Friday, January 26, 2007

Introduction to the Following Posts

The posts before this one (and thus below it) are all poems I wrote in 2006.

The Nightly News

Terrorism Terrorism Terrorism Terrorism
Fear Fear We’re Selling Fear
Commercial Break
Denial of Lies
Kowtowing to Authority
Deference to Power
Commercial Break
Corporate Shilling
Sucking Up to Advertisers
Commercial Break
Commercial Break
More Lies
More Bullshit
Commercial Break
Sucking Up to the Government
Kissing Up to Big Business
Commercial Break
Entertainment Gossip
Bread and Circuses
Good Night!

Ode To The Crusher

by The Bodyslam Poet

Crusher, I declare that I will crush you!
In my headlock you will turn bluer than blue!
I will squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze . . .
Until you beg “Please, Oh, please, please, please, please!”
Then we will see the effects
Of my bodyslam and suplex
From turnbuckle to turnbuckle we shall go
For I am the champ and you are my foe
Oh, it has long been my dream
To make you shriek and scream
Will I pin you or make you submit?
Either way, I’ll pop you like a zit!


Allen Ginsberg told us
Everything is holy
Even the asshole
He was right
Where would we be without our assholes?
That’s right
Full of shit
Thank your asshole
Hardworking asshole
Why is it an insult to call someone an “asshole” then?
We need some new swear words
Some new insults
What’s wrong with “fucking”?
Except for test-tube babies
It’s how we all got here
In fact, it’s hard to think of a bad word
“Shit” grows flowers
“Dicks” and “pussies” are like “assholes”
We need them
Unuseful old phrases
I hate sayings which don’t hold up conceptually
Like “You can’t dismantle the master’s house with his own tools/”
If the master has a sledgehammer, then sure you can!
We either need new taboos or new language
Maybe not
How about . . .
There can’t be anything good about that
What kind of person drowns kittens?
A kittendrowner
Why that’s almost as bad
That’s up there with “Animaleater”
Oh, I guess that last one won’t catch on
But hell, if you’re going to eat a chicken sandwich
You might as well kick puppies and drown kittens
What? Accuse me of a logical fallacy!
What’s the difference?
There ain’t no such thing as a humane death
I eat meat once in a while
I can look a cow in the eye
I only keep my hand in
The meateating business though
So that when civilization collapses
I can stay alive
By eating you if I have to
I can look you in the eye too
You’d go good with Sriracha sauce I bet
Cannibal, eh?
Well, only if there’s no spinach around.
Now, where was I?
Oh, yes.
It’s hard to think of a good insult.
Just like it’s hard to imagine what humans might not do.

Monday, January 15, 2007

On The Black Bus

At the airport

In New Orleans,


Else from my flight

Takes the shuttle

To the hotel.

It costs ten bucks.

I take the bus.

Dollar fifty.

I'm the only

White person on

The bus but with

My eight fifty

I buy some beer

When I'm downtown.

I look at one

Of the dollars

Before I hand

It to the clerk.

On back it says

“E pluribus

Unum”. Latin

“Many made one”.


Is a strange land

And New Orleans

Is where it all

Wash down to sea

At the bottom


If anywhere

The people should

Be mixed as one,

It is this place.

Instead they mix

Class with one's race.

The slave auctions

Are no more, but

The auctioneer's

Chant echoes on.

Truth in Advertising





Dick Cheney

(x ad infinitum)

Things That Should Be Illegal But Aren’t

Making war, selling fear, greed feast

Censors, hangmen, stupidity

Corporation as human beast

Things That Should Be Legal But Aren’t

Drugs, prostitution, nudity

Open container, female priest

Gay marriage, swearing on t.v.

Ten Commandments? I’d Settle For The Seven Deadly Sins

Bumper sticker reads

Proud to be American

One of seven sins

One Nation, Under An Idiot

Which nation? I will give you just one guess.

United States of America? Yes.

Ode To The Toilet

You are much underappreciated my porcelain friend

No more running out to the outhouse on cold winter nights

And you carry away the stench

I’d give you a hug

But somehow cleaning you once in a while seems enough

The Lost Art Of The Turn Signal

Driver’s license from a cereal box

On the cellphone he or she talks talks talks

Dear God save me from the populi vox

Jesus Of The Squirrels

I wonder if there ever was a Jesus Christ for squirrels?

I don’t talk about thoughts like this when I try to impress girls

I Exam

I kept forgetting who I was

I made a doctor’s appointment

Surely there would be some ointment

I said “My ego’s lost its buzz.”

“Instead of memory, there’s fuzz.”

“Nothing brings any enjoyment.”

“All I get is disappointment.”

Doctor says, “Ah, this is because . . .”

“You have existential crisis.”

“Buddhists would say this is good.”

“No more desire, no more self.”

“But here’s what my advice is . . .”

“Get a hobby, maybe work wood.”

“My bill will shock you back to health.”

Heroes And Villanelles

I grew up loving to read comic books

At first Wonder Woman was the best

And all around people gave me strange looks

On to The Flash, with his speed he caught crooks

A boy, a male hero, I passed the test

I grew up loving to read comic books

Then The X-Men got me into their hooks

I wished for claws and a tail with such zest

And all around people gave me strange looks

Now a teen, I vanished into hidden nooks

To find and buy stacks of comics--no jest!

I grew up loving to read comic books

But words and art, however smart the cooks

Were suspicious things, they said “Take a rest!”

And all around people gave me strange looks

But the comics grew with me, they were not rooks

Now an adult and at a small press fest

We all grew up loving to read comic books

And all around no one gives us strange looks!


I love you more than elephants have wrinkles

I love you more than pianos have tinkles

I love you more than zebras have stripes

I love you more than organs have pipes

I love you more than trees have rings

I love you more than guitars have strings

I love you more than grass has blades

I love you more than color has shades

I love you more than banks have coins

I love you more than joints have joins

I love you more than owls have whoos

I love you more than unions have dues

I love you more than zeros have os

I love you more than Josephs have Joes

I love you more than flies have eyes

I love you more than liars have lies

I love you more than gollys have gees

I love you more than ha’s have hees

I love you more than oms have ahs

I love you more than crows have caws

I think you get the idea

I love you lots

Christmas Card From A Misanthrope

Lousy Christmas! Crappy New Year!

Let’s kill everyone else

And to guarantee peace on Earth

Let’s also kill ourselves!

Bury Me In The Backyard

The wags always say, “Send me flowers while I’m alive.”

So in that spirit I thought I’d write you an elegy

A tribute to you while you’re still alive

But then I changed my mind

You’ve always been full of yourself

Why should I add fuel to the tank?

But since I intended to write an elegy

I’m in that frame of mind

I’ve always been the tidy sort, you know that

My possessions are pretty well-documented

They go to you and my parents as in the will

You can give some to my friends

The rest can go on eBay--make some money

Garage sales, auctions, thrift stores for the rest

Find them all happy homes, let nothing go to waste

In fact, if you want, you can stuff my body

Put it in the corner, maybe have me reading a book

That’s pretty much all I did while I was alive

If that’s too grotesque then bury me

I grew up across the street from a graveyard

I liked to play there as a child

Yeah, a cemetery would be all right

But you could also bury me in the backyard

You might need a special permit from the city

You know the government always has to get their cut

I don’t want any embalming

None of that stuff polluting the ground

I want to go back to nature

I want to feed the worms

I bet you’d get a really good garden the next year

Maybe the tomatoes would taste like me

And if a dog ever dug up a leg bone

Don’t get mad, let it have a chew

Make sure to put a tag or something on me

So no one gets freaked out fifty years from now

Thinking there was a murder

You can put a headstone if you want

But I don’t want no stinking coffin

Maybe one of those biodegradable bags

You could have friends dig the grave

Some of them could use the exercise

I don’t want to stay there forever though

Someday I hope my skull ends up on a shelf

Maybe a college student’s somewhere

I’d visit if I could from time to time

Offer advice, or just rattle my teeth

Yeah, yeah, don’t be sad

We can’t just keep getting older

The Earth is too crowded as it is

Death is a friend after all

Invite it in, have a drink

Enjoy the times while you’re here

Oops, this is turning into a carpe diem poem

Anyway, when I’m gone, don’t let me be a pain

Flowers, funeral directors, rent on the gravesite

Just dig a hole and bury me in the backyard

True, it might affect the property value

But then goths and the morbid might pay extra

And I’d still always be at the family bar-b-qs

The Bodyslam Limerick

by The Bodyslam Poet

I am the wrestler known as The Bodyslam Poet!

I am going to be the champ and you all know it!

So just gimme the belt!

Or I’ll give you a welt!

Your ass is grass and I am going to mow it!

Bad Catholic

Bad Catholic

by Wred Fright

I never go to church

I never send money

I like my priests drunk

This disturbs my mother

She asks if I still pray

I tell her not yet today

But then she should talk, my mother

She never goes to church

Though she does send money

I’d use that money to get drunk

Instead she starts to pray

I wonder if she did that today?

Still I’d never leave the church

Even if they excommunicated me today

That might distress my mother

But I never go anyway--I just stay at home and get drunk!

Besides, they’d never do that--they still hope to get my money!

Ha! Hard they better pray!

Say, it’s a beautiful day today

I’ve never understood why God has to stay inside a church

And Jesus too--water to wine--they should let him out to get us drunk

I think it’s mostly a scam to get money

“Blasphemy!” says my mother

Then for me she’ll pray

Oh, how the woman loves to pray!

Almost as much as I love to get drunk!

But one gets sober when one runs out of money

I wonder if she ever runs out of prayers, my mother

Ask the pope for a refill today

He’ll zap some right out to the local church!

I’ve read that the Vatican bank launders money

I’ve been there before and I wasn’t drunk

Now that’s what I’d call a church!

She would love it, my mother

There’s a place to pray!

I wish I was there today!

I’d get drunk on the communion wine and maybe even give them some money

Today maybe I’ll visit my mother

She can pray for me and for her just this once I’ll go to church