If you are an orchardist whose money crop is prunes, what should you write about?  Here is a poem by Joseph Bohnett, written back in an era (before radio) when people wrote their own poems just as they played their own music.

AT A PRUNE CAKE BANQUET

 Oh! Ye monarchs of all Europe

And our beloved Roosevelt,

Drink your wines, and eat your gruels.

Let us eat our prunes for health.

 

Oh!  Ye rich of all this world,

Harrimans, Goulds, and Vanderbilts,

Ye dyspeptic railroad lords,

why will you not eat prunes for health?

 

Oh! Ye poor of all this world,

With no money in the bank,

Yet on wines and beer with gorge

Instead of eating purnes for health.

 

Oh! Ye Sisters of this Grange

Who near this town of Campbell dwell,

In baking prune cake for this Grange,

I want to say that you did well.

 

How many” rules” of poetry does this poem violate?  Does it matter?

 I grew up in the same area where Joseph Bohnett lived, but I never had a prune cake.  Joseph makes me think I’ve missed something.

 There’s much more to be said on “rules” and poetry – for another day.

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