Thursday, August 11, 2011
My Cousin, TheCorruptiouslyObnoxiousSumanSumbing, has grown envy of me. Noticing that my popularity grows by leaps and bounds on my website (well, uhh.. about 2 or 3 visitors per posting!) he too would like to set up a website of his own.
And that he did exactly, and you can visit it now. It's called PlatoInParody.
To tell you the truth, I don't think his website is as good as mine. In fact I dont think it's any good at all. SumanSumbing is always trying to outdo me in everything, and thank God, I am superior to him in all tenets: in Goodlooks, In bravery and in the size of my ... you know, Intellect.
The following is a picture of Suman my cousin and you can verify yourself that I whatever I tell about him is true.
Anyway, family is family. So you go and visit his website now won't you. And give a little but of support to my irksome, nettlesome, troublesome cousin, Suman Sumbing.
Monday, August 1, 2011
- Battle of Epping ForestThere’s no one left alive now, it must be a drawSo the black cap barons toss the coin to settle the score
Well I tell you what. It’s time to put back smiles and laughter into our lives once again. And what better way to do that than to do a little bit of cerebral exercise with a riddle put forth by Leman Pulut.
The following poem consists of a hidden phrase. While the solution is political, the problem statements (the stanzas themselves) are most surely not. Can you solve it? Winners (for surely there can be more than just one) will get an honourable mention in future Leman Pulut’s poems. Just imagine: a thousand years from now when the proto human-martian hybrid were to look back and re-read all our literary giants’ works, your names will be entrenched in the poetry of Leman Pulut, then as a required course in “21st century Earthly Poetry” taught in the Second Quadrant InterGalactic Polytechnic, Venus.
And come to think of it ... where can we obtain works of literary giants when they are no longer with us? Shakespeare is dead. Byron is no more. Whitman, Coleridge, Keats are long gone. And me, Leman (cough, cough) I am far from being well myself.
So go ahead and try. I have provided a clue on "My Seventh" there:-
My first is in Sleigh but never in PrayMy second is in Slow but not in SlawMy third is in Date but not in RateAnd I exist second in the days of Yore
My fifth is in Mice but never in LiceMy sixth is a sore thumb in the word “Pryce”And now I tell you, since you don’t know any better---My seventh’s a symbol: never a letter
My eighth is in Three but never in TreeMy ninth exists twice in all EternityMy tenth is in race but not in spaceMy eleventh is in both a He and a She
My twelfth is a frenchman’s pronunciation of HayMy thirteenth differentiates a Flee from a FreeMy fourteenth is in Love but never in DoveMy fifteenth is a ? in its entirety
My sixteenth is really a Dodo in camouflageMy seventeenth is first in Image, second in MirageMy eighteenth exists abundantly in the past tenseIs not in Heavy, but definitely in Dense
And now that finally, Leman’s IngenuityHave glaringly put a toll on his readers’ sanitySolve the final two letters in this here poetry,By dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s !
_ _ _ _ _ _ : _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ! !