Irony

I heard this song today for the first time in a long time.

I would like to see what kind of irony everyone can come up with.

Irony can be funny sometimes, or it can be an out right bitch.

Poems can be:

200 words or less.
New or old.
Any style.
Three entries.

Praise is always welcome. Mindless chatter is not.

Here is the song with lyrics, in case you don't know it and are interested.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnec6SmjHP0

The irony in irony is that most times it is expected, and thus contradicts itself, truly a never ending oxymoron.

Perhaps you want to put that opinion in poetic form and enter it as a submission?

never before
have I been
so unsure

what is truly
the meaning
of irony

Magdalena, Amalasuntha

Thank you both for entering.

Indie...(tap tap taps my foot) :)

Secret Poems





I found out your dirty little secret, whore  
Stumbling onto your hidden words of love  
 
They were neatly folded, safely hidden  
In somewhere you thought I'd never look  
 
But the other day they fell out and onto the floor  
Like a hundred lies, tristes, and affairs before me  
 
It was an avalanche of adultery that buried me alive  
Made me cold and shivering from the deep, fatal sting of your betrayal  
 
Should have seen it coming, I guess  
The awkward distance between us, the glancing avoidance  
 
Determined to know the truth, I read your poems  
Each and everyone like an intercepted love letter to your Romeo  
 
Tears streamed down my face as I felt you describe him  
This wonderful man who was so much better than me  
 
You described your love for him, how he made you feel  
Recounting the many, many times he ravished you blissfully  
 
What hurt the most was to learn how long you've loved him  
That this love affair had gone on for years  
 
Then tears all spent, I waited for you  
Waited for you to get home and confront your unfaithfulness  
 
When you saw me with the bundle of poetry you smiled  
Savoring in your crushing of my wounded heart  
 
How could you do this, I asked in jealous rage  
Then you just slumped on the floor, crying  
 
It was then that it came to me, the ugly truth  
These words were written for and about me  
 
But I couldn't at first see it, having become this bitter, ugly man  
And so that day you left, taking your poems and your love for me with you
 
I started to go after you, try to make you stay
Till I realized just who had betrayed whom

Irony
nope

I don't get it either

sorry
Alanis

I thought you were stupid
Now I feel stupid
Isn't that ironic

(A rhet
       oric
     al

 q
u
e
s
t
i

on)

Thank you for the entries. One day left!

Irony?

Irony is known but not known it seems,
And that’s an irony in itself.
Anyone can give you an example
Yet,
The definition escapes all
So that we get a single idea
But a Thousand true ways,
And all this from the human race
Who still fight amongst itself for 'One-ness';
One God, One Currency, One Truth, One Race
- Yet the most diverse thing in the whole of space.
So here we are left with an Irony’s Irony
Based upon an audience and a voice
But I have no voice or audience
Or to be Ironic, a Lord with nothing to be Lord of
Or better yet, a Poet without a poem.
Now that is Irony
- Saying something won’t happen and in doing so making it so
- Or doing something that didn’t need doing after all.
So here’s the rub;
If I try to make a great poem, will it actually be great
Or will my failings show or the time be too late?
Either way this is a poem about Irony
But ironically definitely more about me
Or...?

  http://wordbiscuit.com/images/salvador.jpg


  < jesus from el salvador >

    is busy      
    cleaning buildings      
    in the      
    united states      
    of america      
    and tonight      
    he's at the office      
    in the      
    united states      
    where I work      
    and he's vacuuming      
    and emptying      
    my waste basket      
    and he's earning      
    u.s. dollars      
    and paying taxes      
    and because of      
    the massive u.s.      
    federal debt      
    the tax from that beer
    he bought at lunch  
     today is just now    
     going to pay
    for the u.s. sponsored training of the salvadoran police  
     that tortured and killed his wife and two children      
   
              - - -

A Sense of Irony

Hamlet and Laertes vied to outdo each other
In grief over dead Ophelia.
They leapt into her grave and grappled,
Each proclaiming the vastness of his desolation.
But was this true emotion?
Or was it rather the self-dramatization
Which can afflict us all
When we feel in the presence
Of momentous happenings?

In other lands, we see the crowds
Around a leader's funeral.
They wail, they tear their hair,
They are beside themselves with grief,
They throng the streets and will not be consoled.
Does emotion lie so close to the surface?
Or does this public outpouring of grief
Satisfy an urge within
To feel that they are being overwhelmed
By something awesome, greater than themselves?

I never saw myself as a leaper on to coffins,
But perhaps that is my lack.
Perhaps to see oneself
Is one's undoing.
It may be that a true response to life
Is to act upon the moment without thought,
Following instinct and blood
Without reflection pulling at the sleeve
With a restraining hand.

Perhaps I, then, am the self-dramatist,
The one who feels he plays a part,
And perhaps that nagging sense of irony
Is just the way I keep a distance
Between myself
And Life.

Life and something like it isn't that ironic

I live it,
isn't that ironic.
I go with the flow when I need it,
isn't that ironic.
I fall when I trip,
isn't that ironic.
I feel sad when someone passes,
isn't that ironic.
I believe what I choose to believe.
Isn't life just to ironic.
I do believe it just might be.