On Stress

Stress is a familiar concept.  Though not everyone exhibits the common signs of stress and strain in their behavior (being rushed, snappish, frowning, crying, committing crimes, etc.), people from adolescence on can typically name at least one time they’ve felt an unpleasant emotional or mental pressure.  “Don’t worry” admonishes the Good Book, Bobby McFerrin, and millions of mothers around the world.  Unfortunately, that golden advice hasn’t seemed to prevent the occurrence of stress.  Parents, self-help gurus, psychologists, and pharmacists by shiploads talk on and on about how to avoid it or move past it or medicate it.  So why, with all our research and advice and medicines, does everybody still regularly become stressed?

            When we feel stressed, we may point our finger of blame at a poor attitude, grief, busyness, peer pressure, unmet needs, pain, physical infirmity, indecision, uncertainty, worry, fear, self-centeredness, sin, or guilt.  Whatever the external or internal trigger may be, however, as I see it, the true cause for our stressed reaction is rooted in our minds.  Namely, I’ve found that stress stems in all cases from cognitive dissonance.

Cognitive dissonance simply means internal conflict (but admit it—“cognitive dissonance” is fun to say).  This conflict, or dissonance, may occur between competing ideas in our minds or between what we want or expect in our minds and what is, or what appears to be, in reality.  For instance, we may feel internal conflict between a desire to relax and the reality of an unpleasant chore we feel we ought to do, or when we have numerous tasks we want to accomplish but the reality of little time in which to complete them, or when our plans get unpleasantly interrupted or the plan doesn't turn out as expected.  We feel stress when we don’t measure up to our ideal self, or when a desire to please people conflicts with the reality of our failure or their unwillingness to be pleased.  At times, an ingrained belief, whether in Santa Claus or God or the value of deep-fried Twinkies, comes in conflict with evidence, true or not, to the contrary.  Maybe we fervently want to be done with a choice or an unpleasant situation while it sits unmoving before us.   

Although these stressful conflicts may relate to external circumstances, all are, at their root, forms of cognitive dissonance.  Once we reconcile the dissonance one way or another (with or without reconciling the circumstance), the stress lifts.  That’s why our perspective, and not our circumstances, has so much to do with our relative stress and happiness. 

To illustrate this, the same person on different days spills a full glass of water by accident.  Let’s up the ante and say the glass breaks, too—on carpet.  One day this happens, the person chuckles ruefully at his foolishness, but doesn’t feel stressed.  On a different day, the person curses or bawls, becoming instantly full of stress and expressing it explosively.  The circumstance is the same.  What makes the difference is the person’s mental perspective—his expectations, his priorities, his focus, and so forth. 

On the day the person laughs, the water is not seen as a setback; even if the person is late for an activity, he thinks selflessly along the lines, “Oh, well—it happens.  Better clean up first.  Being late isn’t the end of the world.” Alternately, if his previous engagement takes precedence, “. . . Better leave part of the mess till later” or “Honey, could you help me clean up?  I have to leave.”  And that, too, would be decided or spoken without stress.  However, on the day the person feels stressed, we’ll inevitably find that the situation lies in dissonance with the plans in his mind; he views the event as a horrible interruption that forcibly and uncomfortably alters his preconceived ideas about how the day will progress, but he isn’t willing to accept the change.  He may think self-centeredly, “Why did this have to happen to me?”  The problem may even expand out of proportion until he irrationally thinks the setback is “unfair” or “ruinous” or even a sign of divine disfavor.  If, as stressed people often do, he allows the negative attitude to taint his behavior over the next several hours, his choice of reaction may lead him to make errors with his work or to damage his relationships, which can trouble him further if he doesn’t take time to shift his perspective and make what restitution he can.

We can deal with external circumstances by either avoiding or altering them, or by changing our reaction to adapt to or accept them.  Ideally, we’d handle all circumstances in one of these ways without stress, but we’re fallible humans.  We should remember that when we do feel stressed, avoiding or altering the circumstance won’t keep us from feeling stress should the undesirable event reoccur.  That is, since stress is internal, external attempts to mitigate it aren’t sufficient to completely and permanently resolve the cause of the dissonance, be it selfishness or worry or uncertainty; internal conflict requires an internal choice to shift to a godly, non-stressed perspective.  External efforts can guide us to a wiser course or improve our mental state so we are able to make the right choice we were previously too muddled or emotional to make.  However, nothing outside us can force us to think rationally, react calmly, or make godly choices. 

For instance, talking with others may help calm us and show us a resolution to a problem that we had not previously seen . . . but we have to then choose to resolve the cognitive dissonance.  An unfortunate number of people listen to great advice and heartily agree, yet afterward ignore it and go back to feeling stressed, and may later reiterate the same, unresolved complaints to their advisor.  In the same way, when chemical imbalances contribute to stress, medicine may temporarily clear our minds or level our feelings, enabling us to make better choices, but if we postpone the choice and remain irresolute, the stress will remain.  Again, certain actions can also improve our ability to think, including ubiquitous advice to exercise, eat healthfully, and sleep well (“the morning is wiser than the evening”).  Numerous self-help websites and books also encourage us to laugh, vent, write, socialize, go outdoors, have solitude, listen to music, do a creative activity, read, watch a movie, learn something new, take a vacation, visit a spa, bathe, be thankful, think positively, give up harmful substances and habits, manage your time better, reduce your obligations, or seek a change of appearance, scene, or society.  However, these often offer only temporary solutions. We must remember that it’s the personal choice of perspective—not the medicine or healthful habits or relaxation—that actually reduces or removes the stress.  Without willfully changing the way we view the world and our troubles, we’ll go back to feeling stressed and miserable as soon as our encourager goes home or our break ends or the feel-good medicine wears off.

Now comes the vital question, “What perspective should we shift to?”  Secularists might encourage a stoic or cynical perspective, urging people to relinquish control on their lives, go with the flow, and “let what will be, be.”  Christians also urge people to relinquish control, but to God.  Self-control and stress control come when we accept that God is in control.   I’m aware not everyone will agree with this, but I strongly believe that the primary ingredient for getting and maintaining a healthful, balanced, stress-free perspective is faith in Christ.  When I feel stressed, it’s usually a sign I’m disobeying Him in some way.

If we trust God’s sovereignty and goodness, we have no reason to worry even when facing uncertainty, inequality, pain, and death.  If we abide with the Holy Spirit throughout the day, we have an eternal perspective that makes any earthly circumstance or dilemma minute in comparison.  When we’re godly-minded, we think less about our own convenience and comfort and more about being patient and loving and forgiving; we won’t stress about how awful life is because it doesn’t go as smoothly as we’d like or because we don’t feel as happy as we’d want to.  Instead, we will seek God and His plan in all unexpected or unwelcome circumstances.  Admittedly, believers may face other types of cognitive dissonance—namely, the dissonance between our fleshly and spiritual natures, and between the sinful world and the heavenly ideal.  Still, stress over such conflict abates when we choose to abide in the Holy Spirit and when we trust in God’s goodness and Christ’s atonement. If we know this in our heads but struggle to trust, "You do not have because you do not ask"; many people have been amazed to find how drastically their attitude and stress level improve when they pray about a lack of trust, an ungodly perspective, or a difficult situation.

Knowing that we can end our stress by changing our perspective and trying to stay in-tune with God won’t always keep us stiff-necked people from doing so.  We may still adopt imbalanced mindsets or get stressed when expectations don’t pan out, but when we pause to evaluate the root of our stress, knowing helps us look in the right direction and, we hope, resolve our cognitive dissonance by making the choice to give our whole selves, worries and all, to God.  

To thereafter maintain this godly perspective, prevent stress, and make it easier to submit to God when stress wells up, it helps to stay immersed in His Word and in constant prayer.  However, study, prayer, and obedience are disciplines that require a never-ending struggle against our selfish desires.  There will be days when “keep trusting” or “press on toward the goal” sounds exhausting, discouraging, or even impossible.  Still, it is ultimately rewarding, and even if God lets a difficult, uncomfortable circumstance play out, He will grant peace from stress to those who trust and seek Him—not idly, but with their whole hearts. 

                Trust in the LORD with all your heart,

                                and do not lean on your own understanding.

                In all your ways acknowledge him,

                                and he will make straight your paths.

                Be not wise in your own eyes;

                                fear the LORD, and turn away from evil.

                It will be healing to your flesh

                                and refreshment to your bones.

(Proverbs 3:5-8 ESV)

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

(Philippians 4:4-7 ESV)

Other aids concerning stress and trouble: 

Devotionals from My Utmost for His Highest

Obedience or Independence

Having God's "Unresonable" Faith

One of God's Great "Don'ts"

Out of the Wreck I Rise

Arguments or Obedience

Taking the Initiative Against Depression

Are You Ever Troubled

Helpguide.org's  Stress Management: How to Reduce, Prevent, and Cope with Stress

Focus on the Family's Stress Advice

 

On a Summer Afternoon's Walk

Less than an hour before I got off work today, the sky darkened with the suggestion of rain, but the Weather Channel’s online 10% chance of precipitation left me in some doubt it would come.  Contrary to expectations, we were soon blessed with rain, which first sprinkled down softly and quickly intensified to a heavy drum upon the roof.  I approached my building’s glass entrance, praying thanks for this brief break in the drought and feeling thrilled by nature’s power.   A brisk wind lashed the leaves on the trees and drove the rain in sheets here and there in a delightful, wild beauty.  

After gazing several long moments, I returned with reluctance to my desk.  When next I glanced back, I noticed the rain had tapered away.  Minutes later, it still lightly sprinkled as the sun brightened the landscape—a juxtaposition that I never tire of.  In the sun's bright light, the wet bricks outside our doors gleamed as if someone had covered them with a huge, wrinkled sheet of plastic wrap.  Seeing the wet, I realized that, for the first time this hot, hot summer, the sidewalks that so easily soaked up the blazing sun's heat would, for a time, be cooled.  As a plan formed in my mind, I looked forward to getting off work.

A half hour later when I locked up the building, the bricks and pavement had mostly dried except for intermittent puddles.  I clocked out and began my half-hour walk home, anticipating the moment I left the campus sidewalks, when I felt free to remove my sandals.  (It didn’t seem proper, somehow, to be barefooted “at work.”)  And so I proceeded—my purse on one shoulder and my shoes dangling from my opposite hand.   The sidewalk felt blessedly warm after our building’s wintery AC, and the rain, indeed, kept it from scorching my soles. 

Enjoying the shade of the ubiquitous elms, oaks, and maples lining 12^th Street, I stepped with care around the sharper-looking stones and twigs, avoiding spiders, ants, and worms along the way.  Gravel couldn’t always be avoided; I crossed it gingerly or normally depending how fine and flat it lay.  I didn’t bother avoiding the puddles.  Ah!  The first time I stepped in a puddle, I felt a delighted shock at its warmth, having expected the chilly puddles of spring rains.  An obscure pleasure swiftly followed my surprise.  As I walked puddle-to-puddle, I wondered if I simply enjoyed the freedom from shoes or the child-like preference for tactile exploration.  Was it nostalgia for days of puddle-play as a child?  Perhaps I just liked throwing social expectations for adulthood—or a business-attired working woman—aside.  I realized a few blocks along that I walked with a bemused smile on my face.

It was around then that I started composing this blog in my head.  Between mental editing and additions, I also wondered if someone passing by would look on me peculiarly or assume my sandals hurt my feet.  I didn’t mind what they thought.  If anyone stopped me to inquire, I planned to wave cheerfully and assure them I was enjoying myself, but no one did.  Farther along the way, I contemplated the relatively silky texture of smooth concrete compared with the array of weather-roughened pavement, gravel, and bricks I traversed. 

The various dangers beneath my feet and the bright sun that struck my eyes whenever I left the leafy protection of the beautiful shade trees encouraged me to keep my eyes low as I traveled west.  When I turned south, my eyes were freed to look around more.   Someone had set a jar of sun tea on their porch to brew.  Beside the steps of another house, a blue-and-silver pinwheel whirled now and again in the inconstant breeze.  People sat on porches and puddles continued to delight and cool my feet on the increasing stretches of un-shaded, sunbaked concrete.  Cicada song droned near and far, a friendly background music for my journey. 

Too soon, I crossed over the street to our alley.  Some parents were trying to load their very young children into their car and didn’t respond to my shy greeting.  When I was nearly home, a black driver in a van drove slowly past me and couldn’t help splashing water across the backs of my legs and pants.  He braked and apologized profusely through his partially-lowered window, but I grinned and waved it off, saying, “I’m fine!  I don’t mind!”  And I didn't, for despite the initial shock, it felt nice, and in a few more steps, I was on the sidewalk approaching our back door.   

As I fetched my keys from my purse, I spotted a feral cat—one of several I’d been feeding lately—bound into a neighbor's fenced yard.  I picked up a wet, wind-blown, and flattened potato chip bag near where she'd been.  Juggling my burdens to apply my keys to the locks, I went in where I carefully deposited my shoes on the floor and purse on the kitchen table—not the other way around as I nearly did—and threw away the litter.  I snagged our bag of cat food and returned outside.  I took a moment to drain the water from around the few water-gorged pieces left in the bowl, and then poured drier food on top in hopes that the cat would return to finish her meal.  I re-entered the house to wash my feet and start dinner, feeling well-satisfied with my barefoot walk.

On Reactions to Change

        When life feels uncomfortable, we often welcome change optimistically, few questions asked.  Is that always wise?

        When life feels just right, we often resist change as a potential threat.  If it's not broken, why change it?  In some situations, we call that attitude "economical"--in others, "inefficient," "stagnate," or "backward."

        When life, as is most often the case, feels mostly cozy sprinkled with the occasional discomfort, we often find that the prospect of change presents us with an amoral dilemma--shall we accept or reject the option(s) to change?  Decisive people may choose randomly, choose change for change's sake or familiarity for its comfort, or chose based on a gut feeling, spiritual sign, or a quick list of pros and cons.  Indecisive people, however, are frequently paralyzed with anxiety about the unknown: Does God's prolonged lack of response to prayer mean that He can use us either way?  What if we regret the decision, but it's irrevocable?  Or if it's not irrevocable, what if a poor decision causes us to waste our time or resources or just get embroiled in a big, hairy, needless hassle?  (By the way, why are hassles hairy?)  Can't we compromise?  Can't someone else make the decision for us--but will we like the change they choose?  What if . . . what if . . . ?  Okay, let's do this--is this what God wants?  Around, around the mulberry bush . . .

        When we can't prevent an unwanted change, some people lament and rail and complain uselessly, while others stoically try to make the most of an unwanted situation.  Who's happier? 

        When we have a bad experience with a wanted change, some people decide the grass was greener where they had been before and retreat as best they can to the familiar or on to even greener pastures, while others try to stick it out hopefully.  The circumstances may warrant one option over another; we can only reliably judge our own choices. . . . and sometimes not even then.

        When we enjoy the change . . . well, is there any more to be said?

On Haiku: Part 1 Introduction

On the one ton temple bell

a moon-moth, folded into sleep,

sits still. 

-Buson

 

Intro
        I've always felt intrigued by haiku, though as a kid, my interest was primarily quizzical: "That's it?  Where's the rest?  What's the point?"  Still, the pseudo-haiku we learned to write in school were relatively easy to make—nowhere near as difficult as sonnets or even limericks, and shorter than most free verse—so I decided I liked them well enough.
        Yet, to better appreciate any work, one must understand it, and to understand it, one must study it: Just as the one who would savor music studies rhythm and harmony and the one who would respect cars studies engines and auto manufacturers, so the one who would admire literature should study forms of literature and their historical context.  Indeed, now after studying the genre of haiku and some of its history, I do see their point, find delight in their profound brevity, and furthermore, wish to share some of this understanding (though I still have much to learn to improve my own haiku).

     Immersed in haiku,
     We float upon profound thoughts,
     cooled off and serene.

A Digression on the Writing Process

         As I consider how to begin, I hear Julie Andrews singing in my mind, "Let's start at the very beginning—a very good place to start."  Starting with haiku's history would certainly make chronological sense.  Yet, the maxim "start from what you know" seems more applicable with such a potentially foreign topic.  Hence . . . 


Comparison
        The Western world has a tradition of epic poetry (stories told in verse at great length and in explicit detail, action often being equal to description) and of abstract love sonnets and metaphysical poetry.  This has conditioned us to expect poetry to contain stories or ideas with a beginning, rising action, climax, and conclusion.  In addition, despite modern poems of shorter length and free verse, we've carried on the idea that the words and form are as much a source of delight and evidence of skill as the imagery and subject.  Case in point—the subject of Coleridge's poem The Ancient Mariner, namely the misadventures of a superstitious sailor, would hardly interest me if it were not for the author's skillful rhyme, rhythm, and word choices.  Similarly, Poe's Raven with its morbid subject and dark imagery would find a much smaller audience if it were not for its entrancing rhythm. 
        In contrast, the best haiku condense an experience into a clear image—its most elegant, impressionistic essence.  Put another way, their subjects capture just one moment in time to express the "beauty in nature and depth of the human heart" (About.com).  Their form encourages readers to envision the scene more than to focus on the the language or to study the form.  Though the Japanese enjoy playing with their language just as we do in English, using homophones and idioms to produce puns, layered meaning, and so on, the haiku's words and form are primarily a vehicle carrying us up to the scene, where our minds must fill in the details.  From this brevity springs the profoundness or humor we find in the best haiku, as commented on by the famous haijin (haiku writer) Matsuo Bashou: "The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of" (qtd. in Wikipedia, "Haiku in English").

Form
        Traditionally, each Japanese-language haiku includes

• seventeen morae in three units (containing one joined phrase and one fragment) of five-seven-five, printed in a single vertical line,
• kigo, a word indicating the season in which the haiku was written, and
• kireji, a cutting word or verbal punctuation marker at the end of any of the three units to imply a contrast or comparison between two adjacent images, or to circle around to the beginning, joining the last and first units.

        These rules deserve a little more attention and clarification.  First, "mora" is the English linguistic term for one brief element of sound, which English-speakers often confuse with the syllable, but a syllable may actually have one or two morae.  (Only a few, rare languages have syllables with three morae.)  For instance, the word "cat" has one syllable, but two morae: "ca-t."  In contrast, the words "it" and "too" each have just one syllable and one mora.  However, the Japanese language uses characters instead of an alphabet: logographic kanji and moraic kana.  Japanese poetry, in consequence, counts morae rather than syllables.  Since morae are less familiar to English speakers, English haiku have been modified to count syllables, which can confuse the uninitiated who notice that romanized Japanese haiku don't seem to follow our syllable rule.  For instance, Issa wrote the haiku にっこにこ上きげん也二ッ星, "nikko-niko joukigen nari futatsu hoshi," which you may notice has the required seventeen morae but only fourteen syllables.  One translation reads as follows:
 

     beaming smiles
     in the best of moods . . .
     two stars

     -Issa, 1825 (haikuguy)

Note—The poem refers to the Tanabata festival on the seventh day of the seventh month.  Legend says that two celestial lovers, Orihime and Hikoboshi (represented by the stars Vega and Altair), are separated by Heaven's River (the Milky Way) and can only meet one night a year on Tanabata, provided it doesn't rain, at which time they cross the river to be together.

        Next, kigo (words for the season in which the poem is written) have been codified over the centuries, and most will come from a saijiki, a haiku dictionary that arranges words by New Years and the four seasons (the seasons being divided in the traditional manner with the solstices and equinoxes mid-season instead of the start of the season).  Within these five sections, words are usually split into seven categories including climate, sky phenomena, geography, events or holidays, daily human life, animals, and plants.  Words are marked as suitable for early, middle, late, or all season.  The entries also describe the kigo, list similar or related words, and provide haiku examples.  The descriptions are particularly valuable since skilled haijin (haiku writers) make use of the word's traditional emotional associations.  (Saijiki sources: ahapoetry, renku, and wikipedia.org.)

        Finally, as for kireji (a cutting word), classically-formed Japanese haiku use one of the eighteen traditional particles and suffixes.  We have no English equivalent for kireji aside, perhaps, from punctuation, which we don't verbalize.  Translated kireji may be left unmarked or represented by a dash or ellipses, or written as an exclamatory phrase, such as "How . . . !"   In Japanese, Wikipedia writes that kireji "is said to supply structural support to the verse. When placed at the end of a verse, it provides a dignified ending, concluding the verse with a heightened sense of closure," or as the entry writes later, it "draws the reader back to the beginning, initiating a circular pattern."  However, "used in the middle of a verse, it briefly cuts the stream of thought, indicating that the verse consists of two thoughts half independent of each other.  In such a position, it indicates a pause, both rhythmically and grammatically, and may lend an emotional flavour to the phrase preceding it," which may also create "an implicit comparison, equation, or contrast between the two separate elements" ("Kireji").

History
        Haiku's form was set when it was still a part of its predecessor: renga, a genre of collaborative, linked verse (which itself sprung from the genre waka, now called tanka).  Japanese poets are first recorded gathering for this poetry game in the middle of the fourteenth century.  In the game, three to fifteen poets take turns adding stanzas of alternating 17 and 14 morae.  Renga variations have different rules for the poem's length and different schemes proscribing which stanzas should make seasonal references or not.  Each stanza shifts images and situations but still builds on the imagery in the previous so that the whole (if one understands all the references and subtle linkages) reads as a multi-layered, loosely-connected montage, implying what happened between stanzas.  In the game's early years, stanzas were often vulgar, but as time passed, vulgarity was supplanted by artisticness, which elevated the genre within Japanese culture.
        Should you like to see an explained example of a traditional Japanese renku, visit simplyhaiku.com, this linked article in jstor, or this page from Renku Home.  For more modern English versions, see the Haiku Society of America or the blog a wrung sponge.
        The opening verse of the renga sequence, called the hokku, sets the tone for the whole poem, and the privilege of composing it is typically given to the highest-ranking guest, who uses it to flatter the good taste of the game's host.  Thus, writing the hokku requires a fair amount of creativity and skill.  By the 17th century, poets were already using hokku alone, still in the implied context of the renga but without the rest of the collaborative poem.  Such standalone hokku were retroactively renamed haiku two centuries later.
        Renga master Matsuo Bashou (1644–1694) was foremost among those who emphasized hokku within renku, his main form of renga, and then popularized standalone haiku amid prose.  Bashou wrote his most-quoted poem in 1686, written below in romanized Japanese and followed by one of many translations (bopsecrets.org):

     Furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto 

     old pond . . .

     a frog leaps in
     water’s sound

     -Translated by William J. Higginson

        A couple generations later, Yosa Buson (1716–1783) revived haiku and renku, promoting and imitating Bashou's detached and relatively lofty, objective style: 

     In the moonlight,
     The color and scent of the wisteria
     Seems far away.

     A summer river being crossed
     how pleasing
     with sandals in my hands! 

     (yourdictionary)

Buson was also a master at haiga, pairing paintings with haiku or poetical prose.  (See three of Buson's self-painted haiga below from lilliputreveiw's blogspot, japonia.org, and Wikipedia.)

 
        Later, the prolific Kobayashi Nobuyuki (1763–1827), who went by the pen name Issa ("cup of tea"), took a more subjective, emotional approach to haiku, often writing out of the bleakness of his own tragic life:

     Everything I touch

     with tenderness, alas,

     pricks like a bramble.

     (Wikipedia)

Issa's immediacy increased haiku's audience base despite how he addressed baser subjects than classical masters like Bashou and Buson would have considered suitable:

     hatsu yuki ya furi ni mo kakurenu inu no kuso

     the first snowfall
     doesn't hide it . . .
     dog poop

     akegata ya nebuka akari no nagashimoto

     dawn—
     the glint of leeks
     in the sink

     (simplyhaiku)

        The next notable change to haiku came in the late 19th century when Masaoka Shiki (1867–1902) came along and helped reform and modernize the genre.  It was he who formally separated these standalone hokku from renku and renamed them "haiku."  One of his poems lies below:

     In the coolness

     of the empty sixth-month sky . . .

     the cuckoo’s cry.

     (yourdictionary)

        In the early 19th century, haiku had already begun to spread to Western countries, but most Westerners dismissed it, not understanding its form, history, or value.  Nowadays, haiku is an accepted form of poetry in most nations around the world, though its form has been adapted as necessary to suit other languages (more on this in a later post).  Modern Japanese-language haiku may or may not follow the traditional form, but they and several types of renga are still relatively popular in Japan and growing in popularity in the Western world.

P.S. Off-topic lament—I completely lost what I'd written (a sizable amount) in Part 2.  To make matters worse, since I'd separated it from this section and focused on refining this one, I hadn't looked at it recently enough to remember more than half of my intended content.  I felt like crying when I realized it . . .

On Ogden Nash

I have discovered Ogden Nash,

For I chanced upon a stash

Of his marvelous work all tucked away

That apparently my teachers did mislay--

Instead encouraging Fitzgerald and Shakespeare

And other such authors through each long year.

But Nash is ever more amusing

And I’d rather be perusing

All his poetry

on celery,

on Columbus and the common cold,

Than reading lofty lines on Troilus and Cressida, of old,

Or of Gatsby and Daisy, or Jake and Lady Brett Ashley

Who act so appallingly rashly

And aren’t delightful a whit.

(Though that’s not the only reason to read, I admit.)

I’ll rectify this deprivation

And start a long examination

Of his works with great elation

And then sit back in sated contemplation.

                       ~Leanna Coon

Nash's work, of which I've heard the odd quote over the years but never really read, is indeed a recent "discovery."  His style rather puts me in mind of a Shel Silverstein for adults.  I tried to follow his style a bit in the poem above with the varying line lengths and rhyming and all that.  In case you’re interested, his work is available for anyone's perusal at http://www.poemhunter.com/ogden-nash/poems/.