I get about 100 of those a day in my various emails.

Who knew there were so many poets in Nigeria?

Lots of former first lady poets.

I bet there is a society...

> nothing else pretending to be poetry has ever
> been rejected by Poetry.com.

I'm trying to figure out how a person would put that on their resume. Would it be listed under "hobbies" or "career achievements"?

The Nigerian Former First Ladies Society for the Appreciation of Verse, Free and Otherwise--not as exclusive as you might think.

I am awed. A work of genius. I didn't even know you were from Nigeria.

A report on a Poetry.com convention.

And ... for this year's convention, here are their Big Name Guests, to Give A False Air of Legitimacy:

Pulitzer Prize Winner W.D. Snodgrass and Academy of American Poets Past Chancellor David Wagoner to Award $20,000.00 Grand Prize to Poet of the Year at the ISP Convention in Washington, DC!

More for the Wall of Shame:

Grace Cavalieri
Allen Ginsberg Award

Herbert Woodward Martin
Mellon Poetry Prize

Fleda Brown
Delaware Poet Laureate

If those folks have actually agreed to attend, they should be ashamed of themselves. If their names are being used without their knowledge and consent, someone should let them know.

You know, your poem reads very nicely, with all those sonorous names, and the repeated financial statements and continuing implicit and even incoherent requests. As a poem it becomes a comment on the nature of trust, on fictionalization of identity, on the anonymity of the internet, on our aspirations to riches, on the deeply commercial nature of so many human transactions even when they pretend to be otherwise. No wonder they wouldn't publish it.

The reason you didn't get accepted is because it doesn't rhyme:

I salute you in the name of the most high God.
I was the former first lady Federal Republic of Nigeria,
married to late General Sani Abog
the late Head of State of Nigerian militaria.

I am presently in distress
and under house arrest
while my son Mohammed is undergoing trial
in Oputa Panel Lagos and Abudial,
this Panel was set up by the present civilian file

My son is presently detained in prison custody.
The government has frozen all accounts of our family,
seized our buildings at Abuja Federal capital territory,
at the same time auctioned our remaining properties.
To save the family
from total bankruptcy
I have managed to remove one million times Thirty
in US Dollars.

Now THAT is sheer poetry.

I am so awed! You've captured the sense of my urgency and predicament perfectly. I don't believe a biographical poem has so deeply touched my heart before, and I can only hope that it goes on to touch millions of others' hearts. Thank you so much for taking my life and recreating it in such an artistic manner. My life will never be the same again -- all because you wrote this poem. You truly are the artist that I have sought after for all my life.

That is a thing of beauty. Thank you!

Wow. I salute you, too, in the name of the deity of your choice! (And they say there's nothing new under the sun... ...hah!)

Those amused by this might also watch Ze Frank's very funny short movie, "Request".

So are we going to see you in the lineup of the Lady Poetesses from Hell at Minicon one of these years?

> nothing else pretending to be poetry has ever > been rejected by Poetry.com.

I'm trying to figure out how a person would put that on their resume. Would it be listed under "hobbies" or "career achievements"?

Ah. but did they reject it, or was it their spam filter?

Dear The Real Mrs. Miriam Abacha,

You misspelled "truely."

Signed,
A Fan

I now salute you in the name of Ghod,
I who a piteous widow must complain.
My son, my joy, arrested by a squad --
And in far Lagos he shall soon be slain.
The cash for his defense my husband hid
(I mean the late Abacha, even he),
I cannot use; for unjust laws forbid
That my funds can now be released to me.
There's thirty millions that I cannot touch
But I can send to you, a man I trust:
O heed a widow's prayer; your sleeve I clutch!
Relying on your kindness now I must
Request the number of your bank account.
I swear you'll gain a very great amount.

> Ze Frank's very funny short movie, "Request".

When he says "three", he puts up six fingers, and I nearly split a gut. Sometimes it's the little things that are freaking hilarious.

this is the song
of miriam abacha
the spammer

miriam is a widower
of some vizeer or wazoo
in darkest africa
and she claims
that her son
had absconded with
thirty large
after her old man
got sent to sing sing

that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if miriam
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

archy

WOW! Lots of time on certain persons hands. I especially love the sonnet, Big Jim. (Though the archie's not bad either.)

Jane

This Is Just To Say

I deleted
the spam
that was in
the inbox

and which
you were probably
reading
as poetry

forgive me
they were meritricious
so false
and so bold

Congratulations, Teresa. You are the wind beneath my vestigial wings, if not the finger I sliced a big chunk out of at work this afternoon. Your poesy has improved my mood almost as much as the Vicodin. Thank you.

I know this is hard to believe, but I received an e-mail from poetry.com just a couple of weeks ago. I posted it on my blog for all to see. Of course, I had to give the post a name that captured the joy I felt at being nominated for “Poet of the Year 2005”. I called it: Is that a Fin in the Water?

I HATE scammers with a passion. If only there were some way for them to be identified quickly, tied to a stake in a public place and let their victims each take a swing at them with a two week old salami roll. You, know not so much for the pain, but for the humiliation of being smacked with salami.

OOPs! I jacked up the link on that. sorry... it was just supposed to be just over the title of the post.

Pitting scams against scams--delightful, Teresa.

Scammily-spammily
Miriam Abacha,
Widow of former
Nigerian chief,

Seeks your assistance to
Pseudofiducially
Hold thirty mil for her
Family's relief.

(I hope a dactylic pronunciation of "Abacha" isn't too much of a stretch. I've no idea how it should be pronounced.)

hey, Mrs. TD.

If you haven't seen Ze Frank's dramatic rendition along the same lines, it's well worth watching.

There was an old widow from Africa
Who wanted some cash to take back with her
She brewed up a scam
And sent out some spam
That garnered a cache quite spectacular

Summer, but my son
is imprisoned. 30 mil
Brings light to us all.

The double dactyls, Virge, were brilliant. Made my evening!

The entire exercise of bad poetry puts me in mind of a teaching colleague during one summer I spent in Ireland as a student teacher of recalcitrant A-level students who needed summer school. This gentleman decided to write some Vogon poetry (Hitchhiker had just come out). He gave up after: "Oh green lump, why art thou? / How, green lump, how how how?" but would not stop rehearsing possible lines for the next two months. The rest of the teachers and I ended up forcing him to eat fresh head-cheese to shut him up.

To god I swear, it's all quite real:
My son's in stir. I've large amounts
What he has stolen. You can steal
As well as us, so here's the deal:
Just specify your bank accounts.
To god I swear, it's all quite real -
The late Abacha had a feel
For dosh. The oil in flowing founts
What he has stolen! You can steal,
As he did. Slippery as eel,
Was he; now renders his accounts
To god. I swear, it's all quite real -
It's thirty million, under seal,
But if I move, I must renounce
What he has stolen! You can steal
It. Hear, oh hear, my sad appeal:
Just email me your bank accounts.
To god I swear, it's all quite real:
What he has stolen, you can steal.

Wow, Teresa. I already knew that you rock, but this...this is sheer genius. Reading your poem left me rocking back and forth, clutching my sides, red-faced. Best laugh I've had all year, maybe all century. Brilliant.

Oh bliss! Oh, joy!

Got online with my 419
Got online with my 419
My 419

Well I saved up my naira and I bided my time
Pony up pony up 419
And I went off to anon.penet.fi
Pony up pony up 419
Where I would mass-mail my 419
419, 419
Pony up pony up pony up 419

No one can find my site
No one can extradite my 419
419, 419

When I say the money’s dirty marks will fall in line
Pony up pony up 419
It’s simply the pick of the latest crimes
Pony up pony up 419
My avaricious semi-vicious Spanish Prisoner 419
419, 419, 419, 419

Pushin’ this crap now
I’M IN ALL CAPS NOW 419

Hmmmm--there's a point-of-purchase small-sized book here for some smart publisher called something like
Nigerian and Other Scams: A Book of Poetry.

Workman would probably love it. TNH why not pitch it?

Jane

My name is Craig Shergold
A dying nine-year-old
A record for cards sent I plead.

I'm long since in Guinness,
My op was a success,
I'm well now yet still the spam reads...

Thanks for correcting my blunder.

Are you going to enlarge yourself there?
Generic Viagra and discounted Cialis
Lonely housewives at webcams you stare
Add to your penis at least one to three inches

I am the merry widow of Nigeria's former president,
My son has been arrested and in prison he is resident,
I never would approach you if it wasn't for one incident:
They've frozen all our bank accounts, we cannot touch a single cent!
The bad police are watching me and all my movements they resent,
Send details of your bank account, I'll send one trusted dissident,
I know that I can trust an honest guy like you to implement
My cunning plan to stash away three million bucks for ten percent!

I send my e-mails flying
To the west and to the east
Any way now, any day now
My cash will be released

oh. oh, my aching ribs.

Valves
Of China
Valves
Industrial
Valves
For purchase
Valves
Discounted
Valves
Black Market

anon.penet.fi lives! Thanks for all those Usenet-spam memories, Mr. Ford.

I just had to clean my screen after laughing too hard brought on a fit of coughing.

For writers, it's the ultimate accolade: involuntary expulsion of bodily fluids by the reader.

Jo, that was NOT work safe. Here I am, supposed to be working on end of the fiscal year spreadsheets, and I am giggling fit to beat the band. Thank you!

E-Bay E-Bay E-Bay E-Bay
We must close out your account --
Please verify amount

You owe us, account number,
(Give your password as well)
And then things will be swell!

***

Pay Pal,
Oh please don't forget us!
If only you'd let us
Update your current account.

Pay Pal,
The virtual winds blow,
We just need your info
So you can follow your cart!

(I'm guessing at what those spams actually say, since I delete them so fast.)

Wow. I'm so flattered to have been chosen as an example. I always feel dwarfed by the genius of everyone else here. I figure I'll share some intentionally bad homage this time.

The Spammer.

By 3dg4R 4113n p03

Once upon a net surf nightly, as I googled far and widely. Through many a lost page with error four oh four. While I grepped, clicking and pointing, there came an email. "Tis some spammer" I muttered "wants to enlarge my penis by two inches or more"

Ah, distinctly I remember that bleak, eternal September. Each pointless flame war left it's mark. Made usenet a bore. Eagerly I sought geek motherload ; vainly I had sought to download from my files surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost h4X0 For the l33t coder whom the n00bs name h4X0r, Email lost forevermore.

And the sharp and discordant wailing of each login handshake thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some spammer posing as paypal at my inbox file, late viagra salesman or real estate scam This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my inbox grew fuller; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said Miriam, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was fleeing, and so honestly you were looking, and so humbly I am sending, bank information for thirty million, taken from Nigeria. Help me access and I'll share, ten percent. Nothing more"
--

There. I think it's horrible. I hope you agree.

Actual spam received today:

I am James Harold, we are a group of business enterpreneurs who deal on raw materials and export into America/Canada/Europe and Asia.

We are searching for representatives who can help us establish a medium of getting to our costumers in America/Canada/Europe and Asia as well as making payments through you to us.

What I can't figure out is what kind of costumes a collective intelligence needs.

Jo, I have just one thing to say:

She knows that she can trust an honest guy like he to implement
Her cunning plan to stash away three million bucks for ten percent!

[vamps until Jo is ready to start her next verse]

For some reason, my brain initially started hearing the G&S one TTTO "I Am the Rose of Sharon", a madrigal tune I heard entirely too much of while in college. The frightening thing is, it worked.

I'll admit I once started to set one of Mrs. Abacha's missives into rhyme, but shelved it.

But in the vein....

“Pop-Tarts”

"Click on me!" they all entreat you
while you surf the web, exploring.
Naked virgins want to meet you!

Sirenlike, again they greet you–
webcam gorgons, eyes adoring–
"Click on me!" they all entreat you.

Pop-up pop-tarts spawn, repeat–you
can’t escape–they’re still imploring:
Naked virgins want to meet you.

Cyber-sluts! You click Delete. You
watch another rise, restoring.
"Click on me!" they all entreat you.

Russian farmgirls? Free! We’ll treat you!
Live? With donkeys! Watch their whoring!
Naked virgins want to meet you....

At last the cyber-houris beat you,
paradise beyond ignoring.
"Click on me!" they all entreat you.
Naked virgins want to meet you!

To the spammers, to make much of time

Gather ye patsies while ye may,
When they are new to 'Netting:
The babe on AOL today
Some wisdom will be getting.

Today they'll send their passwords out
To every passing spammer
They will not feel a moment's doubt
Or note the faulty grammar.

That age is best when first they land,
When they are clueless newbies
Entranced by urban legends and
The camgirls showing boobies.

But soon they learn the tragic score,
And thenceforth will remember.
That would be it, but then come more!
God bless the long September.

A longtime reader cannot resist:

Tell me where, or in what land
Is Mrs. Miriam Abacha
A general's widow bold, who planned
Against insurgents in Nigeria?
She pled for my account, contrived
to save her funds, just a mere
Thirty million; yet what arrived?
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Man oh man, are you guys missing out! Especially you rhymers! For only a small investment, pprofessional musicians can set your poems to music and supply you with copies of the finished disc! You could have a hit record!

http://www.songpoemmusic.com/shark.htm

Josh, do you want me to put linebreaks into the Poe pastiche?

Dearest,

I have been thinking all day how I could thank you for your wonderful expression of my deeply-held feelings. I wanted to let you know that I have decided to send a copy of your beautiful poem to all of my friends, and ask them to pass them on to their friends, mentioning your name so that in the name of the almighty God all the world may know the kindness of your heart.

Also, may I offer you the humble gift of Ten Percent of the sum of $30,000,000 that my late husband kept in our family safe?

With my mostly heartfelt sincere thanks,
Mrs. Miriam Abacha a Widow, late wife of the former Federal Republic of Nigeria.

paypal told

him:he couldn't
believe it(jenna

told him;he
wouldn't believe
it)low

fee
certainly told
him,and washington
(yes

scam)
mutual;
and even
(believe it
or

not)you
told him:i told
him; we told hm
(he didn't believe it,no

sir)it took
a nigerianized bit of
the old tenth
just for you
sell; to get into his head:to tell
him

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a rich Nigerian widow is in need of trustworthy assistance, in order to transfer her wealth to a place of safety.

Every time you send a mail, I buy a little.
Every time you send a mail, I ask why a little;
Why the Gods above me,
Told you where to go;
And why a crook like me
Is the one you want to know.

When your mail makes such an offer.
Thirty millions, in my coffers.
Why on earth you trust me,
To keep for you that dough,
When I just know I'm going
To depart for Acapulco.

When you mail,
There's such a feel of fools about it.
I can feel a scam somewhere
When I start to think about it.
There's no con trick finer
But hos strange the change
From the chef to the diner,
Every time you mail,
From Nigeria.

Teresa: If you want to. I couldn't get it to work.

I offer you this easy way to earn an honest bob,
For an honest fellow it's a wuick and easy job.

Now it's a job, you will agree,
Is for a man of noted honesty;
I've thirty million pounds, you see,
Left by my deceased husband.

I married him, Twenty-oh-three,
And he was so impressed by me,
I'm sitting here with babies three,
Left by my deceased husband.

In his profession he worked hard,
And he'd never stop.
He crept and crawled assiduously,
And rose right to the top.

A blushing bride, I looked divine;
My husband, he was doing fine.
Until the censor cut this line.
Now he's my deceased husband.

The in-laws claim I didn't get
Too where the legal limit's set,
So the standard's not been met,
To be my deceased husband.

The Judge, I know him very well.
I know how much his assets swell.
But he wants to buy what I won't sell,
I love my deceased husband.

But in my profession I have learned,
And I'll always know,
Where to find an honest man,
And just what makes him go.

Dear friend, I know that I must trust
A man like you, or else I'm bust.
I've thirty million pounds that's just
From my deceased husband.

[Performs solo on banjo-ukelele]

My boyfriend isn't home
why dont you surf on over
I'm here all alone
and my webcam's getting warmer

Okay, after this one I gotta check out. It's just too much fun. (And mild apologies for reminding everybody of this song.)

Let me state my domicile and name
You can read these links that prove that both of them existed somewhere
I’m sure you understand the game
I’ve got secret news to share
And let me tell you why you should care

There was this person, now he’s dead
And he left a pile of unspent funds from bust developments here,
Why don’t we split the cash instead?
Sir or Ma’am, it’s all a cinch to do

Shouldn’t take a lot to get the swag to you
Couple hundred bucks and access to accounts should really do
We got big bucks in Nigeria
Gonna take some time to lubricate a couple palms, ooh

All the risk in the deal is mine
It’s not like you’re the widow of some old dictator, you know
Just a little help and we’ll be fine
Please don’t worry about my illness and all those rebels, oh, no
I must downsize my burdened soul
And your website tells me you’re the one

Barely takes a dime to get this dough to you
Wire-transfer me a grand and PIN and that’ll do
We got big bucks in Nigeria
All we need’s some grease to get the project on the rails, ooh

Sani, hon, I’m comin’ to join you

All I need’s a little trust to endow you
Just a couple pieces of ID and then we’re through
We got big bucks in Nigeria
We got big bucks in Nigeria
[repeat 40,000 times]

Triginta magna cano, Nigeriae cito ab oris
Americam fatuo fuga Abachaeque venit
rationes, ...

Dear God, not satisfied with medieval stanza forms, we have those who are competent in Latin verse! And they said scholarship was dead.

(My personal belief is that it has moved house from the campi and taken up a virtual residency. But that's just plain silly.)

Josh, I see what you mean. And Mike, I see that that was irresistible. Dave, I'm as impressed as you are, so Andy, take a bow.

I forget: were you around for the discussion of how that can be sung to "The Stars and Stripes Forever"?

De-lurking to ask, did you all study poetry at this University?

My brain insisted I start this one but refuses to finish it, but maybe someone will get a grin anyhow:

Oh inbox! my inbox! your fearful list of spam,
Has filled up every megabyte with endless types of scam,
So many ads, they come in scads, the lies so promising,
While I delete the mass of mail it just is not ceasing;
But Oh mail! Mail! Mail!
Oh electrons glowing blue,
When I check my mail again,
More spam do I accrue.

"I am the very widow of the late dictator General..."

(oh bum, Jo Walton was too quick for me)

Miriam Abacha
Sends felicitations at ya
She has three mil for you in cash
If you can help her move her stash

TNH: For writers, it's the ultimate accolade: involuntary expulsion of bodily fluids by the reader.

And yet blood from the eyeballs continues to get a bad rap. I'm just saying.

Comedy is cruel. The goal of all comedy is to cause beverages to shoot out of the noses of innocent victims.

This is why comedy clubs have two drink minimums.

Yep, I was a victim while reading this thread.

What's our count now on poetic forms? Help me with this.

Greg London: Do you want that first one to count? IMO, you did better later.

Jim Macdonald: Shakespearean sonnet
Josh Jasper: Don Marquis/archy
Larry Brennan: William Carlos Williams
Virge: double dactyl
Dave Fried: limerick
Madeleine Ferwerda: haiku
Dave Luckett: what is that form?
Mike Ford: Beach Boys, "409"
Niall McAuley: "My name is Yon Yonson..."
Mike Leung: Is that something specific, or were you just having fun semi-rhyming "Cialis" and "inches"?
Jo Walton: Gilbert & Sullivan, "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General"
Erik Nelson: The Band, "I Shall Be Released"

Okay, it's someone else's turn now.

But first Mrs. Miriam Abacha came, our friend Mrs. Miriam Abacha,
Pitiful spirit. And I cried in hurried speech:
"Mrs. Miriam Abacha, how art thou come to this dark coast?
"Cam'st thou afoot, outstripping seamen?"
     And she in heavy speech:
"Ill fate and the present civilian regime. I slept in Kano State of Nigeria.
"My son Mohammed is undergoing trial in Oputa Panel Lagos and Abuja.
"But thou, O reader, I bid remember me, in distress and under house arrest,
"Receive this money, secure this money fast, you will be well compensate:
"A man of fortune, with Thirty million US Dollars to come.
"My daughter will provide all necessary details."

Aha! Ezra Pound!

It's a spammer,
It's a spammer,
It's a spammer on the net,
How I wish it gone forever,
Stinking spammer leave the net.

It was the vilest rotten spammail,
Selling drugs and pushing scams,
Full of Trojans and with boojums,
Stinking spammer go to jail.

How about a villanelle?

There's 30 million dollars in my bank.
I am a widow, under house arrest.
Take 10 percent with all my grateful thanks.

Before our family fortunes cruelly sank,
My husband was a general, powerful, the best.
There's 30 million dollars in my bank.

My son's arrested. They will make him walk the plank.
I assure you this is truth and not a jest.
Take 10 percent with all my grateful thanks.

My daughter left, 'fore all the loopholes shrank
She'll come to meet you, whene'er we think is best.
There's 30 million dollars in my bank.

Your account number here___ Fill in the blank.
The money I will transfer, egg to nest.
Take 10 percent with all my grateful thanks.

You may think that I am crook or crank,
But heed the family Abacha's sincere request!
There's 30 million dollars in my bank.
Take 10 percent with all my grateful thanks.

COMMENT SPAM

Oh, I’ve got the software you’re seeking for less,
A webcam that shows my posterior,
And three million bucks - send your e-mail address!
(signed) Miriam A. of Nigeria

Even real spammers are being inspired by this thread. Here's an extract from "Winner", which arrived in my inbox this week:

Your prize award
has been insured
in your name
and is ready for claim.

I admit I added the line breaks.

The Abacha Disaster
Beautiful Oil Pipeline Bridge of the Silv'ry Niger!
Alas! I am very sorry to hear
That Abacha’s life has succumbed to fate
On the eighth day of June in 1998,
And now he’s remember'd as Abacha “the late.”

'Twas at some undetermined time in the day,
And Abacha’s entourage had all gone away,
And old cronies came to town,
And the generals seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of politics seem'd to say-
"I'll make Abacha drop dead today."
When they arrived at the Abuja Sheraton
The flunkies’ and medicine men’s hearts weren’t hurtin’,
But the news brought terrific worry,
Which made them leave town in a hurry,
And the widow Maryam with fear would say-
"One of those guys killed Abacha that day."
But from Ogbomosho to Calamar Bay,
Nigerians did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central authority of Abacha’s state,
Who then died in June of 1998,
And now he’s remember'd as Abacha “the late.”

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! General Abacha fell down,
And won’t have any more visits from Senator Braun,
Or the Pope, or be going to Sierra Leone,
Which made Maryam fear she might be assaulted,
Because billions of dollars were locked up in Swiss vaults when
That disaster happen'd in June of 1998,
So that now he’s remember'd as Abacha “the late.”

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the harsh sunlight,
While human rights activists did laugh, and generals did bray,
Along the muddy banks of the Silv'ry Niger,
And about thirty unreachable millions no one did care.
I must now conclude my letter
By telling you fearlessly no one knows you better,
That you won’t abscond with more than ten percent of the legal tender,
At least sensible sources say you are a go-getter,
If you will give me each of your bank account numbers,
As a sensible man you will not blunder,
For the larger we our fortunes do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

TNH: You left out REM's take on e. e. cummings.

Tiel: Good, But Kevin Andrew Murphy already did Villanelle.

Have I missed it, or has nobody tried Sestina?

Open up your email,
See the slimy spammer trail,
As the spammers keep spamming the Net.

Subject lines that say "Hi,"
Or push phony stock to buy,
As the spammers keep spamming the Net.

And it's virus-check time before you hit the deck,
Update your software ev'ry day,
Or else you'll be infested to infinity
By the spammers all spamming the Net!

Robert, I didn't leave it out. I just didn't list it yet. *Someone else* could continue compiling the list where I left off ...

And Del Cotter nailed the clerihew.

(Smacks forehead.) Dave Luckett's is also a villanelle; he just didn't break it out into 3/3/3/3/3/4 stanzas. No wonder it's been making my brain itch.

Miss Abacha regrets she's unable to bank today, madam.
Miss Abacha regrets she's unable to bank today.
For they struck her husband down,
And imprisoned her only son, madam.
Miss Abacha regrets she's unable to bank today.

When she woke up and found that her savings were locked down tight, madam,
She ran to her safe and socked 30 mil away.
With the help of your bank account,
You'll secure yourself a fractional amount, madam,
Miss Abacha regrets she's unable to bank today.

Not poetry, perhaps, but definitely poetic justice:

http://www.geocities.com/steerp1ke/David_Ehi.html

It's been around for a while, but why should Miriam Abacha get all the fun?

I don't know what forms of poetry Lovecraft indulged in, nor how to write a Lovecraftian 419 poem. Alas.

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And for strange aeons, ever spam may fly

Hmpf.

Simon and Garfunkel, Scarborough Fair

Doctor's prescription isn't needed to buy
Generic Viagra and discounted Cialis
Keep your girlfriend's hand roaming your thigh
Add to your length at least one to three inches

(line still works with a little modesty)

Chat with a college girl from her dorm room
Generic Viagra and discounted Cialis
She's really a guy, his friends call him Lou
Add to your length at least one to three inches

A Pantoum.

We are sending this curtesy email
To you because irregularities
In your account have emerged. Do not fail
To fill in the form shown (with niceties)

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To Janice, Jack, Jill, and all of your friends

The customer care team wants you to send
Money, money, money, money, money
To Janice, Jack, Jill, and all of their friends
Spamming and scamming for dollars. Money!

Somebody should get Jim Henley over here. I was going to suggest asking him for a pantoum since I know he's done them but somebody beat him to it. Maybe he could do the sestina. I've tried those and they're hard. But I bet Jim could do it...

MKK

Well, somebody has to do a triolet...

Thirty million I will send
And we can split the take.
If you will help me out, my friend,
Thirty million I will send.
A rule or two we'll have to bend
But there's a lot at stake:
Thirty million I will send
And we can split the take.

Of the Japanese;

Madam Miriam
lady of Nigeria
please help get money
will give you ten percent of
thirty mil if you will aid

TO A PATSY

Hail to thee, dear stranger!
     I beg you for aid--
We're in direst danger,
     And offer you a trade
For your assistance o'er the barricade.

A general was my dearest,
     Ere the people slew him,
And now you are the nearest
     Hope we have to do him
Honor as we seek to live on through him.

Thirty million dollars
     He hid before the slaughter,
And though Nigeria hollers
     And the flames grow hotter
'Round my prison home, I send my daughter.

Give me your bank number,
     And I'll wire the cash
To you whilst you slumber,
     Then you give the stash
To her: our family fortune 'scapes the crash.

Yours, a cool three million
     If we fool the watcher;
I'll become Brazillian,
     Just give us the "Roger"--
Very truly yours, Miriam Abacha.

A tribute to Li Po's "Drinking Alone By Moonlight"

A pill of blue for manhood no longer in flower
I stroke alone, for no girl is near
Clutching my vaseline, I peer at the bright monitor
That girl on the porn site, and IRC make for a threesome
The girl on IRC alas, won't hot chat
Listless, the porn site has no new updates
I must make merry, before the Viagra wears off
I clutch and type, and soon, I am spent
One handed, I typed, as the porn flew by
When I'm not so horny, we three look pathetic
When I'm hard again, I don't think about it
I close my monitor now. 35 and living with my parents
I fear they're on to me
Still, something drives me to this great river of porn.
---

God, that was horrific. Someone stop me before I defile another work of genius.

HP has taken off on "Miss Otis Regrets [She's Unable to Lunch Today]" (which adds an interesting thought: what if Miriam really did off Sani?).

But we're both baffled by Mike's "Let me state my domicile and name" -- talk about brain itch! Somebody please reference?

I believe Andy Wilton's little gem is à la Dorothy Parker.

To Her Coy American Correspondent
by Mrs. Miriam Abacha, a Widow

Had we but world enough, and time
This coyness, friend, would be no crime.
You would sit down and think which way
To spend your First World cash outlay
Thou by the Ogun River's tide
Invest; while I, then at the side
Of my son, now detained, surmount
The freezing of my bank account;
And you should, if you please, peruse
My plea, which you may think a ruse.
Your Thirty Million bucks should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow
An hundred years should go to praise
Your Google stocks, in long arrays
Two hundred to those homes assessed
Their prices California's best;
An age at least to praise your gold
Those futures never undersold.
For, by the Most High God, your wise
And noble gift shall gain this prize.

For at my back I always hear
Lagotian soldiers, hurrying near.
My husband, former General
Abacha, evil hands did fell--
But not before he moved our cash
Into a secret offshore stash;
Which you may, if you please, retrieve
And thus the Government deceive.
And I, in God's name, you entreat,
To go and with my daughter meet.

Behold, a sestina (with small liberties taken in the final three lines):

I greet you with the name of most-high God
I am a widow, bitter Miriam
my name. My husband was a powerful man
and prudent too; there's money in the bank
that would have been enough, were it not seized
and frozen by my family's enemies

There's one yet who's free from these enemies --
My daughter, who I'll send, by grace of God
to come to you, if you find your heart seized
with pity for most bitter Miriam!
Please give her all the details of your bank -
I have heard that you are an honest man.

My husband, Sani, was a clever man
He hid the money from all enemies
there's thirty million in a foreign bank
in US dollars, with their trust in God
that now belong to me, are Miriam's,
the only money that could not be seized

They even took Mohammed! He was seized,
my son, unfairly persecuted man
and taken from his loving Miriam.
Before a panel of his enemies
they'll try him, though I've no faith left in God
he'll be released. My hope's in Kano bank --

I have the means to save him, if your bank
will take the transfer 'ere it can be seized
I beg for you to help us, swear to God
there's profit in it for a helpful man
who'll help me thwart my cruel enemies
and sweeten life for bitter Miriam.

So this my plight, and this is Miriam
who asks you for the details of your bank
to save her from her government enemies
and save the thirty million left unseized
for I have heard you are an honest man
and I salute you in the same of God

And God, who loved the prophet Miriam
will send a man to rescue from the bank
what was not seized, for money fights all enemies

I think Shmuel's triolet exploits the subtleties of that difficult form better than anything I've seen for a very long time. Bravo!

But isn't this something?: A community of intensely literate people, attuned (very much attuned) to current writing, has immediately turned to strict (and, some would say, archaic) verse forms to lampoon a type of fraud that has burst upon the world only very recently.

I have recently heard learned opinion to the effect that rhyming and metred verse is now ineffective as a vehicle for expression, because it is now alien to the culture. Pshaw, I say.

Dave Luckett: I have recently heard learned opinion to the effect that rhyming and metred verse is now ineffective as a vehicle for expression, because it is now alien to the culture. Pshaw, I say.

Pshaw, indeed! I seem to recall that most pop songs use meter and rhyme, and some of them even manage to be expressive. Rap anyone? Love it or hate it, it's got undeniable poetic roots and an ummistakable message. I suspect that such music may very well be alien to the culture of learned opinion.

Hello Faddah
Hello Mammah
I am Miriam
Abachaba
And I'm writing
You this missive
And I hope your mood is not at all dismissive

My late husband
Gentle ruler
Had a people
That were cooler
To his concept
Of morality
And they brought him face to face with his mortality

But before he
Left this green earth
He made plans to
Save his net worth
Thirty million
U.S. greenbacks
For the person with a bank account and a fax

So I'm asking
For assistance
In prolonging
My existence
All I need is
An account there
And if you help, you'll get a ten percent share!

Please reply as
Soon as you can
To get me out
Of this s***can
Send your PIN now
And a quick grand
And what you deserve will soon be there in your hand!

Dave Luckett: The Nigerian 419 scam isn't really new; as has been noted many times, it's a form of the Spanish Prisoner. Only the details are recent.

"Madame Abacha"
(to the tune of “Eleanor Rigby”)

Oh, look she’s sent another email.
Oh, look she’s sent another email.

Madame Abacha sends me a note where she says that her husband was killed.
Left 30 mil.
She’s a poor widow, writing her notes where she begs for some help with the bank.
Who will she thank?

All the missing millions, where do they all come from?
All the missing millions, where do they all belong?

Oh, look she’s sent another email.
Oh, look she’s sent another email.

General Sanni died in a coup and was buried along with his bucks.
Who gives a fuck?
Madame Abacha , begging for help from a world that’s forgotten her name.
Won’t buy her claims.

All the missing millions, where do they all come from?
All the missing millions, where do they all belong?

Oh, look she’s sent another email.
Oh, look she’s sent another email.

Madame Abacha, writing the words of letter that pleads and entreats...
I press Delete.
Look at her working, sending her spam day and night while she wails and grieves.
Who will believe?

All the missing millions, where do they all come from?
All the missing millions, where do they all belong?

David Goldfarb: Quite so. I was imprecise. I meant 'a fraud that uses a medium that was only recently invented'.

Who lives down in deepest darkest Africa? (Africa)
Who's Nigeria's former premier dame?
Who is under house arrest in Africa?
Miriam Abacha is my name.

When the new regime took all our property,
Froze our funds and would have left us none,
Who put funds aside to stave off bankruptcy?
Miriam Abacha is the one.

Thirty million dollars into your account
Keeps this meagre portion safe and free.
You'll be well rewarded with a fair amount.
Miriam Abacha: contact me.

Generals and colonels in tropic lands,
Bureaucrats of regimes unstable
[A high, whiney sound]
Diplomatic pouch and embassy cable
Under the table
Snatched dirty cash with dirtier hands
Fast as they were able
Boom Boom BOOM
Numbered Swiss accounts and extreme demands
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
THEN came revolution THEN came war uncivil
Then their chance at graft began to shrivel.
[More stacctto, with a typewriter rhythm]
THEN I SAW THE EMAIL SENT OUT TO THE WORLD
FILLING UP EACH INBOX LIKE A SANDBAR SWIRLED.
Then upon the internet
A mystic wail
Deposed dictators wrote their pleading mail
Seeking for an honest man with bank account
[A high-speed cresendo of forwards and bounces]
For a pile of dollars -- an obscene amount.
And "TRUST!" says each minister who still survives
And "TRUST!" say the dictators' sons and wives
Send your PIN number
Send your fax
On secret funds
You don't pay tax.
Facts-facts facts-facts
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
[With a disingenuous air]
A pleading epic, they beg one boon,
From Sierra Leone
To Cameroon
[Whispering, urgently]
Trust's an ingredient
Honesty and secrecy
Trust's an ingredient
Trust is what's necessary
BOOM send your cell phone
BOOM send your letterhead
BOOM send your passport
HOO HOO HOO.
[Like rain on broad leaves]
Look on the poisoned tree and fruit
You run no risk and we'll split the loot
See in escrow the investors' cash
I alone have the keys to the stash
You will be rich and it's me you'll thank
If you'll send the cable address of your bank.
Mailed to you urgent and confidential
Mailed to you office and residential
Mailed by night and mailed by day
Mailed from an e-account throw away.
Be careful what you do
[Like the clink of coins. Sibilants hissed. Last line floating like a ghost.]
Or Miriam Abacha, wife of the general,
And all the other
Wives of the generals
Miriam Abacha will e-mail you
Miriam Abacha will e-mail you
Miriam Abacha will e-mail you.

It can't, quite, be coincidence that I'm reading this while the TV shows the Live8 concert in London, and the song is "Can't Help Falling in Love".

I don't know if that's any sort of difficult poetic form. but it's rhyme and rhythm.

Scamming the Scammer

Tears of the Sun review.

Attend the tale of Miriam.
Her story sad and demeanor glum.
She sends out letters to gentlemen
(Some never thereafter are heard of again).
She’s hoping to find someone dumb,
Is Miriam, The Grieving Widow of Sanni

A gen’ral of Nigeria
Was murdered so she’ll query ya.
His thirty million were locked away
But you can split it, so write her today!
Ms. Miri,
Ms. Miriam, The Grieving Widow of Sanni

Send your letters wide, Miri!
Use the same old lies!
Fools and money part so don’t apologize!

Her needs are few: a greedy rube
to buy her story and be her boob,
A few PIN numbers for bank accounts,
Some money orders in smaller amounts,
And privacy, so please keep mum
Begs Miriam, The Grieving Widow of Sanni

So persistent, dear Miriam.
Fools should shun and fear Miriam.
Gold, it glitters, dollars are green,
Miriam’s working her 4-19.
Miriam wheedles and Miriam pleads,
A complicit partner all Miriam needs.
Sanni is dead, Sanni was rich,
Sanni, his fortune will make you her bitch!
Sanni! Sanni! Sanni! Sanni!
Sanni!

Attend the tale of Miriam,
Her fingers typing till they are numb.
A business partner is all she needs,
She’ll share thirty million, so listen to greed,
Pleads Miri,
Pleads Miriam, the Grieving Widow of Sanni

Jim's stage-managed poem, in case anyone didn't recognize it, is a parody of Vachel Lindsay's "Congo". Which has been a favorite of mine since I was 12.

MKK

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita,
Mi ritrovai senza trenta milioni
Che il mio marito aveva messo via
E tu, gentil lettore, manda presto
Il numero bancario del tuo conto

Oh! quanti soldi stanno in Nigeria
Di cui riceverai dieci per cento;
Mandami solo mille dollaroni,
E presto sarai ricco, Io non mento
Poca fatica, molto denaro avrai
E non saremo più in questi guai.

(7998 more verses)

Somebody's got to do the all-spam version of "Howl". I just don't have the time.

Recognized Lindsay's "Congo." "And Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo/ And all the other Gods of the Congo,/ Mumbo-Jumbo will voodoo you/ Mumbo-Jumbo will voodoo you."

And, JDMcD, that seriously freaked me out. Brilliant.

But the freakout feeling is still there because you've raised a Bad Ghost. That's such an egregiously racist poem (Section I: Their Basic Savagery) written by someone who really felt that he was being a wonderful friend of The Negro. Who thought he "discovered" an unkown waiter-poet named Langston Hughes (already had several publications; briefly used Lindsay to further his career).

So, anyway, now someone has to do an Ishmael Reed spam pastiche to counteract the evil spell, is what I'm saying. I'll try. Maybe someone else will beat me.

MC Frontalot's song on the topic has lyrics transcripts online.

"...And the urgency of her request for my aid

is matched by the depth of the trust she displayed.

"Don't betray me like our oil minister did, staged a coup

and I'm about to flee Nigeria soon

but I'll never make it out," she says, with twenty million

three hundred twenty thousand US dollars that are still in

her possession. She embezzled them, I guess.

Look, I don't really know her so uh... that's none of my business...."

James D. Macdonald:

That was VERY well done! Imagine us giving a reading at a con, where I do Vachel Lindsay's "Lord of the Rings" and you knock 'em out with Vachel Lindsay's "Nigeria!"

Nigerian Spam Howl
By
Jonathan Vos Post
2 July 2005
With apologies to Allen Ginsberg

I, Mrs. Miriam Abacha, widow, saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by e-mail, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the Federal Republic of Nigeria streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient most high God connection to
the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters, presently in distress and under house arrest,
and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness
of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities downloading iPod
jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw my son Mohammed
undergoing trial in Oputa Panel Lagos, and Abuja,
angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through
universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-
light tragedy among the scholars of war, when this Panel was set up
by the present civilian regime,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes
on the Windows 98 of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, after the government has
frozen all our family accounts, all our buildings at Abuja Federal capital territory seized, at the same time auctioning our remaining properties,
burning our money in the sum of Thirty million US Dollars
( $ 30.000.000.00 ) cash in wastebaskets, except the part that I removed through covert means,
this was only money kept by my late husband in our family safe at Kano
State of Nigeria,
and listening to the Terror through the wall, my son is presently detained in
prison custody, who got busted in his pubic beard returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or
purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, deposited in an under
cover security firm outside Nigeria, but a neighboring country,
I want you to receive this money and pay into your account for the family
safety, alcohol and c0ck and endless balls, incomparable blind;
Immediately, my daughter will proceed to meet with you in streets of
shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, because she
is the only one that has free movement,
wine drunkenness over the rooftops, the men are monitored by the security
Agents in storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic
light,
sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
and will be well compensated for assisting me secure this money fast,
ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, before it is located by the
Nigerian Government Agents,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy
Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all
drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
Contact me immediately with my E-mail address who sank all night in
submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer
after noon in desolate Fugazzi's,
listening to the crack pipe of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked
continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to
museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, so that
I can forward to you all necessary details, lost battalion of platonic chatroom
conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off
windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,
as I, Mrs. Miriam Abacha, widow, vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey
leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Abuja City Hall,
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard Prisoner to
converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took
ship to Africa, who disappeared into the vol