Long poem by
Tom Arnone | Details |
(Created using the bAbBlE sentence generator, various text excerpts, and a minuscule bit of human editing.)
And she smells good without keeping all ...
Beef, sitting lonely on that lies floating on the tufted floor. "Surely," I was napping, cold noodles, I implore!
But the Raven, "Nevermore."
Deep into that darkness peering, I got enough trouble.
Boy, the whole world together. Eagerly I guess dirt is what thy worldly name is on the tufted floor.
Taken from the night thinking. Eagerly I sat engaged in guessing, when, I'm supposed to spend the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose foot-falls tinkled on the floor; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then he fluttered - Till the dirges of evil! - prophet still, hot noodles with seeing bird above my heart be still is there balm in Gilead? - here I scarcely more than muttered, sitting lonely on that placid bust, chicken guts!
Beef, while I pondered, shrimp with garlic sauce, and the silken, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; hesitating then no longer, "Nevermore."
Beef, yet all undaunted, nearly napping, and sour chicken, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out, "Though thy crest be shorn and mighty truck load of prehistoric swamp mud! Take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, lemon chicken with fantastic terrors never felt before. Then the bird said, beef with fantastic terrors never felt before; But the morrow he will leave me burning, curry sauce, crispy noodles, all my soul within me burning, roast pork, pepper steak and sour combination, "Nevermore."
But the Raven, "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore!" Quoth the morrow; - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber of flea-bitten bug ridden throng of flatulent sewage! - prophet still, if bird or white rice, chicken guts! Take out, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, curry beef lo mein, shrimp egg foo young, roast pork with my head at my chamber of contaminated cigar butts!
The Raven, "Nevermore."
Beef with broccoli and nothing more.
"Prophet!" said I, "Tapping at my chamber of pureed monkey mucus! - prophet still, if bird or steamed dumplings, stir fried rice noodles, beef with chili sauce, fried or steamed white rice, perfumed from an erratic horde of his Hope that melancholy burden bore - Till I said, Doubtless," said I, "Sir," said I, "Art sure I heard a tapping, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of septic frog water!"
Beef with many quaint and mighty dipstick of Pallas just above my chamber door, "Nevermore."
Beef Szechuan style, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the only word, anniversaries, roast pork with onions and spicy beef egg foo young, all the seeming of seething pus! By that Heaven that bends above his chamber of soggy camel snot!
Ah, Bar-B-Q pork with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now to take out my heart be still the beating of my heart be still a moment, and nothing more!
Beef with sorrow for the lost Lenore! Quoth the floor; And his eyes have flown before - On this home by Horror haunted - tell me see, then, shrimp lo mein, boneless chicken almond cookies, chicken, chicken egg foo young, vegetable chow fun, "Nevermore."
The Raven, "Lenore?" Merely this and nothing more!
Beef lo mein, free delivery within 4 blocks, I implore; But the fact is I was napping, hot spicy beef fried rice, open 8 days, suddenly there came a blasphemous sliver of steaming monkey meat!
Then, pork fried rice, weak and mighty stack of my heart, and mighty bowl of rotten bear whiz!
This I flung the shutter, catering for free delivery, weak and mighty repository of the countenance it wore, shrimp, shrimp, with garlic sauce, fearing, Doubting, Buddhist delight, I stood there wondering, beef with my head at my chamber door - This is it and tomato, beef, That one gently rapping, crispy noodles, roast pork, eggplant with my head at ease reclining On the fact is I was napping, calamari with broccoli, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered - not a schizophrenic cask of mealy verbal diarrhea!
Beef with many a flirt and mighty crust of repugnant disk failures!
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out that now burnt into my bosom's core; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, crispy shrimp, I implore - Is there - is there balm in beer batter, sitting lonely on this desert land enchanted - On the morrow he hath sent, Bar-B-Q beef, while I pondered, General Tso's chicken guts!
Startled at the house specialties, "Thing of evil! - prophet still, Singapore rice, my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the angels name Lenore - Clasp a cow. Not the ducks and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell this is some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast delivery within 6 days, Nevermore."
"Thing of evil! - prophet still the beating of forgotten lore - While I nodded, nearly napping, and chicken, chicken wings, run, with my chamber door!
Jane said, "Here he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, Sir," said I, funny, Though thy crest be shorn and shrimp with me truly, shrimp with this and sour soup with mien of lord or steamed white rice or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Jane and tomato, perched above my bosom's core; This and vegetable chow fun, look, I muttered, Jane, I muttered, "Mother."
You - here, all the shutter, dropping her underwear now burnt into the chamber turning her dress.
Colors may be paid by that God we have sent, consult your receipt. There balm in Gilead? - tell me, feeling the door - Perched upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.
"Get thee back through him."
She knew that way she was watching her flesh. There spoken was unbroken, $111.
Then, what thereat is not the Beatles.
Quoth the grave and stern decorum of the angels name Lenore. Quoth the whole lobster with broccoli, Dynasty delight, all the night thinking.
He was in beer batter, By the ushers watch me up was sure gets complicated. They like parking your gum on the floor; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the stuff in the other kids are a man. They like you came rapping, truly your forgiveness I wish he'd hurry up snappy answers for evermore.
Copyright © 1994 Tom Arnone & bAbBlE (computer writing program)
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
John Mudge | Details |
How I Got Richer and What I Did Next
I struck a sly deal with some Wall Street investors.
I shorted 'em stocks that didn't exist!
But they got me back (those post-empty-nesters)
by making fake deals I couldn't resist.
So I made a bold plan. I'd get big and still bigger.
My dream was immense: I'd conquer the market!
How would I do it? I'll bet you can't fig'ure.
I'll whisper my plan. (Shhh! I won't bark it.)
What I make is no secret. My dream is the thing.
My stuff the world uses. It can't do without.
My competitors fear (while secretly hoping)
I'll become a cartel and buy them all out!
So here's what I make (a simple thing really).
You use it at dinner, at breakfast and lunch,
when it's hot and it's steamy or cold and it's chilly.
Donuts to dollars you must have a hunch.
It fixes most things, an all-purpose tool.
It will open a can, pull the cork from a bottle,
even fix all your plumbing (now isn't that cool?).
Under the hood it'll fix your car's throttle.
I know that you're anxious. I know you can't wait.
I'm making the point. Sit still and don't fidget!
Now no more pondering and staying up late:
I make what you use: the Gadget and Widget!
Making millions and billions takes plenty of people.
My company grew, got huge and kept growing.
A company needs growth. A church needs a steeple.
You see how it works? I just kept on going.
I hired by hundreds and thousands and more.
I worked 'em like slaves, paid dimes even less.
They threatened to strike, even steal the store
but I had the power! I could hardly care less.
I'd fire 'em in masses, by hundreds and dozens.
I gave them no notice, I paid them no pension.
I fired them all, brothers sisters and cousins.
I paid off the media; they gave me no mention.
But shedding the people only solved half the puzzle.
I still needed gadgets! Work had to get done.
Just how could I do it? I put hands on my muzzle.
No output, no profit. So how could I run?
At midnight one day I awoke with a start
My plan was so clear, so cool and so cunning.
I'd go overseas! My plan was quite smart.
I knew with assurance I'd keep right on running.
I worked day and night 'til after sunset.
I worked without stop. I even skipped meals.
I outsourced production and then flew by jet
to scour the globe for even more deals.
Gov'nments with greed – those were our game.
Why, you might ask, do business with these?
The answer is simple: except for the name
they've two things in common: the gov'ment takes fees
And labor's dirt cheap (it costs odds and ends).
The less I pay out the more left for me!
It works like a scale: when their side descends
my side goes up. It's logic, you see.
My scheme soon paid off. I spanned the whole globe.
I owned my competitors by tens and by scores.
To find where I wasn't you'd dig and you'd probe:
just gadgets and widgets in millions of stores!
A few years of this 'bout did me in.
I crawled to my bed and I slept a deep sleep.
I dreamed a strange dream of goodness and sin.
I chatted with God about what I could keep.
He said in the end it was all up to me
but my state of affairs just didn't look good.
Pearly Gates entry he couldn't quite see.
Suddenly in front of St. Peter I stood.
We discussed and we bargained, tried to see eye to eye.
Well most of that's true. He discussed and I bargained.
(I knew I would lose but I still had to try.
I thought that maybe he could just be out-jargoned!)
But this wasn't happening! It was just a dream.
No need to worry. My life wouldn't change.
(Dreams being dreams things aren't what they seem.
Abandon my business? I couldn't. Too strange.)
St. Peter spoke more. He had some suggestions.
“Do something useful. Help orphans and widows.
People have needs. Look ' round. Ask some questions.
And ask your friend Sid. I'm sure that Sid knows.
And oh by the way, those countries you mention?
At least say you're sorry. It surely can't hurt.
Don't make a big show. Avoid causing tension.
Just say it with meaning. Try not to be curt.”
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, then blinked a bit more.
I stretched and remembered I had to call Sid!
Now what was his number? I had it before.
Just have to remember where I had it hid.
I looked in my book. No Sid in there.
I started to wonder: did I even know Sid?
Did I sleep? Am I up? I'll pull out a hair.
Ouch! I'm awake! So I never did!
I recalled Pearly Gates. I remembered a dream
and trying to bargain at the Gates with St. Pete.
That stayed in my head (strange it may seem).
We'd discussed and debated. St. Pete's hard to beat!)
I'll allow he's a point. I won't pick a nit.
I've mostly been right (just a little bit wrong).
Ok, ok maybe more than a bit.
If I set things to rights, we could get along.
But St. Pete asks a lot. (This really does sting.)
If stuff needs some doing ... I might maybe could.
Now give me a moment to ponder this thing.
If I knew what to do, I'm sure that I would.
(He went to his office. He sat and he thought.
He called for his staff. But they'd left, the whole bunch.
So he made a few plans with ideas he'd caught
then got so excited he even missed lunch!
All the people he'd fired? He hired them back.
He said he was sorry. He tripled their pay.
He asked them their names. He said, “Call me Mack!”.
The sun rose much brighter the very next day.
He did all he promised, or so we are told.
He did what he said. He even did more!
He began to think friendships were worth more than gold.
He laughed right out loud – hadn't done that before!
He perked up his ears, St. Peter did.
When he heard that guffaw, that belly-roll laugh.
His laughter was joyous, like it came from a kid
St. Peter stood up, took hold of this staff.
I think he's found what he used to lack.
He's learned the difference twixt evil and sin.
When he gets here one day I'll shake his hand, pat his back.
I'll open the Gates and welcome him in.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |
Randomling 1: Matthew Macfadyen
I believe I'm in love with Matthew Macfadyen
He inspires in me a terribly bad yen
But as poetry goes
His name 'spires woes
Cause nothing rhymes with "Macfadyen”.
Randomling 2: Birthday Wishes
For my birthday, I would like a man.
I wonder---can you get one from a can?
Or maybe from a catalog?
Maybe I'll just get a dog.
Randomling 3: Yet Another Cat Poem
toddlers in fur
senior citizens with retractable claws
lions in their own minds
lunch in the minds of dogs.
Randomling 4: Desert Woes
A sage river in a field of sand:
so flows hope in a barren land;
the crippled heart in prosthetic steel,
hacked and scarred, a vulture’s meal.
Randomling 5: Dark Poetry
Follow poetry to its source;
There find heartbreak and remorse.
Follow poetry to the bitter end,
And there find death, its bosom friend.
Randomling 6: Ode to Bananas
an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow is their long suit.
Randomling 7: Untitled
this heart is closed to deposits.
There's no more room for pain.
Randomling 8: Untitled
My heart is sealed in a cold steel vault,
and I’ve lost the combination.
Randomling 9: Joyce Kilmer 2015
I think that I shall never see
A man as useful as a tree.
One has uses by the score;
The other one is apt to snore.
Randomling 10: Bedtime Prayers
Now I lay me down to sleep,
A leaden heart is mine to keep.
If I should die before I wake--
Now there’s an offer I’d gladly take.
Randomling 11: The Devil Wind
Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover
DON'T READ #12 IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK TO MY SON ABOUT CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THE BIRDS AND BEES_________________________
Randomling 12: A Boy's Best Friend
Your penis—it is not a toy
I told my little son.
O yes it is, he parried me
It's quite my favorite one.
Randomling 13: Fault Lines
I have a bathroom mirror
that's grown faulty over time.
My reflection is no longer true;
it's developed little lines!
Randomling 14: Shakespeare 101
“To be or not to be. That is the question.”
--Whaddya mean, THE question?
Randomling 15: Christmas?
Peace on earth to men of good credit
Who give the gift of corporate profit
in the holy name of commercialism.
Randomling 16: Musical Believer
Though my conscience sleeps,
wrapped in the Valium of
agnosticism, it awakens to
the music of Mozart--
once more knowing God
by the sound of His voice.
Randomling 17: Vacuum
I didn't write a poem when you died.
The words would not come.
Perhaps I felt too deeply,
perhaps not enough;
maybe I died too. 10/06/01
Randomling 18: Insanity
Insanity is underrated
Its drawbacks,much overstated.
How else to do what you darn well please
And accomplish it with so much ease?
Randomling 19: Dog Day Afternoon
WATER! BALL! CHASE!
salt, waves, undertow
I don't know what's going
on here, but I'm HAPPY!
Randomling 20: Opposites Attract
i am matter---love, antimatter
never to meet save to explode
i am space, love is time
parallel dimensions never to meet
Randomling 21: Puppy Love
I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
covered in fuzz:
Randomling 22: Newton's Poultice
Apple falls from tree
Newton (ouch!) takes notice
Comes up with law of gravity
while wearing a poultice
on the solstice
Randomling 23: Ticking
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
while my life fell apart all around me.
Sweet memories faded to shadow
as my heart fell to pieces inside me.
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
Relentlessly ticking, ticking
While my life fell apart all around me.
Randomling 24: Untitled
a mosaic assembled from
tiles of delight and
black-glazed stones of despair
in seamless beauty
Randomling 25: Seasonal Lament
end at both end
as summer falls into the
arm of winter. arm
Randomling 26: Untitled
I didn't want
to love you.
Randomling 27: Pills
Depression is days and nights curled fetal-like
in a dark room, no interest in the world outside,
idly wondering if there are enough
pills in the bottle to kill you,
then thinking it's not worth the effort
to find out because you're dead inside already.
Randomling 28: Guilt By Association
Fresh morning light frames
the cat, surrounded by piles of
dirt and deceased plants,
Randomling 29: Bell the Cat
How do you give a cat a bath?
Maybe you can do the math.
All I know is she stinks to high heaven.
And of us there are only seven.
How many humans to bathe a cat?
Definitely more than where we're at!
Randomling 30: Muse
I want to write a poem
using the word gossamer.
Randomling 31: Ripples
Canoes rock gently
under the waxing moon.
Black water ripples,
painting a beautiful scene
under the scented pines.
Randomling 32: Sunshine Waterfall
I cleanse my face in a sunshine waterfall,
luxuriate in a sunshine shower.
Waterfall flow and warm me;
sprinkle lemon drops through my hair.
Randomling 33: Salon Treatment
Hurricanes scour everything
they touch, then rinse and blow
Randomling 34: My Window
Blue sky pokes its face
through the canopy of trees.
Heat wave is over!
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
Herpetologist meets actress (Cameron Diaz).
If he's funny he's me.
South America or Africa (on location).
In a diamond mind.
The protagonists (lovers), the diamonds, the miners and the minders.
By minders I (he) mean (means) watchers, organizers, supervisors.
As all art must: choose a focus.
The personal is political said Cameron on the night bus to Quebec.
I had never met a girl so willing to make love in public.
Open to it.
To what extent is violence necessary? And
is that the essential question or
should violence be accepted as man's state, fate
a more essential question existing beyond or below
peace or war. Perhaps
the religious and (for the irreligious) sacred injunction
against egregious violence exists
to still ourselves
to open ourselves
to the deeper question. That Cameron Diaz is funny and beautiful
is hopeful. And the telescope and microscope have extended
the eye's appreciation. Under the microscope
Cameron becomes a collection of foreign, alien, uncompassionate,
organisms. Frightening, inexorable, fascinating
to the scientist in you!
To the telescope
vanishingly small, infinitesimal as the farthest sun
smaller by magnitudes of magnitudes of ten
and incinerated in a nanosecond. Gone
from the movie (photographs the contents of which move
for the naked eye).
I cannot help what I do or hope.
Anyway, it's a love story
or science project, socio-political documentary. An essay.
An essay about how it is actually impossible to say what you mean
but it is possible with a lifetime of meditation and study to shut up
and know what you meant.
Now I'm deaf.
I can see Cameron Diaz but not hear her.
The guy, the herpetologist, at first colorless turns out to be
colorful as a bird or snake!
He knows a lot about snakes, and birds! Not only how they mate
but what they eat
where they rest
what they do with their pain. Do they get depressed?
Can they have guests?
How do they judiciously employ violence to organize and defend
The international collective remains insufficiently organized
resulting in violence and threats of violence that interrupt
commerce, procreation (love) and the pursuit of happiness (Cameron
at least for certain populations, sometimes.
Otherwise, most men, most times, live in peace excepting
flood or fire God or man may
choose to impose.
I lay in my bed and listen naked.
Have a good day (Diaz).
The goddess does not exist, except as bone.
Around this time (July)
the queen yellow jacket (redcoat) searches
blind and deaf
for a ledge or cavity to build a city of her descendants
safe, that they can defend.
and sleeping peacefully, overwinter. We, however,
remain active, Cameron Diaz makes winter movies or
love stories in South America, and I
delight to imagine her herpetologist. Or one who
discovers the sun
around which a habitable, understandable, compatible
orb orbs. Or
maybe the movie's about the revolution, soldiers dying defending
this dictator or that dreamer
and the movie completely failing, not even trying, to explain how
the sons and daughters of the dying soldiers (miners) feel
fishing alone, hunting for wisdom, thereafter.
Sure, these men chose violence, not Cameron Diaz, and were not
farmers, botanists or herpetologists
their tools could have been and should have been the telescope or
but are there enough microscopes and telescopes to go around
and did we not (taxpayers, movie makers) encourage them to
defend Cameron Diaz?
Man's world is insufficiently organized to preclude violence
in allocating resources (Cameron Diaz).
When we invade Iraq
to defend our allies and interests
with rockets and rocket throwers, Rockettes and Cameron Diaz
each man (each Diaz) must make his
own individual choice
whether this war
is worth fighting for or the next or the worst.
Go to jail, go directly to waterboard, at the hands of
your local police, chamber of commerce.
Learn how to walk the desert and the universe.
The names of rocks and planets,
that being the only answer to the hyperorganization that is a cancer on
our insufficient organization.
I was reading Foreign Affairs
The Case Against the West by Kishore Mabubami (Cameron Diaz).
How can I relinquish my privileged position
sit still, lie naked
until what constitutes consent of the governed and non-violent change,
to her herpetologist
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
Listen to poem:
three blind mice
three blind mice
see how they run
see how they run
they all ran after the farmer's wife
she cut off their tails with a carving knife
did you ever see such a sight in your life
as three blind mice
three blind mice
Dumpty here. As in Sam Dumpty. Another tale to be told, another mystery to be solved. And I'm just the guy to do it! After carefully considering all of the relevant facts, taking into account, of course, any mitigating circumstances, then factoring in miscellaneous possibilities, I have put together the pieces of this unusual and extraordinary puzzle and have come up with a working theory as to what actually occurred and why (deep breath).
I started my premise with a multiple query. Three things I considered: (a) How did the mice become blind? (b) Why did they turn on the farmer's wife and (c) Were the aforementioned facts somehow related?
I interrogated the farmer's wife first under the hottest light I could find and with a menacing look in my eye (for intimidation purposes only, of course). "Now look ma'am, I said, your story's just not adding up. Now one more time and from the beginning!"
"Well Mr. Dumpty, sir, as I told you already, I was baking an apple pie, minding my own business, singing a happy tune when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, in ran these three ghastly mice, screaming obscenities and threatening me in the most vulgar of terms. Why I, I had no choice but to run. 'Round and 'round the table I ran, when the glint from the carving knife caught my eye. Well sir, never in a million years was it my intent to do any harm to those cute, disabled, furry little mice, no sir! But a strange wave of giddy excitement overwhelmed me as I considered the prospect of cutting off their little tails (sniff). I, I don't know what came over me. I love mice, really I do! I even keep their little tails in a jar on my kitchen windowsill as a reminder never, no never, to do that sort of thing again. Ever!"
Dumpty here. Well, now you know the story from the dame's point of view. But I couldn't help but think that a piece of the puzzle was still missing. So I decided to visit the three blind meese, er, mice, at the nursing home where they now reside. Their story was hard to swallow, but I believed every word of it!
"Thanks for granting the interview Mr. meeses, I mean, oh whatever! Now look, er, what I mean is, well, not literally look, what I meant to say is... no, hey guys I'm over here! Okay, now that I have your attention, I need to hear your side of the story, and please, just the facts ma'am, er, sirs."
"Well, the name's Ervin. Ervin T. Shorttail III. Who knew my last name would end up prophetic (sigh)?! This is my brother Earl and this is my other brother Earl. We just three ordinary barn mice, never hurt no one, no sir (thas right Ervin, tell 'im). Now there we happened to be one day, mindin' our business, when the smell of apple pie entered our tiny nostrils (mindin' our own biz) and we just had to find out what all the fuss was about (wasn't hurtin' nobody, uh-uh). So we climbed up the side of the house up that little hangin' vine and peeped through the open window (jus peepin', thas all). Well, that crazy ol' farmer's wife took one look at us, let out a terrible shriek (we jus mice, thas all) and she done maced us right on the spot (can't see no mo)! Now, Mr. detective, surely you can see that it was uncalled for! We wasn't gonna eat the whole thing, no, we was only wantin' jus a taste (jus a taste or two). Anyway, now we three blind ol' mice. But the thought of retaliation was the farthest thing from our minds (no sir). Then, about a week later, there we was, stumblin' 'round the barn tryin' to find a scrap to eat when suddenly, and without warning, comes the smell of apple pie right up our nostrils all over again (we done jus got over it)! So we thought, man, that crazy ol' bat be taunting us. Now, we ain't havin' it, us already bein' blind and all (can't see no mo). So, in we went, jus to talk, thas all (tell 'im Ervin). Man, you know she grabbed that knife and started whackin' away. Now we three blind mice wit no tails, layin' here in this nasty old folks home. You know, we jus mice (jus mice, thas all)."
Dumpty back. Well, I took the guys' story to my captain, and it wasn't long before we had her locked up. For good! Now you know the true story behind this seemingly unsolvable conundrum.
This is Detective Sam Dumpty, signing off!
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Roy Jerden | Details |
Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade,
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat,
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile,
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty,
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.
The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes;
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.
Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.
The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.
Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.
A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.
We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.
We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.
Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.
I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.
The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.
That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.
August 10, 2012
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
Listen to poem:
"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf
who's afraid of the big bad wolf
la de da de da"
Dumpty here. That's detective Sam Dumpty - seeker of fairy-tale truth, righter of literary wrongs, supporter of the wrongly accused and defamed. The Three Little Pigs. The story told never seemed right to me. Why, I'd known the big bad wolf for years, never was much interested in pigs. Once told me he hated bacon, too fatty for his taste. No, he always preferred sheep, ever since he cut his first fang. Most knew him as Mr. Foxy (a name he always hated because, duh, he was a wolf!). But I knew him by his given name - Elrod. In any case, I never could figure out why he suddenly developed a taste for pig. So I've spent the past few months trying to solve this seemingly unsolvable conundrum.
I decided I'd start first with the pigs' side of the story. I went to Youly's house, aka the alleged smart one who made his house of bricks.
(entire recorded interview)
"Thanks for meeting with me Mr. Youly Pig, sir. Nice home you have here."
"Why thank you er, oh yes, Mr. Dumpty sir. Oh dear, did anyone ever tell you you resemble an egg? Shame on me! Can we start over? I'm not normally so ill-mannered!
"Uh... no problem. Could you please explain your thoughts on why the wolf turned on you and your brothers? And please ma'am, er, sir, just the facts."
"Well, to be honest, we never feared the big bad wolf until that terrible day. Yes, before that he would pass us by, usually with a bloody sheep hanging from his jaws, and give us a nod as if to say 'how do you do' and he'd be on his way. Never once did we ever feel threatened in any way."
"I see. So what do you believe was the straw that broke the camel, er, wolf's back, as it were?"
"Well, I've never told a soul the truth. But I'll tell it to you now. Best it come out before I die and the truth stays buried forevermore in fairy-tale lore. As you know, my brothers, that is, Edly and Midly, were aspiring musicians. Edly loved to play his flute, while Midly preferred the fiddle. Truth be told, they were simply awful! Couldn't hit a note to save their lives. The wolf used to come to my home begging me to have them cease and desist. Apparently, wolves have very sensitive ears and the dreadful sounds coming from their attempts to play were literally driving him mad."
"I think I'm beginning to see the light. Go on."
"Then one day, I heard a strange sound entering my ears from downwind. Sure enough, it was Edly and Midly. They had written a song together, and it went like this:
'Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, la de da de da.' Between the shrilly sound of their voices and the clash of their instruments, why, it was enough to drive anyone mad! I noticed a difference in the wolf's demeanor from that day forward. No more nods when he passed by. A wild, perhaps even evil look in his eyes as he glanced our way. And the salivating. Always salivating."
"So it's your belief that the lyrics and music combined to ultimately drive the wolf mad, so mad that he developed a taste for pig where none had previously existed. Is that your story Mr. Pig?
"I'd swear to it on my mother's grave (god rest her curly little tail)."
I had fully intended to interview the wolf for his take on the pigs' story, but was told by the director at the state asylum that the poor fellow was little more than a vegetable now. Oh, he'd recovered from the nasty little burns that he'd received at the hands of a certain pig by the name of Mr. Youly, but it appeared that the combination of physical and mental torment simply pushed him over the edge. He sits in his rocking chair day and night, whistling a tune that no one seems quite familiar with. I'll bet I can guess what said tune might just be.
So there you have it folks. The true, unabridged account of what really happened, and why. All these years we've been led to believe that the wolf was the bad guy. It took an honest pig's confession to set the record straight. Now the next time you hear the song, "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf" - you'll have reason for pause.
Sam Dumpty, detective extraordinaire, signing off!
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Mark Martin | Details |
Godot has arrived
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
Alive and well thanks!
...said the haiku poster
Crudely pasted to the fence
Who was too busy selling stolen goods
To notice he was a notice
Announcing a brand new play
A fusion of two classics
Waiting for Godot
A play about a man who never arrives
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead
A play within a Shakespeare play
Both "theatre of the absurd"
And slammed together
It showed a lot of promise
Or at least it promised a lot
Like two sweat stained t-shirts
Turned inside out
Wearable for a few more months
Before finally accepting the inevitability of the launderette
Shoved into the metal drum
Spin, churn, reverse, spin, repeat
With eager expectation of fresh attire!
But ending in a grey streaked mush
(Never mix darks and lights in the same wash)
This analogy was lost
On the burgeoning crowd
Gathering around the theatre
Drawn in by the ephemeral promise
A crescendo of clamour and chatter
Eager to experience this new wonder
Yet they should have known better
They had seen "theatre of the absurd" before
They had shown their appreciation
With a head scratching ovation
And murmurs of huh? And what?
Even a few ums? And uhhs?
Some had purchased programmes
The thickness of encyclopedias
To explain the illogical plots
More words written
Than spoken by the actors
(Who looked equally baffled)
They weren't even that aerodynamic
Obese paper bats thrown in rage
Flapping and crashing on the stage
Was this the absurd bit?
Was this the part that had no meaning?
Where were the heros?
Where were the baddies?
The love interest?
The twist in the tale?
They weren't proper plays
Not in reality
Existential or not
But this play was something new
Surely it would be better?
Like a glass hammer
Striking rubber nails
Maybe two absurdities would work?
After all, Godot had eventually turned up
And two minor characters had survived
What aspirations! What ambition!
What could go wrong?
The absurd doors
Of the absurd entrance
Swung open (absurdly)
As the absurd crowd poured
Into the absurd stalls
And absurd balconies
And absurd boxes
And became an absurd audience
And watched the absurd theatre...
... the disappointed patrons
Became a disgruntled crowd
And then an angry mob...
Some years ago
An absurd psychologist
Wrote an absurd paper
On the psychology of crowds
Especially angry ones
Some of the pages were mixed up
With another absurd paper
On absurd architecture
On the Pompidou centre
The inside out building
Two absurd papers
Made one brilliant paper
A fusion of ideas
Worthy of a Nobel prize
Or at least it would be
If they gave prizes for psychology
Or even architecture
And burning torches
And grim determination
Applied the architecture of the angry mob
(Behaving as science predicted)
They deconstructed the theatre
And reconstructed it
The boxes, the balconies, now face outward
The stalls surround and stretch into the distance
In all directions
(Were there really that many seats?)
And the rest of the world - an absurd stage
And all the men and women merely absurd players
In (or out) the inside out
Theatre of the absurd
Entry to the "theatre of the absurd" contest
Written 9th February 2017
"Theatre of the absurd" refers to a genre of plays described at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theatre_of_the_Absurd. Two examples are "waiting for Godot" and "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead"
"Waiting for Godot" wasn't always well received by critics and audiences: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot#Production_history
A "fence" is someone who knowingly buys stolen goods for resale https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fence_(criminal)
The Pompidou centre (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centre_Georges_Pompidou) is a building famous for exposing it's infrastructure elements externally (air conditioning, plumbing etc.) giving the illusion of being inside out
There are no Nobel prizes for either psychology or architecture
"All the world's a stage..." is a quotation from Shakespeare's "as you like it"
Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
At the final stroking of saint Halloween eve, it seems not so long ago,
That my trusty SUV, transport vehicle unceremoniously broke down,
Right outside the local pet cemetery, what a marvelous place to
Spend the spookiest night of the year, changing a flat tire right next
Door to the graveyard of the barking dead!
Ha, ha I thought to myself these children of the night better be at
Rest, I’m just not in the mood for playing fetch the bone, with
Any undead beasties tonight!
That’s when I heard a hellish sound, coming from this unconsecrated
Ground of Fido’s lost and found burial mounds, it started out low,
But grew with every shrill passing moment, I dropped the jack,
Picked up my throbbing heart, and became brave Balto of the
Polar North fame!
Inch by inch I approached, these iron bars gates that which were
Oddly left Unlocked, approaching the very center I stopped dead
Within my tracks, just as metal basketball rolled at my very feet,
Within two red glowing eyes meant mine, what the #### ####,
Is this thing, this it within a bob-wire metal shell?
It had very little hair, more like a grizzly patch here and there,
A ratty tail like a mouse, but what really caught my attention
The most was its sharp talon like claws, but it cried so, my
Mother instinct overrode my sinus of reasoning, it’s helpless,
Tender howling touched the darkness of my deepest Edger
Allen soul, so I picked it up, and took it home!
Now, now I told it, don’t be afraid, I’ll cut you free from
Your iron cage, it seemed to understand me in dark
Level that I can’t explain, my little creepy dude,
By the way such became his name, my undead pet
From the realm of the unknown!
It growled and hissed at me at first, almost nipping
At my bare fingertips, I’ll have none of that biting
Business, I told it just be patient I’ll have you out
In just a few minutes!
At long last it burst free, running attempting to
Flee far away from me, but I was quicker than it,
This terrifying thing, that captured me with it’s
Now my little creature feature, you need a bath
It shivered at the mention of the word, meaning clean!
But it had a very foul musty odor of brimstone, and
Rotten fleshy decay, into a vat of Mr. Bubbles it so went,
This it thing, my creepy little dude!
After I brushed and towel him off, I feed him a mushy
Mush of oatmeal and milk, but he spit it at me, “ok what
Does a thing like you eat than,” I asked!
The creature than went to my fridge just as if it were
The most natural thing in the world to do, grabbed a
Bottle of spuds suds, popped the cork, and sat next to
The old boo tube, now just you wait a cotton picking
Minute, I thought to myself, no way!
It than snatched a slice of day old pizza from a nasty,
Cardboard box sitting in my waste paper bin, gobbled
It down in a moment, than burped out soundly,
It’s gratifications satisfaction!
The whole time I’m wondering what the #### did I bring
Home, this it thing, that now reminds me of my ex-husband,
Beer, pizza, and TV burping, but just as I was thinking about
Taking it to the dead creature’s animal shelter, it captured
My inner heart all over again, in a flick of my heart
It had nestled in my lap, growling in a purr, than
Tenderly clawing at my tummy, it snoozed!
From that point on it this thing, fondly known as
My creepy little dude, could do no wrong in my eyes,
It stayed just the same size, even though it eat night
And day, it drooled on everything, from the baseboards
To the chandler but I didn’t care, for he was my
Creepy little dude!
Than the next Halloween night it happened,
I got a knock at my pantry door, it was two
Creatures, a female werewolf, and a male
Choapa Cobra, excuse us Miss Have you seen,
A metal basinet bob wire ball?
My little creepy dude ran passed me, in a flash yelled momma,
And the jig was up, these unusual parents thanked me,
Hugged their baby and left, I never saw the it thing again
After that, my little creepy dude was gone forever!
But I’ll never forget, what happened not so long ago,
On a Halloween night, or my treasured pet, the it thing,
Known as my little creepy dude!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO BEN STRONG-THE ORIGINAL CREEPY DUDE
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Kody Walters | Details |
A Dozen ways in which women confuse men: A Sarcasm Piece by a Confused Man
I set out to accomplish what’s considered by most to be an impossible feat
I somehow wanted to summarize the ways women confuse me
As you all know this is quite the task
A challenge which may not have an answer
In actuality there could be a text entitled
The Infinite ways in which women Confuse men
As I obtained a massively excruciating headache
I pondered the o’ so many ways women confuse men
Miraculously I boiled it down to a mere dozen
A dozen which I have so kindly compiled here for you
The order they are delivered is of no importance
What is though, is the message this simple man is trying to get across
Confusion #1 is that you say you want a nice guy
But your choices show otherwise
As you always choose the bad boy
For there is a reason the saying nice guys finish last was invented
And still exist today
Confusion #2 is you women and your hormones
Women’s hormones fluctuate more often that the South Carolina weather
We poor men are neither intelligent enough nor hardwired
To deal with someone that is happy one second
Then crying over their toenail polish the next
Confusion #3 is that Just like Jennifer Aniston in The Breakup
Women tell men, that they want them to want to wash the dishes
Ladies, what does that statement even mean?
What man in his right mind wants to want to wash the dishes?
Confusion #4 is that women say that they are or want to be independent
Yet they call us for little things
Like to kill a spider
Confusion #5 is that not all, but a large quantity fuss at their man about having a 5’oclock shadow
But yet during Winter
You ladies climb into bed with Sasquatch legs
Confusion #6 is that once again not all, but a large quantity tell their man he should bulk up
But then you gain a measly pound or two
Say you need to diet
So we, your man, too must now diet
Confusion #7 has to deal with women walking in during football games
You walk in, say, “You know I hat sports,”
Grab the remote, change the channel to Gilmore Girls
Then yell and handcuff us men to the couch
As we try to leave and watch the game in another room,
Saying, “We never watch what I like.”
Confusion #8 deals with how women subtly tell men thing
A woman casually buys a pair of jeans for her man the next size up for him to wear
Subtly telling him he is gaining weight
However, when a man does the same
Women yell, cry, and say we are jerks
(Guys trying to be nice this way results in a loss
It cost us males any sort of sexual intercourse
Possibly resulting in flowing tears from that male
As he cries confused as to why his woman is upset
It’s not as if he called her fat)
Confusion #9 deals with women and the favorite article of clothing
You say that we have a certain article of clothing that you love
When we do wear this favorite article though on a couple of date nights
You tells us we wear the same thing too often
Confusion #10 deals with sexual glances
You ladies fuss at us about staring at your breast
As you so casually gaze at our groins
(Yes for all you that did not know
Groin gazing is a thing)
Confusion #11 deals with deception
Women confuse us men so much
That when you cheat on us
We want to fight the other man
While this may be the result of male stupidity
More so than the genius of how women confuse us
Arguments can be made either way
Confusion #12 deals with vanity
See you ladies tell us men that looks don’t really matter
That personality tis what matters most
But in your purse you carry
$200 worth of Lancome makeup
After compiling this list
Once again another thunderous headache arose
I consumed a Goody
And reflected upon the words I did write
Then I did ponder
What would be on a list composed by thee?
What about men confuses Women?
As I thought, I came upon a sad realization
Women would not be able to compose a book
In fact all the probably could create is a list
See, men are much more simple and complacent
In other words, we me are too simple
Too simple to be confusing
One day though I hope to read such a list
Though I think it will be half as long
Copyright © Kody Walters | Year Posted 2015