Poetry Prompt 2: Famous Person

[Todd]

I was debating between two prompts all week. I chose this one though because it should give us a lot of variety.

Write a poem about a famous person.

As always, post all poems to this thread.

[billy]

i really struggled with this one todd
i couldn't think of anyone as such, not anyone i know a lot about.
so here goes;

Homer; not the one the one who wrote the Iliad

A forgetful blimp of a yellow man
with a fetish for blue bouffant
and duff beer. A walking addict of a guy
who has a penchant for pork chops,
apple pie, and little pigs.
A 'must have' personality
in an underachiever's bag;
with attention span of a gold fish,
the shallowness of a puddle,
and the gall of a gibbon.
He flukes a path of golden balled gaiety,
bouncing from one uber exploit of daring do
to another, as an astronaut or superstar.
His hobby is stupidity without compromise.
He inspires me to giddy heights with his love
of life, danger and that frightful thing called family.

[Todd]

I always struggle with the prompts Billy. You've turned something comic into something very cool here. Especially with these lines:

His hobby is stupidity without compromise.
He inspires me to giddy heights with his love
of life, danger and that frightful thing called family.

What a way to turn a character study into something personal "this frightful thing called family" is telling--a great closing line.

Best,

Todd

---

The Great Jimmy Hoffa Scavenger Hunt

What you’ve been told is an urban fable.
His voice still ghosts as angry static
over the twisted
pair of copper phone lines. You only see
an empty Green Pontiac,
an open driver’s door.
Yet, the steel drums remain full
of possibility, rusting
sentinels in Jersey City landfills. You imagine
Giant’s Stadium could frame his bones
as if he cared for childish pursuits
played by that pussy Bobby Kennedy.

We do not see his tears
bleed from statues,
or his face form in a clump
of mashed potatoes, and mistake him
for Abraham Lincoln, or Jesus,
or David Cassidy—as if any of them ascended
from the parking lot of the Machus Red Fox.

This is no skin-scraping, finger-bone divining séance.
There is no tap we wait to hear.
If you must look to the dead for guidance,
ask Mary Jo, the drowned girl,
to write her prophecy in the grease
trap drippings scrawling with her
limp fingers:

That which is dead
will not remain so.
That which is buried
will rise.

[billy]

i like the use of mary jo, at first i thought it was the mary jo who found hoffa guilty of jury tampering?
then realized it was edward's mary jo who died in the alleged car crash and drowned, (because you said so)
which i liked because for a split second it caught me off guard.

good effort, and just because me and you are the only posters, don't lose heart lol.

[Todd]

Oh, I never lose heart...hell, Jack and Lawrence are pumping ideas into this forum. I couldn't be happier with it all.

[billy]

thats good news