A selection of quality (and not-so- quality) works from quality (and not-so-quality) people. You decide which is which. An experiment of sorts in my mind and others, this is what you the faithful readers and writers make it. Have fun with it! Write poetry without judgment.
Unemployment oh how you doth protest I have a love and hate relationship with you On one hand I have so much time On the other I have no money I have no purpose Should I... Canoe? Write? Draw? Make music? Or should I just... Watch another This American Life re-run? Or Mad Men episode? Have you discovered Hulu? I hope not Because it could be dangerous during your months of unemployment I really should... Send out yet another Resume Cover letter Mission statement Letter of purpose Life statement Contemplate my self worth Let's not I'd rather not I'd rather join a gym Take a YOGA class Go for a run Or maybe just a walk Let's see how long before anyone notices I'm not paying them back I'm not paying my rent Or bills Or dropping off the face of the earth Unemployment is fun It's a quest for new opportunity Or some other bullshit line They are feeding you kids now I'll shut up now This is my ode to unemployment
And what will I do? My sometimes-yellow, sometimes-white shepherd I am nothing without you From an early childhood of string cheese Trying to remain diligent and Digest one string at a time It would last half the stick The rest devoured in two bites You stuck with me when I was a teenager Still so ignorant of your illuminating ways I would cover toasted bread with American slices Still waiting for those days to be introduced Alex This is Mr. and Mr. Provolone Meet their kids Colby Catalina Fred Feta Patsy Paneer
Of all It might be you Pepper Jack We only knew each other a few years Not enough time to develop that sustaining commitment That refreshing aura all solid friendships provide Forgive me One day you will understand
Tell all the rest Parmesan on pasta Nacho cheese at the Dome My beloved mozzarella sticks I will miss them dearly True friends you have all been
I walk now into the darkness That is my future diet I will mourn every morning Part of me will die at sunset Let this be my lament Let it stand as a testament of loving And letting go This is not temporary This is my final goodbye The eulogy Procession Burial
This is my ode to tearful goodbyes This is my ode to Cheese
One, it takes place in our fair city (well, in Minneapolis, anyway). Two, it involves a flair for the terrible poetry that makes this site what it is. I also think it involves a few terrible people.
Let us all imagine the following poem being read by William Shattner:
Remember how easy JH was to bag? Give her five years she'll be an old hag. And remember how easy she was to nail? I wonder who will hammer her while you sit in jail.
While I, as you all well know, favor the blank verse form of poetry, I commend the former Wife of Keith (as she will surely be known to scholars in the future) on her rhyming couplets. I also must recognize her clever use of "hammer" after "nail," thus transforming her promiscuous rival into an object -- the final nail shutting the coffin of her own dead marriage.
It gives one pause. Much pause.
Also, not like I'm speaking from experience, but Sharpie graffiti on wood washes out in like one rainstorm.
If you can hear me Clap once Touch your nose Clap twice Touch your toes
If you can hear me Wiggle your fingers Clap once And place your hands in your lap Then listen to me
Lies All lies
My hands say I need to wash them My feet say I need rest My arms say I need to workout more So does my stomach, for that matter
My head thanks me For taking my medication today My mouth tells me I need Water Maybe a beer too Maybe
Virtual batteries Need to be recharged Daily Momentarily
If you can hear me Clap once Touch your nose Clap twice Touch your toes
If you can hear me Wiggle your fingers Clap once And place your hands in your lap Then listen to me
We say these things that don't mean anything But children seem to listen to us They seem to trust us I know I did This is my past and future This is your future, kid If you can't listen now, you will never be able to
Get into high school Get good grades Get into college Get a job Settle down Find a wife or partner or husband Be successful Be kind
You are a failure in first grade If you don't respond to:
If you can hear me Clap once Touch your nose Clap twice Touch your toes
If you can hear me Wiggle your fingers Clap once And place your hands in your lap Then listen to me
Why should I? Give me one good reason. Because I said so. Why should you say so? Because I'm an adult? Question mark. End of discussion. End of future.
desire always trumps ability, this is why parallel lines lament their distance.
it begins with the night i slipped my feet halfway into my shoes and i looked at you, whispered some dramatic metaphor about how 'halfway' was all we were good for, and then you whipped me you drop-kicked me off my plane--you always remember the song to sing to fend off the leaving.
it ends with the night in the near future, when i call out of the blue and offer you a drink and a set of guitar strings to replace the ones i broke trying to play elliott smith with a gut tinted moss-green and electric.
we will argue. you'll hold me uncomfortably in that near-glare, you'll mock my fashion sense or point out how often i spill on my shirt. you'll keep pushing until you get your outburst because you know i can only be shy for so long.
you may insist that you know what i am thinking and you'll never get it right but you have to keep searching for a way to impose the connection--you always forget parallel lines were never meant to touch, and bending the universe to make the exception created the chaos that got us here.
(Mom felt a little left out, so she composed a haiku of her own, claiming it had been 40 years since she's written any poetry at all. Pretty good for someone who claims to be that rusty, no?)
