Satirical Poetry Writing Assignment—30 points
Satire is defined as "the use of humor and wit with a critical attitude, irony, sarcasm, and/or ridicule for
exposing or denouncing the frailties and faults of humanity’s activities and institutions, such as folly,
stupidity, or vice.”
Create an original piece of satirical writing in poetry form or song* (both forms could be
parodies also). You should focus your satire on a suitable and deserving subject. In the
interests of originality, please refrain from satirizing high school. Really, what more could we
say? (*Songs must be performed for the class).
The Four Types of Satire*:
1. Political- Makes fun of the political process, politicians, parties, laws, bureaucracies
2. Social - Makes fun of a wide range of issues affecting daily life of human beings
3. Horatian:Generally meant to be lighthearted and funny, not too insulting
4. Juvenalian: Generally meant to be more vicious, doesn`t care if it insults the people being satirized.
*Satire often finds its inspiration in the “topical” or current events.
Follow these guidelines:
1. Choose an original topic. In the interests of originality, please refrain from satirizing high
school. Really, what more could we say?
2. Create a poem of no less than twenty lines which completely addresses your topic and
includes at least one shift.
3. Use the tools of satire (refer to AP Handouts pages 43-44) : verbal irony, situational irony,
hyperbole, understatement, parody, caricature, puns, allusions (wit and wordplay)
4. Establish a voice/tone through the use of language
5. Use figurative language and poetic devices (imagery, metaphor, personification, alliteration,
etc.)
6. Type the poem and a “Satirical Chart” that explains your target(s); the satirical strategies used;
and the “Theme or So What” of your poem.
Satirical Target(s)
Satirical Strategies and examples
Theme, So What, or Purpose
9-8-7
6-5
4-3
2–1–0
Choice of topic and
humor
Topic choice
reflects a unique,
ironic
commentary
about life and the
writer shows this
cleverly through
humor
Topic choice
reflects an ironic
commentary
about life and the
writer shows this
through humor
Topic choice reflects
a more obvious
commentary about
life and the writer
shows some humor
Topic choice reflects a
clichéd or common
commentary about life.
Organization
The poem skillfully
includes all
components of the
assignment
The poem includes
all components of
the assignment.
The poem may omit
one or two
components of the
assignment.
The poem may omit three
or more components of
the assignment.
Satirical Poem
Rubric
CATEGORY
Progression of
ideas and shifts
are effective and
smooth.
Progression of
ideas and shifts
get the point
across.
Progression of ideas
and shifts may not
proceed clearly.
Progression of ideas do
not facilitate reader
understanding.
Development
The poem has
observant and
effective
details/imagery
to clearly prove
ideas.
The poem has
details/imagery
to prove ideas.
The poem has some
details/imagery to
justify thinking.
The poem does not
have sufficient or
relevant
details/imagery.
Satire
The poem includes
a variety of creative
and insightful
satirical
techniques,
identified and
explained with
corresponding
footnotes.
The poem includes
a variety of satirical
techniques,
identified and
explained with
corresponding
footnotes.
The poem may include
some satirical
techniques, identified
and explained with
corresponding
footnotes.
The poem uses few to no
satirical techniques,
identified and explained
with corresponding
footnotes.
Word Usage &
Syntax
Word choice and
manipulation of
syntax
demonstrate a
conscious effort
to convey exact
meaning.
Word choice and
manipulation of
syntax
demonstrate an
effort to convey
meaning.
Word choice and
manipulation of
syntax inconsistently
demonstrate
Word choice and
manipulation of syntax
are inadequate or
inappropriate in many
places, hindering
meaning.
meaning.
The Revenant by Billy Collins
I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.
When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.
I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.
I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.
I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.
You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.
The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.
While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.
Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place
except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner-that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.
Included in the FORTHCOMING book (OCT 2005), The Trouble with Poetry. Purchase from Amazon (here).
Mexicans Begin Jogging by Gary Soto
At the factory I worked
In the fleck of rubber, under the press
Of an oven yellow with flame,
Until the border patrol opened
Their vans and my boss waved for us to run.
"Over the fence, Soto," he shouted,
And I shouted that I was an American.
"No time for lies," he said, and passes
A dollar in my palm, hurrying me
Through the back door.
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Since I was on his time, I ran
And became the wag to a short tail of Mexicans-Ran past the amazed crowds that lined
The street and blurred like photographs, in rain.
I ran from that industrial road to the soft
Houses where people paled at the turn of an autumn sky.
What could I do but yell vivas
To baseball, milkshakes, and those sociologists
Who would clock me
As I jog into the next century
On the power of a great, silly grin.
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15
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Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale by Jane Yolen
I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Cinder Elephant,
Sleeping Tubby,
Snow Weight,
where the princess is not
anorexic, wasp-waisted,
flinging herself down the stairs.
I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Hansel and Great,
Repoundsel,
Bounty and the Beast,
where the beauty
has a pillowed breast,
and fingers plump as sausage.
I am thinking of a fairy tale
that is not yet written,
for a teller not yet born,
for a listener not yet conceived,
for a world not yet won,
where everything round is good:
the sun, wheels, cookies, and the princess.
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from Such a Pretty Face May 2000
Meisha-Merlin Publishing, Inc
Spam leaves an aftertaste by Bob Hicok
What does the Internet know that it sends me
unbidden the offer of a larger penis?
I’m flattered by the energy devoted
to the architecture of my body.
Brain waves noodling on girth, length, curvature
possibly, pictures drawn on napkins
of the device, teeth for holding, cylinder——
pneumatic, hydraulic--for stretching
who I am into who I shall be. But of all
messages to drop from the digital ether,
hope lives in the communiqué that I can find
out anything about anyone. So I’ve asked:
who am I, why am I here, if a train
leaving Chicago is subsidized
by the feds, is the romance of travel
dead? I’d like the skinny on where I’ll be
when I die, to have a map, a seismic map
of past and future emotions, to be told
how to keep the violence I do to myself
from becoming the grenades I pitch
at others. The likes of Snoop.com
never get back to me, though I need
to know most of all if any of this helps.
How we can scatter our prayers so wide,
if we’ve become more human or less
in being able to share the specific
in a random way, or was it better
to ask the stars for peace or rain,
to trust the litany of our need
to the air’s imperceptible embrace? Just
this morning I got a message
asking is anyone out there. I replied
no, I am not, are you not there too,
needing me, and if not, come over, I have
a small penis but aspirations
for bigger things, faith among them,
and by that I mean you and I
face to face, mouths
making the sounds once known
as conversation.
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