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Rated: E · Poetry · Music · #1964040
Looking for the right music.
When the toads came upon us with warty intent,
we were sure their arrival was not Heaven sent.
For they entered en masse in the yard as a sea
of amphibian green hopping quick as could be.

You have not witnessed any comparable sight
as a storm of lake toads flexing their slimy might.
They were low to the ground as a carpet of wart
like an unloosed reptilian drive of some sort.

This incursion of toad brought both fidget and fume,
for one can’t hold the ocean back merely with broom.
All the waving of arm and shrill voice went for naught
as the toads seemed content while we folks stayed distraught.

‘Round the edge of the walk lined with landscaping rocks
came my son with a grin toting an old boom box.
(It was old and as such in the garage it stayed,
  yet despite youth abuse over time it still played.)

It was struggle distressful I heard as sharp sound
yet I rested assured Rap would turn toads around.
But there was no diversion in toad attitude
despite hearing that music I thought to be rude.

It was my turn to dial a station or two
so I figured perhaps heavy metal would do.
But when I blared Metallica from the back stoop
all the toads seemed to sway and then wave as a group.

My wife took the boom box and with determined smirk
said she knew of some tunes that perhaps just might work.
Easy listening music was played for the toads
but like stuck elevators there were no inroads.

  (The temerity of these toads had to be seen!
    On the swing swung a smug group in lily pad green.
    In the garden they swelled by my tomato stakes,
    yet I thought that I saw a few toad double takes.)

I again took my turn with the boom box in hand
while I sought long and hard for a toad-turning band.
In my desperate search to find music that stings,
I found one classic station of oboes and strings.

As a symphony played, the toads made for the gate
and in fact acted not as if Heaven could wait.
So I set the boom box on the gray garden cart
and gave thanks for Tchaikovsky, Ravel and Mozart.


40 Lines  (Anapestic Tetrameter)
Writer’s Cramp  November 24, 2013

   




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