Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Song of the heroic conquest over a villainous pickle bottle...

At lunch time I sat down to dine,
Surveyed the food I had,
I felt at once, by some strange chance,
The lack of pickle, bad.

I looked around until I found,
A pickle bottle new,
Its surface gleamed a brand new sheen,
My mouth watered anew.

I picked it up and turned the lid,
It did not budge an inch!
I tried my best to open it,
But it refused to flinch!!

A moment I stood back as I,
Surveyed the villain who,
So cunningly displayed his goods,
But quite refused to move!

The pickle bottle stood steadfast,
Despite my intent stare,
It watched me plan my every move,
With courtesy and care.

At first I tried my best to trick,
This devious little blot,
I gently turned the lid to see,
If it would budge or not!

But Oh! Alas! There was no boot,
My twisting was in vain,
My face turned red, my eyes watered,
But it remained the same!

My eyes were red, my nostrils flared,
I turned to it again,
With knife in hand, I pierced the lid,
Till oil began to drain.

The vacuum gone, I tried again,
This time with renewed zeal,
Cloth in hand, I tried once more,
In hope that it would yield.

The fortress ranged impregnable,
Displayed its will of steel.
I took a while to wipe my brow,
‘fore continuing my meal.

But though I seemed crestfallen then,
I had not given up,
That night I saw another path,
So I put down my cup…

With silent glee, I lit the stove,
And crept upon my foe,
To bear him to the furnace where,
His lid was tortured sore.

And then again, I bore upon,
The bottle with my cloth,
My hopes were high, the heat I thought,
Had loosened him a lot.

But still the wretched obstinate,
Withstood my sharpest twist,
My keenest grip, my sternest turn,
Did not budge him a whit.

Enraged I sought another course,
My blood began to boil,
How dare that mute insensate brat,
Resist my urgent toil?

Malicious smug, the villain stood,
And laughed at my despair…
Until irate, I sealed its fate,
Advancing without care.

I pounded dug and stabbed the lid,
I battered bruised it sore,
Until at last the calm steadfast,
Expression had to go!

The lid, I gouged and wrenched upwards,
Till mutilated stood,
My tormentor, with hole in lid,
And in a contrite mood.

Triumphantly I dipped my spoon,
Into my vanquished foe,
And cheerfully, I ate my meal,
With careful relish, slow!


The poet would like to add a note to the effect, that the vanquished bottle in question is displayed in her kitchen shelf… as an example to any young upstarts, that enter her hallowed domain, in case they harbour any similar thoughts of resistance… Further the poet would like to clarify that the account though written in first person, was in fact an account of, an encounter between a malignant and reactionary pickle bottle and the poet’s mother.

4 comments:

the psycho guy said...

"Song of ...", triumphant though it be, seems to have a few faults (regarding meter and rhyme). Should the poet be interested in finding out where, she ought to ask me. Should she not be interested, my apologies. Poor pickle.

Daughter of the Night said...

She is interested... could the Psycho guy please point them out? Thanks!

the psycho guy said...

Firstly, here are pairs which don't rhyme: "who" and "move"; "vain" and "same";"again" and "drain" (unless you're American); "Zeal" and "yield"; "foe" and "sore"; "Cloth" and "lot"; "twist" and "whit"; "sore" and "go" ('sore' is not pronounced 'so': and "stood" and "mood".
Also, rhyming "new" with "anew" is bad taste.

In stanza 7, the use of "watered" spoils the meter. You're using iambic 4-3, right? So in "My face turned red, my eyes watered,", 'eyes' gets the on beat and 'wat'(of 'watered) should get the off beat. But "Watered" is pronounced with the "wat" taking on the on beat (you say "WOTered" not "woTERD").

In stanza 9, "renewed" is said as if it's 'RE nyood' whereas it's usually pronounced 're NYOOD'. Also, the next line is not iambic but trochaic. Try using "With cloth in hand, I tried once more" to see the difference.

In stanza 10, "continuing" does not fit in to the iambic rhythm. Try " I took a while to wipe my brow/And continued my meal"


In stanza 18, the use of "upwards" breaks the rhythm again.

In stanza 17, a few commas are missing.

Apart from this, WONDERFUL internal rhyming!! Especially "my sternest turn". Very good.

Daughter of the Night said...

Thanks a lot... specially for having gone through it in such detail. I shall see what I manage and put up a better version. Thanks, again.