https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satire

No satire can do  justice do our state
Where rich folk ridicule the very poor
And seem oblivious to their dreadful fate.

Satire needs some space  to tolerate
A second look at what is happening here.
No satire can do justice do our state.

Now comes the hour yet now the man is late
Now sink the homeless into death’s deep fear.
The   government of today degenerates

Where is the opposition to negate?
Where  the observers who  alone make clear
The rules by which the powerful demonstrate?

They call it chance or destiny or fate
Hoping we will think  from God it emanates
Satire might do justice do that state.

The hill of shame exists and will endure
Its watchers are increasing by the hour
No satire can do  justice to that state
We seem unmindful of our lack of  taste

Faith?

 

Mary was sitting at her table reading a piece in the Guardian Family section When she had finished the sad interview with a woman whose son had shot dead 5 children in a school, she tried to get up but the decorative buttons on her shoes had become entangled and her feet were tied together.
What shall I do? she asked herself nervously.Very soon the answer came.. to slip her shoes off and then pick the linked pair up.
How stupid it is, she told herself, to make crossing one’s ankles so dangerous.But with her brilliant yet agitated mind, she had solved the problem and not died at her laptop.Perhaps, in that case, nobody would have realised her shoes had caused her death, implemented by her stupidity at not recalling she could take them off!
She went into the kitchen where Emile had knocked over the pedal bin to get a piece of chicken left over from dinner.He had also got a large ball of rough twine and knocked it round the room creating a big tangled mess.
Just wait till Stan comes back, she told the wicked cat.You know quite well the bin is out of bounds.Look at the floor!The doctor will blame me for this mess.How will the doctor know? asked Emile politely.
Well,it’s just he seems to be around quite a lot nowadays.I think he liked my Earl Grey Tea.Or else he is anxious about me.He thinks I am too thin…

Is he planning to hug you, asked the little black cat.
Oh, no.He can’t do that.I believe it is forbidden  by the Zippocratic Code even though my blood pressure falls if he holds my hand.
I’d have thought it might rise ,mewed the naughty animal.
Now then , Emile.I am beyond caring about men.Or women.I have no desire for desire if you understand me.
I don’t understand , cried Emile, because cats  never lose their desire!
Well,one thing I know for sure, I am not a cat, Mary informed him.I am a human being.
Well, may I sit on your lap said the cat.
Mary sat by the window watching the trees sway against the grey mauve sky.Emile rubbed against her bosom as if expecting milk to flow.
Stop that Emile. she shouted.I am getting aroused.And you are no use to me in that way.You are getting beyond the boundary of taste.
Maybe it’s good for your circulation, the cheeky animal whispered.
Anyway I am stuck.Your necklace has hooked onto my collar.
Oh, my Lord  said Mary.Don’t say you will be hanging around my neck forever.What shall we do now?
There are a few possible answers,Emile said.
1.Take off your necklace
What and leave you dragging it round the garden.I’ll have you  know it cost 15 and six,Mary said mournfully
Was that before decimalisation or is it some other mathematical model? Emile said noisily.
2.Undo my collar and take it off me then we can try to separate them.
3.We could lie on the bed and gaze into each other’s eyes all day, he finished.Unless you need the bathroom.I am happy
Well, charming thought that sounds I am not willing, Mary shouted foolishly.She tore off the necklace and by some miracle, it came away from the collar and freed Emile who was not totally happy with this quick release
So you are not in love with me, he yelped like a small but jealous god.

Well, I do love you, sweetheart. But I am not expecting marriage.In any case  you would have to be transgender first and I don’t recommend it
How about trans-species ? he murmured seductively.
Even the most demanding folk in Britain have not yet requested to be made into cats, she told him half consciously.
Emile began to cry softly
Whatever’s wrong ,dearest, she asked him mindfully.
I was hoping you could become a cat like me, Emile said in his Cockney accent which had picked up from the TV.
That is very sweet, dear but how would we pay the Council Tax and get books from the Library?
We would go to the old greenwood and live the life of freedom,he said.
Well, you are used to it, said Mary, but I like to think about Wittgenstein.I wonder if he’d like to be a cat if he were not dead.Would Sylvia Plath have been happier as a cat? We shall never know.But it could have helped her a great deal if Ted were just a randy tom.
Thus Mary , lounging in her red chair, fell fast asleep  in her warm blue woolly dress with Emile on the dining table beside her eating some Wensleydale cheese she had forgotten to put away.
Mm, very nice Emile mewed.I hope the people in Wensleydale have made some more.

And so say all of us.
For it’s a jolly good seller.
So say all of us.

I spilt the coffee on my yellow shoes
Why I wore them cleaning,do not ask
Now I got those nasty summer blues

Discussing women’s clothing is taboo
Apart from wondering if they wear a mask
I spilt the coffee on my yellow shoes

If I wear thick clothing I’ll get flu
In the  heat I do not want to bask
Now I got those nasty summer blues

I wonder if a canal boat built for two
Would be a good investment that would last
I threw the coffee on my yellow shoes

They say contact with nature’s good for you
But  my own time  has turned to golden dust
Photons  give  men rights to  turn to glue

Some go frigid, others suffer lust
I’ll be your  sweetheart if you say I must
I spilt the coffee on my yellow shoe
No more will I attend at Waterloo

 

 

 

 

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http://www.poetry.org/whatis.htm

Nature of Poetry Poetry can be differentiated most of the time from prose, which is language meant to convey meaning in a more expansive and less condensed way, frequently using more complete logical or narrative structures than poetry does. This does not necessarily imply that poetry is illogical, but rather that poetry is often created from the need to escape the logical, as well as expressing feelings and other expressions in a tight, condensed manner. English Romantic poet John Keats termed this escape from logic Negative Capability. A further complication is that prose poetry combines the characteristics of poetry with the superficial appearance of prose, such as in Robert Frost’s poem, “Home Burial.” Other forms include narrative poetry and dramatic poetry, both of which are used to tell stories and so resemble novels and plays. However, both these forms of poetry use the specific features of verse composition to make these stories more memorable or to enhance them in some way. What is generally accepted as “great” poetry is debatable in many cases. “Great” poetry usually follows the characteristics listed above, but it is also set apart by its complexity and sophistication. “Great” poetry generally captures images vividly and in an original, refreshing way, while weaving together an intricate combination of elements like theme tension, complex emotion, and profound reflective thought. For examples of what is considered “great” poetry, visit the Pulitzer prize and Nobel prize sections for poetry.       Poetry and form Compared with prose, poetry depends less on the linguistic units of sentences and paragraphs, and more on units of organisation that are purely poetic. The typical structural elements are the line, couplet, strophe, stanza, and verse paragraph. Lines may be self-contained units of sense, as in the well-known lines from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet: To be, or not to be: that is the question. Alternatively a line may end in mid-phrase or sentence: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer this linguistic unit is completed in the next line, The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. This technique is called enjambment, and is used to create a sense of expectation in the reader and/or to add a dynamic to the movement of the verse.In many instances, the effectiveness of a poem derives from the tension between the use of linguistic and formal units. With the advent of printing, poets gained greater control over the visual presentation of their work. As a result, the use of these formal elements, and of the white space they help create, became an important part of the poet’s toolbox. Modernist poetry tends to take this to an extreme, with the placement of individual lines or groups of lines on the page forming an integral part of the poem’s composition. In its most extreme form, this leads to the writing of concrete poetry.

” Poetry and form

Compared with prose, poetry depends less on the linguistic units of sentences and paragraphs, and more on units of organisation that are purely poetic. The typical structural elements are the line, couplet, strophe, stanza, and verse paragraph.

Lines may be self-contained units of sense, as in the well-known lines from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet:

To be, or not to be: that is the question.

Alternatively a line may end in mid-phrase or sentence:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

this linguistic unit is completed in the next line,

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

This technique is called enjambment, and is used to create a sense of expectation in the reader and/or to add a dynamic to the movement of the verse.

In many instances, the effectiveness of a poem derives from the tension between the use of linguistic and formal units. With the advent of printing, poets gained greater control over the visual presentation of their work. As a result, the use of these formal elements, and of the white space they help create, became an important part of the poet’s toolbox. Modernist poetry tends to take this to an extreme, with the placement of individual lines or groups of lines on the page forming an integral part of the poem’s composition. In its most extreme form, this leads to the writing of concrete poetry”