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.
MARIE ELENA’S PARODY:
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)
WALT’S PARODY:
WHERE MY POEMS BEGIN
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. 😉
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
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
🙂
Thank you, Henrietta! 🙂
I hear you, Andrea! Great parody.
Thank you, Linda! 🙂
Great poem, Andra! Unfortunately, I can relate. 😉
Marie Elena
Thank you, Marie Elena! Unfortunately, that poem is my life’s story when it comes to losing weight. I’m upset that I’ve gained pounds, so I eat comfort food, then I get more upset that I haven’t respected my diet so I eat more comfort food. It’s a bit of a vicious circle that I’ve been trying to break for quite some time.
I think there is a mirror like that in my house. 😦
I think there’s a mirror like that in every house. I’m trying to stay optimistic, though – I think we’ll win our battle in the end. 🙂
I love this!
Thank you, Sara! 🙂
Andra, thank-you for bravely speaking for many many! Well done.
Thank you, Janet! 🙂
These are all wonderful. I’m away to scratch my head…
Thank you, Viv! Glad you liked it! 🙂
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.
Whew… I can understand this one, Viv … !
Viv, I left a comment at your site. Great poem, and thanks for the youtube clip. 😉
Marie Elena
Well done ViV
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.😉😄
Whoops! Looks like there should have been another line in the Skylark’s response. Oh well. 🙂
Neat 😀
You’re so cute! Great parody, kiddo!
Marie Elena
🙂 ! Fun!
hahaha, cute!
Practical lark, Erin, but funny & cute all the same!
Thanks everybody! Wordsworth’s poems are definitely very precious and beautiful to me. I almost didn’t want to write this(but as you can see I did anyway😉).
Glad you did. Nice job.
🙂 Wonderful!
Walt and Marie, you guys are always so great.
Thank you Janet. 🙂
How fun, Walt and Meg!! 🙂
Marie and Walt, Yes, What fun. Thank you for the prompt. Really enjoyed both your offerings.
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!
LOLOLOLOLOLOL! Linda, this is AWESOME.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! LOVE IT!
Marie Elena
I have no idea what I’m going to do about my Christmas shopping, because everybody here has huge quantities of everything they’ve ever wanted (either that or they are very good at not letting on what they really want :)). And it’s no use being Buddhist if all your friends and family members are Christian – they’ll expect gifts anyway!
Give them each a coupon for a free hour of your time to just enjoy. The season should be about love not all the rest of the “stuff” Enjoy.
You are probably right, Andra. And I love your Idea Marjory. I do object to the commercialism. This year I told everyone that I was giving handmade gifts. You would be amazed at the wide variety of responses: some thrilled, some angry, some just accepting. Gifts are just that, gifts. They are not obligations or entitlements, but it is often seen that way.
Love it!
Walt and Marie, I loved that both your poems are about writing! Like minds.
(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.
Ah, Poetic Progeny chimes in! Nicely done!
It’s Sophie’s mom! It’s Sophie’s mom! Love it, Mik! 🙂 !
Mom
Aaaaaaaah! Fantastic! At first I thought that might be an alias for Marie. 😉
Thanks all!
Michaela, having a little kid is frustrating sometimes in real life, but also a great source of fun and love and joy. Sophie must be a really cute little girl! 🙂
Makes me want to go singing. 🙂
Fantastic, Michael. And sooooo true.
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.
You’re very welcome, and it is soooooooo not too generous at all. And thanks for the kind words.
Hoping the headache is gone. 😦 ❤
Marie Elena
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!
TOO.MUCH.FUN. 🙂
Marie Elena
So funny! 🙂
Very good – love to see what you come up with for the forth stanza
Not only fun, but exceedingly clever Mary!
Good one, Mary!
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.
Nice work, Sheryl. 🙂
Marie Elena
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.
You are just so stinkin’ brilliant, De!
Marie Elena
De, this is rally great! This is one of my favorite poems, but I’ve never looked at it from this angle before. I like the idea of viewing these symbols (the root, the bud, the meaning moon and singing sun) as very realistic tourist attractions that enthrall, but also trip people, get rained on and become squishy and muddy. This was funny and thought-provoking at the same time – e.e. would have been proud!
* really (sorry for the misspelling)
Very fun to read, saw a lot of imagry
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.
So cute, Sara! 😀
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie.
This is so funny, kind of like a parody that can be read around Christmas and enjoyed by everyone who knows the Grinch’s story!
Yes, I think I’ll make it required holiday reading!
Well done Sara. 🙂
Thanks, Marjory!
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.
Irony
(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.
Jane, this is so true – the people who have enough are always complaining about how little they have, and those who have too little have no time to complain about it.
Oh, Jane. You bad girl, you (with belts loosened) (lol)
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.
Wheee-eee, sounds coseeee and wintreeee
in the state of Colo-rat-eee! 🙂
Loved this poem, Marjory!
Thanks Andra, The Musisal score from the film/play Oklahoma has been a favoriate of mine for years – so what better song to pick than its theme song. 🙂
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.
“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!
So … it’s true that Scorpios make really good art 🙂 I belatedly wish you a Happy Birthday, Jacqueline – may you enjoy the best that this new year of your life has to offer!
Thank you, Andra.
The uninvited guest, of course, is always there… today is my birthday, so is probably reason I wrote the above, lol.
********HAPPY BIRTHDAY,********
May you Celebration pass without a wrinkle
A smooth Happy Birthday to you!
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
Whirrookachoobaableemoo-jah!
Sing halleluuuuu-jah!
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.
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.
November
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
September
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.
The ditch is all a-flutter
With birch-leaf butter-flies
excellent metaphor! so much going on in these 2 lines! Amazing!
Thanks, Janet. I love both the original and yours. I’m looking forward to your December installment 😉
Thank-you Jacqueline and Jane:) o-o-o! December sounds like fun!
[…] first form of this revamped undertaking, is a revisitation to a form from November 2012. Parodies take many variations. Mel Brooks did wonderful movies that mimicked (and sometimes […]
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