my battle against weight gain. I realize that this is a touchy subject for a lot of people and it is not my intention to make fun of them (after all, I know exactly what they’re going through).

    Mirror, Mirror

    Miserly mirror on the wall
    Since when have my skirts been so small?
    And why do stairwells seem so high?
    Five steps and I feel like I’ll die.
    I used to be rail thin and tall.

    Now I can’t see my feet at all,
    My cheeks puff out and my hips sprawl,
    There’s cellulitis ’round my thighs.
    Mean old mirror …

    It makes no sense to sit and bawl –
    I’ll wear some perfume, don a shawl.
    Then, just before we say good-bye,
    Perhaps I’ll have a slice of pie –
    It tastes so good – it’s really small!
    Mean old mirror …

    © Andra-Teodora Negroiu, 2012

  2. These are all wonderful. I’m away to scratch my head…

  3. http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2012/11/14/pams-parody/

    I’ve put the link rather than the poem, as I’ve added a you-tube clip of Pam Ayres reading the original, and I don’t know how to do that here.

  4. What a fun idea! I enjoyed this one.

    Okay, so this is supposedly an answer to one of my favorite Wordsworth poems of all time, “To a Skylark”, from the skylark itself. With the same meter. But only the first stanza. 😉

    Wordsworth’s Poem(first stanza):
    Up with me! Up with me into the clouds!
    For thy song, Lark, is strong;
    Up with me! Up with me into the clouds!
    Singing, singing,
    With clouds and sky about the ringing.
    Lift me, guide me, till I find
    That spot which seems so to thy mind!

    Erin’s Skylark’s Answer:

    Up with you into the clouds? Ah good sir,
    My larkish song may be strong,
    But you’re much too big for me, no really;
    To big, too big;
    What a pity! I cannot lift thee.
    Alas! I cannot lift thee, no!

    Hmm, this bird’s a bit too practical for my liking.😉😄

  5. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    How fun, Walt and Meg!! 🙂

  6. This is a terribly irreverent parody of Oh Holy Night which seems appropriate for Black Friday.

    Oh Holy Crap

    Oh Holy Crap, I really hate this season.
    I can’t believe I have more stuff to buy.
    I’m so stressed out, I think I know the reason:
    I am so broke that I just want to cry.

    The Christmas cards and then the decorations
    and I don’t know what everybody wants.

    Why must I go
    to all those awful parties?
    If I had a brain, I’d be Jewish by next year.
    No, if I had a brain I would be Buddhist by next year!

  7. Walt and Marie, I loved that both your poems are about writing! Like minds.

  8. Michaela Mavis on said:

    (To Billy Joel’s “She’s Always a Woman to Me”)

    She can throw her juice cup,
    She can dump out her food,
    She can have her meltdowns, She can scream and fake cry.
    She can snub me and she, can avoid, saying Hi.

    The truth is I know that she’s testing boundaries and she’s always an Angel to me.

    Ooooooooh Sophie why still test us?
    You know we know the drill, and just laugh back at you.

    Oooooooh Sophie that makes you laugh,
    Distracts you from your point, and gets you back on track.

    Now we know that it won’t always be this easy,
    You will grow up and probably say you hate me,
    Even then I will laugh, with this memory
    Sit back and wait for you to come home to me,
    Since you’re always an Angel to me.

  9. Marie! That was too much fun! And way too generous. Your support and encouragement do me wonders, but I wish you could actually meet my muse some days. 😉 I also wish you could read your own work through the eyes of others. You never, ever fail to bring a smile, or make me think. I adore you.

    Back later with a poem, if I can squash this headache.

  10. Fun, fun prompt! Just wrote one over the weekend that certainly fits here. It’s a parody-type response to “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. I wish I could have gotten a fourth stanza done for this to make it a bit truer to the original, but perhaps in the future…

    A Message from the Owner

    I know you know I own this wood,
    And yes, the view is awfully good
    When snowflakes fall on wintry nights
    On land where birches long have stood.

    If you had only looked, you’d find
    A wooden “No Trespassing” sign,
    Hung in plain sight upon the fence
    That serves as my dividing line.

    From this day forth I would prefer
    To keep my privacy secure,
    So find another road to take,
    But first, clean up your horse manure!

  11. This is a poem I did a while ago for Poetic Asides. Knowing I do not have time for another poem this will have to do. I was peeking out the library window, and I saw some kids who seemed to be hiding from someone. It could have been a game. It looks like only the first line follows Frost’s poem, but it will have to do for now.

    Spying Young Kids on a Cloudy Afternoon

    Whose kids these are I do not know.
    They rush around and go, go, go.
    They’re hiding from some unseen foe.

    No one seeks them, but still they hide—
    the bush not tall, yet it is wide.
    They peek and kneel there side by side.

    They do not know I share their joy
    eluding man or woman, girl or boy.

    They have now gone, giving up their game.
    I am so glad this day they came.

  12. Nice work, Sheryl. 🙂

    Marie Elena

  13. Sharing an old one, as I ponder something new. LOVING these, you talented poets!
    (This is after E.E. Cummings’ “I carry your heart in my heart”)

    Baggage Claim
    (with gentle nod to E.E. Cummings, whom I love)

    i tried carrying your heart
    in my heart
    but I kept tripping on the
    root of the root and the bud of the bud
    and the sky of the sky
    kept raining on me
    and the tree called life
    didn’t really have a proper sign,
    and it’s kind of squishy
    so it kept slipping out
    past meaning moon and singing sun
    and getting sort of muddy
    around the edges
    so I finally bought a big suitcase
    but then I couldn’t find a way to lock it.

    so now I carry it in my pocket.

  14. Excellent, Marie and Walt! What fun!

    Not Bad to The Bone

    That robber baron, Grinch-
    he deserves not an inch
    of mercy from Whoville residents;
    who elected him president?

    He’s green, and mean to his assistant,
    making him shlep bags, he’s resistant,
    the poor little guy, why, he’s scared stiff.
    With his master, Grinch, he wants no tiff.

    But even a Grinch is not all bad,
    he saw Cindy Loo Who become quite sad.
    so all those presents he had stolen,
    he replaced them with a smile that emboldened
    his faithful aide to dance and sing,
    welcoming Christmas in with a ring.

  15. janeshlensky on said:

    I’ve been running all day, so I’ll give you one from a while back. It does have Thanksgiving overtones, so I hope it’s ok for now.

    (to the tune of “We Gather Together”)

    Let’s gather together and eat all our blessings,
    fall into food comas and wake to dessert;
    then file onto deck chairs the weather permitting
    and watch our kids playing while we reassert
    our dissatisfaction with life in our country,
    economy-onomy woe and despair;
    we’ll outline our poverty, rivaling each other,
    then go in for seconds, belts loosened with care.

  16. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    Note: The name has been changed to protect the state of innocents.

    Collllo, Colo-rat-eee,
    Where the snow keeps blowin’ in the tree,
    My girl-ie friend and me
    Sit cozy-ied up and talk
    While watching the corn pop
    Inside her mom’s old microwave.

    O, the corn that we pop is so grand,
    and it’s grand to be poppin’ the corn.
    So when the corns all e’t up and gone,
    We all stand up and shout
    Colo-rat-eee, let’s pop.

  17. There is no Kindle like a Truck
    To cart out Junk away
    Nor any Tablet like a Fleet
    Of sturdy SUVs–
    Capacity buy lease or rent
    More Dreck than Arms can haul–
    One Fee for Application spent
    That minimizes Toil.

  18. “The Great Escape”

    Old age, she whimpers as I stall.
    I hear her, near, behind my back;
    She’s not my friend: no! not all!

    Old age, she stalks me in the hall
    as if I were some movie star;
    worships me, as from afar.

    Old age, she’s always underfoot
    In some hall mirrors, should I look…
    see grinning gargoyle’s wrinkled skin;
    God knows, where she, may yet have been!

    I race to find some solace from;
    I grab my doorknob, in I run
    to my apartment, safe, away…
    Should old age enter; here she’ll stay!

  19. The uninvited guest, of course, is always there… today is my birthday, so is probably reason I wrote the above, lol.

  20. janeshlensky on said:

    Winter is icumen in

    Winter is icumen in
    Lhude sing aaachooo,
    The winds that sow
    Rain, ice and snow
    Sing whirroooo!
    Calves, lambs, and goats
    Skate creeks and moats,
    Voicing baa-blee-moooo–
    And as bells chime,
    Nature keeps time
    Good will sublime
    Sing halleluuuuu-jah!

    • janeshlensky on said:

      Whoops! I was going to put the reference for the parody. “Summer is icumen in” was written by an unknown author in 1240, one of the first poems in English. It’s funny to English researchers for the fun details of animals (“Bulluc Sterteth, bucke verteth”=bull leaps, buck farts/breaks wind). There just aren’t enough poems about breaking wind, hm? Cheers, all.

  21. Mine is really just a response to the poem September by: Helen Hunt Jackson (it always bothered me that she did not share her ‘secret’ about that day. So, I am sharing November’s secret.


    The golden rod is brown now
    The corn is in its bin
    The trees in apple orchards
    Are stripped of rosy grin

    The gentians bluest fringes
    Are shriveled, brittle fray
    In broken pods the milkweed
    Had flung its silk away

    The sedges spill their harvest
    In stilted meadow-nook
    And asters by the brook-side
    Have dropped into the brook

    From frosted lanes of morning
    The children’s breath-clouds rise
    The ditch is all a-flutter
    With birch-leaf butter-flies

    By all these gilded tokens
    November days are here
    With autumn’s dismal weather
    And autumn’s sullen tear

    But none of this gray tinting
    Which makes November drear
    Can dim November’s hinting
    Of Christmas drawing near

    And I will share my secret
    Of dull November’s guile
    For soon it will be Christmas
    And that is why I smile

    © Janet Martin


    by Helen Hunt Jackson

    THE golden-rod is yellow;
    The corn is turning brown;
    The trees in apple orchards
    With fruit are bending down.

    The gentian’s bluest fringes
    Are curling in the sun;
    In dusty pods the milkweed
    Its hidden silk has spun.

    The sedges flaunt their harvest,
    In every meadow nook;
    And asters by the brook-side
    Make asters in the brook,

    From dewy lanes at morning
    The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
    At noon the roads all flutter
    With yellow butterflies.

    By all these lovely tokens
    September days are here,
    With summer’s best of weather,
    And autumn’s best of cheer.

    But none of all this beauty
    Which floods the earth and air
    Is unto me the secret
    Which makes September fair.

    ‘T is a thing which I remember;
    To name it thrills me yet:
    One day of one September
    I never can forget.

  22. The ditch is all a-flutter
    With birch-leaf butter-flies

    excellent metaphor! so much going on in these 2 lines! Amazing!

  23. janeshlensky on said:

    Thanks, Janet. I love both the original and yours. I’m looking forward to your December installment 😉


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