Sudden Inspiration

I’m reading The Letters of Noel Coward by Barry Day and finding myself inspired to compose verse.  I’m sure Mr. Coward would be proud.  The first selection, Ode to Meghan’s Stomach, is an ode to my daughter Meghan’s stomach.  The inspiration for this piece comes from my daughter, Meghan, and her (upset) stomach.  Meghan has two horses (Falcon and Shadow) and three little spleens (not yet named).  The spleen situation is a condition called polysplenia that can happen to people with PCD (see links at right).

WARNING: The following poems may be (or pretty much should be) offensive to anyone with good taste and serious literary sensibilities.  You’ve been warned.


“What’s wrong with Meghan’s stomach?”

Said the pony to the mare,

“Could it be the painful waistband

On her cotton underwear?”

“Or perhaps it’s just a symptom

Of bad habits she’s acquired

Like breakfasting at Starbucks

So she starts her days out wired.”

“And remember,” said the pony

“That she’s not like you and me.

We walk around with one spleen—

She walks around with three.”

“Could it be that the discomfort

Is a matter of no space,

For all those little splenules

And the stuff that they displace?”

“Or maybe,” said the mare

She’s been jostled to the max

By all our fancy stepping

When she’s riding on our backs?”

“I guess we better cool it

And tiptoe ‘round the ring

Until we know for certain

What’s causing this strange thing.”

“Or play at being sickly

Moan and role our eyes,

Hang our heads, limp around

Languish in our ties”

“Turn our nose up at our food

And turn down every treat

Until she’s gone away from here–

At which time we will eat.”

“I think that plan is brilliant!”

Said the pony to the mare,

She’ll certainly not ride on us

If she thinks that we’re impaired.”

“And then her painful stomach

Won’t be jostled to the max

By bouncing this and that way

While riding on our backs.”

This next selection, Waiting for My Presents, was written while I was waiting for my presents–to arrive from my dear friends Lynn, Ken and Mikey Ehrne in New York.  Why, oh why does it take so long?….

Waiting For My
A ChrismaSurpaHannaday Poem by Michele Manion

Waiting for my presents
To come in a big box
From New York State
At parcel rate
Delivered to my block

Waiting for my presents
And it would be quite grand
With much success,
Would put them in my hands

Waiting for my presents
And that’s why I’m inspired
To write these rhymes
And pass the time
Until they’ve been acquired

Waiting for my presents
And wouldn’t it be very
If I should get
A rhyming dictionary!

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