Reward

When I am cashiering,
I try to help people save bags,
Because what if in heaven
For each bag we save here,
We get that same bag
Full of diamonds
Or candy,
Or arcade tokens?

How did God get so high up in the heavens?

By stooping.

How does God make his voice so thunderous?

By whispering.

In heaven, we will probably be really smart and I bet instead of saying things like “Have you read that book?”  we will say “Have you read that library?”

knock knock.

who’s there?

don’tcha.

don’tcha who?

Don’tcha wish this joke were funnier?

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Ralph.

Ralph who?

Ralph Jones.

Oh, hi, Ralph.  Come on in.  It’s nice to see you.

knock knock.

who’s there?

looks like.

looks like who?

looks like I’m not that good at making up knock knock jokes.

knock knock.

who’s there.

someone practicing knock knock jokes.

someone practicing knock knock jokes who?

how am I doing?

knock knock.

who’s there?

humor lessons.

humor lessons who?

humor lessons.

I don’t get it.

That’s why you need humor lessons.

knock knock.

who’s there?

minimalism.

minimalism who?

just minimalism.

Rufus was tired of being a pink flamingo.  He felt that pink was a girl color.  He had heard that flamingos were pink because they ate pink shrimp.  This gave him an idea.  He went to the candy store, bought some blue taffy, and ate it every day for two years.  At first, he turned lavender and was a little embarrassed, but eventually he became pure blue.  He felt much better about himself, though he did have a stomachache.

Something I wrote when I was in Mississippi

So this is Mississippi.  So this is where trains go when they go to Mississippi.  So this is where people are when they say, “Hey.  I’m calling from Mississippi.”  So this is where I would have grown up if I had grown up in Mississippi.”  Feels strange, really.  This must be what it feels like to be in Mississippi.

Stolen Glances

Pamela bought craft supplies, and when she got home, she realized that she had not been charged for a pack of googly eyes.  She held them in her hand, horrified.

“I’m a thief,” she said.

She hurried back to the store with the googly eyes, got in line, and paid for them.  When she got home, she still felt guilty– too guilty to even glue the eyes on pom poms as she had planned.  She avoided the gaze of the googly eyes and kept them in the package.  From then on, every time she went to the store, she would sneak the pack in and pay for them again.

Over and over, she paid for the once stolen googly eyes, but it did nothing to clear her conscience.

She finally threw the googly eyes into the trash, desperately trying to get rid of the evidence, and, of course, the witnesses.

Fine

One day, Jim got a speeding ticket.  He was forced to pay $120.00.  He went to court and sadly parted with his money.  On the way home from court, he got another speeding ticket.  He had to pay $80.00 that time.  On the way back from that court appearance, he was stopped again, and he was fined $100.00.  He was fined over and over again, and he finally ran out of money.  The town had to put him in jail instead of fining him.  He figured out that it cost the town $3580 per day to keep him in jail.  After six months, he really felt like he had gotten a pretty good deal.

When I divorced rhyme

Just now, I almost said, “When we broke up”, but it was definitely a divorce.

 

We had been married for a long time. 

It was an arranged marriage that took place when I was only twelve,

But the love was real.

 

Our hearts beat together

Thumping in iambic pentameter.

 

Our pulsing heartbeats.  five and then five more.

He held me, lead me, dancing on the floor

 

See?  That’s how it was.

 

But my guardian, my mentors, my mother didn’t approve.

The MFA magistrates laid down the law.

 

“You cannot be together.”

“He’s holding you back.”

“He doesn’t fit in here.”

“We only want what’s best for you.”

 

Rhyme understood. I knew he would.

 

He said, “ I love you more than you could know but tell me so and I will go”

 

We parted. 

I left, crying,  and I fell into an asymmetrical nonmetrical dissonant disorganized unmusical funk.

 

I wandered through the countryside,

Describing the flowers with four-syllable words, because finally, I could. 

I didn’t have to find a rhyme for “unrestricted desolation”.

I could end lines with oranges.

 

But they became sour,.

 

Whose woods those were I thought I knew,

But I couldn’t remember any more.

 

One fish, two fish, red fish… can’t go there.

 

Candy was dandy, but liquor, well, that punchline now had to be a secret.

 

I tossed and turned at night, bound by my so called freedom.

So finally, when no one was looking,

 

I fled.  I fled to where we were wed.  I was willing to be dead.  I didn’t know where I’d be led, but I know what I have read, and though I was filled with dread at what could happen in my head, I found my Rhyme and said,

 

“Forgive me.  See, I thought I’d be as free as free could be.” 

 

I said “There’s no one above you.”

He said, “I love you.”

 Again, we mated,

 

Content to be under-rated.

Note to Self

 

-       Go to bank to fix overdraft problem.

-       Call the church about roommate situation.

-       Don’t forget to write that poem about how you say that you’d like magic marbles that all do different things, and different things happen when different marbles clank together, like maybe if a blue swirly juju marble clanks against an emerald floogie, then a big portal opens up and you can be transported to a world inhabited by long-legged googly-eyed orange birds that periodically walk up to you and say things like, “I like the way you do things, and I hope you find a golden coin everywhere you turn.”  And in that poem you can talk about what happens with each combination of clanking marbles.

-       Also, check yellow pages for computer repair place.

-       Apologize to Jimmy.

At first, I didn’t trust the man because of his shifty eyes, but I then realized that his eyes were shifty because he was reading…  the Bible…

I think that I am allergic to large doses of carbon monoxide.

I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve wished I had a nickel.

I only found two peaches when we went peach picking.  I think that next time, we will go peach picking in a peach orchard instead of in a blueberry patch.

I only listen to Tchaicovsky’s Piano Concerto #1.  Please do not ask me to listen to anything else.  I will refuse.  If I am in a department store and they are playing other music, I politely ask them to play Tchaicovsky instead.  Usually, they won’t, so I just whistle it loudly as I shop.

When I was younger, I listened to a lot of different music.  Sometimes I would even play the radio.  Now, I am much more selective.  It bothers me that there are musical pieces besides the piano concerto.  It seems so unnecessary.  

And yes, this is a paid ad for Tchaicovsky’s Piano concerto #1.  It was paid for by the Piano Concerto #1 Foundation, a little organization that I started.  I am telling you this because I love you.  I love you so much.  But not more than I love that part in Tchaicovsky’s Piano Concerto #1 that goes Duh nuh nuh nuh…. nuh….nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh… nuh nuh… but very much indeed.  Have a nice day.

This poem is not very complicated

I took my skateboard to the parking garage.

I rode up the elevator and skateboarded down.

Then I rode the elevator back up.

Then I skateboarded down again.

Then I rode the elevator back up.

Then I skateboarded back down.

Then I rode the elevator up.

Then I skateboarded back down.

Then I went home.

A conversation

“This bread is so good,” I said.  ”What’s the secret ingredient?”

 

“Flour.”

Blood, Sweat, Tears

On the bus trip to the poetry slam, there was a box attached to the front of the bus that was labeled, “Body Fluid Cleanup Kit”.  Curious, we opened it, and found nothing but a straw.

Outfit

If you wore a pair of Nike Air Force One shoes and an Old Navy hat that you bought at the Salvation Army, I bet the Marines would feel left out.

Story of the Moral of the Story

Every time Reggie made a mistake, he would write a little story about someone who did the right thing in that situation.  His stories became famous and were used to teach people goodness and morality.  The society became so holy and pure because of the teaching, that Reggie’s small mistakes stood out like heinous sins and unforgettable crimes.  He was eventually put to death at a public hanging for being such a horrible person.

From now on, I probably won’t trust any more casserole recipes that list bile as an ingredient.

Excuse

No, I shouldn’t have done it, but the thing is… I dared myself to do it and there’s no way I was going to turn down a dare.

Desktop Publishing Terms That Can Also Be Used In Theological Arguments

5 point type

Trifold

gray area

bold

widows

orphans

text

space

crop

black and white

quote

times

new

roman

intelligent design

Facebook status updates of Genghis Khan

 

 

Genghis just escaped from the Ta’yichiut.

 

Genghis is tired of eating marmots and wild fruits.

 

Genghis wonders if he could conquer the Western Xia Dynasty

 

Ghengis is laying siege to Lingzhou and will be off facebook for a while.

 

Genghis just united half the tribes of northeast Asia.

 

Ghengis resents being called a genocidal warlord.

 

Ghengis is excited that yak is what’s for dinner tonight.

How Appalling

One of my middle school students wrote a horrible blurb about a goat carcass laying in the middle of the road, rotting in the sun with vultures picking at its eyeballs and worms eating the disease carrying chunks in the vomit that oozed from its mouth, giving off a stench that attracted fleas and flies, which picked at the gooey mass of intestines for a while and then moved on to a more grisly pile of bloody chicken heads, twitching on the ground next to a little sign that said, “a middle schooler didn’t write this.  The teacher did and blamed it on them.”

Just Asking

How different would the world be if the people in our land spoke only in questions?  What if our language had no grammatical option for stringing thoughts together other than the interrogative?  If we answered all questions with questions, would our nation collapse with uncertainty?  Or would we conquer the world with our polite humility?

Things To Do Before I Die

 Get fired for teaching art while employed as a science teacher.

 Get fired for teaching science while employed as an art teacher.

 Get taught the art of firing employed science teachers.

Get taught the science of employing fired art teachers. 

Employ fired art teachers while getting taught science. 

Teach fired science teachers the art of getting employment.

Reggie was a manic depressive.  When he put on a mood ring, it shot sparks.  He went to a restaurant that had a little machine telling people what their moods were when they put their fingers in the slot, and his reading short circuited all of the electricity in the building, causing the power to go out all over the city.

I wonder what the Japanese are up to right now.

Confession

I know more advertising slogans than Bible verses.

This Is What You Get

I’d like to write a poem about artificial coagulation of perfunctory duct sophistication,

but I don’t know much about it,

or even if such a thing exists, 

so this poem is about bacon,

and how I like it so much,

especially when it’s crispy.

Also, I like lemonade.

Migration

Canada geese in the mall parking lot

Are the geese in the wrong place?

Or is the parking lot in the wrong place?

Marcy was an intern at the dictionary company, and she invented a new word, snuck it into the rhyming dictionary, and waited to see if she would start hearing it out on the street.  The word was golotorate, and it meant staring into the corner wishing that one had worn a nicer dress to one’s fourth grade piano recital.      She didn’t hear it until years later when she heard a rap song blaring from a pimped out low-rider car next to her in an intersection.   It was rhymed with the word “regurgitate.”  She smiled inwardly.  She had made her contribution to mankind.

Drift Catcher

Bobo’s thinking was so divergent that all of his ideas shattered into seemingly random words, which then splintered into individual letters just floating in his mind.  When he tried to communicate, he would just say random letters, which would sometimes be so divergent themselves that they would split into unrecognizable sounds.  When he wrote, he ignored the lines on the paper and just wrote letters and symbols haphazardly on the page.  His frustration built as he lived his life misunderstood.

Then, one day, at a therapeutic retreat for freaks of nature, he met Victoria, a woman whose thinking was so utterly convergent that she filtered all information through her focused mind and came up with the point, the answer, the concrete objective meaning behind any matrix of ideas, written or spoken.   When she heard a symphony, she would not clap.  She would simply say, “the answer is 17.”   As Bobo sputtered nonsensical sounds going in all directions, Victoria’s razor sharp mind organized these letters, sifted throught the data, drew the conclusion, and she gasped as she recognized the brialliance of his expression.  And when he finally said “g l   ooo  h  i 5 93e,” she said, “I love you, too.”

War Story

             Edward started walking with a fake limp when he was 25, just to get attention.  He made up a story to go along with the limp. 

            “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you have a limp?” people would say.

            “It’s a war injury,” he would say.  “I’d rather not go into the details, but I’ll tell you–  when it comes down to a buddy being killed or you being hurt, you save your buddy.

            People were always impressed.  The story became more elaborate in Edward’s mind.  He started having nightmares about the war.  The images became so real that he actually believed his own story.  He began having flashbacks, even in public places, and he would duck for cover in the middle of restaurants when he heard a car backfire.

            He started writing letters to the government demanding the recognition he deserved.   With the bureaucracy being what it was, they had no time to check military records and make phone calls, so they finally just sent him a medal and called it a day.  

He wears it everywhere he goes, and he pities the people who don’t know what sacrifice is.

An Interesting Psychological Exercise

Eat a bite a of pizza and chew it up thoroughly.  While it is still in your mouth, convince yourself that you just ate a spoonful of cat vomit.  Then swallow it.  Weird, isn’t it?  I thought so when I did it.

A Prayer

We sure are cute, aren’t we, God?

Look at all of us little people driving around in our cars

And reading little books and magazines,

And drinking drinks out of our little glasses,

And sleeping in our little beds.

Yes, we’ve got some murder and abuse

And stuff like that down here,

But other than that,

You must find us adorable.

Can I have a dollar?

Relax

 

My Zoloft fell down the vent, and later, I heard the whole air conditioner sigh peacefully.

Suckers

In order to take advantage of the offer and get ourselves a free beach weekend, we acted like we were going to buy a time-share vacation home.  We even acted like we were signing the contract.  We did it with real ink so it would seem believable.  Then, we pretended to write a check.  They fell for it.  We kept them going long enough to do jail time for writing the bad check, too. It was hilarious.  In jail, we thought,  “Man, we really got them, didn’t we?”  Even the people in charge of criminal records fell for it.

 

Soldier

Ray’s mother sighed.  Her son’s letters home were nothing to write home about.

Frowny Frownyheimer

There was a man who had lived seventy years and had never laughed.  Everyone in his town was determined to make him laugh some day.  They saw it as a challenge.  There was an understanding that whoever finally got him to laugh would be regarded as a special person for the rest of his life.  Eventually, the town banker offered a fifty thousand dollar reward to whoever could make him laugh.

People would fall down on purpose when they were near him, hoping to make him smile, but he would rush over and try to help them up, worried that they might be hurt.  People had read all the jokes from all the joke books in the world, trying to get him to laugh, but he would just say, “That’s interesting.”

People would eat beans and try to pass gas loudly near him, hoping that he would find it as funny as they did.  He was embarrassed for them.

Then, one day, a little girl was walking near his yard, and she found a turtle.  She took the turtle over to him and said, “Can you believe that some rocks can walk?”  Her joy was contagious, and the old man looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.  From some forgotten place inside him, something wonderful surged upward, and after a lifetime without laughter, he looked at her and….

still didn’t laugh.  Did you think he was going to laugh?  Well, he didn’t.  A little girl mistaking a turtle for a rock isn’t that funny.  The man died a few years later without ever having laughed.

The End

Wordsmith

Eric was an editor.  He had been making a living that way for 30 years.  When he looked back on his career, he was most proud of what he had gotten away with in the publishing process.  

When he worked for the dictionary company, he made up over fifty words and stuck their definitions among the real ones.  When he had gotten a job editing parenting books, he wrote a whole chapter about the effectiveness of hanging children upside down for 10 minutes before bed time, and several paragraphs about the importance of feeding children prune juice before they go to school.

 

He had certainly had his fun over the years.  He had changed ones to zeroes in computer programming manuals, he had mislabeled poisonous snakes in field guides, he had changed sugar to salt in cook books, and he had switched murderers in detective novels.

Little did he know, his past would come back to haunt him.  As he lay on the operating table and started to get anesthesia for his heart surgery, he noticed with horror that the medical manual in the surgeon’s hand was the one he had edited.

Something to tell your children

Did you know that there used to be another color?  It was called moopa.  It was a bright color, not cool and not warm.  There’s no way for you to imagine it, because you have never seen it before.  It was the color of the most beautiful flowers in the world.  The prettiest sunsets had streaks of moopa.  Moopa was a color until about five thousand years ago.  Unfortunately, God looked into the future and saw all the bad things that you were going to do, and he got mad and took moopa away.  

 

That is why we only have the colors that we are familiar with today.

Appointment

Shelley sat on the couch in her psychiatrist’s office and sighed.

“I’m ugly and stupid,” she said.

“You’re not stupid,” he answered.

On a Monday Morning

My finger was throbbing with pain, and it kept getting worse.  I also was frustrated that I couldn’t get the dryer door closed no matter how hard I slammed it.  I finally realized that the two problems were related.

Definite Infinity

I walked through a department store yesterday and thought about another time that I had walked through a department store.  Next time I walk through the store, I will make sure to think about last time.  That way, I can some day walk through a department store thinking about the time I walked through the store thinking about the time I walked through the department store thinking about the other time I walked through a department store.  I will touch infinity, like the time I stood in front of the three angled mirrors in a department store and saw my reflections reaching back for eternity.  

Prom

Cecily was asked to go to the prom by every single boy in the senior class.  She said yes to all of them, and she danced until midnight that night while all of the other girls sat at home by themselves.  She danced in the middle, surrounded by all of her dates, who scrambled to pick up each corsage that fell from her dress that was pinned with about 200 of them, making her look like an out of control Rose Bowl parade float.  She danced freely, hiding her worry about what her reputation would be like when all this was over.

A Haiku for Midas, My Father

I know you said that

I’m as good as gold, but this

Is ridiculous.

A Fine Poem Without Meter

Hey, Mom, it’s me.  College is great.

Great News!  I’m the school’s best parker.

The parking judge comes by and puts certificates on my windshield every day.

I guess she can’t help but notice how straight I park my car.

And I’ll tell you something–

You can’t bribe these people.

A lot of folks try to buy recognition

by putting their coins in these post thingies,

But I’ll tell you– it’s a trick.

If you give them quarters, you get no certificate.

I’ll need to send them five dollars per award, of course.

Printing costs are printing costs.

But the yellow envelopes they come in are beautiful.

I guess what I’m saying is this:

Will you send me $185?

A Conversation About the Superbowl

- I’m not a fan of either team, but if someone put a gun to my head and asked me who I wanted to win, I’d say “The Giants.”

- That’s not funny.  Someone did put a gun to my grandfather’s head.  And they shot him.

- Oh, sorry.  That was retarded of me.

- My brother’s retarded.

- Gosh, I just keep putting my foot in my mouth.

- Could you not use that phrase?  I got kicked in the mouth when I was little and lost some of my teeth.

- For Christ’s sake, I just keep screwing up!

-Hey, now.  I’m a Christian.  Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in front of me.

- I give up.  I think I will just never open my mouth again.

- My uncle had his mouth sewed shut in Nam.  Could you not make light of it?

-Seriously, I apologize.  I just seem to have the worst luck.

-I don’t believe in luck.  I believe in God’s will.

- Yes, yes, of course.  I apologize for offending you.  I’m an idiot.  I should just be locked up.

- Please don’t joke about that.  My mom was committed to an asylum last month.

-Oh, there I go again.  I must be on crack.

- My crack addiction destroyed my twenties.

- Okay, that’s it.  I am leaving.  I just can’t say anything right.  Peace out.

-Is that an anti-war slam?

-No, no.  It’s not.  Look.  Look, I didn’t mean to-

- What do you mean, “look.”  Can’t you see that I’m blind?

-Okay.  Fine.  See ya.

- See ya?  I just told you that I’m blind. Why are you rubbing it in?

-For real.  Bye.

- Did you just call me “Bi”?  as in “Bisexual?”

-No, I would never do that.

- Why, would that be an insult?  Do you have something against bisexuals?  My aunt’s gay.

-No, no.  I’m sorry.  For get everything I have said.

-Oh, so now you bring up my amnesia.

Agreement

The man and his wife sat in the coffee shop holding hands. They didn’t need words to express how they felt. It was all very much understood. They sat in silence, knowing each other to the core, each one knowing what the other was thinking. Their feelings were mutual, and they were deeply aware of each other’s innermost thoughts. Their life together had left them with an unspoken understanding. They hated each other.

I just wanted to apologize

for what happened at dinner last night.  I didn’t know which fork was which and I didn’t know you were allergic to tear gas.

Unrepentant

Denny Dennyheimer had a checkered past.  He was looking forward to a checkered future as well.

Things that everyone has in common

Everyone wants to feel love.

Everyone needs food to live.

Everyone is 17.

Just kidding about everyone being 17.  Some people are in their forties.

At The Mall

Cynthia wondered how many square tiles covered the mall floor.

Eric wondered why the lady on the other side of the mall was on her hands and knees looking at the tile.

Eric’s wife, Sheila, wondered why Eric was looking at another woman.

Sheila’s guardian angel, Ralph, wondered why the Lord had assigned him to watch over the soul of such a boring, jealous, poorly dressed gossip who had bad breath and wore sweaters that smelled like moth balls.

An exercise

What do these things have in common:

the roof

taxes

a ruckus

hell

Give up?  They are all things you can raise.

What do these things have in common:

a goat

chocolate

jail

indecency

give up?  nothing, really.

A conversation

- When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut.

-Why an astronaut?

-So I can eat donuts.

-What does eating donuts have to do with being an astronaut?

-You can eat them on your days off when you’re at home.

- Good point.

One way to help the environment

Pass out 400,000 flyers saying  “Don’t waste paper.”

Deep Sleep

Last night I had a dream.  I dreamt that I was sleeping, and that while I was sleeping, I had a dream.  And in that dream I was asleep, having a dream.  And in that dream, I was sleeping, and had a dream.  In that dream, I was asleep, dreaming about sleeping.

Consider the Ant

In April, Father Herman stopped preparing sermons for his church. 

Instead, He has asked his congregation to think metaphorically as he reads from his favorite magazine, “American Entomologist”.

Last Sunday’s message was entitled:

“Coordinated Diabrotica Genetics Research:  Accelerating Progress of an Urgent Western Corn Rootworm Infestation.”

Some wept.

Next week, he will read “Variation in Spatial Distribution and Diurnal Activity Cycles of Gound Beetles Encountered in Experimental Settings.”

I am a great artist.  I draw mostly new moon night sky scenes using a black crayon on black paper.

I am also a historian.  I specialize in extremely recent local history spanning from the time I woke up this morning to the time I finished breakfast.

Let’s Let This Be The Only Poem About Cutaneous and Visceral Leishmaniasis.

As intellectually stimulating and potentially edifying as it is to think about

 

Swollen glands,

Enlarged spleens,

And bleeding sores that are unresponsive to antiprotozoal treatment,

 

One poem describing the

ravaging desecration

of the body’s phagocytes

by ruthless donovai parasites

is probably enough.

 

I’m not saying that you can’t write a poem about two lovers walking a long a river, and one of them secretly has Leishmaniasis, but don’t mention it in the poem.  Also, if you write a poem about someone sitting pensive on their couch reminiscing  about seeing a field of daffodils, it’s okay if they are suffering from Cutaneous Leishmaniasis, as long as you don’t refer to the disease at all in any stanza whatsoever.

 

Be vague is all I’m saying.

 

“Then why do you get to write a poem about 

A sputum-producing dry cough,

shaking, lethargy,

disorientation,

and rectal abscesses?”

you ask.

 

Good question.  I may have been wrong to do so. But it’s done now, and I don’t think anyone else should attempt to delve into the tragic mystery of

blistering lesions and

Deterioration of  the peripheral nerves

Lining the mucous membranes

In the nose and mouth.

 

 It’s just not that poetic of a topic. 

Feinstein’s hierarchy of bothersome slug episodes

  

Bad: seeing a slug on your porch.

 

Worse: Stepping on a slug on your porch with bare feet.

 

Even Worse:  Accidentally putting a slug in your mouth thinking that it’s candy.

 

Even worse than that:  Waking up to find yourself covered in slugs.

 

 

Still worse:  being promised that you will never see a slug again, but coming home and seeing a silver trail in your drive way, then following it to find your entire family being eaten alive by a writhing mass of brown and black slugs, and in the middle of trying to save them, coughing up a two foot long banana slug.

 

Having slugs come out of you every time that you try to go to the bathroom and being too ashamed to tell anyone, but not being able to stop thinking about it, so you try to feel better by writing a blurb about bothersome slug episodes.  Yes, it’s me.  I am the one with the problem.  Pray for me.

Things that are hard:

  

Rocks.

 

Being green.

 

Manufacturing steel-toed boots when you have no training, no materials, and no connection whatsoever to a steel-toed boot factory.

 

Ice, except for when it’s melted.

Why is the shaft hinge jiggly?

Did you try threading the corner fiber through the ruddle trap?

Yep.

Did you try moving the mallet over to where it doesn’t rub against the two dowels?

Yep.

What about sliding the screen underneath the gasket cover?

The dispenser’s in the way.

Maybe the corgital laquiduct seal is broken and the garping peg fell into the bockle vent.

I already checked.

How much did you pay for this?

I’m embarrassed to say.

What’s it supposed to do, anyway?

 Not sure.

A poem that’s partially about macaroni and cheese

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I hope macaroni and cheese is what’s for dinner.

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Beach Sentence

Shelly clammed up about the shark who floundered.

The Goats At Carl Sandburg’s House

The goats take turns perching on the wooden bench nestled in the overgorwn grass in the back pen.  They don’t speak about what happened last year with the long-eared male. 

They lean into the overflowing troughs, careful not to bring up the hay incident.  No one has beathed a word to anyone since it happened.

Even the baby goats, anxious to know everything, don’t dare ask their mother why their uncle is in the pen across the trail instead of romping in the freshly cut meadow with the others.

Why the mystery?

Why the secrets?

Why do they collectively suppress the relevant details of the events that have shaped their own history?

Because goats don’t talk.

 They just make goat noises.

Cheryl, I was just admiring your shoes.

They’re nice.  They’re sturdy and flexible at the same time.  I wish I was more like them.  IT seems like I’m always rigid when I need to be forgiving and spineless when I need to have backbone.  Ever since the divorce, I just… I mean… I just have these high expectations of people and when they don’t meet them, I just cave in and don’t expect anything from anyone.  Your shoes aren’t like that.  I bet they’d never get snookered into chairing the flower committee and letting Barbara leave them with all of the arrangements to do for the lent services.  And I bet they’d make sure child support came on the second Friday like it’s supposed to.  And I like how the stitches match the tread.  Where’d you get them anyway?

Biltmore House Tour Guide

So there’s gold guilding on each roof tile, eh?

Very interesting.

 And you know where the hidden staircase in the library goes?

Nice.

Also, thanks for telling us the story behind the wood pattern behind the tapestry behind the couch in the room behind the banquet hall.

But I note that you haven’t mentioned a thing about the infrastructure of the chemical bonds that hold together the bracelet worn on Sundays by the college roommate of the woman whose father wrote the magazine ads for the brand of instant coffee preferred by the sixth grade science teacher of whoever spit out that chewing gum hardened on the asphalt near the trash can we passed in front of the gift shop.  Details.  Know them, because they’re important.

Regrets I will have when I am 80

I shouldn’t have left a dill pickle in that piano player’s tip jar.

I shouldn’t have married a box of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  That left me unavailable to marry someone more suitable, like a human being or a Yorkshire Terrier.

I shouldn’t have written the Pope all those love letters.

I shouldn’t have named my children Poodleburger and Fingerfood.

I shouldn’t have done my 9th grade science project on toddler pain tolerance.

Some of the reasons I don’t tap dance for a living:

1.  Not good at it.

2. Don’t want to remind anyone of their bad memories involving tap dancers.

3. Scared that if I start I won’t be able to stop.

4. Might get dehydrated.

5.  Change might fall out of my pocket.

6. Might inspire a little kid to become a tap dancer instead of a doctor, and it might be the doctor who was destined to find the cure for cancer.

7.  Might be tempted to tap dance instead of acting heroically in an emergency involving fire.

I don’t believe in reincarnation, but…

What if you were reincarnated as a worm feasting on your old dead body?

Cedric had a twin brother named Leroy.  Cedric sometimes had trouble telling himself apart from his brother.

Rachel sat down to write her suicide note.  Four hours later, she was still writing.  She didn’t realize that she had so much to say.  She still wasn’t finished at the end of the day, so she decided to stay alive another day so she could finish it.  The next day, she thought of so much more that she wanted everyone to know.  Twenty years and forty volumes later, she was still working on it with a passion.  How would she ever finish it?  Life is too short, she thought.  How would she ever  have time to complete her masterwork?

              

That’s odd

It’s not every day that you find a roll of quarters next to a jar of spoiled mayonnaise being eaten by a litter of baby foxes in the middle of a field of poppies.  In fact, I never have, and I think that doing so would be an odd coincidence after writing this poem.

Mozart: a decomposing composer

Reflection

This guy was looking into my eyes and it was very romantic until I noticed that he was really looking at his own reflection in my pupils.

Life Goals

1) Spend twenty years sitting in a room worrying about how to spend the next twenty years.

2) Spend the next twenty years sitting in a room regretting the way that twenty years was spent.

3) Release 30,000 dachsunds into Manhattan.

Light Story

The sun was tired of shining.  He said so. 

“Quit whining,” said the moon.  But really, the moon felt sorry for the sun.  The sun had been shining for a long time.

“Why don’t you take a day off?” the moon asked the sun.

“Who will light the sky?” asked the sun.

“Trust me,” said the moon, and he went to make a phone call.

The next day, the sun got up to light the sky and saw that it was already lit.  He looked closer to see where the light was coming from.  All of the fireflies in the world had lit up and were holding it for a day.

“Thank you,”  the sun said.  He spent his day off laying out at the beach.

Last week in Kansas…

Eric grew a beard.

Steven finally paid the phone bill.

Jacob mowed the lawn.

Ralph filled up 17 empty milk jugs with earthworms, loaded them onto a shopping cart, and walked several miles, stopping every 15 feet to lay down a handful of worms and arrange their writhing bodies in the shape of the word “Sheila.”  He hoped that next time he saw her at the bank where she was a teller, she would ask him what he had been up to.

Life is a marathon with hurdles.

Claim to Fame

I wonder who holds the world record for most failed attempts at breaking world records.

Expiration of an Aspiration

 

When my application for the Society of Disenchanted Rodeo Stars was rejected, I did not understand.  Had I not lost interest in the bullriding like all of the rest of them?  Had I not become bored with the cattle roping like the others?  Was I not sufficiently tired of breathing the dust, chasing the dream, and wearing the spurs?  “You were never a star,” they said.  “But my disenchantment runs so deep,” I pleaded.  Perhaps there is a place for me in the Society of Rejected Applicants from the Society of Disenchanted Rodeo Stars.

Once upon a time, there was a king.

The king hated children, and he issued a decree saying that whoever brought him the thing that least resembled a child would become his heir.

 

One man brought him a fork.

“A fork?” said the king. “A fork has plenty in common with a child.  Forks can be placed on a table.  So can children.  Get out of my sight.”

 

The next man brought the king a shoe.

“Shoes have tongues.  So do children.  Begone.”

 

One man brought him a math problem. 

“Math is difficult.  So are children.  You lose.”

 

One man brought the king a child.

“Hmmmm… you may be the winner….. wait a minute.  A child is just like a child.  A child is a child!  That’s what a child is!  A child!  Do you think I am an idiot?” 

 

The line of people at the palace gates stretched on for miles.  People had brought hammers, goats, sticks, eggs, and plastic things even though plastic had not been invented yet.  Still, everything reminded the king of children.

 

“Ralph, why don’t you like children?” asked the queen.

“They remind me of unpleasant things like forks, shoes, math problems, and things like that,” he said.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

“I will learn to like children,” said Ralph the king.

 

He issued a decree that said “Nevermind about that other decree.”

Determination

I simply cannot rest until the jaded gentry sings.

I just will not be satisfied til crescent’s shadow flings.

Til yellow farming icewind movers shun the broken gaze,

Til beaming shallow parrish glory cuts this meadow’s haze.

I won’t give up this noble quest till all the strangers yearn.

Til winter’s climbing closet chores reflect what jesters earn.

The ribbon’s country may not hold a shimmer’s gentle grief

But nonetheless I’ll still hold on without the chimney’s chief.

Cut the reason, forge the lace, the dagger gnarls in sleep,

But no one dares to thwart my plan while kindred sparkles keep.

The Recognition I Deserve

When I receive the award for all the money I haven’t stolen, the people I haven’t murdered, and all the buildings I haven’t burned, I will dedicate it to all the orphans I haven’t clothed, the prisoners I haven’t visited, and the hungry people I haven’t fed.

The school is burying a 20-year time capsule, and they have asked us to bring something to put in it.  I am going to contribute a cheeseburger.

Trivia Tidbit

In 1999, William Haynesworth won a Pulitzer Prize for a note he wrote his wife telling her what to get at the hardware store.  Unfortunately, he was stripped of his award after testing positive for Prozac.

 

Some people make grocery lists

before they go to the store. 

I make a list, too, but after I buy the groceries. 

That way, I know I won’t have forgotten to get anything on the list.

Since You Ask

I wish that instead of receding gumlines, I had a mental disorder that made me become obsessed with rescuing forgotten stuffed animals from thrift stores.  I would keep them in my basement and arrange them according to their degree of emotional need. 

 

“Let’s go get pizza,” my coworkers would say.

 “Can’t tonight.  Got some hugging to do.”

Performance Review Phrases I Don’t Want To Hear On Judgment Day

 - Despite coaching and training, Sarah’s productivity remained low.

-Sarah criticized others frequently.

-Sarah hesitated to work with leadership to meet goals.

-Sarah seemed to understand standards required, but did not produce within them.

-Sarah had a hygiene problem.

-Sarah ate with her mouth open.

A story

For the most part, Ralph Watkins was an ordinary kid.  He had two hands, two feet, and one tongue.  He slept in a bed.  He walked upright.  He ate with his mouth.  Like most people, he breathed.

 

However, there was one little thing that made him different from most folks.

Ralph Watkins was scared of raisins.

 

When he went to the grocery store with his mom, he wouldn’t go down the aisle with the raisins in it.  He also wouldn’t go in the produce department.  He didn’t want to get too close to the grapes, which he knew would become raisins if they were left out in the sun.

 

His parents tried to help him overcome his fear of raisins.  His dad drew a picture of a smiling raisin, thinking that maybe that would help Ralph understand that raisins didn’t want to hurt him. 

 

His mom tried juggling boxes of raisins in front of him, but that just made Ralph wet his pants in fear.

 

Ralph didn’t let his friends know about his fear.  He figured that if the kids at school found out, they would throw raisins at him. 

“Why are you scared of raisins?” his sister asked him.

“How can you not be scared of them?” he asked her.

 

His family searched the internet for a specialist who could help them.  They came across the website of a camp for kids who were scared of raisins.

 

That summer, Ralph showed up at the camp.  On the first day, the kids were playing field games when they heard a roar off in the distance.  Everyone on the camp stopped running around and looked towards the mountains in the distance.  A black cloud was coming their way at a fast pace.  As the cloud came closer, the kids saw that it was a swarm of raisins.  There were millions of them.  The raisins engulfed the camp as children ran towards the lake, knowing that raisins don’t like water. 

 

Ralph huddled under a canoe in the boathouse, praying that the attack would be over soon. 

 

The raisins flung themselves against the dining hall, the arts and crafts cabin, and the trees, doing over $15,000 worth of damage before moving on towards the east.

When everything was silent, Ralph got up and peeked out of the boathouse.  The others were making their way out of the lake, some in tears, and some just dazed. 

Several children were rushed to the hospital that day, but fortunately, no one was killed.

 

All of them were shaken, but they also felt vindicated.   Their fears had been justified.  For dinner, they ate raisin bread and gave thanks to God that they had not been attacked by prunes.

Council of the Selves

 We met at night in my hospital room to discuss the impending Day of Judgement.  We wanted to be unified in our effort to brace ourself for the terrifying inevitability of facing our Maker. 

My five-year-old self was there. (She was the one who lied about having eaten the sandwich, only to be exposed by Echo, our family dog who dug the sandwich out of the trashcan.)

 

My 12-year-old self (the one who made fun of “Bobo” in seventh grade), sat on the heater, visibly nervous to be around all of my adult selves, but not so nervous that she wasn’t whispering sarcastic comments to my sixteen year old self. 

 

Ah, yes.  My 16-year-old-self.  She thought we would save the world.  My 28 and 29 year old selves looked at her and then exchanged a glance:  Sweet thing.  Still believed in Jesus.  My 40 and 50 year-old selves looked at those two and exchanged their own glance:  Sweet things.  Going through a crisis of faith. 

 

27-year-old Me wasn’t there.  The rest of us figured that she must be too ashamed to show her face.  No wonder, really.  She’s the one who blew it.

 

My 23 year old severely depressed self sat in the corner staring at the floor. 

“I’m not gonna make it,” she muttered.

 

 The 60-year-old version of me grabbed her arms and stared into her eyes.  “Oh, shut up, whiner.”

  

My 70 year old self lay on the bed, hooked to the breathing machine, trying to quiet us down.

 

Just then, my 27 year old self came through the door.  “I’m sorry,” she said to all of us.  “I’m sorry.”

 

My 16 year old self looked at her and nervously said, “Jesus died for your sins.”  My 30 year old self rolled her eyes.

 

My 70 year old self rustled in her bed, reached out to take the 27 year old’s hand, and spoke for all of us-

“We forgive you for what you did, but we can’t forgive you for wearing that ridiculous outfit.”  We laughed our last laugh and left the room together.

Prescription To Cure Not-having-the-same-weekend-as-me-itis

 

Eat three quesadillas.

Watch two movies about schizophrenic mathematicians.

Sleep at night, plus one nap in the daytime.

Pray for that girl from college who had to go to the hospital that time.

Don’t get on anyone’s nerves except kind of.

Work one shift at the bookstore.

Check mailbox four times.

Worry about judgement day but not enough to change your ways.

A conversation not overheard while selling roses at the hot-air balloon festival

  

-Vinnie, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?

-What kind of question is that?

-Just tell me.

-I ate a stick of butter.  Plain.

-Whoah.

-Yeah.

Another conversation not overheard while selling roses at the hot air balloon festival

-What should I name my new cat?

-How about James Robertson?

-No.

-How about Kitty Von Kittenheimer?

-No.

- Fluffy Flufferson?

-Yes.

-Really?

-Yes.  And here’s a dollar for helping me name my cat.

-Really?  Thanks.  Do you know what I’m going to do with this dollar?

-What?

-Donate it to an organization that helps people name cats.

-The humane society?

-No, they only help find homes for cats.  They don’t help you name them.

-Hmmmm.  Are you sure there are organizations like that?

-No.

-Well, you’re an organization of molecules, and you helped me name my cat.

-True.

-So keep the dollar.

-Okay.

When I was 9 years old, my grandmother bought me and my sister each a Cabbage Patch Kid.  When I opened the plastic package mine was in, there was a real child inside.  There must have been a mix-up at the cabbage patch kid plant.  I picked up the child and raised him as my own.  Today, he is 21 and about to finish college.  My sister’s cabbage patch kid is in my parent’s attic.

Green Piece

I can’t wait til it is so smoggy that we all have to carry oxygen tanks around to breathe.  I have a bunch of cool frog stickers that I want to put on mine.

 

Maria wanted to drop out of her English as a Second Language class.  Her instructor had decided to demonstrate literal interpretations of idioms.  One day, he brought in a dead horse and had the class beat it.  This bothered Maria.  She was on the verge of moving back to Mexico.

Plane Pain

The plane could not get off the ground.  Something was weighing it down.  I undid my seatbelt and got up.  “It’s because of me,” I told the stewardess.  “My heart is heavy.  My heart is so heavy.”  I got off the plane and they left without me.

Cause and Defect

Rick did not have purpose. Any cause he took up would be arbitrary.  He would be backing a cause to satisfy his own need to have purpose, so no matter what the cause was, the cause behind it would be self-satisfaction.