Best Television Poems
The era of catatonic self-destruction has risen yet again from boulder-blocked caves,
Whose cavernous stalactite incisors drip with the blood of thorny crowns,
Worn in punitive irony for the subversion of fertile inferiority,
Which, like rabbits, duplicates and hops about in trouncing contentment.
Yet despite the grin stretched beneath empty eyes,
Which are eclipsed by dilation of cimmerian shades poured from tipped inkwells,
Darkness ripened by age has inflated its penumbral grasp upon the solar plexus.
Hearts beat now to the false circadian rhythm of telemetry.
Screens fueled by waves polluting the air scramble for attention;
Screaming as if the spotlight has slithered away from their thespian heads.
But even so we watch as if waiting for a nothingness we know.
Petulant performances pretending to perfect the perception of reality persevere,
Despite their lack of empirical validity.
Our bodies and the space around they occupy have become irrelevant.
Experience and physical stimulation have been replaced by mirror neurons,
Firing incessantly at the sight of electromagnetic facsimiles,
Which are vomited in projected disproportion into our unwitting faces,
From nauseating mouths of those whose disease has spread to lower echelons.
And so we sit and stare upon the square on walls and in our hands,
As the prefrontal cortex and its dehydrated lobes succumb to the reptilians.
Another era of lack of mind borne from the fruitlessness of parasitic seeds,
Planted by the pretenders who swim in the wealth of our applause.
Clap away, we will, until we collapse in the arthritic solidification of redundant repetition.
Welcome to the show; a televised apocalypse of thought.
Where worlds were once created in cognition,
They're now created in the lenses of cameras.
When worlds were once refracted light coruscating from the eye,
They're now flickered in slides reflected from the television.
Beaverish, feverish
hot Mrs. Cleaver wished
that her affair had not
given her clap.
Fast Eddie Haskell, her
boy-toy, that rascal, his
transmissibility
claims were all crap.
“Tickle me, pickle me,
say it’s not true, for if
you have the clap then I
must have it too!”
Doctors prescribed her some
anti-microbials,
Ward soon found out that she
had been untrue.
Beaver was curious,
Ward was so furious,
fake news of Eddie’s lewd
films made him snap.
“June, you’re so sensible,
incomprehensible,
that you could fall for that
con-artist’s crap!”
Friskiness, riskiness,
ratings were rising, but
not so surprising they
cancelled the show.
Frightened by content too
radiological,
sponsors said “Beaver” was
not apropos.
He was small and portly but their leader
didn't want anyone in the club being a cheater
with everyones full attention while seated
he reiterated his drastic thoughts and feelings,
Explaining to his buddies to steer clear
of the feminine gender some held dear
saying they were just a pain in the neck
so just to ignore them he told them was best,
The meeting was adjourned and Spanky closed the door
straightening his "Women Haters Club" sign once more
with Alfalfa feeling confident he wouldn't cave in
till Darla started flirting with him once again….
5-16-17
You’re wasting your weekends on electronic lovers,
They float by like ghosts on the screen,
You’re kissing Clark Gable and you waltz Fred Astaire
In re-runs you’ve already seen.
You’re changing the stations—you change your emotions—
From channel to channel in vain.
The six o’clock news man is laughing at you,
And the talk show believes you’re insane.
Your television set don’t love you, darlin’
So how come you watch it from bed?
Your television set don’t love you, darlin’,
So why don’t you love me instead?
Down at the tavern my Budweiser loves me,
There’s a TV set over the bar,
And the girl on the screen, she reminds me of you,
So I get up and go to my car.
I drive through the night and the windshield wipers
Remove all the rain from the glass—
It’s like a wide screen, and our show’s off the air…
Our soap opera just didn’t last…
pow!
batman and robin
throwing cream puffs
posted on July 2, 2018
Yes we don’t give a toss,
If your package is lost,
That’s logistics,
If it’s broken or bent,
Or has multiple dents,
That’s logistics,
If it’s fragile and breaks,
It was not our mistake,
That’s logistics,
Well you were not at home,
So we sent it to Rome,
That’s logistics!
So incredibly late,
That it’s gone out of date,
That’s logistics,
We don’t know where it went,
Are you sure it was sent?
That’s logistics,
Your parcels we’ll stash,
But we’ll still take your cash,
That’s logistics,
What an item on time?!
Oh no wait, it’s not mine,
That’s logistics!
Television
Powerful influence
Informing, entertaining, controlling
Stealing away precious time
Box
saturdays
hockey night in canada
~ phone best stay silent
What manner of innovation so ingenious;
electronic box made to serve our audio-visual
demands.
This square-shaped screen that comes to life
by just a switch,
reduces the size of the globe in
every living room.
And entertains its audience every length of
time they please.
What comedy so laughable,
what obscenity so carnally delightful,
and what gory tales so horrific
can this magical innovation not willingly render?
Still it relives the eventful past
for generations unborn.
Form:
Lucille (“Lucy”) Ball
Her desire for show biz fame is anything but small
Plays the wife of Ricky the Cuban drummer
How she goes about it could not be funnier.
Desi (“Ricky”) Arnaz
A full-time job reining in his kooky wife he has
Loves Lucy with all his heart
And his conniving Lucy is extremely smart!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written September 29, 2021
especially for "Clerihew 2" poetry contest
sponsored by Joseph May
I recall the time – 1953,
somewhere around the first of June.
A special invitation by Granny
to come in the late afternoon.
My grandparents shared their television
first of a few that were owned in that day.
We drove ten miles for a grand occasion
happening four thousand miles away.
My inauguration to the big screen
one of London's landmark events -
the stately coronation of the Queen.
For Elizabeth, time well-spent.
She has ruled her land for sixty-six years
making her reign, Victoria plus three
"Long Live the Queen," long live her peers,
Nostalgic remembrance, Long live TV.
July 4, 2019
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brian Strand's contest: Nostalgia Any Form, Any Number Of Lines
I am a stay at home television freak.
That elusive remote is what I seek.
I don't have to go out.
I know without a doubt
that television makes my life far from bleak.
Inspired by another member's poem.
Mom had six children
when she moved far from the nest
to a remote area without relatives or friends.
Her lifestyle suddenly changed
from urban to rustic ~
Playing the part she did
of Eva Gabor in Green Acres
but in real life.
Between setting up a new home
laundry mending ironing
cooking baking cleaning
grocery shopping and school lunches,
Not much time to herself ~
she by chance discovered
the lure of soap operas
and it changed her life.
Suddenly she was extra motivated
to finish her work with time to spare
saving the ironing for soap opera hour.
And so she’d welcome into her home
the whole cast of Edge of Night
with their dramatic theatrical lives ~
she’d bond laugh and cry
And her life was full again.
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Please stand by for this important announcement
Of news you’ll most assuredly not want to miss
A newsworthy, earth-shaking pronouncement
More startling than your first unexpected kiss.
Your favorite television program is interrupted
Just when you’re about to watch Final Jeopardy,
You’d think the U.S. government was bankrupted
By the sound of the announcer’s anxious perfidy.
Instead, there’s a tennis player who’s deported
From Australia, his name you never heard before
Seems his lack of a vaccine he too openly sported
Forever, hereafter, he’ll never again be obscure.
All you wanted to know was who won Jeopardy
You had waited all day long for today’s show,
For you faithfully watch your program daily
To see the champion trivia winner’s earnings grow.
written January 18, 2022
destined for stardom
I appear on local news
rollers in my hair