I sometimes watch the cleverly written "Hey
Arnold" on Nickelodean. You never know when you'll find good poetry. Helga Pataki, an embittered nine-year
old with a secret crush on the lead character, is also a blossoming Emily Dickinson, with a caustic side. Her poems
never fail to delight, amuse, and crack me up. Just listen to the Dickinsonian quality of these lines:
"All the days of the week, I write
the name I dare not speak.
The boy with the cornflower hair, my beloved, and my despair."
Arnold my love,
my sultry preteen.
Why
must I hold you only whilst I dream?
Will
I forever be enslaved by your spell?
Why
must I worship you and never tell?
Arnold
you make my girlhood tremble.
My
senses all go wacky.
Someday
I'll tell the world my love...
Or
my name's not Helga G. Pataki!!
---------------------
Cowlicks
like fields of yellow corn.
All
the days of the week, I write the name I dare not speak.
The
boy with the cornflower hair, my beloved, and my despair.
Your
eyes like two green jellybeans, are pools I want to bathe in.
My
head darth swoon and yet I want to beat your face in.
Arnold
you idiot, I've always worn it. I've always loved you.
---------------------
My
darling, my darling, kiss me my darling.
Oh
so shamed, my prometheus,
Wandering
the dismal deserts of my tormented soul.
--------------------
Each
morn I see you bend to drink from love's crystal pool.
I
tremble near you try to think, will I forever say "You stink?"
Am
I bound by this tragic rule?
---------------------
Fairwell for now, Heroic
Prince.
Our
yellow love chariot has arrived.
Gladly
I go now to see to your delicious face.
Sadly
I stash my passion deep in this secret pink place.
