6 Satires by Robert Hogg

Batter My Heart…by John Donne, from the Holy Sonnets

The Poet Laments the Weakness of his Viceroy – by Robin Greenwood, after John Donne

William Wordsworth – Sonnet

A Woke Republican Rattles the House to the Strains of Wordsworth’s Sonnet

The Lake Isle of Innisfree – by William Butler Yeats

The Latte Aisle of Inner Verse by Reizn Yeast

The Road Not Taken – by Robert Frost

The Toad Not Taken – by Bobby Frost, Toddler

This Is Just To Say – by William Carlos Williams

Jus’ Sayin’ – by Wee Willie Williams

The Whip – by Robert Creeley

The Quip –  by Tom Catt

Statement:

Some years ago I wrote in a poem, “One listens. Poetry speaks–a recognizable language,  never predictable, but sometimes, a familiar voice.”

Batter My Heart…by John Donne, from the Holy Sonnets

Batter my heart, three-person’d God, for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurp’d town to another due,

Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov’d fain,

But am betroth’d unto your enemy;

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The Poet Laments the Weakness of his Viceroy – after John Donne

Butter my head, Goddess of Love, for you

Have nice wet buttocks, and breasts that seek to mend

My hurt, that I may rise and stand! Now bend

Over gently, leathered and lathered new,

That I, a guilty partner, to another due,

May labor to seduce you–but to no end,

Reason being my viceroy’s slow to defend

Unless captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue!

Yet dearly he wants you, and would be lov’d fain,

But is betroth’d unto your enemy

Who will divorce me, break that knot again.

O spank me gently, imprison me, for I,

Except you bind me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chased, unless you ravish me.

From The Filthy Sonnets of Robin Greenwood, of Sure Would Mountain, circa 1633. Revised in a mountain fastness circa Feb 1st 2021 and again 2021-02-11.

William Wordsworth – Sonnet

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

A Woke Republican Rattles the House to the Strains of Wordsworth’s Sonnet

Trump is too much with us! Late and soon,

With lies and incitement he’s laid waste our powers;

Little now of Congress is still ours;

We’ve sold our hearts to a sordid Daniel Boone!

Let’s now impeach this fool who thought the moon

His for the taking, and whistled away the hours

While his rioters trampled the Capitol flowers,

And threatened House and Senate with a raucous tune.

We’ve had enough Trumpery! I’d rather be

A pink pig suckled in a sty outworn

Than go on dancing with this wretched flea!

Give me instead a music less forlorn:

The sight of Liberty rising from the sea,

The sound of Justice honking her muffled horn.

RLH: Mtn: 2021-01-14; rev 2021-01-15; 2021-02-11 in light of impeachment attempts to wake up the dead heads in the Republican party.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree – by William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

The Latte Aisle of Inner Verse by Reizn Yeast

I will arise and promo a mag of inner verse,

And a small empire build there of sperm and spittle made;

Nine suck holes on my masthead, and a hive of things made worse,

And thrive among the be-loud-not-afraid.

And I shall have a piece there, a piece of the apple pie,

Dropping from the jowls of songsters, who hear what the cricket sings;

There money’s all a glitter, and the moon’s high in the sky,

And every evening we’ll dine on chicken wings.

Yes I will arise and promo, for always day and night

I hear the sound of applause and clapping at my ears;

While I stand awaiting for the prize almost in sight,

I hear it despite my deep heart’s fears. 

RLH: Mtn 2020-05-03 21:25.

The Road Not Taken – by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Toad Not Taken – by Bobby Frost, Toddler

Two toads emerged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not sample both

And knit a sampler, long I stood

Looked down one’s throat far as I could

Then tossed it quickly in the undergrowth.

So I took the other– just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy green and wanted wear;

Though as for that the grasses there

Had formed them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

So I left the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted it would ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Of indigestion ages hence:

Two toads emerged in a wood, and I—

I ate the one I was enamored by,

And that has made all the difference.

RLH: Mtn: 2021-02-24;

This Is Just To Say – by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Jus’ Sayin’ – by Wee Willie Williams

I’m not tryin’

to tell you

how to do

your job

but you want

some half

decent

poems

outa this

old fart

you gotta stock

our fridge

with equally

decent

fruit

not

for god’s

sake these

so called

Munchy Crisp

apples taste

like mold

from inside

out to start

RLH: Mtn: 2021-02-22

The Whip – by Robert Creeley

I spent a night turning in bed,

my love was a feather, a flat

sleeping thing. She was

very white

and quiet, and above us on

the roof, there was another woman I

also loved, had

addressed myself to in

a fit she

returned. That

encompasses it. But now I was

lonely, I yelled,

but what is that? Ugh,

she said, beside me, she put

her hand on

my back, for which act

I think to say this

wrongly.

circa 1955

The Quip –  by Tom Catt

I spent a month howling in bed,

my love a sweet pussy, a fat

furry thing. She was

very soft

and quiet, while above us on

the roof, there was a tabby cat I

also loved, had

obsessed myself with in

a fit she

returned. That

encompasses it. But now I was

horny, I roared

like McClure’s

Lion GRAHHR!

but what of that? MEOW,

she said, beside me, putting

her claws in

my back, at which act

I began to purr

more strongly.

RLH: Mtn: 2021-02-28.

Robert Hogg – Short Bio

Robert Hogg was born in Edmonton, Alberta, grew up in the Cariboo and Fraser Valley in British Columbia, and attended UBC during the early Sixties where he was associated with the Vancouver TISH poets, co-edited MOTION – a prose newsletter, and graduated with a BA in English and Creative Writing. In 1964 he hitchhiked east to Toronto, then visited Buffalo NY where Charles Olson was teaching. After spending a few months in NYC, Bob entered the graduate program at the State University of NY at Buffalo, completed a PhD on Olson under Robert Creeley, and took a job teaching American and Canadian Poetry at Carleton University in Ottawa for the next 38 years. His books include: The Connexions, Berkeley: Oyez, 1966; Standing Back, Toronto: Coach House, 1972; Of Light, Toronto: Coach House, 1978; Heat Lightning, Windsor: Black Moss, 1986; There Is No Falling, Toronto: ECW,1993; and as editor, An English Canadian Poetics,  The Confederation Poets – Vol. 1, Vancouver: Talonbooks, 2009. He recently published four chapbooks: from LAMENTATIONS, Ottawa: above/ground, 2016; two Cariboo poems, Ranch Days – The McIntoshfrom hawk/weed press in Kemptville, ON; Ranch Days—for Ed Dorn from battleaxe press (Ottawa 2019) and A Quiet Affair – Vancouver ’63 (Trainwreck 2021). In April 2019 Hogg edited a Canadian Poetry issue of The Café Review in Portland, ME. His poems have appeared in over seventy periodicals, most recently: Pamenar Online; Empty Mirror; The Café Review; Dispatches; Arc; SomeBlazeVox Online Journal, The Typescript, Caesura, Ottawater 16, Sulfur Surrealist Jungle, and forthcoming issues of Periodicities, Touch the Donkey, Bandoneon, and Taint Taint Taint. Books currently in the works for publication include: Lamentations; The Cariboo Poems; Postcards, from America;Amber Alert; Not to Call It Chaos – The Vancouver Poems; Oh Yeah—More Poems. Now retired, Hogg continues to write at his organic farm in Mountain thirty-five miles south of Ottawa.

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