Two Ill Winds Breaking

Why Fart Thou? Sonorous Sonnet (Pedontic)
(In keeping with my practice of modeling some of my poetry on other poems, I adapted a Sicilian Petrarchan to create these two new, very similar, ones: two riffs on the same theme. ‘Pedo’ is a vulgar Spanish word for ‘fart’.)

Oh why fart thou my bedmate I pray?
Dost thou not love me, like I do thee now?
Am I to have lost my nose scents this day
When I endureth thy inanity, in bed with thou?
Why does thou treat a dear bedmate this way?
To be ashamed, I wouldst for the endow
For a gaseous impunity has now fled astray.
My nostrils burn, eyes are watering, and how!
Harken, ‘twas a rumbling noise I didst hear,
Hidden ‘neath the your olde pillows three,
My tortured senses now shaketh with fear
Mayhaps tis flatus, what else could it be?
“Twas another ill wind? How drear my dear;
With all that poison, I departeth from thee.

Petrarchan Ill Wind Breaking
With apologies to serious poets & those who love poetry

Oh don’t fart thou my crude friend, Okay?
Dost thy not respect me, you smelly sow?
Am I to be with your stink and odor today,
When I shareth my table at home with thou?
Why dost thou treat an acquaintance this way?
To be shamed, I wouldst hope thee avow.
Your understanding of decent bounds is astray
Civility prohibits fight, I only raise a brow.

“Harken, twas a ripping sound I didst hear,
‘Neath your comforter, a noxious spree.
Your trembling body announces, I fear
Another flatulent explosion soon to be.
Twas an apt foretelling, my eyes did sear:
With tears I rise give notice and flee.

This was the serious poem that triggered my buffooneries.Where Art Thou. Sicilian Sonnet (Petrarchian)

Posted January 13th, 2010 by willow

Oh where art thou my dearest lover I pray,
Dost thy not love me, like I do thee now,
Am I to have lost my true honour this day
When I shareth my vanity, alone with thou,
Why dost thou treat a poor maiden this way,
To be shamed, I wouldst for thee endow
For alas my purity hast now fled astray
My forsaken chastity taketh a final bow.
Harken, `twas a broken twig I didst hear,
Hidden `neath the olde sweeping, willow tree,
My trembling body now shaketh with fear
Mayhaps tis my lover, most precious be he,
"Twas that thee my love? oh my dearest dear
With all my person, I trembleth, for thee