No Crime to Rhyme

     I thought we might conclude our consideration of postcard poetry with the ever-popular miscellaneous section.  There are always a few postcards which don’t fit in other categories (at least not in my inventory) but which are too good to allow to slide by.

     The item at the top of this column is, of course, another consideration of the use of an accent to communicate information which might otherwise seem trite or too sensitive.  The dialect plus reference to pumpkins and the marvelous rhyming of billets-doux (a useful French phrase for love letters used through most of western civilization) makes it possible for you to laugh off the love poetry as a joke if the recipient doesn’t care for it.

     As long as we’re admiring ingenious messages, how about this one? The last time I saw any data on the subject, birthday cards were the number one greeting cards sent in the United States, and even in the day of Facebook wishes and emails, I would guess that’s so.  The writers of these cards have a long row to hoe.   Is this the sentiment of the sender or of the poet, who thought, “Golly, gotta write one more birthday sentiment this week.,  What can I say that I haven’t already said?” 

     There are plenty of disposable poems written about what we ought to do when we are feeling low.  This poet came up with a nice way of turning it into a compliment to the recipient of the card.  (And got credit for the verse…if you can call three initials credit.)

     Here’s an example of the usual kind, just for reference.

     This puppy at least knows he’s being silly about it.

     And here’s a writer who takes the opposite attitude entirely.  (Some philosophers of the period would scold him for being so depressed when he does, after all, still have ink.)

     Speaking of those who may seem to be grounded a little more in reality, we return here to a poet who is using dialect of another once-popular type: the semi-literate child.  The poet invites us to agree with Dad.

     I like the hint of understanding thrown in by this poet, who suggests that if the weather is nice, some people may find things to do besides go to Rally Day.  (This forced me to do a little research.  I was brung up in the Midwest, I was, in a town with roughly a dozen churches, and I don’t recall any of them having a Rally Day.  This is the first Sunday of a new Sunday School year, generally observed in September: the aim was to get as many kids to start the school year right.  As an added note, I don’t recall being taught about the flag shown here with the American flag, which is the Christian Flag, an institution just about a hundred years old and news to me.  Maybe I just never asked, or maybe our denomination had its own flag.  Can’t go back in time and check it now.  Anyway, our new Sunday School year started in January, when we opened the new box of collection envelopes.)

     Of course, there was always a market for postcards with verses which were simply cute.  Here, for your delectation, are some puppies, who seem   Does it matter that the poem isn’t terribly coherent?  Never!

     Simple is better, naturally.  Here’s a postcard with a bit of black felt attached to it, and a reassuring message for the recipient.  THAT’S poetry a-bruin.

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