UKE-SONG, derived from lyrics of a multi-verse limerick.
MUSICAL UNDERPINNINGS: These verses can be sung to "We Three Kings" as per YouTube HERE. The song, as discussed in Wikipedia, was the first popular Christmas carol written in America.
ORIGINAL POETRY LYRICS: The original two stanzas of 5 and 6 lines respectively were composed by registered pseudonym Giorgio Coniglio in November 2016. After undergoing their rigorous collaborative editing process, these have been published n the poetry web-site OEDILF (Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form); they have then been displayed as poetry lyrics on our blog "Daily Illustrated Nonsense". Click HERE to review Giorgio's blogged poem.
SETTING WORDS TO MUSIC: Readers might be interested to know that of more than 1000 short poems that we have published, only 50 or so would qualify as "brief sagas". We had arbitrarily set the limit for this entity as including at least three standard limerick verses. Although almost any limerick verse (e.g. the "Nantucket limericks") can be set to music, we were particularly interested in exploring this transitioning for these multiverse poems that warrant the time to pick up your ukulele. Although this particular poem was one of our favorites, you can see why it did not quite qualify as a "brief saga".
Other tunes we have exploited in this effort include, not surprisingly, "The Limerick Song". But on occasion we have also used (minor modifications may be required) "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?", "The Anniversary Song", "Summertime", "Up", and "Santa Lucia".
SONG-LINKS: Check out all of Giorgio's song-posts dealing with the environment HERE.
| first stanza:/ Could it be that aliens brung us/ That strange life-form, red-basket fungus?/ Send and ban it/ From our planet/ Lest it move in among us. Oh! |
second stanza:/ Orangey nerf-ball, named for stench/ Watering eyes, teeth want to clench/ Swarms of flies/ It’s no surprise,/ Are guided to your garden bench. |
third stanza:/ Plastic bags wrap flyers thrown on drive — / Perfect size so spores won’t survive./ Enclose the stench,/ Trash what you trench,/ For now, bits of joy derive. Oh! |
fourth stanza:/ Orangey nerf-ball, named for stench — / Watering eyes, teeth want to clench./ Full-sized flies,/ And gnats misprized/ Likewise despised by swain and wench. |
WHAT NOW?
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