I Can Ozymandias

I camped with a gypsy near the city of Napolitos.
He said: Seek the top of the shadowy staircase
A statue there is wrought in the likeness of ponderous burritos
Close by hangs an iron gate, which leads to a poet’s chamber
Reeking of indulgence, tamales, and the perfume of pathos
The door carved in gaudy silhouettes; walls awash in hues of insanity
A tiled veranda pours a pathway; it is scuffed with footprints and scorn
A figure hunches atop a toadstool, he amuses with a delightful ambiguity
His melody saturates a gin-addled city; his plans have a wispy veneer.
A proclamation reads: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
Scribed by that nebulous negotiator, the North side balladeer.

Xmas

Xmas is a difficult time for me.
See, when I was in third grade, Santa Claus visited my classroom. He shuffled through the doorway jingling bells and ho ho ho-ing. Then the teacher led Santa to a big chair in the middle of the room where he sat down. Santa told us Christmas stories and passed out candy canes. But there was this boy in my class named Marvin, and Marvin shouted to Santa, “Hey, you smell funny!” Santa turned and stared at Marvin for a few seconds. Then Santa stood up and asked Marvin to come with him. They both walked from the room and into the hallway. A few minutes later, we looked outside through the classroom window and saw Santa walking across the playground with Marvin. We watched as Santa led Marvin behind a school building on the other side of the playground.

We never saw Marvin again.

Goldfish Plant

So, this woman I work with says to me, Is that a goldfish plant?"
And I said, "Yes, it is."
She then said mournfully, “Oh, my goldfish plant died—it just shriveled up and died.”
I said, “oh, that’s too bad . . . Did you flush it down the toilet?”

New Stuff

You are part pumpkin spice with

a splash of post-modern snowfallism

a dash of cayenne fever blossom

and a pinch of weepingwillowwisp

Toasted Coconut

The guests lunged and grasped at table food
Plates piled high with sausage and crudités
But all lingered at the tiny village of desserts
Populated by toasty brown cookies scattered with coconut hairs
No one lunged
Hands ceased grasping

But then I spoke
of outlandish unflavored coconut
Brows knotted and
some tongues let me know that they were pleased to know this
Soon the cookie village was
desserted

Moonstruck

La Luna!

La bella Luna!

Breakfast

Smooth glossy plate


round yellow pancake


sticky brown syrup


trembling ham hand


scattered jagged shards

On Clowns

I met two clowns this morning. They confided to me that they are part of a clown ministry. That is to say they spread the teachings of the Gospels through clown antics and pantomime. I said that this was the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. With knitted brows and clown fingers, they scolded me and proclaimed that I was a savage and in need of salvation. I told the two clowns not to incite me to rage. As I said this, I raised a hand to strike one of them. They froze in terror. But in that moment, I saw their clown splendor and magnificence and realized that I could not bring myself to hurt a clown. When they regained mobility, they turned to cross the street. But as they stepped from the curb, a large truck, hurtling faster than seemed possible, ran over the clowns.

Le Faim

Le chupacabra
il mange . . .
le poulet!

For the Croc Hunter

'Twas about one year ago that Steve Irwin found the business end of a stingray. I wrote this after I heard the news.

Crikey, mate,
the devil fish got his
fifteen minutes
Maybe he hates reality shows, too
Because you were reality
But not anymore

You "sleep with the fishes"
Says Sal Tessio
you know, the guy
who wanted to kill Michael Corleone

But you made fishes seem to like
You
They really didn’t know you
But they you swam talked snorted hissed
Until we wanted to be croc hunters too
Yet not—
The teeth and stuff made us want another drink

Too bad the crocs weren’t there
to see the devil fish so soft and smooth
Smooth as—
Something that is smooth

Truth? Truthiness? Toothless?

Truth is a scruffy mountain he-goat.
You may find tufts of coarse hair
and splayed hoof prints
But the goat—
the goat is hard to see.

Taoists Call Me the Not Spiderman

Walls so many walls
Make me stop and stare
And lose momentum
Because no night watchman
Comes to say this way or that
or even hello
Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!

I Wrote About Dinosaurs Once

Just found this.
I wrote it for a test book years ago because we needed a nonfiction article about dinosaurs, and we had no time to get a "writer." Also, if you've read the previous post, you will know why we chose to write this in house with me as author rather than take a chance with someone who might feel too "creative." I liked writing this article and had some fun with the title. I think it was a play on words from another title of a crappy passage we had.

Hey, Look! Dinosaurs!
by Alex Culpepper

Before the Dinosaurs
Long ago most animals lived in the water. These water animals, such as jellyfish, sponges, and worms, lived in the seas that covered Earth. As time passed, a few of these animals slithered from the water and crawled onto the land. Some of these land creatures would later become what we call reptiles. (The reptiles that you might recognize today are animals such as turtles, lizards, and alligators.) These reptiles were different from the water animals that lived before them because reptiles could breathe air. This was important if they were to live on land.

These new reptiles were small, meat-eating animals that chased after prey. Many of them were ancestors of the dinosaurs. One such reptile called Lagosuchus (luh-gahs-uh-kuhs) was much like the dinosaurs that would live after it. Like many later dinosaurs, it had a long neck, curved like the letter S. It was small, ran on two legs, and was very fast. Eventually, there were many different kinds of dinosaurs, from small two-legged hunters to giant four-legged, long-necked plant eaters.

Dinosaurs Appear
The Triassic Period
If you were to go back in time to the Triassic Period, you would find yourself in a very warm, dry, and dusty place. However, there was water. And if you walked far enough, you might cool your feet in a river, lake, swamp, or ocean.

Earth probably looked different, too. For example, there were no plants that grew flowers. Thus, there would have been few, if any, of the types of trees or bushes that we see today. No grasses grew either. Only ferns and mosses covered the ground.

It was sometime during this grassless, flowerless period that scientists believe the first dinosaurs appeared. These dinosaurs were small like the reptiles that lived before them, but as time went on, new kinds of dinosaurs appeared.

Two-Legged Hunter
Coelophysis (see-lo-fise-iss) was a small dinosaur that walked on two legs. It stood about as high as a tall person, but it probably weighed no more than 50 pounds. It had a long skinny neck, tail, and legs. It also had a long narrow head complete with rough, sharp teeth.

Coelophysis was a light and swift hunter. It most likely fed on smaller reptiles and animals. Scientists have unearthed many skeletons of these dinosaurs in New Mexico.

Sharp-Toothed, Meat Eater
Teratosaurus (ter-rat-osaw-rus) was a large, meat-eating reptile from the Triassic period. Although its long tail and long head looked like those of Coelophysis, Teratosaurus walked on four legs. In fact Teratosaurus looked as though it might have rumbled along like a big alligator. Some scientists think that this reptile was about 20 feet long.

Like many other reptiles and dinosaurs, the Teratosaurus had a mouthful of very sharp teeth. These teeth helped the Teratosaurus eat meat and probably defend itself from other animals.

Scientists have discovered bones from Teratosaurus in Germany. These dinosaurs probably died out toward the end of the Triassic Period.

Plant-Eating Ancestor
Plateosaurus (plat-ee-o-saw-rus) is believed to be an ancestor of the giant plant-eating dinosaurs. It was a big reptile, measuring about 25 feet long. Plateosaurus was as long as two cars placed end to end. Not only was Plateosaurus long, it had big bones so it was thick and stocky, too.

Scientists think that Plateosaurus walked mostly on four legs. But Plateosaurus also had two strong back legs, so it might have been able to stand upright. This would have helped it eat tall plants that were hard to reach.

Although bones from Plateosaurus have been found in Europe, other plant eating dinosaurs that lived after it found their way to what is now China, North America, and South Africa.

Small, Leaf-Shredder
Anchisaurus (ank-i-saw-rus) was another early plant-eating dinosaur. It was much smaller than Plateosaurus —probably only about seven feet long and weighing about 60 pounds.

Like Plateosaurus, Anchisaurus could walk using his back legs. But Anchisaurus probably walked on four feet so that it could reach plants that grew low to the ground. Its teeth were designed like a shredder so that it could tear leaves.
Anchisaurus bones have surfaced in Connecticut, but scientists believe that Anchisaurus lived throughout the world.

Other Creatures of the Triassic
Many changes occurred during the Triassic Period. Different kinds of dinosaurs appeared and died out during this time. Other reptiles joined the dinosaurs as time passed. One new kind of reptile, called a Pterosaur (tear-o-sawr), had large wings and flew through the skies.

The later Triassic Period was also a time when creatures that we see today first crawled across the Earth. Lizards scurried about, looking for their next meals. Turtles swam and hunted in swamps and ponds. In addition to reptiles, the first small, furry mammals shared the land during this period, too.

What I Have Seen As An Editor

As an editor, I see work from freelance writers. Some of these people are just plain crazy. For example, I once read an activity that was designed for kinesthetic learners. The activity was supposed to get students to engage historical information from the mid-twentieth century. Anyway, the writer submits an activity in which students are to show the spirit of the McCarthy hearings through interpretive dance. Just think about that for a moment.

The following is a short story submitted to me by a freelance writer. I have re-titled it. The purpose for this story was to show examples of word choice. This one is especially memorable. You must read it to see why.

Engine: A Tale Told by a Car
Vroom! Vroom! My engine starts. I feel my tires screech out of the driveway and onto the highway. I see the open road ahead and push the pedal to the metal. With police on my tail, I do a U-turn at 100 mph.

I turn out of control like a daredevil. Man, look out! I slam into a police car and get a bruise. My driver feels like he’s sitting on top of the world! My lights are slammed to the point that they don’t work anymore.

Ahhhhh! Crash!! My driver is still alive in my poor beat-up body. I feel heat! Fire! BEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! Tires burst! Boooooooom!!! I explode! My driver is taken to the hospital. Everything around me is broken!!!

Now I have to go to a mechanic and get stitches! Man! I hate this.

Six months later I think I’m going to get a new owner. But no. It is the same one! Oh well, he has learned his lesson. My fellow cars will be amazed by how I survived! I am the magnificent car! I am the outstanding car! I have fame! Yes!

Say it Ten Times

Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Catechetical curriculum
Repeat

Proclamation

God is in heaven, dear readers.

Electricity

Jagged fire under clouds and
Burning spears on the horizon
Nervous bolts
Electric snake tongues
Panicked fireflies
Caught in the clouds
I love vodka

Stupid Poem

Joe is a donut all covered in icing
He rolls down the hallway to see what’s happening
He screams for sprinkles and chopped nuts too
People run scared ‘cause they don’t know what to do

Joe is a donut all covered in icing
But the bushy beard don’t look so enticing
You ever see a donut with two left shoes?
When he comes a rollin’ you know it’s bad news

Joe is a donut all covered in icing
He thinks the Bad Girls are so exciting
But they’re just amateurs he must know this
Especially Olive, she such a priss

Woman Talks to Friend, And Amazingly Does Not Reveal Details to Anyone

Wednesday June 20, 2007 12:10 PM
By Alex Culpepper/Correspondent

Dayton, Ohio (AP)— For many women like Miss Clarabelle Crabapple and her associates, it is a common practice to quickly reveal to another person the details from any conversation that she may overhear or be party to. In fact, she claims, “I just have to tell someone everything that I hear from someone else or I’ll just die!” Any statement from any conversation surely will be repeated again to a friend or acquaintance.

But at 8:00 P.M. Tuesday night, Constance Bicklebaum, 32, actually heard many details about what one person said about another person and then kept many of those details to herself. That’s right, some of the information from the conversation was not repeated to anyone else!

When pressed on the subject, Ms. Bicklebaum said, “I really, didn’t think it was worth repeating. I mean, do we need to tell everyone what we hear from a conversation?”

Miss Crabapple, of course, feels differently, “So like, I tell everyone all the details from all my conversations. I can’t help it—it’s like, it just like comes out. I need to like tell everyone what I hear. I need to.”

For many in this city, Constance is somewhat of a curiosity if not a genuine celebrity. She reveals that she has received many letters of support and feels that people have been generally understanding. She admits that at times, late at night, she does feel like revealing the information that she heard, but said that, “It’s really not a big deal. I can’t just walk around as though what I have to say is so important.”

Mint

This may be the first poem I ever wrote. It's only about seven years old. I scratched it out to be a silly bit of fun, but it's actually not too bad.

I will always remember that mint
It was a good mint.
It was sweet and the flavor lasted
for about eight minutes.
Then I stuck it on my keyboard
To save it for later, you know—
But it was red and purple
from the bloodstains
That it got from brushing
against my rotting gums.

I'm Bored too, John Berryman

Resources? I have no resources
No inner resources, that is
All I have is a briny soup of
Parody, lipids, and broken glass
that sits congealing with
glistening pools of oil
in a pot atop a stove
on a low burner that
smells like charred eggs

Pecos Bill, a Tall Tale

Times were tough even for tall-tale heroes. The sun baked the land and dried the rivers. Fish and turtles flopped half-cooked on the burning sands where the rivers once flowed. Pecos Bill would have done something about this mess, but he was busy taking care of his sweetheart Sue. She was sick in bed with complications from syphilis. But drought or no drought, Bill was hungry. In fact, his stomach rumbled so loudly Sue thought a thunderstorm was coming.

So old Bill rushed off to the kitchen to make Texas-sized steaks for two. He tossed the steaks in a pan. Then he grabbed one of Sue’s prize-winning onions. He began to slice it. But in no time, that onion had Bill’s eyes watering so bad that he couldn’t see. Soon tears ran down his shirt and spilled on the floor. Then Sue’s eyes began watering, and together their tears filled up the house.

Well, faster than a jackrabbit can hop a tumbleweed, the water from their eyes burst open the door and out rushed a flood of oniony tears. The tide washed over the land and even filled the river back up. But the flood also swept Bill several miles down the valley. The flood eventually ran its course and dumped Bill's soggy ass in the middle of nowhere. He tried to hitchhike, but no one would pick him up. So Bill swore and cussed, and he walked his sorry butt home. When he got there, Sue was hobbling around on the porch. She saw Bill coming and yelled, “Hey, Bill, I’m hungry. When are those steaks gonna' to be ready, you worthless bastard?”

Ennui Attacks, Bad Girls Defend Selves

Monday June 4, 2007 2:10 PM
By Alex Culpepper/Correspondent


Dayton, Ohio (AP)— An all out assault on the crushing boredom was the order of the day. An onslaught of weariness and apathy had sought to shackle the “Bad Girls” with its own insidious brand of terror. Four Ohio women, known by many as the “Bad Girls,” were the victims of a sudden attack of ennui. With little to defend themselves and even less time to react, they sought diversion and solace from whatever they could muster.

“It really came from nowhere,” said Jessica Gibson-James, spokesperson for the Bad Girls. “I mean, I guess I wasn’t paying attention. But I’m not sure why this would happen to us—so I just ate some candy and looked for someone to kick.” She replied.

Fellow Bad Girl Katie Baumgardner said that she was angry. “How dare this happen to me! This is so . . . so ‘un.’ This world is going to (expletive)! Anyway, I put on some lip gloss and sent some emails. Then I made a list of my favorite colors.”

Officials on the scene were unable to give many details. Witnesses were scarce, and the incident is under investigation.

Another Bad Girl, Caitlin Closser, spoke candidly. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just practice counting to 20 again. I’m getting better, I really am.”

No one knows for sure what will happen next, but one thing is certain for Bad Girl Linda Turk, “It makes me realize that wearing great shoes doesn’t always solve my problems.”

Beat the Heat

Your zowie yoga pants
Dusty with jackrabbits
and tumbleweeds
Such heat makes me dig
Deeply into the freezer
For another solipsism
No better way to stay
Cool and a la cart

Parlor Tricks

How the time goes. You remember?
The little paneled case: Miss Mills having been unhappy
In a misplaced affection, and as it was her custom to walk about
In the daytime with her absolute certainty of having seen him before,
and we both said, Betsey, one of these days.

Now, Agnes, you have a wise head.
With a woodman’s axe in my hand,
I clear my own way through the forest invisible
Familiar it would appear, for corporeally speaking
she saying, Look, papa, what beautiful flowers.

And Miss Mills smiled—a tradition in the Commons
She lived principally on incessantly playing one tune,
and saw dog incessantly dancing one dance
(Oh, no. I object, you know) which he said very rapidly,
and went as to sleep,
I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes,
but I am a Memorial to a more convenient time.

Although we are like two pretty pieces of confectionery,
I told her how I loved her.
I told her I was shut up close.
The conservatory doors were standing open, enough,
and Jip was lying in her lap, winking peacefully at me.
It be got rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be
closely engaged,
and never walked slowly on any account,
and felt relief from the fatigues of business,

If my calculation is correct, amounting to forty-one, ten, eleven
he seemed to be describing clouds about himself, at home
though I thought we all bore that with fortitude.
While I had been away from home lately,
Traddles had called twice.
I began to reflect whether I had done anything with some horses,
to stop very short when she appeared to trust not ignobly,
Mrs. Micawber and myself were roused from my amazement,
and concern for her - I am sure,
Miss

George Bush Parkway

The Tipp City council has voted to rename a section of road the "George Bush Parkway." This is a letter I wrote to a local paper to explain why I think their decision shows clear evidence of homoerotic worship of Dubya. It's true. All these goofy, hyperconservative men in this town have a definite man love for Dubya.

George Bush Parkway?
Have Tipp Cityians gone mad? Some of the people in this town have been like girls at a Sanjaya sighting the way they have sighed and swooned over George Bush. Can people here be any more aroused by the president? This is embarrassing and shameful. A road named after George Bush? Why not name a cemetery after him for all the deaths he has caused. Why not name a lonely hilltop for all the allies he has alienated? Why not name a vacant lot for all of his empty-headed rhetoric? Why not name an empty storefront for all of his failed policies? Bush came here not because he loves Tipp City; he came here because this is nearly the only place where he would not have rotten tomatoes lobbed at him. Representatives in his party hold their noses around him. Officials in his administration have abandoned him. Even conservative pundits are jumping ship. And this town wants to honor someone who has as much credibility as Jane Fonda at a VFW poker game? How can you honor someone who has no honor?

Alex Culpepper
Tipp Resident

The Man with the Bent Head

It happened again
The woman with a cigarette
came to me
She was distraught
Weak and shrill
Because the man
The man came back for
His laundry
“You can’t miss him” she
muttered
“His head bends funny”
Great—
Now I sit quietly and wait
for the man with a bent head

Pic-nic

Let’s have a pic-nic they decided.
“I’ll bring chicken and I’ll bring
Watermelon and I’ll bring
The Liebfraumilch and pork loin.”
So they hastened with the feasty plans
and noted who would bring what.

The food talk was intoxicating
and everyone agreed to meet
on a sunny day under park trees.
All gathered around a table
fluffed with food baggage.
Lips smacked and mouths sharpened
for sweet meaty tastiness.

But a delighted squeal rattled the guests
because from the bushes streaked
the salmon-pink forms of the naked men.
They rushed the table—
Naked hands clutched the food bags
and off they scurried leaving nothing
but crumbs and rinds and bones
And gasps of horror

Laws of the Land

Hammurabi says—
If fire breaks out in a house, and someone who comes to put it out cast his eye upon the property of the owner of the house, and take the property of the master of the house, he shall be thrown into that self-same fire.

Imagine Poem

This verse is the work of Carson Culpepper. Carson is in first grade and loves that she can defy the oppressive rules of language in order to create a thought or an image. She has other poems, but I’m afraid the language is much too blue for this blog.

Imagine going to space
and jumping from planet to planet
and playing basketball with bubblegum
and a cow jumping over the moon
and eating a sandwich with my
friends
can you imagine it?

Get Your Melon Away From My Grapes!

So al Qaida wants street vendors to keep the tomatoes separated from the cucumbers. It seems that these two vegetables/fruits are different genders, and they can't have the cukes looking up the skirts of those tomatoes. Really, people, what's going to happen here? Are we going to have illegitimate cucamatoes? Tomumbers? Will those willful and public whore tomatoes offend Allah? I would think al-Qaida guys would cover the female foods in veils and gowns or at least place them in the back of the fruit cart. But there's one problem: tomatoes and cucumbers are neither male nor female. The al-Qaida guys have placed sexual identities on these foods. Or somebody just made up a really bizarre story.

The -ness He Made

He put on his shoes
They slid on with a familiar shoe-ness
He then put on his suit
It hung with a particular suit-ness
He then drank a cup of coffee
It tasted warm and had a distinctive coffee-ness
He then went outside to see things
The air had a particular air-ness
He then stepped in mud
It gushed with a mushy mud-ness
He then sat down and was sad
It felt like a sad sort of sad-ness

Belly Dance

She says that the dance is not for men
But all those hip shakes, smiles, and skin
Makes me think of lust and sin
They can’t be as innocent as is claimed
But I can’t argue the point all the same
I know that I’d never win
Besides, the dance is mightier than the pen

Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut once wrote about a time when he gave a eulogy at Isaac Asimov’s Funeral. Isaac Asimov was the president of the American Humanist Association, and Vonnegut was a member, too. For those who are unaware, humanists do not believe in supernatural beings, such as gods. Therefore, they do not believe in Heaven or Hell as many Christians do. So Vonnegut stands before a large crowd, honoring Asimov, and he had this to say as he began to speak: “Isaac is in Heaven now.” Vonnegut claims that this had the crowd in stitches and for good reason—it’s Goddamn funny.

I loved reading Vonnegut’s books. His stories, characters, and social commentary are hilarious. Vonnegut is accessible and easy to read, and that’s important. He was a hair shirt for religious quackery and institutions that are wasteful, shortsighted, and dehumanizing. He laid out some complex ideas and critiques, always thinly disguised by absurd and entertaining storylines.

Kurt Vonnegut is in Heaven now.

Create Your Own

(Appendix A)
What you will need:
Several scattered moonbeams (on the floor preferably)
Six voices from the street below—two singing, two laughing, one screaming, and one asking too many questions
A comfy chair large enough for a luxurious woman
One short skirt (be sure to place your hand on her thigh; linger)
(don’t think about baseball!)
Include rambling discussion of why you failed your metaphysics exam
Two narrative concoctions about the time you immunized poor people in Spain
One clever exposé revealing how kissing makes you unbelievably wonderful (be sincere)
Place lips where needed (an extremity works best: fingers, breasts, where the neck meets the shoulder, and so on)
Place contents in highball glass with ice
(Add bourbon)
Enjoy

Doctor's Notes

—Symptoms
The doctor mentioned
a feeling of malaise
with
despondency
dreadful cough
nervous debilitation
burning sensations
liver complaint
genital lesions

Those carbuncles,
round as a young virgin's breasts
mixed with
catarrh of the lungs
profuse expectoration
bulging goiter
loss of eye motion
blue-tinged lips

Diagnosis—
wasting away
reduced to a skeleton
and
completely wrecked

Scent of Night

The Countess trailed the scent of a poker game
beside her bed of coral she knelt
and opened her sachet to unfurl
airy musings
meandering monologues and
words taken from dead poets

Her plan was schematically arid
her hyper falsetto
an undulating escalator
I glanced askance
the funhouse mirror showed
all legs and soul

The Sex Issue

Ahh, secretaries . . . and typewriters. What! Typwriters? Yes, the sex issue is here, and you are no doubt as excited as I am. Apparently, someone long ago thought that typewriter erotica was the wave of the future. In some ways it was, and although some of these pictures remain erotic, they somehow seem quirky, too. Let’s all thank The Virtual Typewriter Museum for this bit of fun. For more, visit the site. go to

Meeting Famous People

A friend of mine posted a blog entry some months back in which he tells about meeting Maury Povich in an elevator in New York City. My friend says to Maury Povich, "Hey, aren't you Maury Povich?" And Povich turns to him and says, "All day long."
Maury Povich is a putz.

My friend's story reminded me of a time many years ago when I met Martin Sheen. It was in a grocery store in Oakwood, Ohio, and it was late on a Sunday night. I don't remember what I was shopping for, but it must have been mighty important enough for me to go to a grocery store late on a Sunday. Anyway, I was walking down an aisle when I spotted Sheeny. He was reading a package of noodles, and he seemed totally engrossed in his shopping. I remember thinking "Holy crap! That's Martin Sheen!" I kept cool though, and I noticed that he had mostly expensive, pre-packaged meals scattered about his cart. That made sense—he was a rich guy and didn't want to cook. After watching him for a few minutes, I walked up to him, flexed my arm, and said, "Hey, aren't you Martin Sheen? You wanna' feel my muscle?"
Then he said, "Get the fuck away from me." So I left.
What a grouch.

The Food Issue

—Brave Leader
So the leader of the people perched high
on his lemon merengue pie—said
there is no more spectacle
nothing to witness here
please move along
and do not snap
the leaves that
hang down
low
near
the blueberry tarts



—Orderly Exit
The celery stalks inched down the aisles
they paused momentarily to
let the eggplant shuffle down the steps
Then they herded by the cabbage who
stared from the other side of the aisle as
they waited for the turnips to shuffle through the auditorium

They all filed out single-file across the
plaza filing single file under the
archway across the floor singly
out the door into the chapped night to
shmoozle and shnipple

Testing, Testing

—This Is a Test
This test must be simple—
Distracter A
must be plausible
Distracter B
must be friends with
Distracter C
Which will look like the
Key
And be no longer or shorter than all
Choices
Because the test
Must not be too easy or
Too difficult

But it is very difficult
to write with so many
Rules
and with ennui
making so much
Hopeless

The Tale of Count Schniffelwerfer and the Dark Red Wine

—Two Olives
I ordered a martini extra dry
Served by a metaphysician
the olive he told me was a
world that coughed a dreadful
cough
of despondency and platitudes

Then the gibbering tourists smelled
of cigarettes and black magic
their grotesque shadows
painted mountains of rum and spice

So I said, doc—
could you make it two olives

A Note About Surgery

To my patients who have solicited my professional services, from their homes in every state, city, town, and remote thicket within our great Union. And to all those dwelling in Europe, Mexico, South Asia, the Russian Steppes, and scattered islands of the Pacific Rim, I respectfully offer an explanation.

Look, when I said that I was a doctor, I meant that my intention was to heal and that maybe I was speaking figuratively—that I was being a "doctor" simply meant that I was acting as an agent of hope. It's not that I had any idea that so many would come to me with such serious ailments in need of medical help. After all, when I heard things like "thank you for seeing us, Dr. Culpepper . . . It's so good that I found someone to sew my arm back on, Dr. Culpepper . . . I'm so grateful that you can perform surgery on my kidney right here . . ." I felt important and my self confidence was boosted immeasurably. After some time, I felt that I really could perform surgery and remove organs with ease. I just didn't think that so many people would have so many complications, like the ones who died. It's unfortunate, but most of the time it was infection, not my lack of medical training that led to such suffering. But life is about learning from mistakes, is it not?

So I do apologize, and I suppose that what I did was a little misguided. Future medical treatment will be limited and all of you should know this.

Respectfully submitted

Autobiography

—Bad Timing
So I sat alone at night
by a table that cared nothing for me
Despair
was my houseguest

Where were you O Lord
when the bottle was empty
and the sign read—
Closed?

Curious Phrases

Several weeks ago, I was reading a friend's blog. He mentioned a review that he had read in which the reviewer talked about "old, failed poets." This critique seemed awfully mean-spirited. Can anyone really be a "failed" poet? If I recall right, the author was actually talking about economically successful poets who have failed spiritually or who had "sold out."
Nonsense. Hogwash.

Anyhow, I was inspired to write about old, failed poets, and the result shimmers below, revealing all of my cynical loveliness.

—The Bane of Poets
I once kicked an old, failed poet
He deserved it
Because he reached for the postcard
The postcard that read Howdy from Oklahoma!
It was my postcard, the bastard
I reached first
(actually, his was a reacharound and we know that reacharounds are
inappropriate)

So I kicked him in the ribs
And then in the ego
as he spilled to the floor
He’s probably at home now
Writing a poem or eating a sandwich

And now I’m thinking about Oklahoma
The land where you drink whiskey from a boot
And everyone’s fixin’ to do something
Something that involves dust and cowboy hats

But he learned his lesson, the bastard

Annie Hall

Woody Allen made some damn funny movies. He laced social observations and critiques with one-liners and other jokes inspired by guys like Groucho Marx. I remember one from the movie. Alvie (Allen) is giving a standup routine at a college and he says, "I was thrown out of N.Y.U. my freshman year for cheating on my metaphysics final, you know. I looked within the soul of the boy sitting next to me."

That's funny because it's unlikely that someone would take a metaphysics "exam," and, if you did, that's how you might cheat.

Subculture

No one actually says to himself, "You know, someday, I'll become a hillbilly." It just happens.
This image was captured in Tipp City, Ohio. The photograph is an approximate representation of the typical family one might find in a small western Ohio town. Please note the chicken perched upon the bed frame. This is a common sight in many small towns. People often wish to be close to their animals—even the ones they may later be "fixin' to take to market."

I'm a Hermit

I'm a hermit and I live in a cave. Not many people know this because not many people know who I am. I don't look like a hermit. I don't have long stringy hair or a bushy beard, and I'm not wearing ragged animal skins or sackcloth or anything like that. In fact, if you met me, you would not say to yourself, "Wow, who was that hermit guy?" You would say, "Wow, that was a fine chap with an understated elegance." Women would say, "Wow, he talked to me for five minutes and didn't once stare at my breasts. If he's married, his wife is exceptionally lucky."

But I see the same things everyday—same trees, same clouds, same hallucinations. Most hermits do. I don't really do much. I watch TV, make prank phone calls, and I look for dry places to sit, and sometimes I need to chase wild animals from my cave. I suppose that I do other things, too: I get up and pee in the middle of the night and then can't fall asleep again. I iron my socks and I sing falsetto. It's all routine really—I'm not that different. I'm just a hermit in a cave.

Snow Board

I found an old waterski in my garage, and I use it as a snowboard when I can. I know it's not the same as a snowboard, but I don't give a shit because I hate winter sports. So I took the board to a park where hills and trails become one. I hoped for some movement—some speed—after all, I had fun the last time I used it.
But it sucked. I went nowhere. I couldn't even move downhill.
That was some freaky snow. I felt cheated.
I hate winter sports anyway.

The next week Beth and I were walking through the same park. This time the snow was melting and it was sloshy fun, but treacherous footing kept me on guard. When we came to a big, icy hill, I easy-stepped it so that I wouldn't tumble my way to some serious fractures. Funny thing though. Beth says to me, "Just move like you're snowboarding." I said, "that would be good advice if I didn't suck at snowboarding."

Boots crunched
snow fingers ached
under the wrath of rope that was too short
The Snow was a mischievous pixie or maybe a surly retiree
Who knew that water could create such friction
I’m angry with the snow
it owes me one
probably more

Water friction
Frozen nostril
Snow crunch
Selfish sun
Succulent naptime
Fruit of lusty love

On Puppets

Puppets are strange aren't they? You saw puppets all the time as a child no doubt. They come in all shapes and sizes textures and colors. Most of all, puppets have such distinct attitudes and personalities. But lets face it, you sometimes get tired of their bullshit, don't you. They're just like anyone else, and you have limitations as expected. But is there more to puppets? More than we know now? Is there truth to puppets?

Is there a puppet god?
a puppet Sabbath?
have you seen their
Puppet tricks
Puppet laughter
Puppet bullshit
Puppet apathy

Dancing puppets
Cruel puppets
Talking puppets
Self-obsessed puppets
soup a la puppet
Puppet cream pie
Oh, Jiggle puppet jiggle

Modus Operandi

I know bloggers who post poems, gush over fermented beverages, and make daily observations. But I really have no "purpose" shall we say. What I seem to do is post to other blogs, so I thought that maybe I could discuss here my posts on other peoples' blogs. But that idea seems sort of silly, but I may on occassion talk about something I saw and reprise my observations for you, dear readers.
The following is a somewhat overdramatized beer review that I posted on a friend's site.

—Porter
I.
At first I tasted the birth of a civilization
—the hope of a quenched thirst
much like the one a stone-age traveler must have experienced
while viewing the glorious walls of Jericho.

II.
Next—
a winey perfume whispered to me
as though I were an honored guest at a Moroccan bazaar
But then—
across the great landscape of my palate surged
the screaming hordes of pagan invaders.
Dark and mysterious were the roasty waves
like the blood of sacrificed criminals.

III.
Towards the end of my swoon,
as though by divine creation,
a sweetness—
(was it sweet?)
Or was it spiced cocoa gently procured by noble savages
from a far away tropical paradise.
Drink it early;
drink it often!
The path to glory is clear! Leghumper for all!

Skulls and French Poets

Several months ago, my brother told me that he was going to France, and he asked me what I wanted him to bring back for me. I said that I wanted a skull from a dead French poet. He said that he would try, but I never got my skull. I did not explain why I wanted the skull, but I can relate part of the story here.

—On Promise
The Minotaur came to me and told me where to find
the skull of a dead French poet.
“The skull,” he said,
“would bring the promise of peace and renewed well-being
for our weary race.”

But that old trickster thinks I’m a fool.
He just wants the skull for himself
and will snatch it from my hands the moment I display the relic.
Why should I believe a man who has a magical bull’s head?

The first official post

Did you know that today is the last day of February?
Did you know that today is the first day of the rest of your life?
Did you know that caller ID has ruined the fun of prank telephone calling?
Did you know that you should never put salt in your eye?