Best Interns Poems
Faraway, across a widening
Expanse of vacant fields,
Dawns slated light is gradually
Awaking;
And too soon new Morn's stilled
Indifference
Determinedly steals
Into the abstractions of my fitful
Dreams,
Where, deeply concealed,
Many forgotten memories from days
Since past -
Ne'er once unto me unworthy...
Although long be they in their
Forsaking.
Those languid days, that, lately,
I quite often see and hear
Crowding throughout my wandering
Slumbers;
Vivid recollections, interns of a
Jumbled mind - for ages absent,
Beginning now to inexplicably reappear;
Insistent murmurings troubling -
Troubling incessantly:-
Unwelcomed guests from
Yesteryear...
Strange impositions, of a sorts,
Burdening upon this weary soul,
Which, encamped within my
Dampened Spirits -
Doth so unwittingly encumber!
We cured death on a Tuesday,
launched the trial on a Thursday,
by Friday, 14% of the test group
was gnawing on the janitorial staff.
Still, the press was kind.
“Remarkable resilience,” they wrote,
as Unit 42A chewed through its restraints,
and tried to bite a cameraman.
We called them SoulSavers™,
engineered for eternal youth,
a proprietary blend of nanites, CRISPR,
and just a dash of hubris.
ReVive™ hit the market with glowing ads:
"Because Forever is a Family Value."
But the legal fine print… oh, the fine print:
May cause mild memory loss, spontaneous moaning, and cannibalistic cravings.
They rose in boardrooms first,
CEOs with perfect teeth
tearing into interns
like gourmet hors d'oeuvres.
By Q3, the infection was global,
but stocks soared--
because someone monetized the mayhem,
packaged brains in biodegradable boxes.
The living now hide in Costco bunkers,
bartering soup for silence,
while ReVive™’s jingle
plays softly from every abandoned screen:
“You can’t spell ‘afterlife’ without 'life'--
Sign here, and live again!”
So yes, we cured death.
We also cured peace.
And now we walk among the ruins,
clawing for comfort,
with half a heart and half a face,
still under warranty.
Author's Note:
This poem is what happens when you read Tom Woody’s contest prompt and accidentally engage the undead half of your brain. It’s a free verse romp through biotech gone wrong, corporate chaos, and a sprinkle of satire. No contest entry--just undead fun.
Like retired folk for Florida, the British for their tea,
Like China is for foreign debts, trash dumpers for the sea...
Like Russians are for alcohol, and Ethiopia'd be for rain,
Like Catholic priests for altar boys, like masochists for pain...
Like Greenlanders for climate change, like Iowans for corn,
Like the Taliban for burkas and like teenage boys for ****...
Like Tokyo for neon lights, like Vegas is for fools,
Like women are for shiny things and men for power tools...
Like indians were for blankets (but not the pox inside),
Like Clinton for his interns, and cultists for cyanide...
Like the overweight for Big Macs and like everyone for weed,
Like North Koreans for every grain of rice, I'm thankful to be free...
Free to say whate'er I please, to refrain from eating peas,
Free to pray upon my knees, to wank until I bleed...
Free to kiss a bloke or lass, to call my boss a "horse's ass",
Free to eat 3-day-old hash (but not to smoke a bit o' grass)...
Free to buy a working gun (being careful not to shoot someone),
And 'f I don't like a politician, against him I am free to run...
Finally, I thank God I'm free to decide myself who I want to be,
To live this comic tragedy like it is a tragic comedy.
The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task
when they open the doors at ten am
and when the visitors enter I recall
my preamble and it goes like this
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point
well hello grandmother, I love your dress
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way
unless your not hot that is
Wow, I remember Kent, MA
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead
and Faye ran away with a younger man,
a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
she always had a yen for younger men
enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you I'd like to add
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA
let me direct you to that spot cheerio and all that rot
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
youv’e been here before well oh well
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill
but you didn’t see me on that day
I was right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you
who don’t know the importance of my job
so leave me now artistic snob
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are
I can even tell you where to park your car
I think I found my niche in life
as to the who what where and why but
if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by
*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums
This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown train and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.
All week, at the office, I accomplish nothing substantive
but keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?
It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.
The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.
Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.
War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.
Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.
I did not have sexual relations I swore
but my mouth organ and horn she asked for.
No one played like Monica
and she loved a good cigar
but now she won’t blow my nut sax anymore!
All my interns played it for me I confess
and with me pass an act of sexual congress.
That woman, Miss Lewinsky,
sure stained my Presidency
but Holy BJ, I sure stained her blue dress!
Written: July 2016
(This poem does not conform to some countries only to those that do)
It seems we have become a civilized lot
With bewildering laws to protect everyone,
Although having taken away common sense
To historics in society, we’ve lost the plot.
When in these days where wrong is put to right
With an insincere tear and one solitary word,
And social care for everyone and those monsters
Whom with evil intent take a life or more and skite.
The law an A*s when truth proven beyond doubt
Thanks to the intervention of modern forensics,
Only for loopholes to make the lawyers rich
Easier than water rushing down the spout.
The worst scenario for those that delve in death
A life sentence of fifteen to twenty-five years,
Many to fake remorse and forgiveness
Create pity on social media with every breath.
Early release on parole another lawyer’s feat
The interns leave refreshed and in better shape,
Than those without sin they’ll likely pass by
Asleep under stark conditions upon the street.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
It was never about the suit,
the charcoal stitching,
the pocket square that folds itself,
the red tie I swore was alive.
At first, it just stood there—
hooves crossed, ears like knives
stabbing into the conference room light.
It never spoke, but no one dared speak over it.
The org charts bent to its gaze.
Quarterly losses shrunk like timothy hay
waiting too long for sun.
I kept my hungry eyes on the llama,
after all, its black-marble stare could polish
a version of the best vision of myself, if I let it:
animal energy tugging at my own red tie,
my voice cracking like a glass ceiling
when I pitched the last idea I was proud of.
Now the llama knows my name.
It signs my emails
and leaves fur in my throat
when I try to say no.
On Tuesdays,
it stands too close
to the mirror in the breakroom,
straightening its tie with my hands,
licking the salt from neck—
its muzzle smelling like a ferment
of wet grass and my sweat.
The interns whisper that it’s a myth,
but they’ve all stopped wearing red.
I now sit at the head of the table,
rubbing my hindquarters with two toes
on the scale, protecting my own
wall-eyed stare. The suit fits better
than I thought.
You can see everyone from here—
their necks, their ties,
the slow nodding of skulls.
The llama was never absurd.
It’s they who look strange now.
Queen Hillary's election to the presidency seems a foregone conclusion,
Brought about by back-room deals, magical tricks and considerable illusion.
I thought I'd offer suggestions for her cabinet officers (as if she cared),
To surround herself with top-notch people so that she is fully prepared.
Jane Fonda, who loves the military, I'd suggest for Secretary of Defense.
Tax evader 'Rev' Al Sharpton, as head of the IRS would make a lot of sense.
The Department of Labor needs a person who is considered top-drawer;
The only guy who I can think of for that job is super-patriot Michael Moore.
The Education Department could be offered to Jesse Jackson, the 'preacher',
And from that bully-pulpit expound his inane babble to every teacher.
Pelosi for Department of Transportation since she knows her way around.
She's adept at using government planes for junkets for which she's renowned.
The inventor of the internet, Al Gore, would qualify for Secretary of Interior.
He could rant and rave about melting ice, a topic about which he feels superior.
How about Barbra Streisand for the important job as Secretary of State.
(She'd outshine Hillary from all her antics we've learned about of late.)
Former Congressman Anthony Weiner might possibly serve on her staff,
But I'll leave his job for Hillary to name -I want no part of that gaffe!
There must be something for Bubba Billary to do, her ever-faithful spouse;
Ah! I know! He could 'manage' young female interns working at the House!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
So
it was
that I recalled my physiological reaction
to the attending physician
who along with a group
of medical students accompanying
him on his daily rounds had
gathered around the foot
of my bed and he seemed to be asking
a lot of questions
to the students while
at the same time he was
physically examining me.
He asked me how I was doing so I told him,
" I'm doing okay".
Then I show him the toe. He looks at it and then asks the students to examine what appears to be some abnormality apparently.
This digit
at the end of my foot
was covered by a group
of students and some uninvited spore producing organisms
which apparently feed
on organic matter like the tip
of a toe nail.
Together the group looked at the nail one by one then stepped away until
the next student and then the next
managed to see for themselves.
Then the physician inquired to the interns "Is it the type found on the skin or the type found on the nail? He told the students it's medical name, "onychomycosis".
He looked at the toe once again before he moved on his brief inauspicious statement summarized the big picture.
"Interesting".
You’re dying but you’re smiling.
And I’m smiling too because you know
That dying isn’t an excuse to stop living.
Friday night I had an essay to write
But you finally got fed up with laying in a hospital bed
You challenged me to a pushup contest
We got down on the ground, arms in, back straight
One, two, three, at thirty six the nurse walked in
Almost dropped what she was carrying
“You should be in that bed” she said
I looked her in the eye and told her
“The day he gives up and lays in bed is the day he stops living”
At fifty nine the doctor came in
“Son you shouldn’t be able to breathe much less do pushups”
You told him “I’ve already done sixty. You’re welcome to stay and watch”
At eighty one there was quite the crowd.
Nurses and interns watching us instead of their patients.
The doctor said to them “one of these two kids is dying
“But neither one will stop living.”
And that is why I visit you every day.
Every day I walk past sixty three rows of stones and flowers
Turn left, and walk down one, two, all the way to number thirty three on the end
I sit down next to your cold stone nametag and flowers people left you
I look up to the sky, sometimes lips trembling, sometimes eyes watering
And I say to you
Never stop living
hey doc
give it to me straight
you'd be suprised what I can take
no candy coated words
surrounding terms I've never heard
you use to scare
off all the interns...
I'm so sorry
for all their inquiries
they think are so necessary
for you to answer immediately
who are they to say?
asking you about him
talking about when when when
why don't they mind their own business?
Why don't they get out of your face?
you'll never let them see him
in this fragile state
get them all away
They ask how is he
but they're too busy
to talk right now
says their bodies half turned
so you lie through your teeth
tell em he seems to be
turning around
and they're too smart to learn
so they agree
happy to move on
they say they want the truth
but they only want the good news
and don't get it otherwise
says the confusion in their eyes
only want the positive
while you're left to live
as they can walk away
"what a wonderful day"
who are they to say?
"I understand"
dumbest words ever said
all I know is
nobody knows
nobody ever truly understands
I'm so sorry
yeah he's out there
that monster
and he plays dirty
and I'm sorry
it had to come to this
we'll beat him with our fists
for what he's done to our parents
and what he's done to us
as we had to watch
with our wrists locked
why does it have to hurt so?
why does it have to hurt so?
when God lets us
I'll beat the monster with my own fists
I'll beat him for me
I'll beat him for you if you need
or better than
I'll hold you together so you can
The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task
when they open the doors at ten am
and when the visitors enter I recall
my preamble and it goes like this
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point
well hello grandmother, I love your dress
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way
unless your not hot that is
Wow, I remember Kent, MA
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead
and Faye ran away with a younger man,
a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
she always had a yen for younger men
enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you Id like to add
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA
let me direct you to that spot bye the bye and all that rot
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
you’ve been here before well oh well
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill
but you didn’t see me on that day
I was right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you
who don’t know the importance of my job
so leave me now artistic snob
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are
I can even tell you where to park your car
I think I found my niche in life
as to the who what where and why but
if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by
*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums
Premier Membership Expiration Contest
Sponsored by IrOnic ZiNk June 16, 2017
The teleprompter tumbles
in the clamorous migration
of doting interns and
banner-waving believers,
as the majority rallies
yet again toward fervor
behind pitch-black sound bites
guaranteed to stir frothing
complacency of thought.
As the seconds stretch in the
arc of gravity, the press core
readies their cut-to-tape excuses
while half the bodies on stage
begin talking to their sleeves
with darting eyes hushed
behind nearly opaque lenses
until the shattering collapse
and surrender of yet another
useful tool to destruction.
Thousands of eyes turn
in absolute unison to beseech
the captain for a message
to resonate, to cut the pasteurized
void left in the breath of calm
between his mid-sentence message
about the importance of maintaining
calm in the face of financial adversity
and that shocking interruption bound
by clumsy circumstance in tumble.
Instead of recognizing
such folly with human
understanding, he lowers
his eyes in silence
while whisked away
in a swift procession
of escape.
(A Geometrical Metaphor)
There are circles that float inside circles it seems
Some have bounds set by breadth of their radial dreams,
Forms concentric though mavericks spin like they’re free,
Two-dimensional dreamers, is that liberty?
There are circles that live both in Sets, some apart
That have alternate planes of existence quite skewed!
But can vanity’s font be a part of true art?
Or is universe too more a sphere God debuted,
(First a circle He spun from the plane of its birth)
And not flat as humanity once pictured earth?
Does Big Bang have a shape human mind's born to grok,
Though our ground of existence is stardust, now rock.
Can grown men come full circle whose faith's not profound,
Don't reciprocate feelings of humble interns?
What top spins on its axis that won't come unwound,
Do we exercise minds if we never get burns?
Brian Johnston
29th of March 2019