Wednesday, April 15, 2015

-#14 for Poetry Month-Unidentified Poetic Form, possibly Doggerel

Leaving aside, for the moment, the extremely lame rhymed endings of the first and last verses, today's offering was actually written for a contest sponsored by the 2008 Tofino Oyster Festival.  There were prizes like bottles of wine and smoked and brined comestibles plus the sheer glory of being read aloud to a crowd of guzzling oyster gourmands.

I do like prizes. I love Guy Clark's wonderful ode to the freedom experienced by poets in 'Cold Dog Soup' too. Alma Lee, founder and long-time director of the Vancouver International Writers & Readers Festival, was the final judge. My cheerful doggerel, below, was selected the winner and the audience, apparently, demanded to hear it read twice. This may have had more to do with their wine consumption than literary appreciation but never mind. 

Soon enough, the Coast Guard Lifeboat braved the gales of November to bring us mail and a lovely basket of goodies from the Oyster Festival organizers, all of which we enjoyed immensely. No oysters live on Lennard Island's rocky marine terrain so sadly, unless I was to stoop to a prosaic can of smoked oysters, there are no visuals today.

(Prairie) Oyster Homage 2008

"It was a bold man,"
said Jonathan Swift,
"That first et an oyster."
I do not know what Aesop said
or Poe or Pound or Atwood.

I just know I love 'em smoked
or done up Florentine.
Tucked in crepes or barbequed
Sauteed, grilled or stewed.

Marinated? Ooo, la, la!
& spiced with chili too
Splashed with dry vermouth or wine
Oysters rule, sublime, they do.

But here's the thing I now confess
My prairie roots betray me
I'd have to starve on a rocky shore
Before I'd ever eat one raw...