Archive for March 10, 1987

Poet Slashings

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
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Pope, Byron, Blake
It’s a piece of cake
For my sake
To make
A mistake.

Shelley, Coleridge, Wordsworth
I think they’re worth
Their weight in Nerf
For surf
And turf.

Swift, Steel, Dickens
They are all chickens
If I had my pickins
It sickens
My lickins.

The Wastebasket’s Point of View

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
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A wastebasket is unloved
‘Cept for holding items you don’t want anymore.
Like pencil stubs
And old candy
And unhumorous bumper stickers
And Superman Underoos
And bad poetry mistakes
Like this one.

Maybe it isn’t so bad
Because you get to meet many different things
And you get to love and cherish each unique object
Until someone empties you with a flick of their wrist
Only leaving you with a small remnant;
A trail of greasy saliva or
A hardened piece of gum but
Mostly nothing.

And when you get old
And your plastic’s weak
And your wicker is sagging
And your metal is corroded
And your shine is gone
And your color is faded
And you refuse to let go of that one last bit
Of stuff you have held in your confines
For a long, long time
Maybe all of eternity
They’ll throw you into an even bigger wastebasket
And you can truthfully say
I know what you mean.

The Origin of the Flyswatter

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
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There once was a man named Kotter
Who’s occupation was that of a potter
He was perturbed one day
A fly got in his clay
And he sat down and invented the ‘swatter.

He thought about a ping pong paddle
And with pen in hand he would dabble
Such time it would take
For a paddle to make
To be practical for all kinds of rabble.

Tennis rackets were too large to use
Even though the shape Kotter did peruse
The strings were so taut
That useful it was not
Because it just cut the insects in twos.

The baseball bat was too thin
In frustration he scratched at his chin
The ideas he’d tried
Had come from outside
And this one must come from within

So he gave up on the idea for the day
Saw another fly not too far away
A spatula he got
The new fly he sought
And behold there the dead fly did lay.

The moral of the story is this:
When there’s a fly buzzing, don’t be amiss
Pick up anything
And just give it a swing
And hopefully you will not miss.

In Defense of the Cockroach

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry

The cockroach may be sentient
Possibly impertinent
One thing we know,
It likes to go
And hide in your…dessertament?


Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The contents of a girlie’s purse
Are many, sundry, and quite diverse.
Lipstick and makeup and lots of things
Gum and candy and classy rings.
Jewelry, mascara, Vogue and Elle
A little black book of their clientele.
Wallet full of pictures, numbers, and dates
A list of loves and a list of hates.
Bottles, books, boxes, and cans
Liquid paper and rubber bands.
Advil, cookies, extra pens,
Millions of notes from millions of friends.
Mirrors, brushes, hair spray bottles
Earrings and brochures to look like models.
Keys, matches, undated green passes
Used to get friends out of their classes.
Credit cards, bracelets, maybe a comb
Everything they need while away from their home.
Nail polish, eye shadow, liner and blush,
Packed in their purses ‘cause they’re in a rush.
Watches and perfume, a pack of breath mints
Nickels, dimes, quarters – about fifty cents.
Thank God there’s only so much space in a purse
If bags were in style, it would be that much worse.