It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World

A couple weeks back I asked for some poetry ideas to turn into mad-libs to inflict upon my coworkers in the monthly newsletter of which I am in charge. Thanks for the suggestions. I went with e e cummings "in Just" and John Donne's "Meditation XVII." When I went around the office asking people for nouns and verbs most all of them panicked, "Is this a test or something?" Umm, no this is supposed to be fun. Then the person would sit and hem and haw and mutter "noun, noun noun" over and over. Several people told me they couldn't think of one. I wouldn't let them get away so easily and insisted they were sitting in an office full on nouns, heck nearly everyone I spoke with was sitting on a noun. This isn't so hard people! But you'd think by their reactions that I was a dentist trying to extract a tooth. If nouns weren't hard enough verbs were a nightmare. There seems to be a small pool of verbs to pull from for most people--swim, run, walk--and when I wouldn't accept it the person would groan in agony. No one said "groan" for their verb. Several people said "have" or "be." A couple people pulled through for me. I realized though that for the most part, I do not work with a group of verbally creative people. My bit of fun mad-lib poetry has left me disappointed. On the other hand, in spite of the bellyaching, my coworkers are delighted and can't wait to see the results on Friday. Without any further ado, here are the mad-lib versions of the poetry:

in Just-     in Just-
spring       when the elevator shaft is forest-
luscious the little
lame police man swallows       far       and wee and JoffeeandFloyd come
blinking from tag and
Twister and it's
spring when the closet is doorframe-wonderful the purple
bodacious coroner man spins
far       and         wee
and FionaandBelinda come coughing from duck duck gray duck and Yahtzee and it's
spring
and        the                giraffe-footed port-a-potty cleaner man      kicks
far
and
wee Meditation XVII No hedgehog is a bowling alley,
Entire of itself.
Each is a kiwi of the widget,
A part of the main.
If a fairy be giggled away by the gas station,
The Bermuda Triangle is the less.
As well as if a cup were.
As well as if a booklet of thine own
Or of thine bug's were.
Each rock's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in chocolatekind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the tax whistles,
It whistles for thee.

in Just as cummings wrote it. Meditation XVII as Donne wrote it.