There Once Was A Gal from New Hampshire….

There once was a gal from New Hampshire,
a place where the signs all say “Bonjour!”
Her cow — it was spotted,
Her tree — it was plotted,
An accent she had, you can be sure.

Blogger friends were her targets I hear,
Fashioned elves, and break-dancers premier.
Carnivals, Genea-bloggers, and H.O.G.S.,
Like Egypt’s epic plague of the frogs,
Caught in the odd chain of events, I fear.

She had touted a very large gedcom,
For genealogy she had a gangrene thumb,
Hist-or-y she adored,
Lo, she won an award!
All because she just could not keep it mum.

Footnotes:
(1) Actually the signs say “Bienvenue Au New Hampshire” (Welcome To New Hampshire), not “Bonjour.” New Hampshire and Maine may be the only two states who greet visitors with French wording on their border signs.
(2) See for yourself–elves, and break-dancers in action  (links above in poem)
(3) My gedcom is indeed very large.  If you don’t know what it is, don’t ask to see it.  The award mentioned was from New Hampshire Magazine in 2007 (see the award logo in the upper right column of this blog).

This poem was written in the “limerick-style” as my contribution for the First Annual Blogger Poet Roundup, a satanical brainstorm of Terry Thornton of Hill Country of Monroe County, Mississippi.

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And now, for your enjoyment, additional poetry that is tasteless, possibly tacky, and definitely not in the running for any prize.

**POEMS THAT DIDN”T “MAKE IT” (HOPEFULLY YOU CAN UNDERSTAND THE REASON)**

There was a silly bovine poem
Wrote by someone you don’t know em
And not as famed as Jeroboam
Provoked by Terrence of the Hills.
That extra line gave her the chills
Don’t let this verse make you say “ho hum”

Her friend was Maven of the Footnote,
Someone you don’t want to misquote,
She’s never lived in Terre Haute.
A rhyming book she loves to use,
In her poem, porcine terms infuse,
Good News, Bad News–she will devote.

There’s Jasia with the Gene Creative
Of Detroit Michigan she is a native
Vitals of family are most probative.
Karolina, Jozef and Sophia
Will software be her panacea,
Or will answers remain vegetative?

And Craig who has a past that’s checkered
With Manson, Bowie, Birdsong record
At Matilda’s table a feast occurred.
His legal skills shone in the past
On copyright he’s unsurpassed
He leads before, not aft the blog herd

Not last, Bill West with Flutaphone
For research he can hold his own
Tho music talent is overblown
He claims a poet he is not,
Blaming Thornton on the spot.
Who needs to learn of sticks and stone

Ancestories belongs to Miriam,
For blogging she has no sad delirium,
Her family tree grows like bacterium.
I’m hoping she has a funny bone
Else I end up in her combat zone
And hit the bottle–jamaican rum

Apple’s Tree is grown by Charlotte
For donating she has a soft spot,
Before her home becomes a junk lot.
Carlisle is her current focus
Her fruit gravity’s not hocus pocus
For Hawaii she has a special soft spot

Does Lidian have a virtual dime,
maybe a lolli-pop from a past time,
or simply one word I can use in this rhyme?
With yesterday’s history she is obsessed
Infatuation with ephemera can be confessed
My poems may be a waste of your time.

And then of course, theres Tim Agazio
Of Genealogy Reviews, he’s the Pablo Picassio
Addicted to blogging? Feel free to tresspassio
He admits to watching the History Channel
But now, says he, its a boring annal.
He’d love you to visit him, all en massio

Historian Lori’s got Smoke in her eyes
Busy days differ, built on what you apprise.
Music, travelling,cross stitch, to pleasure gives rise
She sometimes spends time with Aldridge, Lantz and Hester
In a cave with her ancestry she’d like to sequester
With computer, group sheets, and other family supplies.

Then Thomas, famed son of Clan MacEntee
States his family shaped him, in “About Me”
Write, homework or sleep–which activity does he?
He says everyone loves a blog plagarist
Surely as much as a great pilar cyst
I’ve been writing too long… press alt, del, control key.

Denise does her blogging at Moultrie Creek
Shhh, don’t say I told you, she’s a bit of a geek
Lulu, and Bloglines she loves greatly to tweak
She sits in the Florida sun with umbrella
Can you find more rhymes than just one word, patella?
I’d better move on ere she lets out a shriek

Randy is dandy no matter what topic
Without glasses his focus is purely myopic
And his “elevator speech” is quite gyroscopic.
Prolific is one word that oft comes to mind
When viewing his hundreds of musings combined
Residing he does near the Cancer of Tropic

Jessica stockpiles all the links she can muster,
Shining the best of them to a fine lustre
Quizzes, carnivals, and tips she includes in the cluster
If only she’d known of a very rich uncle
Thoughts of grad school would then not give her carbuncle
And she could master the world into which life has thrust her.

And in the world of About, surely Kim is the Queen
Sharing knowledge of families on the genealogy scene
From bedrooms and broom closets, perhaps even latrine
More often she finds a graveyard is her stop,
Losing her balance she may land with a plop,
Ending up with a sack full of clothes to dry clean.

A wise woman, this Becky is more than renowned
Among Hoosiers, and H.O.G.S.ers and bloggers profound
Will explication for “kinexxions” ever be found?
Unlike the legislators who tried to change pi
She’s researched her family till she’s sore in the eye,
Perhaps her secrets lie neath a small plot of ground.

I’ll drive myself nuts rhyming words with OMcHodoy,
Colleen please forgive me, and all the hoi polloi,
Because I did not vote for the man from Ill-i-nois.
If she puts on a cap, she is Elinor Dashwood
Practical, sensible, but misunderstood
If I find we’re related, I’ll just jump for joy.

Chery has blessed the great family of Kinnick
Never seen posing even slightly the finick
She sticks to her research much like a dog tick
No one knows more about the Pass of Snoqualmie.
To the Carnival of Genealogy she is a devotee
Lets pray that her work ride is minus an ice slick.

When it comes to the research of everyone Jewish
Schelly has tracked from the old to the newish
With stories, locations, and DNA bluish
If you have heard jokes about the Inquisition,
Then writing to her should be your ambition.
For Tracing The Tribe is not something to misch.

There’s John who is possibly Dracula’s kin
But his look is a bit more like John Denver’s had been
Except for pajamas he likes to research in
Right now his new plaything is a look-alike meter,
That resembles a gauge on my hot water heater.
I’m off to take Transylvanian Dutch for a spin.

My buddy Chris Dunham whose face is not seen
From the oddities and humor he simply can’t wean
He has stamina enough to paint the Sistine
“Dinner with The Dunhams” made some readers faint
A disclaimer should warn some to wear neck restraint
His Genealogue Challenge has reached one seventeen.

Lisa of Small-Leafed is green in all places,
Because of the topic her blog site embraces.
Of leprechauns, shamrocks, and rich Irish laces
May the road rise to meet you is one of her wishes
You’d best do what she says, else she starts throwing her dishes
Just kidding! I don’t want to fall out of this lady’s good graces

If Your Brothers are Kings you will love this next spot,
His knowledge of history is a pitch-and-run shot.
In Johnson PA they could have used a large yacht.
The author posts stories here pseudonymously
The stories are real, or at least mimic closely
Can you tell I have time on my hands–a whole lot?

I simply should mention Nikki-Ann with a gag
Who felt she’d been used like an old punching-bag
More info on Henry Purslow she’d like to snag
She lives in Great Britain, where they make great tea.
She’d enjoys spending time near the old Irish Sea
Aunt Polly’s pig’s missing its tail to wag.

Lee Anders is strangely seeking the dead,
And the living too, if they are well-read
At Christmas she wrote a cute elf into a thread
If the dead will rise, lets hope they are shy
Once is enough for that kind of good-bye
Unless, of course you’ve left something unsaid

Tim Abbott, who may be a cousin
Quips curiosities, more than a dozen
He walks in the Bershires,
The strange are his frontiers
And his poems sometimes contain cussin’

For the rest of those bloggers I may not have cited
Glebes, DNA, Six Word Memoirs unrequited.
Bad handwriting, and  Wisconsin views righted.
There is nothing like Tara, and Toga, and Tivo.
To make you feel Ivish, and Irish, or tableau.
Just Blog, Cram, and Challenge It — don’t be slighted.

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